Rules: #1: Don't edit your posts, don't quote any PM from any player (especially me), and don't discuss this game with anyone except myself and anyone delineated in your role PM. Breaking these rules will result in modkill. Expect absolutely no leniency as far as this rule goes.
Don't edit your posts. That's pretty self-evident.
When referring to your role PM, you may directly quote your character's name, your role title, the names of your abilities, and any parameters they should have. For the effects of your abilities, you should paraphrase; when referring to your flavor, you should summarize. If the flavor is "You are a happy red dog," don't tell people it's "I'm a content crimson canine." Summarize. Say "I'm a dog."
Do not ever discuss this game in any thread, public or not, or in PMs with any player besides me or other players your role permits you to talk to, or in real life with anyone you know from this forum. I don't care if you don't refer to it by name. Saying things like "This happening in an ongoing game" isn't going to fool anyone. Please keep this game's integrity intact as it will be more fun for everyone that way.
#2: Don't lurk to excess. RL comes for everyone. It's understandable. Just keep me updated on what your situation is. If you anticipate being able to continue in the game, I will work with you, and if you don't think it will be possible, I'll look for a replacement. But if you simply drop out of the game without any communication, that will likely have an adverse effect on your chances of getting into my games in future.
#3: The Forum Rules apply in this game and in all games. Mafia is a game of high tension due to the levels of suspicion and paranoia involved, and I know from personal experience the effect it can have on some players. Be sure to keep your behavior within the guidelines stated, however. Flaming will not be tolerated.
#4: Lynching will require a simple majority of votes. Once the lynch threshold has been reached, nothing can prevent that lynch and the game is considered to be in "twilight." Posting during twilight is allowed. Twilight lasts from the time the lynch threshold is reached until the next time that I post in the thread.
#5: Please bold your votes and unvotes. Votes made without unvoting first will not count.
#6: Deadlines are set at the start of each day. Barring exceptional circumstances, those deadlines are immutable and will not be changed. If the deadline is reached without achieving a lynch, the day will end in No Lynch. The deadline remains static - votes made after it has passed will not count even if I have not made it to the thread yet.
#7: Once you die, you are dead. Do not post. This includes "bah" posts. Do not communicate about anything game-related with any player, alive or dead, even if you think that communication does not endanger the game state or is not "important."
#8: Night actions must be in by the night deadline. The deadline remains static - choices made after it has passed will not count even if I have not started the day yet. If you do not plan to use your night action, please inform me, as day will start once all choices are in.
#9: There will never be a Jester in any game that I host.
#10: After you have requested replacement or after I have announced that I am seeking a replacement for you - whichever comes first - your time in the game has ended. Do not post any further.
#11:Remember that while this is a game, it is intended to be fun for everyone. If you knowingly take actions that violate the spirit of the game, I reserve the right to apply the appropriate punishment.
#12: If you don't know, ask. I am online all the time and I'm happy to help you with any questions you may have. Please don't commit avoidable breaches of these rules because you didn't ask for clarification.
This game's key mechanic is the lock system. Most players begin the game with at least one of their abilities locked. Abilities with even one lock still locked are unusable. Each player has a passive ability that allows him or her to unlock his or her abilities if some trigger or condition is met. When an effect says "one of your locks is unlocked", the player is able to choose which one. Once unlocked, a lock stays unlocked until some effect locks it.
An ability's color is determined by the color of its lock. An ability locked by a red lock and a blue lock is considered both red and blue, whether the locks are still locked or not. The four colors are red, yellow, green and blue. There are also white locks, which have no color. Color is relevant on many different levels in this game.
Each ability has parameters that follow its name. These indicate whether it is active or passive, when it can be used and whether it is repeatable. Passives are always "on," although there are some passives that begin the game locked. Locked passives have no effect until they are unlocked. One-shot abilities can only be used once.
Unless otherwise noted, a player can only perform one action classified as "active" during each day/night cycle. If Jimmy has 1 active day ability and 2 active night abilities, he can perform his day ability every day phase (as long as he meets its requirements) but he can only choose one of his night abilities to perform each night phase.
Actions classified as "anytime" may be performed at any time as long as the player meets the requirements to use the ability, and as many times as the player is able to pay for. Anytime abilities resolve instantly and thus cannot be roleblocked or otherwise interfered with.
One role in this game will always be neutral. From the remaining 20 roles, a certain number of players will be randomly selected to make up the Mafia. They will have nighttalk and access to the following ability: Path to Freedom (night/active): Target another player. You will attempt to kill that player. This ability may be used by any Mafia member, but only once per night, and the player using it may not use any other abilities tonight.
They also begin the game with access to this ability: [LOCKED][LOCKED][LOCKED][LOCKED] - Mow Down (night/active): Target another player and PM the mod with the colors of that player's abilities. If exactly right, you will attempt to kill that player. Otherwise, you will die instead. Then, lock all of Mow Down's locks. This ability may be used by any Mafia member, but only once per night, and the player using it may not use any other abilities tonight. Instead of unlocking one of their own locks, a Mafia member may choose to unlock one of Mow Down's locks.
In addition, if the total of their Role Points (a hidden value) is less than certain thresholds, additional Mafia abilities will be made available to them. This is to compensate for unusually weak combinations of roles, since scum members are selected at random. Similarly, if their total Role Points is higher than certain thresholds, additional weaknesses are imposed on them to lower their power level. Only the Mafia will know if any of this has happened.
You are welcome to attempt any of these tactics. At best, they will not provide any benefit; at worst, they may harm your team. You have been warned.
Townie win condition: "You win when the scum are destroyed." Every townie has this exact win condition. Mafia win condition: "You win when your team controls the lynch, or when such control is inevitable." Neutral win condition: "You win (and everyone else loses) when you unlock all the locks on your passive ability Invoke Cehenna."
Living [10/21]: Megiddo (r. ced395), The Brawler, triumphant. Ecophagy, The Mad Scientist, triumphant. Tanarin, The Prisoner, triumphant. Asenion, The Ghost, triumphant. Kosakosa, The Astrologer, triumphant. AsianInvasion (r. Charm_Master3125), The Believer, triumphant. Nis, The Spiritualist, triumphant. Seppel (r. DRey(r. Deaths_Vampire)), The Farmer, triumphant. SharkFinnigan, The Crusader, triumphant. Guardman, The Naturalist, triumphant.
Dead [11/21]: Wrath_of_DoG, The Gambler, lynched Day One. desCoures, The Druid, stabbed to death Night One. EtR, The Conductor, lynched Day Two. Cythare (r. Vitek), The Dervish, lynched Day Three. AlphaInsidious, The Pyromaniac, stabbed to death Night Three. Xyre, The Enigma, lynched Day Four. Axelrod, The Hive Mind, stabbed to death Night Four. Caex Kothar, The Ice Maiden, lynched Day Five. Arnnaria, The Luckless, stabbed to death Night Five. SilverSihhe,The Illusionist, faked his death Night Five, conceded Day Six. Iso, The Augur, conceded Day Six.
The game will begin once all players have confirmed receipt of their role PM and all pregame choices have been made. To confirm, reply with /confirm to your role PM.
In his dreams, he was clad in the emerald green ceremonial robe of the Convention's keynote speaker. He was reading aloud his masterwork to a gathering hall of eager faces. There was Amer Malwaya, who had been his first mentor when he came, eager and innocent, to the Mancers. His expression showed only pride - like the others, he wasn't really listening to the words. He'd read the paper. They all had. The Mancers had come here not to learn of a new marvel, but to celebrate him. Caloran Merbyon - the man who would make the Ataghan unnecessary.
"And so," he continued in ringing tones, "it is my fervent hope that this system of creating artificial sources of what we have termed 'wild energy' will forever obviate the need to imprison the innocent to power our society. We will move together into the future, heads held high, compassion and guilt no longer millstones around our necks. The Mancers will emerge from the shadows and take our rightful place as the pioneers of greatness, the shining light that for all this time has had to be concealed. No more! Let our genius outshine all others! For the Mancers! Long live Sarandar!"
The cheers were immense, roof-shaking. The whole cavern reverberated with the sounds of raucous approval. And then - it was all happening so fast - Adun Fathi was shaking his hand, smiling, holding up a new pair of robes. They were deep, royal purple. He was gesturing to them expectantly. The robes of the Secret Order! Fathi was offering a place among the Mancers' elite! It was all he could do to nod, feeling the tears beginning to accumulate along the corners of his eyes. Fathi smiled again, a wide, kindly smile, opened his mouth, and said...
"WARDEN."
No, that didn't make any sense. Warden wasn't his name. But then Fathi said it again, this time with a quizzical look in his eyes, as though wondering what the difficulty was.
"WARDEN."
Then he was pushing Fathi away, shaking his head in bewilderment, trying to step away from the podium but finding them all there, surrounding him on the stage, all with Fathi's face, and all calling him...
"WARDEN. WARDEN. WARDEN."
Sayid Caloran Merbyon, Warden of the Ataghan, Keeper of the Locks, Initiate of the Mancers, groaned, rolled over, and buried his face in the pillow anew.
"WARDEN."
"Shut it, you wretched ghost," he complained into the pillow, voice scratchy, throat chafing.
"WARDEN, THE NEW PRISONER IS SCHEDULED TO ARRIVE IN LESS THAN ONE HOUR. IT IS IMPERATIVE THAT YOU RISE."
"It's imperative that you stuff a...." But he broke off. One hour? One hour!? He flipped over, sat up bolt upright. The room was as it always was - a complete disaster. Empties were everywhere. He reminded himself to clear a place on the floor before hopping out of bed - his ribs still ached from the last time he'd neglected to look underfoot, slipped on a bottle, and landed on his face. His uniforms were stinking, some even appearing to be in an advanced stage of mouldering.
"Damn you," he spat at the Guardian. "Why didn't you warn me earlier?"
"YOU ONLY TOLD ME TO ALERT YOU, WARDEN. YOU DID NOT SPECIFY WHEN." Its voice (he refused to call it "her voice", despite its clearly feminine timbre) was as impassive as ever, but he could swear he heard mockery in it. Or was that the hangover?
"Look at this dump," he raged, kicking at an empty bottle, which spun across the floor, catching the light and casting mystical, twirling patterns of reflection and shadow on the walls. "How can I be ready in just an hour? The Seekers are coming! The first time in twenty-three years, damn it! The first time they've deigned to acknowledge me in twenty-three years. And look at me." He looked in the mirror. He didn't like what he saw. A paunchy, unshaven, wreck of a man with red-rimmed eyes and broken veins looked back at him. His hair was close-cropped coal with more than a liberal helping of grey. His teeth were gnarled and grey. He had nose hair.
"YOU WILL BE REMINDED, WARDEN, THAT I INFORMED YOU OF THEIR VISIT MORE THAN SIX MONTHS AGO."
"And I was supposed to remember that?" he shot over his shoulder, rummaging in the piles of dirty clothing for something halfway presentable.
"PERHAPS, WARDEN, IF YOU HAD NOT IMBIBED SO MUCH ALCOHOL LAST NIGHT...AND THE PREVIOUS NIGHT--"
"And you're my mother now?" Annoyance was now giving way to full-blown anger. "Listen, you useless remnant, spare me the lectures and just do what I tell you."
"I AM YOURS TO COMMAND, WARDEN."
"Then here's my command. Wake up the subjects and get them into lockdown. Make sure there's no way they can interfere with the new prisoner dropoff. And brew me three cups of our strongest coffee. The good, black-market Muluwashti stuff, do you hear me? None of that local swill. Leave that to the prisoners."
"TO HEAR IS TO OBEY, WARDEN."
And just like that, the Guardian was gone. Cal Merbyon looked down at himself - naked, aging, a drunkard, wracked with sloth. Twenty-five years ago, he'd still been determined to make something of himself. The Ataghan was a temporary reassignment, he said. Sure, he was out of favor, that nasty business with Adun Fathi, but he was talented and young. The Mancers would let him return to the fold, after he'd done his penance. That lie had lasted him a good five or six years, but it couldn't last. Like all illusions (or delusions), the Ataghan broke it down.
All the prisoners thought they'd get out too. Give it a year, give it five. Someone would remember them. Their followers, their countrymen, their friends, lovers, or soldiers. Nobody would let them remained locked up in this giant battery, being sucked of their life-force to power twinkling lights and lifts for the people of a tiny principality. But nobody ever came for them, either.
So he'd been trapped in here with them for twenty-five years. He had a window in his office - that was more than the prisoners had - and he had watched twenty-five years' worth of sunrises from the highest floor of the highest building ever built. And in those twenty-five years, he'd got two messages from his order, the people he had pledged his life to. (Well, they had taken his life, and so much more.) The first message was twenty-three years ago, and the second was six months ago. Both were exactly identical. They advised him that the Seekers were coming to transfer a new prisoner to the Ataghan. A new sacrifice. A new ceremonial offering. A new wretch who would waste away eternity locked in this ivory coffin, his wild talent harvested from him.
And they had left him in charge of this soul-sucking operation. You could see the distaste among the Mancers when they spoke of the Ataghan. Their eyes would light up when they discussed "the power", "the essence", "the energy", and all the magnificent wonders they could produce with it. But try to talk about how all that "power" and "energy" ended up the plaything of sorcerers (which was what the Mancers were, when you came down to it) and their lips would pucker and their eyes would turn away. Everyone knew that a crime was being committed here. They justified it and they slept at night - but there were times when their eyes, too, would be drawn to the Ataghan and they would wonder.
Merbyon sighed. There was no point in contemplating that. He had the rest of life to think about it, anyway. But now. Now, the Seekers were coming, them and their prisoner. He (or she; the Ataghan housed women subjects as well) would remain, but they'd walk away. And maybe they would whisper to each other about the old, hollow-eyed, depressed, broken man they saw on the inside. They'd shake their heads in dismay and mock commiseration, and they'd repeat the old adage with the appropriate gravity: "The lord of the prisoners is still a prisoner." And maybe that would be the end of it.
But maybe they'd talk.
Cal Merbyon's pudgy fingers fumbled at the top button of his only half-decent uniform. Time was short. They were almost here. And he still had friends on the outside; sure, he did. Maybe they'd talk. Maybe someone would remember him.
***
All but one player has confirmed. The game will start at precisely 10:00 am EST tomorrow, Monday, October 8th.
"WARDEN, THE SEEKERS HAVE ARRIVED. SHALL I GRANT THEM PERMISSION TO ENTER?"
Merbyon made another futile attempt to slick back his hair with his hand. In a moment, the first free people to enter the Ataghan in twenty-three years would arrive. And now, after all these years of loneliness, hard drinking, and being forgotten completely, he found himself not ready. How would they judge him? Would they ever have heard of him? Would they care?
"WARDEN? I AWAIT YOUR COMMAND."
They were looking at him. The prisoners - subjects, in Mancer-ese - were staring, behind the glass walls. He'd had the Guardian place them behind force barriers, but he had no way to obscure their vision. Their eyes were on him (what else was there to look at? Most of them, in their decades or even centuries of captivity, had already memorized every detail of the Ataghan's foyer room.) The recent captures hadn't seen him since the day they were captured; the rest, not since the day he was assigned to this alabaster sky-dungeon. What did they see? A slovenly old fool, a time-serving hack? An object of hatred - their key-clattering captor, the man that kept them in thrall? Or, worse - and Merbyon could hardly even bare to contemplate this - did they look on him with pitying eyes, seeing him as another prisoner, a comrade in detention?
"WARDEN?"
"Yes, yes," he suddenly snapped. "Grant them permission."
Wordlessly, the Guardian obeyed. In the center of the Foyer, a pinprick of light appeared, widening and widening, until it was the size of a large door. Out of that light stepped three men. Two were clad in grey uniforms; the other, in Ataghan-white robes. The uniforms had hold of both of his arms. Their eyes met, Merbyon's and the prisoners. There, he only saw hatred. Obviously the Attendants had not found success with this one - but no matter. The Ataghan mellowed them all, with enough time.
"Be welcome to--" Merbyon began, but one of the Seekers cut him off. A young man, green-eyed and copper-skinned, the youthful shape of his mouth almost offensive in its liveliness.
"We are here on the authority of the Convention of the Mancers to deliver this subject, known as The Provocateur, into the custody of the Ataghan. We do this in the name of all citizens of Sarandar, that they might enjoy the prosperity and safety that the Mancers provide them, and...."
Merbyon knew the words. They were the same ritual, utterly correct words recited at him by the last Seekers, twenty-three years ago. This child with his petulant young looks, his baby fat scarcely gone - he probably wasn't even born the last time his colleagues brought a prisoner here. But here he was, large as life, ejecting the mantra of his order like so much undigested corn: swallowed whole, accepted as sustenance, and passed out unchanged. The prosperity and the safety of Sarandar? They were built on a monstrous, hateful lie, and nobody knew that better than that lie's keeper.
He held up a hand. "That will do." The Seeker broke off, looking distrustfully at him, and Merbyon was again acutely aware of the gazes that had settled over him from behind. The prisoners' gallery. Here was their entertainment. Something new. Someone new. They'd read all the books in the Ataghan's extensive library, memorized entire centuries of history, recited it back and forth at each other as a game, trying to see who would misstep and say an instead of the, or who would mispronounce the name of some long-dead Manabul warlord.
Merbyon looked at the new subject. A younger man, in his thirties, perhaps, with Sarandari coloration and facial features. "I wish to question the prisoner."
"The subject," said the first Seeker, the one who had spoken, "can be questioned at your leisure once we have transferred him to your custody."
"I am the Warden here," he began, and saw a quick look pass between the two Seekers. The look said all he needed to know. It said this old self-important fool. It said this disgraced pretender. It said they would never, ever talk. He sighed. "I am the Warden here, and I can question my subjects at any time I choose." He turned his face back to the prisoner's. "What is your name, subject?"
"Ahatnarayalatep," the prisoner replied, a smile on his face. Something was wrong. This man was about to be imprisoned here for the rest of time, and he was smiling.
"That isn't your name, subject," the other Seeker said roughly. "Answer when you're asked a question. Your name."
"Ahatnarayalatep!" he said again. Was that joy in his voice? "Obey me!"
Things were happening too fast. This made no sense. Merbyon's thoughts were coming too slowly, like Muluwashti swamp-skimmers drifting on gentle breezes. The Seekers were giving each other another meaningful look. They were reaching for weapons. The prisoners were starting to make noise. The Guardian's booming, comes-from-everywhere voice was saying something, but he couldn't make sense of it. It almost sounded like she was agreeing to obey the prisoner.
"Then here is my command," said the newcomer. The Provocateur was the name the Mancers had hung on him for the rest of his stay here. They'd certainly chosen right. "Kill the Seekers!"
"HEARING IS OBEYING," boomed the Guardian, and then lightning filled the air. What was happening? Electricity crackled through the foyer. Three forms danced spasmodically in the sparking, insane glow. Was this all a dream?
Then it was abruptly over, and the three were on the floor, their clothes smoking. Merbyon looked over and saw no expression on the Seekers' faces, their eyes staring into nothingness, but that prisoner, that damned subject, was still alive, and his eyes sparkled with high good humor. Those eyes frightened Merbyon to his core, and he ran for the safety of his office. One day...one hour...had it really been just ten minutes? It had undone the past twenty-five years. All those days, weeks, months of stagnation and silence had turned into raw chaos, and the Warden found himself wishing for the peace of the Ataghan again.
***
On the floor, Sami Thaer, the Provocateur, was dying. The Guardian had done his command, just as his backers in the Covenant had told him she would, but at the last second the Seekers had grabbed his arms, and when the lightning struck them, it coursed through him too. He could feel himself going. There was something he had to do, something he'd been trained to do, but his mind was cloudy and it was becoming more and more difficult to think. It had something to do with the Guardian. "Guardian," he tried to call out, but it was little more than a whisper. Yet she heard.
"YOUR COMMAND, OWNER OF THE POWER WORD?"
"I want to pass on my command. Give it to the subjects."
"YOU REALIZE YOU ONLY HAVE THE LESSER COMMAND? I CANNOT FREE YOUR ALLIES WITHOUT THE GREATER COMMAND. DO YOU HAVE THE GREATER POWER WORD?"
"No."
"YOU ONLY CONDEMN THEM TO UNCERTAINTY AND PERHAPS DOOM, THEN. ARE YOU SURE YOU WISH TO DO THIS? WOULD IT NOT BE BETTER TO LET THEM GO BACK TO THEIR SAFE, ORDERED LIVES?"
"No," he gasped out. "Freedom...or death. They deserve...better."
"SO BE IT. GO SAFELY INTO THE NEXT REALM, SUBJECT."
***
There was silence for a few minutes. The prisoners buzzed excitedly, trying to make sense of it all. An attack on the Ataghan! Two Seekers dead! Someone knew how to overrule the Warden's control over the Guardian! Nothing like it had happened in centuries...but there were those among the prisoners who were not only unsurprised, but who had been expecting it. And it was those who began to whisper rumors of dissent, now. "It's time for us to be free," they said. "We owe society nothing," they said. "We were born this way," they said. "Our talents are not our sins," they said. Finally, the Guardian spoke again.
"THIS MAN KNEW THE WORD TO GAIN THE LESSER COMMAND OVER MY FACILITIES. HE IS DEAD NOW. BEFORE HE DIED, HE TURNED IT OVER TO ALL OF YOU."
"Now we can be free!" someone shouted spontaneously. There was instant intrigue. Others tried to shout him down. "We don't deserve freedom!" "The Attendants saved us!" "We're better off in here!" "This is for our own good!"
"IT MAKES NO DIFFERENCE TO ME IF YOU ARE FREE OR NOT," continued the Guardian. "I AM HERE TO SERVE, IF YOU CAN REACH CONSENSUS."
More mutterings and shouts. There was no consensus to be found. The majority of the prisoners had become used to their plight. They pitied themselves, but they understood it as well. They were taken care of here, fed, treated with care. Everyone they cared about on the outside was dead. In some cases, even their countries were gone, dust in the wind of history. They spoke languages that no-one else living might comprehend. They had memories that meant nothing to anyone else. And the Attendants - the propaganda corps of the Seekers - had done a thorough job with them, convincing them that they were dangerous to others, and that it was better for everyone if they were kept imprisoned.
But there were others who were part of a centuries-spanning conspiracy, a pact of freedom and of rebellion. They called themselves the Covenant, and they had carefully had themselves caught and imprisoned in the Ataghan, waiting for the day they could break themselves and their brothers and sisters free, and bring down the tyranny of the Mancers. Their day had come. It hadn't gone as planned so far, but they had no intention of letting it slip their grasp.
"IF I MIGHT OFFER A SUGGESTION - PERHAPS AN INQUEST AMONG YOU, DEDICATED TO ROOTING OUT THE PEOPLE RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS BREAK-IN, MIGHT PROVE PROFITABLE."
"And what happens when we find the ones responsible?"
"KILL THEM, OF COURSE," said the Guardian, voice neutral and considered as ever. "IT IS THE ONLY WAY TO BE SURE."
The prisoners looked at one another with new distrust. People they had known for centuries, had shared their entire lives with, had been holding back secrets! They were conspiring! They were dangerous! And as the prisoners looked deep inside themselves, asking if they were ready to kill to save - or destroy - this prison that held them all, they found that they were, after all.
Day 1 of Ataghan Mafia has begun.
With 21 alive, it's 11 to lynch.
The deadline is set for Monday, November 19th, at 11:00am EST.
Everything scares me... kitties scare me... squirrels scare me... corpses....corpses bring forth a pletora of confusing feeling which i prefer not to dwell on...:p
Everything scares me... kitties scare me... squirrels scare me... corpses....corpses bring forth a pletora of confusing feeling which i prefer not to dwell on...:p
And since I haven't played in a game in so long, I'm going to ask my standard question:
Does anyone here have a preference for what pronouns are used when referring to them? I know the standard is "he" and "him", but I'm pretty sure not all of us are male.
Ambush Krotiq makes me laugh so much. I keep rereading the card and it keeps not having Flash. In what sense is this an ambush again? I just have visions of this huge Krotiq poorly concealed in some bushes, feeling slightly sad that his carefully planned ambushes never seem to work.
And since I haven't played in a game in so long, I'm going to ask my standard question:
Does anyone here have a preference for what pronouns are used when referring to them? I know the standard is "he" and "him", but I'm pretty sure not all of us are male.
I'm a dude.
Private Mod Note
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An accurate description of myself:
Quote from Megiddo »
You're the dude who just lies a lot and makes people hate you and then magically becomes town later, right?
And since I haven't played in a game in so long, I'm going to ask my standard question:
Does anyone here have a preference for what pronouns are used when referring to them? I know the standard is "he" and "him", but I'm pretty sure not all of us are male.
Everything scares me... kitties scare me... squirrels scare me... corpses....corpses bring forth a pletora of confusing feeling which i prefer not to dwell on...:p
Everything scares me... kitties scare me... squirrels scare me... corpses....corpses bring forth a pletora of confusing feeling which i prefer not to dwell on...:p
Also, I am bothered by the fact that the flavor of this game seems to suggest that the Town represent the brainwashed prisoners who are too stupid or just don't care enough anymore and want to stay in prison, while the Mafia appear to be the rebellious freedom fighters.
Man, I want to be a freedom fighter, not a brainwashed drudge who thinks it's better to stay in prison.
What the heck am I even fighting for here.
Private Mod Note
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Quote from Bateleur »
Ambush Krotiq makes me laugh so much. I keep rereading the card and it keeps not having Flash. In what sense is this an ambush again? I just have visions of this huge Krotiq poorly concealed in some bushes, feeling slightly sad that his carefully planned ambushes never seem to work.
Also, I am bothered by the fact that the flavor of this game seems to suggest that the Town represent the brainwashed prisoners who are too stupid or just don't care enough anymore and want to stay in prison, while the Mafia appear to be the rebellious freedom fighters.
Man, I want to be a freedom fighter, not a brainwashed drudge who thinks it's better to stay in prison.
What the heck am I even fighting for here.
Maybe I'm reading too much into the flavor, but you cannot rebel when you haven't come to a group consciousness.
I think this gives the flavor for the game mechanics.
Calling it now: the Guardian = the Neutral role. He wants us all dead!
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Quote from Bateleur »
Ambush Krotiq makes me laugh so much. I keep rereading the card and it keeps not having Flash. In what sense is this an ambush again? I just have visions of this huge Krotiq poorly concealed in some bushes, feeling slightly sad that his carefully planned ambushes never seem to work.
Everything scares me... kitties scare me... squirrels scare me... corpses....corpses bring forth a pletora of confusing feeling which i prefer not to dwell on...:p
Neutral win condition: "You win (and everyone else loses) when you unlock all the locks on your passive ability Invoke Cehenna."
Whoever is the neutral definitely has some number of locks. What the unlock triggers are only the neutral knows.
Given that the neutral's win is a loss for both town and mafia the neutral is definitely more like an SK than a survivor this game.
I looked back in the sign-up thread for any sort of flavor references to Cehenna and couldn't find any. We basically have a name and nothing else so no help there.
"KILL THEM, OF COURSE," said the Guardian, voice neutral and considered as ever. "IT IS THE ONLY WAY TO BE SURE."
Ha!
Private Mod Note
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Quote from Bateleur »
Ambush Krotiq makes me laugh so much. I keep rereading the card and it keeps not having Flash. In what sense is this an ambush again? I just have visions of this huge Krotiq poorly concealed in some bushes, feeling slightly sad that his carefully planned ambushes never seem to work.
And since I haven't played in a game in so long, I'm going to ask my standard question:
Does anyone here have a preference for what pronouns are used when referring to them? I know the standard is "he" and "him", but I'm pretty sure not all of us are male.
Also, I am bothered by the fact that the flavor of this game seems to suggest that the Town represent the brainwashed prisoners who are too stupid or just don't care enough anymore and want to stay in prison, while the Mafia appear to be the rebellious freedom fighters.
Man, I want to be a freedom fighter, not a brainwashed drudge who thinks it's better to stay in prison.
What the heck am I even fighting for here.
I understand that I am a danger to society. We've been here so long, there's nothing left for us out there.
Whoever is the neutral definitely has some number of locks. What the unlock triggers are only the neutral knows.
Given that the neutral's win is a loss for both town and mafia the neutral is definitely more like an SK than a survivor this game.
I looked back in the sign-up thread for any sort of flavor references to Cehenna and couldn't find any. We basically have a name and nothing else so no help there.
You also have someone who is a student of mythology =)
If you want to be lazy, it could mean a couple of things. Acc. to the Hebrew Bible, it's where various cultists and apostates sacrificed children to their gods. In a bit more modern context, it's usually regarded as some variety of Hell or other.
What exactly this has to do with anything is beyond me, but I figured I'd contribute my knowledge =)
I understand that I am a danger to society. We've been here so long, there's nothing left for us out there.
Well, screw that. You may be content with your miserable lot in life, but I was hoping for something actually worth fighting for. Who wants to "win" for the reward of staying in prison?
Vote: Ecophagy
(note: I quite like the story Zinda is telling. Quality stuff. I'm just annoyed about what side I am apparently on.)
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Quote from Bateleur »
Ambush Krotiq makes me laugh so much. I keep rereading the card and it keeps not having Flash. In what sense is this an ambush again? I just have visions of this huge Krotiq poorly concealed in some bushes, feeling slightly sad that his carefully planned ambushes never seem to work.
Well, screw that. You may be content with your miserable lot in life, but I was hoping for something actually worth fighting for. Who wants to "win" for the reward of staying in prison?
Vote: Ecophagy
(note: I quite like the story Zinda is telling. Quality stuff. I'm just annoyed about what side I am apparently on.)
How much of this is actual anger about a minute flavor technicality? In fact, you place a vote out of nowhere on someone who defended the flavor of the town. Is this a normal townie response?
You see, the way I'm reading your posts are: "GRRRR. I'm so angry that I'm town! Right y'all? I'm town!" The vote based on flavor disagreements combined with you harping on the flavor aspect (to prove you're so very town to us) really isn't sitting well with me.
Well, screw that. You may be content with your miserable lot in life, but I was hoping for something actually worth fighting for. Who wants to "win" for the reward of staying in prison?
Vote: Ecophagy
(note: I quite like the story Zinda is telling. Quality stuff. I'm just annoyed about what side I am apparently on.)
Did it slip your mind that your vote was already on Ecophagy?
Wow, a bunch of cool stuff happened while I was doing other stuff.
I agree with Ced: I want to hear from Shark before I add my opinion to this. I'd also like Shark to say who the other person is who he thinks is scum and why.
Everything scares me... kitties scare me... squirrels scare me... corpses....corpses bring forth a pletora of confusing feeling which i prefer not to dwell on...:p
How much of this is actual anger about a minute flavor technicality? In fact, you place a vote out of nowhere on someone who defended the flavor of the town. Is this a normal townie response?
Well, I don't know. How much "actual anger" are you reading into it?
Did it slip your mind that your vote was already on Ecophagy?
No?
Does that help?
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Quote from Bateleur »
Ambush Krotiq makes me laugh so much. I keep rereading the card and it keeps not having Flash. In what sense is this an ambush again? I just have visions of this huge Krotiq poorly concealed in some bushes, feeling slightly sad that his carefully planned ambushes never seem to work.
Everything scares me... kitties scare me... squirrels scare me... corpses....corpses bring forth a pletora of confusing feeling which i prefer not to dwell on...:p
It came off as pretty angry for a minute flavor technicality. We all know how to play the game. Flavor is simply a window dressing.
You have over-read the anger part.
I do happen to like a good story though.
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Quote from Bateleur »
Ambush Krotiq makes me laugh so much. I keep rereading the card and it keeps not having Flash. In what sense is this an ambush again? I just have visions of this huge Krotiq poorly concealed in some bushes, feeling slightly sad that his carefully planned ambushes never seem to work.
Vote axelrod because loran isn't here to do it. UNC ****ed up my bracket last year, again
In less nostalgia-related news, I'm Taking note of the fact that there seem to be a lot of notable names in this game. Hoping that will keep this game from being a spamfest like other recent games have been.
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Top 16 - 2012 Indiana State Championships Currently Playing: GBStandard - Golgari Safari MidrangeBG RBWModern - Mardu PyromancerWBR RLegacy - Good Old Fashioned BurnR
The sentence was that I would only stay with ced and Caex before voting not because I wanna hear more, but cus you gotta earn the first non-RVS vote. GOTTA EARN IT BRO.
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#1: Don't edit your posts, don't quote any PM from any player (especially me), and don't discuss this game with anyone except myself and anyone delineated in your role PM. Breaking these rules will result in modkill. Expect absolutely no leniency as far as this rule goes.
When referring to your role PM, you may directly quote your character's name, your role title, the names of your abilities, and any parameters they should have. For the effects of your abilities, you should paraphrase; when referring to your flavor, you should summarize. If the flavor is "You are a happy red dog," don't tell people it's "I'm a content crimson canine." Summarize. Say "I'm a dog."
Do not ever discuss this game in any thread, public or not, or in PMs with any player besides me or other players your role permits you to talk to, or in real life with anyone you know from this forum. I don't care if you don't refer to it by name. Saying things like "This happening in an ongoing game" isn't going to fool anyone. Please keep this game's integrity intact as it will be more fun for everyone that way.
#2: Don't lurk to excess. RL comes for everyone. It's understandable. Just keep me updated on what your situation is. If you anticipate being able to continue in the game, I will work with you, and if you don't think it will be possible, I'll look for a replacement. But if you simply drop out of the game without any communication, that will likely have an adverse effect on your chances of getting into my games in future.
#4: Lynching will require a simple majority of votes. Once the lynch threshold has been reached, nothing can prevent that lynch and the game is considered to be in "twilight." Posting during twilight is allowed. Twilight lasts from the time the lynch threshold is reached until the next time that I post in the thread.
#5: Please bold your votes and unvotes. Votes made without unvoting first will not count.
#6: Deadlines are set at the start of each day. Barring exceptional circumstances, those deadlines are immutable and will not be changed. If the deadline is reached without achieving a lynch, the day will end in No Lynch. The deadline remains static - votes made after it has passed will not count even if I have not made it to the thread yet.
#7: Once you die, you are dead. Do not post. This includes "bah" posts. Do not communicate about anything game-related with any player, alive or dead, even if you think that communication does not endanger the game state or is not "important."
#8: Night actions must be in by the night deadline. The deadline remains static - choices made after it has passed will not count even if I have not started the day yet. If you do not plan to use your night action, please inform me, as day will start once all choices are in.
#9: There will never be a Jester in any game that I host.
#10: After you have requested replacement or after I have announced that I am seeking a replacement for you - whichever comes first - your time in the game has ended. Do not post any further.
#11: Remember that while this is a game, it is intended to be fun for everyone. If you knowingly take actions that violate the spirit of the game, I reserve the right to apply the appropriate punishment.
#12: If you don't know, ask. I am online all the time and I'm happy to help you with any questions you may have. Please don't commit avoidable breaches of these rules because you didn't ask for clarification.
An ability's color is determined by the color of its lock. An ability locked by a red lock and a blue lock is considered both red and blue, whether the locks are still locked or not. The four colors are red, yellow, green and blue. There are also white locks, which have no color. Color is relevant on many different levels in this game.
Unless otherwise noted, a player can only perform one action classified as "active" during each day/night cycle. If Jimmy has 1 active day ability and 2 active night abilities, he can perform his day ability every day phase (as long as he meets its requirements) but he can only choose one of his night abilities to perform each night phase.
Actions classified as "anytime" may be performed at any time as long as the player meets the requirements to use the ability, and as many times as the player is able to pay for. Anytime abilities resolve instantly and thus cannot be roleblocked or otherwise interfered with.
Path to Freedom (night/active): Target another player. You will attempt to kill that player. This ability may be used by any Mafia member, but only once per night, and the player using it may not use any other abilities tonight.
They also begin the game with access to this ability:
[LOCKED][LOCKED][LOCKED][LOCKED] - Mow Down (night/active): Target another player and PM the mod with the colors of that player's abilities. If exactly right, you will attempt to kill that player. Otherwise, you will die instead. Then, lock all of Mow Down's locks. This ability may be used by any Mafia member, but only once per night, and the player using it may not use any other abilities tonight. Instead of unlocking one of their own locks, a Mafia member may choose to unlock one of Mow Down's locks.
In addition, if the total of their Role Points (a hidden value) is less than certain thresholds, additional Mafia abilities will be made available to them. This is to compensate for unusually weak combinations of roles, since scum members are selected at random. Similarly, if their total Role Points is higher than certain thresholds, additional weaknesses are imposed on them to lower their power level. Only the Mafia will know if any of this has happened.
Townie win condition: "You win when the scum are destroyed." Every townie has this exact win condition.
Mafia win condition: "You win when your team controls the lynch, or when such control is inevitable."
Neutral win condition: "You win (and everyone else loses) when you unlock all the locks on your passive ability Invoke Cehenna."
Living [10/21]:
Megiddo (r. ced395), The Brawler, triumphant.
Ecophagy, The Mad Scientist, triumphant.
Tanarin, The Prisoner, triumphant.
Asenion, The Ghost, triumphant.
Kosakosa, The Astrologer, triumphant.
AsianInvasion (r. Charm_Master3125), The Believer, triumphant.
Nis, The Spiritualist, triumphant.
Seppel (r. DRey(r. Deaths_Vampire)), The Farmer, triumphant.
SharkFinnigan, The Crusader, triumphant.
Guardman, The Naturalist, triumphant.
Dead [11/21]:
Wrath_of_DoG, The Gambler, lynched Day One.
desCoures, The Druid, stabbed to death Night One.
EtR, The Conductor, lynched Day Two.
Cythare (r. Vitek), The Dervish, lynched Day Three.
AlphaInsidious, The Pyromaniac, stabbed to death Night Three.
Xyre, The Enigma, lynched Day Four.
Axelrod, The Hive Mind, stabbed to death Night Four.
Caex Kothar, The Ice Maiden, lynched Day Five.
Arnnaria, The Luckless, stabbed to death Night Five.
SilverSihhe, The Illusionist, faked his death Night Five, conceded Day Six.
Iso, The Augur, conceded Day Six.
Replacements:
Wheat_Grinder
Void
KoolKoal
Archmage Eternal
Dancing Mad
Prophylaxis
Dork Knight
infectiousbaloth
The game will begin once all players have confirmed receipt of their role PM and all pregame choices have been made. To confirm, reply with /confirm to your role PM.
"...a talisman against all evil, so long as you obey me."
In his dreams, he was clad in the emerald green ceremonial robe of the Convention's keynote speaker. He was reading aloud his masterwork to a gathering hall of eager faces. There was Amer Malwaya, who had been his first mentor when he came, eager and innocent, to the Mancers. His expression showed only pride - like the others, he wasn't really listening to the words. He'd read the paper. They all had. The Mancers had come here not to learn of a new marvel, but to celebrate him. Caloran Merbyon - the man who would make the Ataghan unnecessary.
"And so," he continued in ringing tones, "it is my fervent hope that this system of creating artificial sources of what we have termed 'wild energy' will forever obviate the need to imprison the innocent to power our society. We will move together into the future, heads held high, compassion and guilt no longer millstones around our necks. The Mancers will emerge from the shadows and take our rightful place as the pioneers of greatness, the shining light that for all this time has had to be concealed. No more! Let our genius outshine all others! For the Mancers! Long live Sarandar!"
The cheers were immense, roof-shaking. The whole cavern reverberated with the sounds of raucous approval. And then - it was all happening so fast - Adun Fathi was shaking his hand, smiling, holding up a new pair of robes. They were deep, royal purple. He was gesturing to them expectantly. The robes of the Secret Order! Fathi was offering a place among the Mancers' elite! It was all he could do to nod, feeling the tears beginning to accumulate along the corners of his eyes. Fathi smiled again, a wide, kindly smile, opened his mouth, and said...
"WARDEN."
No, that didn't make any sense. Warden wasn't his name. But then Fathi said it again, this time with a quizzical look in his eyes, as though wondering what the difficulty was.
"WARDEN."
Then he was pushing Fathi away, shaking his head in bewilderment, trying to step away from the podium but finding them all there, surrounding him on the stage, all with Fathi's face, and all calling him...
"WARDEN. WARDEN. WARDEN."
Sayid Caloran Merbyon, Warden of the Ataghan, Keeper of the Locks, Initiate of the Mancers, groaned, rolled over, and buried his face in the pillow anew.
"WARDEN."
"Shut it, you wretched ghost," he complained into the pillow, voice scratchy, throat chafing.
"WARDEN, THE NEW PRISONER IS SCHEDULED TO ARRIVE IN LESS THAN ONE HOUR. IT IS IMPERATIVE THAT YOU RISE."
"It's imperative that you stuff a...." But he broke off. One hour? One hour!? He flipped over, sat up bolt upright. The room was as it always was - a complete disaster. Empties were everywhere. He reminded himself to clear a place on the floor before hopping out of bed - his ribs still ached from the last time he'd neglected to look underfoot, slipped on a bottle, and landed on his face. His uniforms were stinking, some even appearing to be in an advanced stage of mouldering.
"Damn you," he spat at the Guardian. "Why didn't you warn me earlier?"
"YOU ONLY TOLD ME TO ALERT YOU, WARDEN. YOU DID NOT SPECIFY WHEN." Its voice (he refused to call it "her voice", despite its clearly feminine timbre) was as impassive as ever, but he could swear he heard mockery in it. Or was that the hangover?
"Look at this dump," he raged, kicking at an empty bottle, which spun across the floor, catching the light and casting mystical, twirling patterns of reflection and shadow on the walls. "How can I be ready in just an hour? The Seekers are coming! The first time in twenty-three years, damn it! The first time they've deigned to acknowledge me in twenty-three years. And look at me." He looked in the mirror. He didn't like what he saw. A paunchy, unshaven, wreck of a man with red-rimmed eyes and broken veins looked back at him. His hair was close-cropped coal with more than a liberal helping of grey. His teeth were gnarled and grey. He had nose hair.
"YOU WILL BE REMINDED, WARDEN, THAT I INFORMED YOU OF THEIR VISIT MORE THAN SIX MONTHS AGO."
"And I was supposed to remember that?" he shot over his shoulder, rummaging in the piles of dirty clothing for something halfway presentable.
"PERHAPS, WARDEN, IF YOU HAD NOT IMBIBED SO MUCH ALCOHOL LAST NIGHT...AND THE PREVIOUS NIGHT--"
"And you're my mother now?" Annoyance was now giving way to full-blown anger. "Listen, you useless remnant, spare me the lectures and just do what I tell you."
"I AM YOURS TO COMMAND, WARDEN."
"Then here's my command. Wake up the subjects and get them into lockdown. Make sure there's no way they can interfere with the new prisoner dropoff. And brew me three cups of our strongest coffee. The good, black-market Muluwashti stuff, do you hear me? None of that local swill. Leave that to the prisoners."
"TO HEAR IS TO OBEY, WARDEN."
And just like that, the Guardian was gone. Cal Merbyon looked down at himself - naked, aging, a drunkard, wracked with sloth. Twenty-five years ago, he'd still been determined to make something of himself. The Ataghan was a temporary reassignment, he said. Sure, he was out of favor, that nasty business with Adun Fathi, but he was talented and young. The Mancers would let him return to the fold, after he'd done his penance. That lie had lasted him a good five or six years, but it couldn't last. Like all illusions (or delusions), the Ataghan broke it down.
All the prisoners thought they'd get out too. Give it a year, give it five. Someone would remember them. Their followers, their countrymen, their friends, lovers, or soldiers. Nobody would let them remained locked up in this giant battery, being sucked of their life-force to power twinkling lights and lifts for the people of a tiny principality. But nobody ever came for them, either.
So he'd been trapped in here with them for twenty-five years. He had a window in his office - that was more than the prisoners had - and he had watched twenty-five years' worth of sunrises from the highest floor of the highest building ever built. And in those twenty-five years, he'd got two messages from his order, the people he had pledged his life to. (Well, they had taken his life, and so much more.) The first message was twenty-three years ago, and the second was six months ago. Both were exactly identical. They advised him that the Seekers were coming to transfer a new prisoner to the Ataghan. A new sacrifice. A new ceremonial offering. A new wretch who would waste away eternity locked in this ivory coffin, his wild talent harvested from him.
And they had left him in charge of this soul-sucking operation. You could see the distaste among the Mancers when they spoke of the Ataghan. Their eyes would light up when they discussed "the power", "the essence", "the energy", and all the magnificent wonders they could produce with it. But try to talk about how all that "power" and "energy" ended up the plaything of sorcerers (which was what the Mancers were, when you came down to it) and their lips would pucker and their eyes would turn away. Everyone knew that a crime was being committed here. They justified it and they slept at night - but there were times when their eyes, too, would be drawn to the Ataghan and they would wonder.
Merbyon sighed. There was no point in contemplating that. He had the rest of life to think about it, anyway. But now. Now, the Seekers were coming, them and their prisoner. He (or she; the Ataghan housed women subjects as well) would remain, but they'd walk away. And maybe they would whisper to each other about the old, hollow-eyed, depressed, broken man they saw on the inside. They'd shake their heads in dismay and mock commiseration, and they'd repeat the old adage with the appropriate gravity: "The lord of the prisoners is still a prisoner." And maybe that would be the end of it.
But maybe they'd talk.
Cal Merbyon's pudgy fingers fumbled at the top button of his only half-decent uniform. Time was short. They were almost here. And he still had friends on the outside; sure, he did. Maybe they'd talk. Maybe someone would remember him.
***
All but one player has confirmed. The game will start at precisely 10:00 am EST tomorrow, Monday, October 8th.
"...a talisman against all evil, so long as you obey me."
Merbyon made another futile attempt to slick back his hair with his hand. In a moment, the first free people to enter the Ataghan in twenty-three years would arrive. And now, after all these years of loneliness, hard drinking, and being forgotten completely, he found himself not ready. How would they judge him? Would they ever have heard of him? Would they care?
"WARDEN? I AWAIT YOUR COMMAND."
They were looking at him. The prisoners - subjects, in Mancer-ese - were staring, behind the glass walls. He'd had the Guardian place them behind force barriers, but he had no way to obscure their vision. Their eyes were on him (what else was there to look at? Most of them, in their decades or even centuries of captivity, had already memorized every detail of the Ataghan's foyer room.) The recent captures hadn't seen him since the day they were captured; the rest, not since the day he was assigned to this alabaster sky-dungeon. What did they see? A slovenly old fool, a time-serving hack? An object of hatred - their key-clattering captor, the man that kept them in thrall? Or, worse - and Merbyon could hardly even bare to contemplate this - did they look on him with pitying eyes, seeing him as another prisoner, a comrade in detention?
"WARDEN?"
"Yes, yes," he suddenly snapped. "Grant them permission."
Wordlessly, the Guardian obeyed. In the center of the Foyer, a pinprick of light appeared, widening and widening, until it was the size of a large door. Out of that light stepped three men. Two were clad in grey uniforms; the other, in Ataghan-white robes. The uniforms had hold of both of his arms. Their eyes met, Merbyon's and the prisoners. There, he only saw hatred. Obviously the Attendants had not found success with this one - but no matter. The Ataghan mellowed them all, with enough time.
"Be welcome to--" Merbyon began, but one of the Seekers cut him off. A young man, green-eyed and copper-skinned, the youthful shape of his mouth almost offensive in its liveliness.
"We are here on the authority of the Convention of the Mancers to deliver this subject, known as The Provocateur, into the custody of the Ataghan. We do this in the name of all citizens of Sarandar, that they might enjoy the prosperity and safety that the Mancers provide them, and...."
Merbyon knew the words. They were the same ritual, utterly correct words recited at him by the last Seekers, twenty-three years ago. This child with his petulant young looks, his baby fat scarcely gone - he probably wasn't even born the last time his colleagues brought a prisoner here. But here he was, large as life, ejecting the mantra of his order like so much undigested corn: swallowed whole, accepted as sustenance, and passed out unchanged. The prosperity and the safety of Sarandar? They were built on a monstrous, hateful lie, and nobody knew that better than that lie's keeper.
He held up a hand. "That will do." The Seeker broke off, looking distrustfully at him, and Merbyon was again acutely aware of the gazes that had settled over him from behind. The prisoners' gallery. Here was their entertainment. Something new. Someone new. They'd read all the books in the Ataghan's extensive library, memorized entire centuries of history, recited it back and forth at each other as a game, trying to see who would misstep and say an instead of the, or who would mispronounce the name of some long-dead Manabul warlord.
Merbyon looked at the new subject. A younger man, in his thirties, perhaps, with Sarandari coloration and facial features. "I wish to question the prisoner."
"The subject," said the first Seeker, the one who had spoken, "can be questioned at your leisure once we have transferred him to your custody."
"I am the Warden here," he began, and saw a quick look pass between the two Seekers. The look said all he needed to know. It said this old self-important fool. It said this disgraced pretender. It said they would never, ever talk. He sighed. "I am the Warden here, and I can question my subjects at any time I choose." He turned his face back to the prisoner's. "What is your name, subject?"
"Ahatnarayalatep," the prisoner replied, a smile on his face. Something was wrong. This man was about to be imprisoned here for the rest of time, and he was smiling.
"That isn't your name, subject," the other Seeker said roughly. "Answer when you're asked a question. Your name."
"Ahatnarayalatep!" he said again. Was that joy in his voice? "Obey me!"
Things were happening too fast. This made no sense. Merbyon's thoughts were coming too slowly, like Muluwashti swamp-skimmers drifting on gentle breezes. The Seekers were giving each other another meaningful look. They were reaching for weapons. The prisoners were starting to make noise. The Guardian's booming, comes-from-everywhere voice was saying something, but he couldn't make sense of it. It almost sounded like she was agreeing to obey the prisoner.
"Then here is my command," said the newcomer. The Provocateur was the name the Mancers had hung on him for the rest of his stay here. They'd certainly chosen right. "Kill the Seekers!"
"HEARING IS OBEYING," boomed the Guardian, and then lightning filled the air. What was happening? Electricity crackled through the foyer. Three forms danced spasmodically in the sparking, insane glow. Was this all a dream?
Then it was abruptly over, and the three were on the floor, their clothes smoking. Merbyon looked over and saw no expression on the Seekers' faces, their eyes staring into nothingness, but that prisoner, that damned subject, was still alive, and his eyes sparkled with high good humor. Those eyes frightened Merbyon to his core, and he ran for the safety of his office. One day...one hour...had it really been just ten minutes? It had undone the past twenty-five years. All those days, weeks, months of stagnation and silence had turned into raw chaos, and the Warden found himself wishing for the peace of the Ataghan again.
On the floor, Sami Thaer, the Provocateur, was dying. The Guardian had done his command, just as his backers in the Covenant had told him she would, but at the last second the Seekers had grabbed his arms, and when the lightning struck them, it coursed through him too. He could feel himself going. There was something he had to do, something he'd been trained to do, but his mind was cloudy and it was becoming more and more difficult to think. It had something to do with the Guardian. "Guardian," he tried to call out, but it was little more than a whisper. Yet she heard.
"YOUR COMMAND, OWNER OF THE POWER WORD?"
"I want to pass on my command. Give it to the subjects."
"YOU REALIZE YOU ONLY HAVE THE LESSER COMMAND? I CANNOT FREE YOUR ALLIES WITHOUT THE GREATER COMMAND. DO YOU HAVE THE GREATER POWER WORD?"
"No."
"YOU ONLY CONDEMN THEM TO UNCERTAINTY AND PERHAPS DOOM, THEN. ARE YOU SURE YOU WISH TO DO THIS? WOULD IT NOT BE BETTER TO LET THEM GO BACK TO THEIR SAFE, ORDERED LIVES?"
"No," he gasped out. "Freedom...or death. They deserve...better."
"SO BE IT. GO SAFELY INTO THE NEXT REALM, SUBJECT."
"THIS MAN KNEW THE WORD TO GAIN THE LESSER COMMAND OVER MY FACILITIES. HE IS DEAD NOW. BEFORE HE DIED, HE TURNED IT OVER TO ALL OF YOU."
"Now we can be free!" someone shouted spontaneously. There was instant intrigue. Others tried to shout him down. "We don't deserve freedom!" "The Attendants saved us!" "We're better off in here!" "This is for our own good!"
"IT MAKES NO DIFFERENCE TO ME IF YOU ARE FREE OR NOT," continued the Guardian. "I AM HERE TO SERVE, IF YOU CAN REACH CONSENSUS."
More mutterings and shouts. There was no consensus to be found. The majority of the prisoners had become used to their plight. They pitied themselves, but they understood it as well. They were taken care of here, fed, treated with care. Everyone they cared about on the outside was dead. In some cases, even their countries were gone, dust in the wind of history. They spoke languages that no-one else living might comprehend. They had memories that meant nothing to anyone else. And the Attendants - the propaganda corps of the Seekers - had done a thorough job with them, convincing them that they were dangerous to others, and that it was better for everyone if they were kept imprisoned.
But there were others who were part of a centuries-spanning conspiracy, a pact of freedom and of rebellion. They called themselves the Covenant, and they had carefully had themselves caught and imprisoned in the Ataghan, waiting for the day they could break themselves and their brothers and sisters free, and bring down the tyranny of the Mancers. Their day had come. It hadn't gone as planned so far, but they had no intention of letting it slip their grasp.
"IF I MIGHT OFFER A SUGGESTION - PERHAPS AN INQUEST AMONG YOU, DEDICATED TO ROOTING OUT THE PEOPLE RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS BREAK-IN, MIGHT PROVE PROFITABLE."
"And what happens when we find the ones responsible?"
"KILL THEM, OF COURSE," said the Guardian, voice neutral and considered as ever. "IT IS THE ONLY WAY TO BE SURE."
The prisoners looked at one another with new distrust. People they had known for centuries, had shared their entire lives with, had been holding back secrets! They were conspiring! They were dangerous! And as the prisoners looked deep inside themselves, asking if they were ready to kill to save - or destroy - this prison that held them all, they found that they were, after all.
Day 1 of Ataghan Mafia has begun.
With 21 alive, it's 11 to lynch.
The deadline is set for Monday, November 19th, at 11:00am EST.
"...a talisman against all evil, so long as you obey me."
Let the games begin
—Lazav
_______________________________________________
Mafia Stats
Summary:
Total Win %: 40%
Total Scum Win %: 60%
Total Town Win %: 20%
Total Neutral Win %: 0%
The Mentor has become the Mentee...maybe?
[card=Jace Beleren]Jace[/card] = Jace
Magic CompRules
Scry Rollover Popups for Google Chrome
The first rule of Cursecatcher is, You do not talk about Cursecatcher.
[card=Jace Beleren]Jace[/card] = Jace
Magic CompRules
Scry Rollover Popups for Google Chrome
The first rule of Cursecatcher is, You do not talk about Cursecatcher.
You broke it.
{Magic: The RPG}
—Lazav
_______________________________________________
Mafia Stats
Summary:
Total Win %: 40%
Total Scum Win %: 60%
Total Town Win %: 20%
Total Neutral Win %: 0%
Happy Birthday!
—Lazav
_______________________________________________
Mafia Stats
Summary:
Total Win %: 40%
Total Scum Win %: 60%
Total Town Win %: 20%
Total Neutral Win %: 0%
/barn
{Magic: The RPG}
And since I haven't played in a game in so long, I'm going to ask my standard question:
Does anyone here have a preference for what pronouns are used when referring to them? I know the standard is "he" and "him", but I'm pretty sure not all of us are male.
Okay when we string you up, you can hammer yourself.
fool me once, etc., etc....
I'm a dude.
My cube: http://cubetutor.com/viewcube/9981
It.
But I'm a Leafeon lover at heart.
Vote Asenion
Claiming to not know about the RVS? Obvious scum ploy.
Srsly: RVS=Random Voting Stage.
Basically, the start of a game is an excuse to do silly things and randomly vote until someone says something dramatic.
{Magic: The RPG}
Umbreon or go home IMO.
Also, @Arnnaria, I'm male, but I also don't get worked up if anyone messes that up. Doesn't particularly matter to me. And happy birthday =)
Vote Caex Kothar
Hey, stop bullying the newcomer you scumbag!
{Magic: The RPG}
Man, I want to be a freedom fighter, not a brainwashed drudge who thinks it's better to stay in prison.
What the heck am I even fighting for here.
Vote KosaKosa
Chainsaw defense of Asenion. 2 down, 2 left before I have whole mafia team pegged
—Lazav
_______________________________________________
Mafia Stats
Summary:
Total Win %: 40%
Total Scum Win %: 60%
Total Town Win %: 20%
Total Neutral Win %: 0%
Maybe I'm reading too much into the flavor, but you cannot rebel when you haven't come to a group consciousness.
I think this gives the flavor for the game mechanics.
Actually, I got the vibe that Zindabad is the Guardian...
I'd wager he meant the Warden.
It's probably a good bet that he's right, if that's the case.
{Magic: The RPG}
Not dead necessarily:
Whoever is the neutral definitely has some number of locks. What the unlock triggers are only the neutral knows.
Given that the neutral's win is a loss for both town and mafia the neutral is definitely more like an SK than a survivor this game.
I looked back in the sign-up thread for any sort of flavor references to Cehenna and couldn't find any. We basically have a name and nothing else so no help there.
[card=Jace Beleren]Jace[/card] = Jace
Magic CompRules
Scry Rollover Popups for Google Chrome
The first rule of Cursecatcher is, You do not talk about Cursecatcher.
Ha!
I'm a lady.
Experiments Series: #5 (Courtly Intrigue Mafia) | #4 (Drunken Tracker) | #3 (Big Red Button) - coming soon | #2 (Pope Mafia) | #1 (Iso's Inflammable Mafia)
Mini Games: MTGS Mafia Redux II (Invitational, Evil Mirror Universe) | Unreal City
Old Games (bad): The Greenwood Affair | Blood Moon Mafia
I understand that I am a danger to society. We've been here so long, there's nothing left for us out there.
Surely The Guardian is Zindabad/the moderator?
EBWOP: Super nath'd!
I don't like the cut of your gib, sir. You seem entirely too jumpy and nervy.
unvote, Vote SharkFinnigan
So there are only 4 scum in the game, eh?
Vote SharkFinnigan
Experiments Series: #5 (Courtly Intrigue Mafia) | #4 (Drunken Tracker) | #3 (Big Red Button) - coming soon | #2 (Pope Mafia) | #1 (Iso's Inflammable Mafia)
Mini Games: MTGS Mafia Redux II (Invitational, Evil Mirror Universe) | Unreal City
Old Games (bad): The Greenwood Affair | Blood Moon Mafia
You also have someone who is a student of mythology =)
The first thing that came to mind when I saw the word "Cehenna" was "Gehenna" -- see here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gehenna
If you want to be lazy, it could mean a couple of things. Acc. to the Hebrew Bible, it's where various cultists and apostates sacrificed children to their gods. In a bit more modern context, it's usually regarded as some variety of Hell or other.
What exactly this has to do with anything is beyond me, but I figured I'd contribute my knowledge =)
Nice to meet you. I've never had the pleasure of playing with you.
Well, screw that. You may be content with your miserable lot in life, but I was hoping for something actually worth fighting for. Who wants to "win" for the reward of staying in prison?
Vote: Ecophagy
(note: I quite like the story Zinda is telling. Quality stuff. I'm just annoyed about what side I am apparently on.)
How much of this is actual anger about a minute flavor technicality? In fact, you place a vote out of nowhere on someone who defended the flavor of the town. Is this a normal townie response?
You see, the way I'm reading your posts are: "GRRRR. I'm so angry that I'm town! Right y'all? I'm town!" The vote based on flavor disagreements combined with you harping on the flavor aspect (to prove you're so very town to us) really isn't sitting well with me.
Did it slip your mind that your vote was already on Ecophagy?
I agree with Ced: I want to hear from Shark before I add my opinion to this. I'd also like Shark to say who the other person is who he thinks is scum and why.
{Magic: The RPG}
Well, I don't know. How much "actual anger" are you reading into it?
No?
Does that help?
It came off as pretty angry for a minute flavor technicality. We all know how to play the game. Flavor is simply a window dressing.
Duly noted about the Ecophagy vote.
Yes, it does help.
Ah, I see. I've never played on mafiascum, so I was unaware of the term "chainsaw defense".
{Magic: The RPG}
You have over-read the anger part.
I do happen to like a good story though.
Oh boy, the tell of the century.
I will only stay with ced and
Will catch up on the thread itself later.
In less nostalgia-related news, I'm Taking note of the fact that there seem to be a lot of notable names in this game. Hoping that will keep this game from being a spamfest like other recent games have been.
Currently Playing:
GBStandard - Golgari Safari MidrangeBG
RBWModern - Mardu PyromancerWBR
RLegacy - Good Old Fashioned BurnR
Clan Contest 3 Mafia - Mafia Co-MVP
The sentence was that I would only stay with ced and Caex before voting not because I wanna hear more, but cus you gotta earn the first non-RVS vote. GOTTA EARN IT BRO.