Gamma Fiend

It might definitely be easier to see the votes like that, with the highlight they get, but I can see that getting very confusing and possibly abused very quickly. While it would give notifications to let you know you've been voted for.... would you really want a separate notification for every vote posted on you? Especially if they get retracted later on?. And how would we change the colors of retracted votes then? I think the redtext/greentext works a lot easier, and is much simpler. But that's just me. Also, you can still mention people to give them a notification at the same time as voting for them, so it'd still be able to accomplish the same thing, without muddling anything else up.

My profile menu bar is down that low as well too, and the white of the logo kind of bleeds over to the Create button, making it almost unreadable as well.

Love the update! Everything looks really nice! Also, just noticed the new feature when you highlight text it lets you automatically quote what you have highlighted! This will be very useful! I can't wait to see all the other new cool features! (Oooh, and a blip noise when there's a new reply in-thread when you're typing one up! Ninjas are no longer silent!

Love the update! Everything looks really nice! Also, just noticed the new feature when you highlight text it lets you automatically quote what you have highlighted! This will be very useful! I can't wait to see all the other new cool features! (Oooh, and a blip noise when there's a new reply in-thread when you're typing one up! Ninjas are no longer silent!

Whew! Fancy new update and everything! 17th Shard looking slick! And yes, time to get back to our regularly scheduled killings!

A Quick Mod announcement for everybody! I was just informed that the site will be going down in a few hours, and will be down for ~12 hours or so! (I know, sad face, time away from Elimination!) But to help make up for this downtime, I will be EXTENDING THE DAY CYCLE BY AN EXTRA 24 HOURS So the cycle will now end at 2AM EST, Thursday the 16th! See you all on the other side of the big update for the site!

Write-up finally up! This one went a little overboard at just over 2.4k words... Edit: Also, important notice! Aonar is going to be taking over for Hael in a pinchhit spot here sometime soon, so I'm sure they'll let us know when that will be happening! So a big thanks to him and Joe for helping step in like that, and welcome (back) to Drell's Crossing!

All deaths that were supposed to have happened have happened. You can read that as you will, and any other questions regarding any suspected Channeler/Warder related deaths will be PAFO'd. Edit: I'll give you this much. A Channeler dies when they don't have a Warder, likewise for a Warder, they will die if they don't have a Channeler. Earth or Wisdom doesn't save a Warder or Channeler from dying if their cause of death is a broken bond.

Long Game Day 4: Blood and Ashes Midnight stole over the village of Drell's Crossing like a prowling thief, sneaking up on the unsuspecting villagers and veiling them in a shroud of darkness and danger, catching them completely unawares. After the grim, oppressive heat of the lingering afternoon, the townsfolk found themselves facing the threat of mystery and the unknown, unsure where to go next. Many could be found milling about, or just staying up late in the unsupervised Golden Dagger, the innkeepers position still vacant with no prospect of new ownership in sight, allowing the patrons to stay up all night and drinking away their sorrows, slowly filling themselves up on trepidation. Night crept into Drell's Crossing like a myyrdraal, slinking in the shadows and springing the trap closed before you knew you had wandered into it. Like a wolf, closing it's jaws upon your neck before you could react and cry out, the last of your life's blood already being licked off of the muzzle of your predator. It sprang, suddenly and unexpectedly, like an illuminator's nightflower, a flash of light and flame before fading slowly and leaving everything dimmer and darker than it was before. Night came like death's last, warm embrace; offering it's last kiss before the dagger was planted in your back. *** "Blood and bloody ashes!" Gladium Dei exclaimed, cursing up a storm as he stabbed his thumb once again, sucking away the blood that slowly oozed out from where he had pricked himself with the needle. He cursed once more and tossed down his current project, abandoning it for the night once again. He knew he would eventually pick it back up and start working on it again, as he inevitably did every night. He just wanted it to stop for now. "As if that's a bloody option," he muttered to himself, picking the needle and fabric back up. Tapestries were hard work. The subtle, intricate way you had to weave the thread together at the right places, mixing in the right colors and tones at the right time, bringing the whole of the fabric together into a beautiful pattern that could be recognized instantly for what it was and what it meant. And Gladium sure knew a whole lot about Weaves of the Pattern. That was always how he had referred to it, as Weaves of the Pattern. That was what he knew he saw, the bundles of images and auras he could intrinsically see floating about people, painting out their place in the Pattern, showing where their weaves laid in the Great Web that dictated their lives, as the Wheel weaved it's Will, catching up to them all in the end. He had come to learn the power and temptation that had come with such a great gift, and he cursed the pain and trouble it brought daily. It was almost unbearable in this small town, where he could see nothing but more pain and death interwoven, floating like a tiny black cloud hovering above their heads, like a growing stormcloud that gathered above their heads, growing stronger and stronger each day, veiling them further and further in it's shadow that seemed to only absorb the light around it and letting none of it escape. It overwhelmed almost anything else that Gladium could see, and that's what scared him most. For he had seen the same cloud hanging about the already discovered and killed darkfriends..... and what sort of darkness could cover up even the foulness of the Dark One's own evil? Questions better left off unanswered, he said to himself, even if he couldn't shake the nagging question. So he distracted himself the best way he knew how, and he knit complex tapestries, depicting terrifying depictions of grim, macabre scenes, juxtaposing them with beautiful, serene images. Smoke and and sunlight. Graveworms and spring flowers. Spikes and blades nestled in among herbs and tools of medicine. Life and death. Good and evil.The dichotomy of The Wheel. It was the only way he could find peace with what he saw. He had to tell himself that there was balance in the world. Acts of kindness and creation to counteract the deeds of ill-intent and powers of entropy. One small blessing he could count on was never knowing his own fate, the greatest and most beautiful mystery of them all. For all he could learn by one look at any given person, he could never expect when his own death would come for him. And for that, he considered himself lucky. He stabbed himself in the finger again, yelping out loud and tossing the flaming tapestry down once again, standing up and storming off and away. He was too distracted to work on something so.... complex at the moment. A life's work couldn't be rushed in one night, he liked to tell himself. So that was how he found himself grabbing on his cloak, to protect against the night's unexpected chilly bite as he stormed off into the night. Into the night, where the shadows gathered and waited. The fireball sprang up so suddenly and unexpectedly that he never had the time to see it coming before it took him straight in the back, lighting up the night like an illuminator's nightflower, exploding in a blinding flash of light and fire, leaving nothing but a pile of blood and ashes, the night growing dimmer as one more light was extinguished. *** Lomion stalked the night, reveling in the glory of the moon and the marvel of hunting with the pack. She let loose a triumphant howl, singing to the beauty of the moon and perfection of another successful hunt. She could still taste the fresh, raw meat as the blood oozed out, the savory crunch of her jaws ripping through flesh as she gorged with the rest of the wolves that followed her. It wasn't that she led the pack....they just happened to follow wherever she chose to go. No, she told herself, forcing herself to acknowledge the truth that she tried to hide from. Or at least, the truth she attempted to run away from before she found herself irresistibly drawn back to the alluring call of the moon. The thrill of the hunt. We hunt, Two Legs. The wolves called to her, sending their flashes of scent and images they used to communicate. Two-legs always had a way of complicating things with too many layers of mixed fears and emotions, making things way harder than they ever had to be. We hunt, we eat, and we hunt once more in The Dream. The Wolves would tell her, as much as she feared what happened to her when she went hunting with such reckless abandon. She knew she lost more and more of herself every time she succumbed to the lure of the hunt. Lomion found herself less and less worried each time she came back, however. She knew she should be scared, if not absolutely terrified, by the implications and inevitable outcome.... but worry seemed to be a thing of two-legs. And there was no time to worry when you were in the middle of a hunt. All that mattered was the prey. And Lomion was the predator. So that was how she came slinking back into the village, still savoring the taste of the hunt, her heightened vision allowing her to navigate her way through the darkened streets with ease, her enhanced sense of hearing letting her avoid any wandering, curious eyes. Wolves hated trollocs and darkfriends, and an entire pack of wolves would fight down to the last wolf in order to kill a Neverborn -- their word for myyrdraal. But people didn't tend to understand such things when you had fresh blood on your clothes and still drying around your mouth. Some things that two-legs would never understand. Lomion was crossing the village green, taking one last peak around the open space before dipping down into the alley leading to the backdoor of her house, taking the best way to avoid detection that she knew, hating the idea of spending her nights cooped up in a giant wooden cage. Flashes of wildlife and flowing rivers filled her mind. Scents of nature and blood, freshly spilled from yet another successful hunt. Images of the moon floating in the night, untethered by worry or fear, free to roam the sky at it's own leisure. Not held back by the shackles of two-legs in their ring of fire and stone-dens. She was almost completely absorbed by the sendings that she almost lost herself completely to the wolf, leaving Lomion behind and becoming NightSilver in her entirety. The name she had earned with her pack, due to the flash of silver she used to hunt with each night she joined them. Come, NightSilver. We hunt in The Dream. That sending again. What does it mean? She tried sending back, getting confusion and uncertainty in return from the wolves. We Hunt in The Dream, the wolves sent back, almost patiently, but with a sense of urgency and finality to it that scared Lomion more than she cared to admit. Maybe she wasn't entirely free from being a two-legs, she laughed to herself, as she rounded the final corner, coming back into control slowly but surely. The rush of feet and silver arc of the dagger coming suddenly out of the night caught her off guard, still absorbed by the sendings of the wolves and distracted as she was. She tasted blood, but it was her own as it filled her mouth and she crumpled to the ground. The night erupted into a cacophony of howls, the screams filled with pain and anguish. And one last sending sent above all others. Now we hunt in the Dream, NightSilver. Now we hunt the Dream.... *** Cenn al'Idrius crept through the shadows of Drell's Crossing, cloak pulled tight around himself more to hide himself from any wandering eyes than to protect himself from the night's harsh chill. He didn't want to be seen out on his particular errands this evening.... he didn't feel like leaving behind any more bodies than were necessary at this moment in time. His orders had been Let the Lord of Chaos rule. And Chaos is what I am best at, he thought with a self-satisfied grin. Cenn's particular talents had been what had earned him in such a high ranking position, letting him be plucked out of that backwards, dainty stop-on-the-road village he had grown up in in the Two Rivers. And he had never looked back on those sad, pathetic people. Except for that one time he had ordered a gang of darkfriends to go and terrorize the village, inspiring the fear of the Great Lord into their hearts and minds. All except for that family that had driven his family eventually out of town. They were left alone in those raids, with every single other door being kicked in or scrawled on with Dragon's Fangs. Every single door except for that one family. That family he left to be taken care of by their neighbors who had just suffered while they got off without a scratch or broken window.... At least until the rest of the town 'hatched out their differences', he snorted to himself. Things had always tended to go well for Cenn like that. A random break in luck or slight twist of events and conditions that had always favored him. People acting and behaving exactly like he wanted them to. The Great Lord had explained the importance of his ability, and the power that came along with it. Ta'veren, One who the Patterns spinned and around, being reshaped and rewoven around him in a constant flux, as he affected the Web of Destiny for each and every person he touched. And with the dark touch of the Great Lord, their lives would always inevitably spin into death and chaos. As per his instructions. And he thought he had been rather bloody successful with those orders so far. Sure, his colleagues seemed to have a tendency to keep dying, but the Great Lord was always one to let them know that death was no barrier for him. Cenn didn't fear death. But he feared the wrath of the Great Lord. The village of Drell's Crossing seemed to be caught in an deadly spiral of destruction and death, being pulled down by the weight of their own paranoia and fears, being pulled tighter and tighter until they were buried underneath the weight of the chaos and death that had held them down. A helpless pit of despair that they would never be able to drag themselves out of. So Cenn found himself smiling, just regretting he couldn't get these ignorant peasants to start killing each other that much faster. But chaos took time. Slow and delicate work, with the slight touch of the ta'veren to spend their fates spiraling off into an inevitable downward crash that led to the same fate. Neighbors killing neighbors.... could anything possibly be more bloody brilliant? He hummed to himself, grinning wildly as he strolled through the shadows. He decided to cut across the village green to shorten his trip, figuring the shortcut worth the risk as long as he remained undetected, cloak swirling out behind him as the cold, sharp wind started to blow. It was just then the clouds decided to move out from in front of the moon -- another ta'veren quirk, no doubt -- flooding the open grass square with moonlight. Blood.... and bloody flaming ashes.... He cursed, stopping dead in his tracks. The moon was crowded. Invaded and filled to the brim with wolves. A whole bloody pack of them, standing guard in front of a bloodstained, motionless human corpse. He barely had time to register what he was seeing before every wolf turned to look at him. Dozens of golden, motionless eyes trained on him, each wolf bearing their teeth in a low, rumbling growl. And in another twist of ta'veren fate, the clouds covered the moon once more, casting him and the wolves back into shadows, before the sudden rush of feet came flying at him. Golden eyes full of hatred, strong jaws snapping closed around his neck, his life's blood slowly draining out from him in a rush. Cenn fell forward, down into death's warm embrace as the darkness took over completely, ready to enter the Great Lord's domain once and for all. --------------------------------------- Strawman was killed by a Fireball! They were a Village Viewer! Elbereth was killed by Darkfriends! They were a Village wolfsister! Seonid was killed by Wolves! They were a Darkfriend Ta'veren! Day 4 will last for 48 hours, until 2AM EST Wednesday, June 15th! PMs should be all finished, let me know if any errors and questions! Edit: And yes, this is correct, and all of the deaths that occurred. Read that as you will. P.S. Thanks to Hael for the quicklinks!

Night 3 is closed! Rollover coming shortly!

Long Game 22, Night 3: One Man, Alone Night came slowly to Drell's Crossing, the harsh, sweltering sun hanging high in the sky and refusing to dip below the horizon, basking the poor village in it's unrelenting heat. More than a few angry voices complained about the unusual heat, demanding for the day to finally end, seeming to forget in the moment what horrors the night could hide. The stifling heat also had an adverse effect on the citizens of Drell's Crossing, bringing the usual clamor of activity and bustling of people to almost a dragging standstill. The villagers could be seen milling about the village green, slowly meandering their way about to accomplish their activities and getting settled for the night, even if their heart wasn't obviously in it. Ana-alline wasn't nearly as affected by the heat as everybody else, being a native citizen to Tear; the brutal southern sun and muggy, humid breeze constantly flowing off of the ocean made this Andoran spring still seem like the heart of winter. Or at least that's what he tried to tell himself, as another bead of sweat rolled down his brow, dripping down right into his eye. He blinked it away, wiping his forehead down with his kerchief he kept in his pocket, already stained from the strenuous day's work. He straightened himself out, smoothing out his pointed, oiled beard he made sure to keep in proper fashion, despite his location. With a little reluctance, he had to admit that acting like a bloody noble did have it's uses sometimes, especially when one was busy and wanted to be in a hurry. That was one lesson constantly ground into him back at home, before he found himself fleeing the city just ahead of a written warrant for his arrest. It wasn't his fault the High Lord was guilty of those heinous crimes. Although it was his fault that he couldn't keep quiet about it when he knew it was better to. It was just he never had smelled anything so foul and horrible. That was, until he came to this town. Being a thief-catcher can sure be a hassle, sometimes, he thought to himself sighing. He caught another whiff of.... whatever it was that was plaguing this town, making him rub his nose at the rancid smell. Sometimes he feared that he would smell this odor until the day he died, no matter how this whole ordeal turned out. Sure, he might not understand how or why he could do what he did, it just had always come natural to him, despite leaving him the subject of scrutiny and suspicion. People tended to write off what they couldn't understand as some proof of the Dark One's touch, or at least some sort of mark. Funny that the people who are so scared of my powers and what they mean are the ones who have the most to hide, he thought, laughing at the irony of it all. And sure enough, while the nobles and bloody Lords sure liked to use him to recover any of their lost or stolen goods, or the guards and patrols asking him to help with any cold cases they might have encountered, they were the first ones to denounce and ostracize him when it came down to one of them being on the chopping block. Not that bloody nobles were ever executed or punished, really. So that was how he found himself, cast out of his home, surviving on his own, by himself. Alone. That was when he decided to adopt a new name and try and start over. Somewhere fresh, somewhere new. Somewhere that smelled....clean. That was what he thought he had found when he came across the quaint little village nestled up along the riverbank, and it had been -- at first. But old habits die hard, and that was another lesson he learned real fast. It didn't matter if he didn't call himself a thief catcher, or ignored any call of service in that line of work, he eventually found himself sniffing down trails that didn't smell quite right, investigating things that people would normally ignore. He figured it was just his nature, and maybe that was why the Creator had blessed him with the gift. Or perhaps had cursed him. He never tended to dwell on such things. He knew one thing though. Something smelled wrong about the village now. And it just wasn't the town. It was a putrid stink that seemed to emanate from the villagers themselves, completely unaware of the corruption bubbling just underneath the surface. And he knew he had to find the source of it, before it consumed them all. So that was how he found himself, again, One Man, Alone. This time surrounded by many, he couldn't let himself get too close to any one of them. Not when he knew he might have to help bring them to justice. He would leave them to their own devices, with their debates and discussions, and ultimately a public lynching, as things seemed to be going. He would help them in his own way. He just needed more time! He cursed aloud in frustration, losing the scent once again as it faded away, seeming to evaporate with the slowly diminishing sunlight as the sun finally seemed to relent and sink back down into the sky. Bringing night, and with it, hopefully some answers. Except when he wandered back into town, he found a small little gathering waiting for him, faces solemn. "What happened, Mayor?" He asked Jak, , who was standing next to Lomion for some odd reason, fearing the worst. "Nothing.... yet," Jak slowly replied, not wanting to look him in the eye for some reason. Oh. "Besides, that's not my decision to make anymore," Jak continued on, gesturing towards Lomion. "We've elected a new mayor, and may he do a better job protecting these people....." He paused short, looking to say something else before continuing, "And anyway, we all agree. It's just too much power for one man, alone." He understood all too well. He had heard basically the same speech, even if worded differently, it still meant the same exact thing. He also understood why he couldn't get a trace on the evil stench that kept eluding him. It was because it wasn't coming from any one source anymore. It had already infected every single person in the town, and it would only get worse from here. He wanted to curse at them, and condemn them, to yell at them and plead, but he knew it was useless. Ana-alline would face death, head held high and proud for never quitting until the very end. And he would embrace death with open arms as best as he could. As One Man, Alone. --------------------------- Phattemer(4) - Lopen, Bard, Elb(+1) Elbereth(3) - Aman, Stink, Phatt Lopen(1) - Meta Mayor Votes: Elbereth - Bugsy, Seonid, Jaime, Bard, Lopen Stink - Winter Meta - Stink Joe - Conquestor Aman - Meta Araris - Araris Phattemer was lynched! He was a Village Thief-taker! (Thief catcher, sorry) Night 3 will last a little over 24 hours, until 2AM EST Monday, June 13th! Edit: Yeah, it is Night 3... >.> #BubbleofEvil Time-distortion.

Sorry! Just getting home from a Magic Grand Prix! Will lock thread and get rollover going as soon as I can!

By the way, for any of the spectators, possible lurkers, or people who have been following the game, pinch-hitter spots may be coming up soon, if you'd be interested! Just PM me for details!

While I enjoy having the largest threads and highest level of activity, let's try and keep discussion as focused around the current game and as relevant as possible, please and thank you!

Write-up finally posted! Definitely hope this one was worth the wait!

Long Game 22, Day 3: The Mother's Last Embrace Douza stalked the village at night, his huge hammer slung over his shoulder as he roamed the shadows and the outskirts of the town. He didn't really know what he was looking for, or why he was out meandering about in such dangerous times, with such dark and deadly undercurrents attempting to tear the town he knew and loved apart. But he also knew that he couldn't sit idly by and wait for something to happen because that just wasn't in his nature. He peeked again at the huge steel hammer he was carrying about, as a stray beam of moonlight fell upon the intricately carved hammerhead, reflecting a silvery flash of light. Funny, he thought to himself, I don't even remember where or when I picked this hammer up. It was as if one day he just woke up and it was sitting there in the corner of his house. Most remarkably, he didn't even think of it as odd, and in fact, he remembered it feeling right somehow, as if it had always belonged there. Foolish fancies, of course. That giant hammer stood for everything he was against. Sure, a hammer wasn't strictly a tool for violence, and some could argue it could be used to create and help, somehow, but he just couldn't convince himself that that was the case with his hammer. It's hefty weight, solid frame, and the familiarity he felt when swinging it, he knew deep down that there was only one purpose for this hammer. Years as a village Wisdom -- practiced in secret, of course -- had taught him that sometimes there was no use putting it off. When a limb was too festered and rotted, when the infection would spread and threaten the host, sometimes you just had to remove the limb entirely. Before the corruption could spread and consume the whole body. That was how he looked at it, so despite the years of medical training and practicing the art of saving lives, Douza found himself walking about Drell's Crossing after hours, trying to find the storm that his senses told him was brewing. Most people always thought that Wisdoms only specialized in herbs and healing people, discounting their claims of reading the wind, being more in-tuned with the weather. Douza knew better. That was one of the reasons he had pursued such an unusual -- and often ridiculed -- career as the town's Wisdom. Everybody always maintained that only women could be healers, that only women were compassionate and smart enough to protect people from death. Men were just too brutish, slow and stubborn. No way they could heal. I guess they're not too far off on that one, he thought wryly, glancing back up at his hammer, suppressing a sigh. Douza didn't know why his weather senses told him that there was an impossibly huge and fierce storm raging right on top of him right now, when the sky was clear, and the large shiny moon was reflecting along the riverbank on a perfectly cool, breezy night. It just didn't make sense. He shook his head one last time, pausing at the riverfront, reflecting on his reflection. A healer at heart, a warrior in appearance. He knew his inner-turmoil would end up tearing him apart before too long. A man couldn't push himself to both extremes, keeping at odds with himself and his true nature. No matter how right the hammer felt, it's comfortable weight resting on his shoulder. NO! He told himself, rejecting the even heavier burden that was weighing him down. There just wasn't something right with what was going on. As a healer, he should've seen the festering wounds that had buried deeply into the heart of Drell's Crossing. Ever since the death of poor old Mayor Twim, something had become wrong. The darkfriends and everything else was proof enough of that. Bloody ashes! He cursed at himself for not seeing it sooner. As a healer and a Wisdom, he should've known better. Should've known that it would take special work and intricate care to help reknit the community and love that had once help the village together. And that was the work of a healer. With a resolute decision, he hefted the hammer up, rejecting the weight and darkness it had held over his heart, knowing it to be the symbol of what had been holding him back. And with a heavy heave, with as much strength as he could muster, he tossed the hammer into the river, turning his back on that path. Embracing his new purpose. He started to stroll back towards the village, feeling renewed and invigorated for the first time in what seemed weeks. So determined was he, that he never even heard the wolves slip in silently behind him. Stalking and shadowing him, waiting for the moment to strike. Douza never made it back to Drell's Crossing. His healing touch never felt again. *** Keland stood behind the bar, polishing the same glass for much longer than was necessary, or expected out of a bored innkeeper trying to find menial tasks to fill the night. The night had died off early, with guests and patrons alike all retiring to bed earlier than Keland would have preferred. Idle time meant idle thoughts, and thoughts like that were ones that Keland couldn't afford right now. He found himself humming an old, somber song under their breath, trying to remember where he had heard the tune and lyrics before, for surely he would have remembered hearing something as ominous as, "Trust is the color of death". He snorted at the irony, or really, the lack of it. Trust had certainly been in short supply lately, especially here at The Golden Dagger. It had seemed like the only reason people seemed to gather around anymore was to look at each other all askew, waiting for the slightest provocation or insult to go off on each other with. Why, Keland himself had found himself in more than a handful of heated arguments himself lately. As if the innkeeper couldn't be trusted! It was simply bad for business. Settling down in this quiet, reserved town had definitely been a change of pace from what Keland was used to, and the Creator must have had some sense of humor to find an old warder -- bones weary and mind full of wonderful adventures -- settling down in a town like this. Drell's Crossing had a way of making the past melt away, leaving them nothing but foggy memories, seeming like they happened to somebody else, in some different life. Things are different now, though, he told himself, keeping a wary eye for anything wrong or out of place. A lifetime of protecting the person on the other end of his bond had prepared him for moments like these, when a single missed detail could cost the life of many people, or even his own. Keland had always prided himself in seeing things that other people normally didn't, finding connections and subtle nuances that helped paint a bigger picture of what was really going on. And Keland knew that there was still something he was missing. That all of this just didn't feel right. It was as if a shadow had been permanently cast over the town since the old mayor's death. He could feel a pressure growing, slowly drawing the town tighter and tighter until something would snap. Keland intended to be long gone before that tension broke, or that bloody storm the town Wisdom had kept worrying about that had never come. Keland looked up out the window to the clear, cloudless sky, remarking on the haunting beauty of the moon. The howling chorus of wolves breaking the silence in the night broke him out of his trance, making him shake his head and wonder how much time he had wasted just staring at the sky. He shook his head again, laughing at himself. Some bloody good warder you are. There was a sudden noise from behind him, coming from the back storage room where he kept the extra supplies and barrels of ale. Senses suddenly sharp and alert, the years of training slid back over him, making the years disappear from his body as he found himself already halfway to the backroom in three long strides, counting on the element of surprise to catch the intruder off guard as he kicked the door open off it's hinges, crashing into the room roaring like a pack of bloody black-veiled aiel. Somebody yelled out and Keland had grabbed at their wrists, getting ready to pivot all of their weight into a hiptoss, bringing them down to the ground and disarming them at the same time. Another quick yelp and a muffled curse stopped him short of that. "Bloody fish guts!" Witless finally managed, eyes wide with alarm. "What did you do that for? They way you burst in here I would've thought a pack of hellhounds were hot on your tail!" Keland sighed. Witless had always been one to exaggerate. Then again, he wasn't the one who had busted in on his half brother like a crazed maniac. "Light, I'm sorry, I just didn't want to sleep in the stables tonight." Witless cried out, raising his hands up defensively. Keland sighed, apologizing and telling them it was fine. In fact, he wouldn't mind having the company tonight. He had always had a soft spot for his half brother, even if they did like to run around the town telling people how he had aiel blood in him, and was destined to become mayor one day. Poor,witless fool. Feeling a bit foolish himself, Keland apologized again before leaving Witless to his own devices, going back out into the common room. In the few minutes he had spent in there, the fire in the hearth seemed to have died out a little bit as the shadows were being cast a little bit further now, and the room was considerably cooler now. Keland could even feel a slight draft. He paused, frowning at the front door to the inn, which was cracked open and allowing the draft in. Funny, he thought, I coulda swore I locked that up already.... He cautiously walked toward the door, telling himself it wasn't just paranoia. He got there, peeking his head out the door and looking left and right.....seeing absolutely nothing. Nobody stirred, even the wind seemed to have died down, leaving a calm, quiet night. Hopefully quiet that wouldn't be distu-- A slight creaking of the floorboard was all the warning Keland had, as he tossed himself to the side, barely feeling the knife pass through the skin along his side as he could tell he barely avoided a lethal stab at the last second. He landed in a rolling somersault, but landed on the side that had just been stabbed, as the blow took the breath out of him and made his knees buckle at the last second, sending him sprawling. That's what you get for getting old and complacent, he told himself as he tried to get back up, to face his assailant on his feet. He would at least look the coward in the eye when he died. And maybe take them out with him, if the light was willing. "The Great Lord sends their regards, and soon, you shall be joined in the grave by the rest of these miserable fools" The darkfriend gloated, face hidden in the shadows, their voice a low growl. Their hands snapped out, and Keland knew there was no dodging it, so he tried to charge instead. The first dagger punched into his shoulder, the force of the throw like a weighted punch, pushing him back and down to one knee. He didn't even feel the second dagger as it took him in the chest. They took their time, slowly walking over, keeping a wary eye on him, waiting for him to spring up again one last time. They knew not to take a warder lightly. Keland spit blood at them. "Light curse you!" He panted, his breathing starting to get heavier, as he spit up more blood. He could feel it filling his lungs. He had seen more than enough people die from the same injuries in his life. "I'll not give you the satisfaction of begging or groveling," Keland said, offering his last form of defiance. "Don't worry, the only satisfaction I seek is that of your death." And with that, the darkfriend jumped forward and slashed quickly, the dagger a shining blur as he felt the hot sting of it draw across his neck, and the last of his strength poured out of him and onto the floorboards. "That.....that stain will.....will never come out....." Were Keland's last thoughts as he drifted off to death. And he was ready for the last embrace of the Mother to welcome him home. *** The prisonder heard the jingling of keys and the sudden, sharp groaning sounds of the metal bars being tossed open. Rough hands seized them, yanking them to their feet as they were pushed blindly along a hallway. "Good morrow," a voice said, muffled from the cloth sack tossed over the prisoner's head. "You are free to go, and have a good morning, and may the light illuminate you." And with that they were pushed back out into the village, the door slamming behind them. The prisoner was ready to start a new day. I wonder who the mayor will have us kill today.... they thought morbidly, as they made their way back home and to see what they missed in the intervening night. ----------------------------------------------- Somebody was Detained! Wilson was killed by Darkfriends! She was a Village Warder! Twei was killed by Wolves! They were a village Wisdom! I'll get PMs and results out as soon as I can, and just let me know if you have any questions or see any errors. Day 3 will last for 48hours and the cycle will end at 10PM EST, Saturday the 11th, Remember that PMs are closed for the Day cycle. Happy lynchings.

Yeah, yeah, just got home. Was a reason I set the time til now. Thread locked, sorting through everything now. ETA ~45min.

Yeah it just mentions who has a Dragon Fang, not how many votes. Otherwise that would just confirm the number of Vanilla roles there are

Apologies for not seeing it.Yes, a Dragon Fang would be noted in the Day write-up. Dragon Fangs can be targeted by roleblocks or redirects, prevented from Detains, etc. And if there is a tie among Dragon Fangs, then one will not be posted/revealed.

Just under 6 hours to go until the rollover! 9PM EST! Make sure to get all your actions in before then, or if not performing any actions, then please submit "no action" to help me keep track of it all! Also, when you submit an action, can you please specify what cycle the action is for! (Night 1, Night 2, etc.)

....Maybe... (Actually, that'd be a fun SK Role! Although that'd be a crazy QF.... so I would probably upgrade that game to a MR, and that would work a little better. Eliminators, Conversion Roles, and a Serial Killer? O.o All while in one of the best sci-fi settings ever? ......I think I'm going to go add myself to the MR game list....

I'm surprised not too many people have asked this yet, but yes, you can have Group PMs. But a new PM must be created for when you want to add somebody (as in, nobody can be added into already existing PMs) [You can all probably guess why I've been reluctant to clarify this before now....]

Aww, you don't want me to ruin all of my fun, do you? That's definitely a PAFO!!!

Well, I've been watching a storm ton of Star Trek Voyager on Netflix lately.... so decided to make a new game! I figured it was about time we set our phasers to stun, and let loose on some.... Star Trek Elimination!!! Still working out all sorts of rulesets and roles, but I've come up with a few ideas! The Changelings are the main threat, alien forms who have taken place of your trusted crew, working to tear the ship apart and leave no survivors. The Changelings work as typical Eliminators, with a private Doc and a group kill for the night. Obviously, we can't have Star Trek without The Borg! Not a specific alien race, but a collective of assimilated beings and humanoids, controlled by nanoprobes to serve the great collective and achieve harmonic perfection with the whole galaxy. A typical conversion role, wants all survivors to become Borg. Klingons will be vigilante kill roles, we'll have Doctors and med crew working in Sick Bay to make sure people are nice and healthy! Phasers can indeed be set to stun, for certain players, who will work as a roleblock. But a new function I wanted to try.... The Day will be 24 hours, with the usual lynch. But on top of whatever action each player submits each cycle, they can all also vote in secret via PM with the GM to place a player in The Brig for the night! Player with the most Brig votes each cycle is detained for the cycle, and can't perform any actions that night, nor can they be targeted by other players that night. And that's all I have so far, but what you think! Who's ready to explore the Gamma Quadrant!

Some (more) updates and clarifications! (again) Any player who gets detained is notified such at the beginning of the day cycle. Thief-takers who target a player who took no action or didn't target anybody else would get a result like "Nothing" or "Didn't find anything", something along those lines. (Or I'll just say you smelled body odor) The write-up mentions a whitecloak detainment if it happens, not how many there were, if multiple. Dragon Fangs are considered actions, and can be role-blocked, redirected with ta'veren, etc. They can still write on Dreamwalkers doors because them being in the dreamworld wouldn't make a difference of you drawing on their door. And while the troll is funny to troll with, Padan Fain does indeed start alone and has to build their team from there. And Conversions happen at night, and can be redirected or role-blocked, etc. Players are notified at beginning of Day cycle. I know I missed a few, but these ones were being asked quite a bit, so there ya go! I'll try getting some more answered as I see them, and will (eventually) try getting all my updates compiled together in a comprehensive post somewhere for ease of viewing.