Aonar
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Day Three: Nothing Better “Can I come out now?” A soft glow emanated from somewhere within Botholomew's tent. The short man sighed, laying out his bedroll. "I suppose." "Thank the Almighty." The glow collapsed, becoming more definite. It came from the balding man's voluminous beard. A figure slowly resolved itself, seemingly made from points of white light, and moved to sit atop the Radiant's head. "I don't understand why you insist I hide myself in there." "And I don't understand why you seem to take offence to it, Luma," Bortholomew said, still busying himself with preparing for the night. "A good beard is one of the few places I'd consider worthy of hiding a being of your noble stature." The spren said nothing, but Bortholomew could almost feel it's look of disbelief. Unperturbed, he went on. "Nothing's better than a good beard, I always say. Speaking of, why have you never bothered to grow one?" Luma sighed. "I am a spren. An embodiment of the very forces of nature. We do not concern ourselves with things like facial hair. And, I must say, we are all the better for it." The spren thought for a moment. "Additionally, the form I prefer of the physical plane would probably be identified as female by members of your species. And as I understand it, they are incapable of growing facial hair." Botholomew shrugged. "Your loss, my friend." The glowing figure refused to dignify that with a response, obviously wondering to herself why she was stuck with a crazy one. A sudden crash sounded, as something glowing brightly and moving impossibly fast tore through the tent, missing Bortholomew by a hair. Breathing in deeply on reflex, the tent was suffused with light as he felt stormlight's power wash through him. Storms. I wasn't expecting them to act so quickly. Diving out the door of his tent, Bortholomew hurriedly veiled himself in an illusion. Turning back towards the tent, he wasted precious seconds throwing together an image of his own body, broken and bleeding in the tent. Then he turned and ran, heading straight for the plateau's edge. "I think you got him." Someone said. "No..." The other, their hands still rimed with frost, was squinting in the night. "I'm sure I saw something. We need to take a closer look." "Fine. If you say so. I just don't want to be caught in the camp with this thing," the first speaker said, gesturing to the shardblade they held. Botholomew's tent was in ruins. The stone that had punched through it had taken down the majority of it's support structure, too. Clearly visible however, was Bortholomew's shattered body. It looked like he'd taken the stone right in the chest. "There. You satisfied?" "Not yet." The surgebinder kicked through the old man's belongings, spilling a pouch filled with spheres across the ground. Every singe one was dun. Picking one up, he tossed it towards the body. It disappeared with a sharp clack, like it was striking stone. The shardbearer cursed. "An illusionist. I guess you were right." "He must be somewhere close by. He can't have enough stormlight to maintain a good illusion for long, judging from what's here. Let's go." Huddled in a small crevice in the chasm wall, Bortholomew was keenly aware of just how little stormlight he had left. He'd altered his illusion to just a mere shadow on the rock face, but even that he wouldn't be able to keep up long. "Alright Luma. I'm going to need you to check the tent and see if they fell for my illusion." Bortholomew's previous air of joviality was forgotten. He was deadly serious. "I need to know how far I have to run." The spren nodded and streaked off in the direction they had come. Unbeknownst to them, their pursuers had already arrived. Rock groaned above Bortholomew, as a shelf of stone fell free from the chasm wall, severed by the impossibly sharp edge of a shardblade. That sound would become the last Bortholomew ever heard. The crash of stone the heralded Bortholomew's death resounded across the plateau, startling the refugees awake. Stumbling from their tent, one person slipped and gashed their foot upon a piece of sharp stone. Inhaling sharply on reflex, they reached down to check their injury. Only frost met their fingers, and a faint wisp of light curled up from their hands. Stormfather... Botholomew has died! He was a Refugee Truthwatcher! You have roughly 47 hours to decide on a lynch. (Sorry about the late write-up again. This one sort of got away from me.)
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The night is over! Stay tuned for the the write up, which should hopefully be a little more timely than last night.
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LG13 Night Two: The Terror of Knowing Conversations were hushed with Etam's disappearance. He had been one of the few truly competent refugees, without him, defending themselves from the traitors was going to be that much more difficult. Even with the pressure mounting, the refugees were indecisive. Little was said, and what was said came to even less. A few names were brought up; Ace, obviously unstable and more than a little fond of his hammer, Justin, the slave who seemed just a little too quick to challenge his fellows, Adamir, a man about whom little was known, a stranger to the group, and Cla, the horneater who seemed just a little too upbeat when traitors were about. No one, however, was willing to cast the first stone. They were paralyzed by the confirmation that they were being hunted, terrified by the knowledge that if they were wrong, they would be that much closer to destruction. And so the refugees slowly frittered away the day, waiting, watching, allowing their fear to force them into inaction despite the pressure, and ultimately, failing to achieve anything. No one was lynched! Votes: Ace (2): The Ronzo, Justin Justin (2): Wol, Smeagol Adamir (1): Torren Cla (1): Seixa Sorry for the lackluster write-up. It's hard when you guys don't give me much material. Anyways, you've got 24 hours to get your night actions in, unless and extension is called. I'd like to remind people to try to get around to giving me song suggestions for their characters. I'll do my best to come up with good ones, but a guy can only be so creative. (If you don't, no guarantees I won't just give up and give you Rebecca Black's Friday. ) Ditto on spren names.
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And the day is over. Write-up isn't quite ready (did a recount and realized I didn't have the result right, so I had to scrap what I'd started) but it should be up soon.
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You've got an hour left to lynch somebody, if you feel like doing that. Just letting you know.
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The only night actions that will be made absolutely clear in the write-up will be kills and protections. However, if another power alters a kill or a protection, it will be hinted at in the write-up. How heavy-handed the hints are will depend on how much time I want to waste figuring out how to make things subtle. (Also worth noting: If a Squire is created, the event will be hinted at in the write-up, but no information on persons, powers, or numbers will be given.) Gravitation, when used on conflicting actions, will cancel out, leaving things to proceed as they would if everything were normal. (However, all non-Gravity-boosted actions that would attempt to affect either power would still be cancelled.) So in this case, Meta would have been saved.
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The Frozen Moon is in uproar. Strangers bearing gifts stranger still have come, bestowing unimaginable power to those perhaps least fit to wield it. The outraged conversations of the Faction’s elect seemed loud enough to drown out even the storm brewing outside. Certainly loud enough, one would imagine, to disguise someone arriving at the door. And it did, at first. The cloaked figure’s footsteps were more than sufficiently muffled by the conversation and pouring rain. The knock that came however, was another story. A deep thud echoed throughout the teahouse, shaking the whole front wall of the establishment. There was a pause, as the raucous conversations were immediately silenced. Another knock came, more insistent than the first. No one answered. The third knock came, accompanied by the sound of splintering wood as the door began to give way. Wenshon cleared his throat nervously, as the rest of the Frozen Moon’s inhabitants looked on in mixed curiosity and terror. “Come in?” The door handle turned slowly, as whoever was on the other side carefully pulled the door open. Cloaked and hooded, nothing could be made out about the newcomer, aside from a shock of white hair sticking out from beneath their cowl. Looking towards Wenshon, the figure motioned for tea to be set out at a particular table. Small, innocuous, sitting in the corner of the teahouse, a game board was still set out in the middle, patiently waiting to be played again. The pieces were still in the positions they had been left in, one small Grand that still smelt slightly of tea holding the Emperor in check. Turning back to the majority of the Moon’s occupants, he slowly pushed back his hood, revealing deathly pale skin, and eyes the colour of old blood. An intricate pattern of faintly glowing red lines sketched themselves across his face, pulsing rhythmically, as if in time with a heartbeat just a shade too slow to be human. “Hallo gents,” Ashim said, flashing a brilliant smile. “I’m back. Miss me?” Why the hate, Kas? Anyways, as Kas has so helpfully insinuated, I am not, as it happens, dead. And I have been charged to reveal myself to you guys properly, on the pain of re-death. (I was hoping to just ride this out and join whatever Faction looked to be winning, but apparently, I can’t do that.) Sorry about not getting to this earlier, but I really wanted to be able to post the RP at the same time I revealed myself. Apparently, to balance out the addition of an unblockable kill to Discovery, Kas decided to give you lot an extra body. I’m not quite sure you deserve it, given how you were going about things (and the fact that, assuming Kas did not also resurrect a few Discovery members they’re going to die pretty quick with or without me around) but hey. C’est la vie. (And this means now I might be able to actually win this game. No offence Moderation, but somehow I get the feeling you’ll be the first to be taken down, after Discovery.) However, there’s a hitch. I was resurrected Factionless. So unless I get bribed into somewhere, I’m basically useless. However, I do still have my roleblock power, which, thanks to Kas’s new clarification, means I can do something, at least.
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The Radiant that succeeds will be chosen at random. Clarifications from yesterday that I missed: Yes, this is correct. Yes, if a Squiring attempt fails for any reason, another attempt can be made. (However, if someone is made into a Squire and then killed in a later turn, their Radiant cannot make a new Squire.) A couple minor things: If anyone has any requests for their death write-up song, feel free to PM me. (Please note, I might well end up using something else, if it happens to fit better with other events of the night.) Also, if the Radiants want to PM me names for their spren, so I don't have to come up with something in the spot for the write-up, that'd be appreciated. Finally, in case people haven't noticed, the write-up is now in. Much, much later than intended, but it is done. (I really need to learn how to write faster. )
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...Crap. I completely forgot about this. (This is what I get for falling asleep on the couch trying to finish the write-up from yesterday. [Don't worry, that is coming very soon.]) Who: Lady Maerys Izenry. What: Investing money into the maintenance and repair of Urteau, in recompense for the damages caused by Lord Izenry's conquering of it. Where: Urteau. When: This is my second action for this turn. Why: To raise my standing with the people of Urteau, and my general reputation with the people of the empire, as well as potentially gain some land in the area.
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Day Two: Taking the Sky Etam was running. He had been doing his usual rounds when a crack sounded, loud enough that it seemed to shake the very stone under his feet. It was only his quick reflexes, honed by years spent in Thanadal's army, that saved him. As the leapt to the side, a stone no larger than a sphere had thundered into the ground where he'd been standing, kicking up a cloud of dust and sharp shards of crem. Stormfather! What in Damnation was that? Before his thoughts could go any further, another piece of stone whistled by his head, close enough to ruffle his hair. Knowing better than to stay still, he ran. And so he fled, like a leaf before the stormwinds. He didn't wish to, but what other choice did he have? He knew instinctively what pursued him. One of the Knights of old; a being capable of commanding the forces of nature themselves. It was at that moment he realized he was afraid. More so than he'd been in a long time. He'd been a slave, the last time he'd felt real fear. Etam was never branded, but that didn't change what he had been. Stolen from home and family, paid less than a Herdazian chouta vendor, and conscripted to fight and die in a war with no purpose; there were probably true slaves that had it better. It had been his first plateau assault. He'd found himself to have a knack for the spear, but that was little comfort when facing the ranks of Parshendi archers. As it turned out, his fears were well founded. Etam was struck by an arrow in the first moments of the attack, and half-trampled by his fellows as he collapsed. Lying there on his back, deaf from the sound of battle, and delirious from pain, he made a realization. The sky was beautiful. Even here, in the midst of death and war, even when Etam had been robbed of everything he held dear, and didn't know from one moment to the next whether he'd live or die, the sky was still beautiful. He had stopped being afraid, then. Etam still did his best to protect his own, of course, but he knew that there were some things that could not be taken from him, and that gave him strength. Holding tight to that memory, he refused to flinch as sections of rock shattered around him. The plateau's edge was coming closer, and the stone projectiles kept coming, although, he noticed, never closer than a foot or two behind him. They want me to jump, do they? I'd be happy to oblige. Putting on a burst of speed, he planted he spear against the ground and leapt, hanging in the air over the chasm. It was a jump he'd managed to achieve many times before. Just as he was about to land on the other side, a stone clipped his ankle, breaking bone. Unable to stand, he fell backwards, into the chasm. He'd landed on his back, and a narrow strip of stars was visible up above. That was a comfort, at least. Etam's body was numb. His arms wouldn't obey him, and his legs, twisted and torn by the fall, felt no pain. Footsteps sounded in the chasm behind him. "I am sorry for this." Whoever had spoken stepped over Etam, blocking his view of the sky. Etam groaned ineffectually, trying to articulate one last request. The shardbearer paid him no heed, raising the Blade, and plunging it down in one smooth motion. Someone else was hidden in the chasms, watching as Etam had his last two true possessions taken from him. Storms. Can I still save him? The murder was joined by a small group. They seemed to be arguing intently about something. Come on. Get a move on. I don't know how long I have. A decision had apparently been made. Most of the group began to move off, while one stayed behind. After a moment, they reached down and touched Etam's corpse, which began to glow with a soft white light. When they removed their hand, the body shot away, off into the night. ...I guess not. Waiting for the last of the murderers to disappear into the chasms, the watcher faded back into the night. Etam (Metacognition) has died! He was a Refugee! Day Two has begun! You have 48 hours to decide on a lynch, unless an extension is called.
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The cycle is now closed. Sorry about the lateness of it. I got press-ganged into building cupboards a couple hours ago, and wasn't able to get much done on the write-up. Results will be up momentarily, and PMs will be out soon as well. The write up will be finished either sometime within the next couple hours or so, or tomorrow morning, depending on how things go.
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A chessboard sits alone in the void. It is not quite like any board one would recognize. Three colours of pieces have arranged themselves upon it, all intent upon a few small Grands painted colours just a shade off from true. “Storm it all,” a spectral voice said. “Discovery Grand is Elevated to Arbiter.” “Are you sure?” A slightly fainter voice asked. “It’s not within the Rules.” “Neither is slaughtering the weakest Faction and deciding that no one but them will lose.” “There is nothing against that in the Rules.” “Nothing that would break the letter, perhaps. But they might as well have mugged the spirit of it in a back alley.” “True, I suppose,” the fainter voice said, looking more closely at the board. “But is it worth going against the letter when any action you take will only have minimal effect, without going against the spirit of the Rules, as well?” The first figure sighed, making a few small adjustments to the board with ethereal fingers. “It’s a matter of principle, my friend. The Game has been made into a mockery of what it was meant to be, and even if I cannot do what I would like without causing still worse harm, some justice needs to be served.” “Don’t you think it’s a little cruel, giving them this moment of false hope? And for what? To make the others scramble like frightened ants, reacting to a threat that does not truly exist?” “Oh, it exists. But only if they do not react to it.” “So would doom them all, then. Fix the game on its current course, to derive some amusement from the shock of the other Factions?” “No. This is to show them that their actions have repercussions, and breaking the spirit of the Rules comes with consequences. It may be too late to turn the tide of the Game, but if I can make them see, even for a moment, the error of their ways, then it will have been worth it.” For once, the other figure found that they could not argue.
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No extension was expressly called for, but with the sheer number of action-relevant clarifications that have come in, (and minimal number of actual actions) I think people probably need one. (Plus, I only just got back and caught up on things, and I'm dead tired.) As such, the Night has been extended by twenty four hours. You've got until 11PM CDT Friday to get your actions in, if you wish to take any.
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...Not exactly what I was going for, no. That's been fixed, now. And a vote tally's been added. Also, just to let everybody know: I'll be out of town for most of tomorrow, (and as such, will be unable to answer any clarifications that might arise) and while I will get back at least an hour or so before the write-up, it will probably end up a little late, assuming an extension isn't called.
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Night One: Bridges Over Darkened Chasms Jain, Thanadal’s prized curiosity from Shinovar, was the first to take action when the refugees realized there were traitors in their midst. With no apparent provocation, the huge furred beast lunged first for Etam, and then, after finding the spearman to have nimbly danced out of the way, for Wol. Caught off guard, the old ardent fell backwards, saved from the ursine at the last moment by Justin. The beast strained against the chain that anchored it to the plateau, but gave up when it realized it could no longer pursue it's targets. "Storming bear," Justin spat. "Why, exactly, are we bringing it with us, again?" No one, it seemed could give him an answer. Taking the silence as a cue to go on, Justin spoke again. "I for one, motion that we just put the thing out of it's misery now, and put it towards our food stores." "No!" Wol cried, surprisingly coming to his would-be killer's defense. "The panda is a rare and majestic animal! To kill one so quickly would be a disservice to all Roshar." Justin and Etam looked at the old man blankly. "...If you say so, Wol," Etam said eventually. "I for one am going to be keeping an eye on the beast, however. It seems happy to attack with little reason, and we don't need another threat to deal with." With the day's share of excitment apparently over, the refugees settled in for a more serious discussion of who might betray the group. Kip was brought up, as was Findilt, and Kazaak, and Sani, and the blasphemer who's name no one could pronounce, but while discussion was seemingly fruitful, few hard decisions were reached. While the refugees debated on the plateau, a few slipped away unnoticed. There were things to be taken care of if the Diagram was to be fulfilled. The last chull was dead, but the bridges could still be modified to be carried by hand, and they couldn't have that happening. "Are we sure this is a good idea?" "Of course we are. They already know that we're here, and we can't have them covering any more distance. They're distracted enough now we could probably get away with murder. Now's the best chance we're going to get." The Diagramists placed diminisher fabrials on the bridges, still over the chasm they had last crossed, and returned, unnoticed once again. Minutes later, a crack resounded outside, as the bridges collapsed under their own weight. The group, shocked, forgot their debate entirely. The whole day passed away without a conclusion being reached. No one was lynched! Votes: Sani (1): Torren Justin (1): Wol Kip Sturm (1): Findilt Jain (1): Justin Findilt (1): The Ronzo Akirsefatafesrika (1): Kazaaakplethkilik Kazaaakplethkilik (1): Eradin Night One has begun! You have 24 hours to get your night orders in. Due to the number of actions that can be taken tonight, you may ask for a twenty four hour extension if you feel you need it. Sorry this ended up a little (lot) late, I got called away from the computer for a little while whilst finishing up the write-up.
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And the day is over! Write-up coming soon. (It can't say it'll be an especially interesting one, but that's not my fault, now is it? )
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You've got almost exactly an hour left, if you decide you want to lynch somebody.
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As per standard LG rules, a tie will result in a no-lynch, and players need a minimum of two votes on them to be lynched.
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They will have to wait until the next Highstorm before using any abilities. However, they will be able to begin communicating with their Knight immediately after Squiring. (Also, because people were wondering about this earlier: Faialen is my character. I've used that surname in a couple different Roshar games, now. I offered to use Sheon (Seonid's character) in the write-up, as well as Ableah, but Seonid didn't want him to die quite yet. )
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And the game has started! Good luck to all the participants, and if anybody's looking for the spec doc, just send me a PM.
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LG13 Day One: A Wayward Son Ableah Edr was a very long way from home. When the Heatherlocke Clan had fled Sel, they had found themselves in the middle of a war. Now that war was over, but separated from his family and in the middle of a wasteland, he suddenly found himself missing the chaos of the Rose Empire. At the very least, he’d managed to obtain a weapon worthy of replacing Discord. Eris couldn’t speak, (a relief, given his old weapon’s propensities) but she was almost as dangerous, and far easier to conceal than his old halberd. At this particular moment, Ableah was on chull duty. With the last two chulls having somehow driven themselves into a frenzy and fallen into the chasms, they made sure this one was guarded at every possible moment. This was not, unfortunately, the most interesting duty. Starting to pace around the chull in a vain attempt to stave away sleep, he was suddenly hit by the pungent odour of fresh chull dung. Stomach heaving, Ableah staggered back to a safe distance. Nights. Yup. Ableah Edr, wayward scion of Heatherlocke, bearer of Discord and Eris, and the caretaker of perhaps the largest, and most appallingly malodorous crustacean in all creation. Wiping his mouth, he straightened, grimacing slightly as the old wound in his chest flared with pain, before settling into its usual dull ache. His family had had access to some of the best resealers money could buy, but even they could not save someone so far gone without leaving a few scars. About to return to his post, he paused, feeling something warm trickle down his chest. God Beyond, what…? Touching a hand lightly to his shirt, his fingers came away sticky with blood. The ache intensified as he tried to turn, nearly driving him to his knees as he felt the steel arrowhead grind against his ribs. Beardnuts. Not again… Swaying slightly on his feet, Ableah Edr-Heatherlocke collapsed, never to see his family again. “Nice shot, Faialen.” “Thanks,” Ralyt Faialen said, lowering her bow. As a group, they cautiously approached Ableah’s body, visibly relaxing when his Shardblade coalesced and clattered to the ground. One of their number carefully picked it up. The Blade was an oddity, uneven and strangely twisted; it made one slightly uneasy when looked at, as if the mind couldn’t quite comprehend its proper shape. Faialen breathed a sigh of relief. “Exactly as we predicted. Our Interpretation must be on the right track.” Still looking at the sword, one of her companions spoke, their tone approaching awe. “So this is it, then? The knightslayer, the bondbreaker; the sword that will save mankind?” “It matches the descriptions we have available, in both the Alethi histories and the Diagram. ‘The Blade will be held by the Wayward Son, far from home and family. Storied yet unknown, its form will defy description, and its edge will seem to rend the very air.’” “Psalm of the Second Nightstand,” Faialen said, nodding. Always the historian, that one. The one to pick up the Blade gave it a few experimental swings. It let out a high, dissonant keen as it moved through the air, like some creature crying out in pain. They all winced. “Well, that sounds about right, anyways.” “Um, sorry to interrupt all the self-congratulation going on, but what exactly are we supposed to do with the body?” One of her companions asked hesitantly. “Nothing.” Another of Faialen’s co-conspirators flipped through a small notebook. “Stormwall should come through within the hour. The body will just get washed into the chasms.” “Good,” Faialen said, looking towards the still sleeping chull. “Now let’s finish what we came here for, and get going.” A few small nods were exchanged, and Faialen distributed some chull-shell whistles from her pack. She blew a soft note. No sound reached her ears, but the chull’s antennae perked into alertness. Holding up her hand for the others to wait, she continued to blow softly as the beast stirred awake. It slowly rose to its feet, and Faialen gave the signal. As one, the others blew their whistles. Something prickled at the edge of Faialen’s awareness, a chord, loud, harsh and dissonant, just beyond the range of her hearing. She could feel a headache coming on. For the chull, however, it seemed to be much worse. The crustacean shivered, rocking back and forth on its eight legs before letting out a scream, shrill and undulating. It stumbled forwards, only to be repulsed by the wall of sound, antennae twitching madly. They pressed closer, forcing the beast to shrink back against the edge of the plateau. One of its clawed feet slipped off the precipice, and everything went wrong. Regaining its balance, the crustacean’s feathery antennae laid back flat against its head, and charged with surprising speed. Faialen, directly in its path, didn’t stand a chance. The other Diagramists looked on in horror as she was trampled and dragged beneath the beast as it plunged into the depths. A terrible sound of tearing carapace and cracking bone announced its arrival on the chasm floor. “…Storms,” the shardbearer said, echoing the unspoken thoughts of their fellows. “What’re we supposed to do now?” One piped up nervously, offering suggestions. “We collect the body? It’s not as if we can just leave Faialen there. They’ll know for sure they’re being sabotaged, then.” While the shardbearer and the historian began to offer their assent, the one with the notebook interjected. “There is no time,” they said, inclining their head towards the horizon. “The Highstorm will be here within minutes. We will just have to trust it to obscure the evidence.” The storm was thorough in its work. Almost perfect. Only a single piece of evidence remained. When morning came, and the first brave refugees found it in the chasm, they knew exactly where Ableah and Ralyt had gone, and that there was no way in Damnation they would ever be coming back. You see, all that remained to tell of the night’s events was a small piece of shell, caught up between a few rocks on the chasm floor. A piece of shell, which, as it happened, seemed to look a bit like a whistle. And this whistle, as any Alethi worth their spheres could tell you, could serve only one purpose. Ableah Edr-Heatherlocke was a Refugee Shardbearer! Ralyt Faialen was a Diagramist! LG13 has begun! You have 48 hours to discuss the lynch and get in your actions. As there was a Highstorm, all Knights Radiant now have two charges of stormlight. Good luck! (PMs should all be sent out within the next five-ten minutes. If you don't receive one soon, let me know.) All PMs should theoretically have been sent out now. (Also, I apparently can't spell. )
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Last chance to sign up! Sign-ups are going to close in about half an hour, to make sure I've got time to finalize everything before the game starts. Edit: And closed. The game will start in about half an hour- I'll probably start sending out the first PMs in about twenty minutes.
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There are a little less than 24 hours left to sign up for the game! So if you're interested. but on the fence about joining, you should make a decision soon. (Or if you've signed up but forgotten to name your character... *cough*Meta*cough* )
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...Right. I really need to do this, don't I? My time this week has kinda disappeared with LG13 starting up, so no RP from me right now. I might edit some in later.
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If anybody's interested, I'm running a Sanderson Elimination game soon. Game starts Monday, so sign up soon if you'd like to play.
