Mid-Range Game 1: The Stormfather and The Nightwatcher

[Lightsworn Panda he/him]

Jain looked at the crowd from the top of yet another rooftop. A request for some breakfast had turned into a mini-riot for food. He had barely escaped the crush of people, scrabbling at the door with zombie-like mindlessness and determination. Peng must be having a hard breakfast. 

 

A man streaked down the street, screaming for help against some armed men that were chasing him. No one paid him any heed. Another man followed, battered and bleeding, also screaming for help. He was followed by a group of thugs, waving cudgels and a sword. No one paid the man any attention either. 

 

Jain sighed. Damsels in distresses were getting quite common these days. Stooping down, Jain picked up man's first weapon, the weapon used by Monkey 1 in retaliation when Monkey 2 pushed him, and the weapon that all humans used at some point in their life. More specifically, a rock. Even without a sling, a rock could be devastating if thrown correctly. Jain flicked the rock at the first man, catching him square in the middle of the head. He went down, and didn't get back up. The second one went down with a rock in his gut, the third with two in his chest and the fourth was already running away.

 

Both men barely gave Jain a glance, much less a thank-you, as they scrambled towards Peng's house and, with the strength of desperate and hungry men, supported by the mob, broke down Peng's door.

 

It'd be so funny if Brandon was reading this for Stones Unhallowed ideas.

[little wilson she/her]

If two worldsingers were to target the same person with the change vote ability, voting each a different person, what would the outcome be?

 

Whoever PM'd last would get the role-change. The reason is that the second Worldsinger came along after the first. Doesn't matter what the vote was initially. He's just changing the vote to what he wants.

[Ashiok]

Asphodel was still running from number 5...

Who was that man? He took three armed men down just by using rocks.

"Oi you! Thanks for the save. But you missed one. Little help here? He is pretty Storming fast! Can you teach me how to throw rocks like that?" He yelled at his mysterious savior

Edited June 5, 2014 by Ashiok

[jaelre he/him]

Whoever PM'd last would get the role-change. The reason is that the second Worldsinger came along after the first. Doesn't matter what the vote was initially. He's just changing the vote to what he wants.

And all actions processed chronologically? Or deaths are processed last? If so, what's the order of death actions and lynching?

Also, can you change a lynch vote?

 

Edit:F.e, ghostblood kills guard, guard has as "die on death" target player 1, player 1 is also the target of a lynch, would the guards death action be wasted? Or else, who would it be lynched?

Edited June 5, 2014 by jaelre

[little wilson she/her]

And all actions processed chronologically?

Not necessarily. It depends on the action.

 

Or deaths are processed last? If so, what's the order of death actions and lynching?

Yes, and they occur simultaneously. This is a riot, and riots tend to lack a bit in the whole "order" category. One or another, the person is dead. How they got to that state doesn't matter as much.

 

Also, can you change a lynch vote?

Yes. If you need to update your vote, and the rollover time hasn't passed, you can change your vote twice.

 

Edit:F.e, ghostblood kills guard, guard has as "die on death" target player 1, player 1 is also the target of a lynch, would the guards death action be wasted? Or else, who would it be lynched?

Is the guard's death action wasted? Technically, yes. That person would be dying with or without the guard choosing them. The guard doesn't get to pick anyone else and no additionally people will be lynched.

[Sart he/him]

Although Sarams was distracted by the delicious looking breakfast, he saw his rescuer being pursued by one of the bandits. It was the same man he tried to incapacitate earlier. He took his last gemstone, and chucked it at the attacker. It hit him right on the nose, and his neck snapped backwards with a sickening noise.

 

"Well... that wasn't exactly what I was planning." He went over, and picked up the gemstone. as well as some of the thrown rocks. "I think this gemstone is lucky. I'm going to call it Abu." The small man realized he was talking to himself, and remembered his rescuer. "Oh, um, I'm Sarams. I would love to thank you for rescuing me, but we should really go and get some breakfast while there's still time. I'm afraid the mob might eat it up." He hurried in, waiting for the club-wielder to follow him.

[Renegade he/him]

Rengar paced the marble floors, a bluish light cast upon the high-arched ceiling by the infused diamond broams mounted upon the walls.  Rengar knew he could steal those broams, and make a small fortune.  But what was a fortune worth when one was dead?  The spheres would do nothing but slow him down; besides, that was not what he was here for.  Rengar… wasn’t entirely sure what he was here for.  Chaos brought me here.  But what am I to do now?

i

Wait, a thought came into his mind.  Whose thoughts were those?  His or Chaos’s?  You must wait in here.  Rengar sighed, sitting in the large foyer and leaning up against one of the pristine white columns.  There were another nine columns in the same room, lined up 5 by 5, creating a terrible sense of symmetry.  Rengar snorted.  Vorinism.  One of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever heard of.  Symmetry and balance, order and perfection?  These are things people strive to be, yet are incapable of.  Just look outside.  They burn each other’s homes down, just for the sake of eye color.  That is the true way of humanity.  Not order and balance.  Chaos and destruction.  In the riots, he had actually begun to pick up a few converts to Chaosism.  I guess they’ve embraced their true selves.  Yet, Rengar felt a strange sense of melancholy.  I’ve seen so much death before, and I’m in the middle of it now.  What’s so wrong about it?  It is the way of men.  Killing and death.  Destruction and obliteration.

v

But he couldn’t take his mind off the boy he had rescued.  His large, frightened eyes looking into the depths of fire itself.  His frail body pointing to the arrow in the wall.  He had saved him from death.  Why did I do it?  Why did I risk my own life for the life of that boy?  That is not of Chaos, is it?  Rengar sighed, looking up at the high-vaulted ceiling, a double eye painted upon it.  Perhaps there is a way to use Chaos… to save others.  I do not have to be a murderer.  I can be a hero.

e

Rengar stood up, and immediately, the pair of large wooden doors opened.  “A message, sir,” a man said.  Rengar looked at the man quizzically.  He did not look familiar.

n

“Um… excellent,” Rengar replied.  The messenger gave Rengar a small sheet of paper.  It was blank.  “Um… What exactly is this?”

n

“Ah,” the messenger said, and brought a large wooden object out of his pack.  It expanded to become a small table.  The messenger placed the blank paper on the table, and brought out a pen with a red crystal within it.  The messenger placed the pen right atop the paper, and twisted the gem.

a

Words flowed from it.  A spanreed, Rengar thought in awe, looking at the device.  The pen moved, twisted, and spun with its own volition.  This is just as amazing as I thought it would be.  Rengar hadn’t ever seen a spanreed before, but he had heard of its astounding applications.  He thought that the devices were only myths.  Apparently he was wrong.

 

The pen stopped writing, and the messenger twisted the gem within the spanreed, and set it on the side of the table.  He picked up the paper and opened his mouth to read off of it.

Unto

“That’s okay,” Rengar said, smiling at the young man, “I can read it myself.”

death or

“You… you can read glyphs?” the messenger sputtered.

unto

Rengar nodded, and took the paper from the messenger.

glory.

   ga ,

 

 h    i   o  much  im    f , good f i  d.  W  mu   fo g  a  ia c    oo , o       w  wi   a   b  doom d.   h    v       h  ha d i  p a  i g  om  hi g, I ca  f    i .   h   igh wa ch  ,  h  i   h  k y…  h  i   h  k y…

 

---  h  B ok    pa    d.

 

Rengar blinked, looking at the paper.  What in Chaos’s name?

 

Anyone heard rumors of the Broken Spanreed?

[Ashiok]

Asphodel was pondering the trustworthiness of this Saram character.  The man had come back to save him, but had ran away when he didn't have another easy way out. Can't hurt to trust him for now. But he is a bit weird. He named his sphere Abu. 

"Breakfast?" He scoffed "I worked at a kitchen. I hid away enough supplies for a long time. I'm going to head back there now. Wanna come with? I made some waffles. Let me just try to find the guy who killed the other three. Maybe he wants to come along too."

Oh well. I'll trust him for now. What's the worst he can do? If I get enough people with me, I can actually do something.

Twirling his club like a spear, Asphodel walked off in search of his other savior.WHITE TEXT IS AWESOME

[Gamma Fiend he/him]

Magam sat hunched over a table, the darkened room illuminated by the dual uneven glow of his fire-lantern and the fires outside. The fires in town had so far been contained to certain sections of Kholinar, it's natural shape and stone structures preventing the flames from spreading too much. But the condensed layout of the streets, with all of it's crammed streets and criss-crossing alleyways, more than just heat and smoke poured from the engulfed quarters.

Even though it was only the Second Day into the riots, officially, Magam couldn't help but revel in the madness. He had once heard somebody say that 'Some men just want to watch the world burn.' And he had wholeheartedly disagreed with the statement. 'Not just some men,' he had replied. 'Just me.'

He sighed and sat up straight, cracking his back by twisting around in the chair. He had been reading in the dim, uneven light for hours now and felt nothing but frustration. He had been told that Jasnah Kholin was Roshar's greatest heretic and scientific thinker. She was revered and reviled for her staunch beliefs everywhere she went, and despite her firm rejections of Vorinism's teachings, had still maintained the respect to keep her a prominent figure in Alethi politics.

Needless to say he was disappointed when he had broken into her former quarters in th to 'borrow' her books and notes, and had found nothing but the same conclusions he had already made as a child. There was nothing insightful or expansive, just ramblings and rants against the church. He shook his head. When he had come across the section of her notes involving children's tales, he had been rather surprised. For someone to reject Vorinism and the Almighty, yet to spend their time and efforts pursuing myths about Voidbringers....
Maybe she wasn't as bright as some people said she was, Magam thought, laughing at his own pun.

"This was a waste of time," he declared, and reached over to his lantern, opening it up all the way to let the most amount of light out. But to also give the flame the most exposure. He ripped a page out of one of Jasnah's notebooks and twisted it up before holding it to the flame. The old parchment ignited immediately, and he tossed it onto a pile of loose pages he had gathered earlier.

He walked out of the room, hearing the whoosh of the fire as it jumped from the desk to the curtains hanging over by the nearby window. He could feel it's heat on his back as it spread.

At least the world will now be full of that derivative garbage, Magam thought gladly as he walked away, feeling a smile on his face for the first time all afternoon. At least the day wasn't a total waste.

 

[Lightsworn Panda he/him]

Jain watched the two men. They seemed to be pretty able to defend themselves. Indeed, one of them had broken a thug's neck with - oddly - a sphere. 

 

Jain jumped down from his ledge, landing behind the fellow with the club. Jain tapped Asphodel's shoulder and stepped back. As expected, Asphodel jumped, turned around and swung his club at Jain, who had stepped out of reach.

 

"Hold it there, my trigger-happy friend. I'm the person who saved you from the thugs. How about we take this to your home and discuss it while eating some of your admirable food that you've so helpfully stored up?" Amicitia?

[Sir Jerric he/him]

So sad how there's so little blue-text discussion.

If you want some blue text discussion, perhaps we could try estimating the number of cycles this game might last?

Jerrek maneuvered through another fire-gutted building, unconcerned with the irregular footing. A large beam shifted under him, and he rode the twisting wood until a flat shingle lined up for his next step. That slid down the side of the pile while he balanced on one foot. A small hop up unto the slab of a collapsed stair, two more steps to reach a hole in the far wall, and he was back in the sun and smoke, on a gently sloped roof.

The meeting had not gone particularly well. Too much tension, not enough leverage. The factions hovered around each other with knives poised. But where would the blades hit?

Jerrek paused at the end of a crumbled wall, spotting a corpse. A older man, the sides of his head greying. A short sword still caught in rigid fingers. The other shoulder looked broken. Stabbed in the back? Why leave the weapon behind? Had the man been important, once?

Jerrek figured no one would know. Kholinar looked more a crypt than a city. He'd had more sightings of the dead than of the living this day, and he knew that would only grow worse. Of course, avoiding the streets tended to bias that ratio, but he figured that joining the ranks of the dead would help no one.

[FeatherWriter she/her]

Whoa how did this get here? I don't even know. I just looked down and this 1600 word fic just typed itself I swear, I had nothing to do with it, don't look at me like that. I'm just gonna... leave this here. And run. Don't blame me. I am incapable of writing short fics.

 

Lyla crept around the large building, looking for a door loose enough to get into. She needed something to take her mind off of all this faction talk and she'd been meaning to accomplish this task since she'd first heard about what had happened. The people she'd teamed up with to try to put this city back to rights seemed, to be honest, the lesser of three evils, but she wasn't going to survive long on her own. There needed to be some kind unity if anyone was going to put this city back to rights.

 

She didn't trust them, not for a moment, but perhaps she didn't need to trust them to work with them.

 

For the moment, she put all the talk of strategy and planning out of her thoughts. Finally one of the doors she tried rattled beneath her hands, rather than the solid locks she'd felt from all the others. Planting her feet, she threw her shoulder against the weak door, easily breaking it open. There was a crash and the sound of splintering wood, but she didn't care. This place shouldn't have been locked up anyway.

 

The air tasted stale and dust motes floated in the late afternoon light. The sun from the skylights splashed across the open stone floor, beautiful columns carved at the bottom, leading up to the low dais of the king's Common Throne. Stark against the pale stone tiles was what she had come for: black glyphs and paragraphs of women's script.

 

The denunciation of Aesudan.

 

For a few minutes, she simply walked across the floor, marveling at the work as she read it. It was a masterpiece. The calligraphy was beautiful, with each glyph sculpted in a feminine style as they outlined the ten foolish attributes. The handwriting on the explanations was clean and precise, the rhetoric in the arguments straightforward and undeniably accurate. No wonder the People's Hall had been locked up. Aesudan couldn't have people reading such well written work speaking against her, could she?

 

Moving towards the bottom of the work, Lyla quickly found the attribution. "Sister Pai, Devotary of Denial." Bowing her head, she held a small moment of silence. Heralds protect you in the Tranquiline Halls, Sister Pai, she thought. Your work here will not be forgotten. I will see to that myself.

 

Opening her eyes, she pulled out the large pad of blank paper and her pen and ink from her bag. She kept her satchel under her cloak at all times, partially to keep it safe from the smoke and the rains when they came, and partially to protect it from the covetous eyes of thieves. She kept the belt around her waist hidden beneath the folds of the cloak for similar reasons.

 

She didn't know how much time she would have, so she quickly got to work, pacing back to the top of the glyphs. She sat carefully, copying Pai's glyphs and writing as precisely as possible. She even tried to emulate the handwriting in the arguments. The more perfectly she could document this work, the better. There were places on the ink where it was smeared or scuffed, but Lyla could still read and replicate it. Obviously the queen had tried to have someone scrub the message out, but in the chaos of the riots breaking out and with the difficulty of removing this ink, she apparently didn't have the manpower to spare for such a task.

 

All the better for Lyla then. Her satchel was filled with notebooks and journals documenting as many parts of the riots as she could. This was a time of the unknown, of misinformation, and of hectic frenzy. Much of what was happening here in this city would be lost, forgotten, or misremembered. But hopefully, thanks to her work, at least there would be some accurate resources. People needed to know what was happening here. The world needed to see. History needed to remember.

 

Especially with a document such as this one. Pai's condemnation was a work of art, and one which had cost her her life. Lyla felt as though she were walking across a message written in blood rather than ink. An artwork into which the artist had poured out her soul to the tiles to complete. Lyla hated every imprefection in her rendering, even the tiniest of discrepancies. A masterpiece like this deserved to be known in it's true form, not in the copy of a scholar who was more than likely out of her depth.

 

She had finished her initial rendering of the glyphs and text and started to pull out her sketchbooks to create a drawing of the glyphs in the context of the Hall. She wanted to capture how the message ran between the columns up to Common Throne, to show how it was arrayed within its environment, but heavy footsteps and shouts from the main door made her rise with haste. Two low-ranking lighteyed guards burst through the main doorway, drawing their swords as they saw her.

 

"You!" one shouted. His red and black hair revealed a partially Veden ancestry, but his unaccented Alethi hinted that he had probably lived in Alethkar for most of his life. "What are you doing in here? The People's Hall is off limits to all citizens by order of the queen! You're under arrest!"

 

Lyla took a deep breath as they approached, then reached to her belt. Both guards paused as she drew a simple, but well crafted sword from her sheath. After attempting to survive a night out on these streets, it had become apparent that she'd need more than a knife. Their eyes widened as she fell into Flamestance with perfect precision, blade held before her in her freehand, gloved safehand lightly touching the flat of the blade. She had always liked the one-handed femininity of Flamestance. Fighting was a masculine art, but the feminine arts were those which were one-handed. Surely if there was a stance for a woman, it would be one such as this.

 

She could see their hesitation, unsure what to make of a woman trained in the sword. She stepped lightly, keeping stance as they approached.

 

"Kholinar burns and tears itself asunder and her people slaughter each other in the streets," Lyla said harshly, "yet the queen sends her guards to keep watch on an empty locked-up building instead, lest the people see the truths written about her. I can see her priorities are as misguided as she is."

 

"Speaking against her majesty in such a way is treasonous, woman!" the streaked red-haired guard said.

 

Lyla gave him a mirthless smile. "And the Almighty knows there's nothing more important than wayward words for the guards of this city to be concerning themselves with, is there?"

 

As she spoke to him, his companion struck from the other side, apparently hoping she would be distracted by talking. She spun, catching his blade against hers and pressing him back with a flurry of strikes. He used a sloppy Windstance, as was common among Kholin guards, but he couldn't keep his form well enough to mount an effective defense. Under the harrowing flourishes of Lyla's Flamestance, he couldn't free his blade long enough to try any of the arcing sweeps for which his stance was designed.

 

A poorly timed thrust forward on his part let her slip her sword underneath his and with a quick twist and a painful sounding crack from his wrist, she disarmed him, feeling a surge of satisfaction as his blade flew through the air and clattered to the stones a few paces away. Slipping behind him as his partner approached from her other side, she placed the weaponless guard between herself and the other attacker, bringing her blade up to his neck. Thankfully, he paused, not wanting her to hurt his companion.

 

"Now," she said, breathing a bit heavily from the exertion, "you're going to walk out of here and leave me be. Once you're gone, I'll let him go, unharmed. There are children out there, dying in the panic. There are innocent people being murdered. Go find something actually helpful to do. If the queen won't save her people, it's up to people like us, people like you to make things right."

 

The man seemed uncertain, so Lyla pulled her blade closer to her hostage’s neck. “Go! If I wanted to kill him, I would have done it already. The only thing that’ll put him in danger is if you continue to come after me and interfere!”

 

The guard turned his blade, shifting stance as he tried to make his decision. Lyla held his eyes with a steady gaze until finally, he cursed and backed away toward the door. She waited until she could no longer hear his footsteps before shoving her captive away from her in the opposite direction of his sword. As he stumbled to catch his balance, she walked across the floor and picked up it up, sheathing her blade as she leveled his at him.

 

“You too,” she said, gesturing for the door.

 

“Y-you have my sword,” he said, pointing at it as though she wouldn’t know what he was talking about.

 

“You can find a new one," she snapped. "Ask to have another issued or something. I’m sure the queen can get one for you. Out!” She punctuated the word with a threatening thrust in his direction.

 

He scrambled to his feet, all but sprinting after his partner and leaving Lyla alone once more. She sighed in relief, letting her hand drop, then she looked down at the blade she’d gotten. Of good make, of course, as it was palace-issued. Perhaps she could sell it, get a good price. Almighty knew she could use some money to help her out.

 

For now, she simply carried it, trying to keep it somewhat hidden under her cloak. She looked up at the dusty beams of light. The sun had shifted. Her time for personal tasks was over. Time for her work with her allies to begin.

[Lightsworn Panda he/him]

Dayum, Feather. That was a LOOOONG RP.  Good one, too.  

[FeatherWriter she/her]

Heh, part of the problem is that I know Lyla very well since she's from another of my stories and so basically I stuck her on Roshar and she decided to go do things. I'm like "Lyla, you are in the middle of a mafia game and a bunch of riots, you're going to get yourself stabbed or something" and she was like "but helping people... and documenting history" and I was like "RIOTS LYLA" and she basically stuck her tongue out at me and said something like "you know Pai's glyph thing was one of your favorite parts of WoR, Feather, so I'm gonna go see it and you're gonna write it for me and you're gonna stop complaining" and I said "FINE on everything except for that last part because joke's on you Lyla I never stop complaining."

 

I don't control my characters, they control me. Help.

[Lightsworn Panda he/him]

It's too late, Feather. The characters are you now.

 

MWAHAHAHA

 

(cough)

 

Since when did Vedans work as guards?

[GreyPilgrim he/him]

Greyeh didn't know how she had ended up here, slumped at the end of an alley, searching desperately for breath, the bodies of two men lying motionless next to her. The events of the last day had all blurred into one. Running desperately from her pursuers, fighting occasionally, running more... Until she had ended up here, all alone.

She tried not to think of the atrocities she had committed since the riots had begun. Doing so would help nothing. Yet she found the more she avoided them, the more they haunted her. Visions of corpses, of blood and gore and swords and knives and spears... But none of these visions plagued her mind as much as those of her family.

Greyeh could still see the five men and women as they broke the door down, could remember watching her husband as he launched himself toward them with only a dagger as she huddled in the corner with their two children. She could remember the screams of the two men her husband had killed. And above theirs, she still in every moment heard his scream, and with it felt her heart ripped out of her body. The feeling had not left her yet.

She could remember Karn's voice as he in his little, squeaky voice had whispered into her ear, "Daddy's gonna get 'em, right Mama?"

Greyeh recalled the feeling as the tears left her eyes, the drops falling on her and her children, their own personal highstorm. She still felt the tears dig into her skin, setting it alight, the deepest wounds she had ever experienced.

The remaining man and two women had come into the corner, and Greyeh had clawed desperately at Karn as he wrenched himself away from her, playing the hero as their assailants cut him down without a second thought. She could see as his head rolled toward her, blood everywhere.

She remembered standing up to make a run for it, being slashed in the arm, causing her to drop her baby, her head jerking as it impacted the ground and as the last man stomped on it.

Greyeh had screamed, the sound tearing at her throat.

She had made her way around the remaining assailants, to her husband's body, had grabbed his dagger, and had launched herself back at the killers, and had worked through them.

Greyeh had lived that event every moment since it had occurred days ago. Her life since then had consisted almost entirely of those two minutes.

She could let it hold her down no more. Stretching, she stood up and made her way out of the alley, in search of somewhere possibly safe.

Sorry, that was a bit brutal. I didn't intend it to go that direction, but hey, let the characters drive the narrative.

I've been pretty busy the last couple days, but I will do me best to be more active from here on out.

[Kasimir he/him]

I'm guessing that the dearth of blue text at the moment is partly due to uncertainty, really. Still, with regard to the number of cycles, I don't think I'd care to make an estimate except to guess that once the deaths begin, the chull will hit the ceiling fan. The 28+ people comment seems to indicate that you can't swing a one-armed Herdazian in here without hitting someone with a role.

The riots had gone quiet for now. Perhaps they'd gone quiet for a long time. Kholinar simmered; rage a slow-burning undercurrent in a city that had seen flashfires of violence. It wouldn't last, Kasimar thought. Now, as he wandered the streets numbly, trying to work out his next course of action, he came across other people, many of them with the same frightened looks on their faces as they sized each other up. They didn't speak to each other. It seemed best.

There were looters as well; people scavenging the rubble and corpses for some spheres or some food. What for, Kasimar didn't know. He'd yet to see a store that was actually open. Even the bustling markets in the tradesman's quarter that had first stunned him with their colour and scale and noise when he'd first walked into Kholinar--they had fallen silent.

Ghosts, all of us, he thought. He found himself wondering if he would know if he was dead. He wasn't a very good Vorin. His mother had burned prayers to the Almighty and, as a child, he'd found himself tracing shapes in the smoke, trying to make sense of the dark strokes rather than turning away from them.

His stomach growled, correcting that thought, and Kasimar almost smiled. His shoulder still ached from where he'd scraped it raw against a building running away from a fierce-looking guard with his sword drawn. No, such worries and cares and pains were of the living.

He looked for food. Most of the remaining stores had already been raided by looters, but in a forgotten corner, Kasimar found a few bruised fruit, fallen to the ground, and left behind. He stared at them. They were bruised, juices running and mixing with the dirt, but...

He picked them up, trying to hide them in his shirt. Should he leave a sphere behind? He'd only a few left. Spheres seemed to be useless in this harsh new place Kholinar had become. Yet he felt guilty, somehow.

A large hand fell onto his shoulder, gripping it with the unmoveable strength of stone. He startled, and jerked, but could not get free. "I think," said the largest, strongest darkeyes Kasimar had ever seen, "You have something that belongs to me."

"I--" Kasimar struggled, but with the other hand, the darkeyes smiled, caught his arm and twisted it back. He cried out and staggered, spilling fruit, and then man bent down and picked them, one by one, not relenquishing his grip on Kasimar.

"I don't see a point in killing you," said the man, almost-conversationally, as he stowed the dirtied, muddied fruit in his pack. "But if you push me, I'll do so." Not a darkeyes, Kasimar thought. His eyes were a whitespine's; gleaming, ruthless. As his captor picked up the last fruit, Kasimar lashed out, twisting around and trying to hit something with his elbow and leg.

He hit something soft, and the man cursed. Then, a strong arm snaked around him and immobilised him. "Stupid," the darkeyes said, quietly. "I'll tell you something. In this city, there's only one thing that matters now. It's not food. It's not even your life. It's strength. And you're weak. It's nothing personal." A fist smashed into his head, and Kasimar gasped, arching in pain, his vision blurring.

He didn't feel the second blow. The darkness was neither gentle nor cruel; it simply came up upon him, all at once, and swept him away in the numb void of its being.?

Edited June 5, 2014 by Kasimir

[Wyrmhero he/him]

Now someone else has posted after Feather, I am more willing to post some RP myself

 

The most important thing to have in a riot, Heron reasoned, was a weapon.
 

He was a scholar, a thinker. Not the sort of person who had enough great feats of strength (or even strength of feet) to survive the ordeals of a city-wide riot. He'd probably be killed just for being able to read, come to think of it. Probably strung up by the more religiously minded people in the city.

 

The Ardents would probably try to take control of the city at some point as well, come to think of it, considering they started the riot (or rather, one of them did). People would probably forget that the Ardents were willing to help the queen maintain the city as it was, and look to them for guidance. That, or the Stormwardens, which would be rather amusing. He wondered if they'd predict that.

So, how's everyone doing?

There was nothing in his small house that could be used as a weapon, sadly. The closest he had was a knife that had seen better days from its service as a dining utensil. He could probably drop a heavy book on someone, come to think of it, but that would be rather hard considering his house was a single-floor building. And he doubted that they'd be willing to stand still while he tried to beat his attackers to death.

 

All in all, he was probably just best hiding away in here, making sure his house didn't look too appetising for looters, and trying to ride out the figurative Highstorm. Though, knowing his luck, he'd probably come back from a Highstorm to find his house stripped of the little that was worthwhile inside. He sighed. This was really not a good position for someone like him to be in. He needed to make some powerful friends, and fast.

Edited June 5, 2014 by Wyrmhero

[FeatherWriter she/her]

It's too late, Feather. The characters are you now.

 

MWAHAHAHA

 

(cough)

 

Since when did Vedans work as guards?

 

He's Alethi, just he's got a Veden ancestor somewhere back there. Lyla notes that his accent is Alethi when she hears him talk. If the heirs to the Kholin princedom possibly have a mother from Rira, I think a low-ranking guard can probably get away with some red Veden hair, right? 

 

Now someone else has posted after Feather, I am more willing to post some RP myself

 

Nooooo... I am not scary, I sweaaaar! I just write lots of things, that's all!

[Sphinx]

Nixi slipped through the streets, trying to steer away from the shouting, the clashing, the screams. Her freehand stung from where she'd scraped it on the cobbles when she'd tripped earlier. Everything, everything had been going so well, and then suddenly chaos. How could that ardent have done what she did? Surely, surely such an action went against all that was holy? But she'd been an ardent, and now the divisions were spreading rapidly.

 

I had something lengthy, went to post, and lost it all. So you get the redo of the first paragraph, because I need to post something. Teach me to not write things up in at least notepad first. Blaaaaaaaaaaaah.

[Ashiok]

Ok. Those two seem trustworthy. I am much better off now than I was yesterday. They won't betray me because I have the food codes.

"Ok. Your name is Sarcasm Sarams, right, I don't know Panda-man's name, but we can deal with that later. Anybody got any deep dark secrets? No? Good. Follow me."

Asphodel turned around and walked towards his stash. They can follow if they want to, or not. I can probably find other people if I need to, but I don't really want to.

 

Edit: Sarams= Sarcasm? Yay Auto Correct (should be in blue, but my tablet isn't letting me change colors)

Edited June 5, 2014 by Ashiok

[little wilson she/her]

Next batch of questions. Also, if you asked a question earlier and it hasn't been answered, I probably didn't see it. If you want to repeat it, I'll respond. Just make sure to put it in blue so it sticks out (I'm at work currently and don't have time to read in-depth all the RPs, so I'm mostly speed-reading those and focusing more on blue text). I don't want anyone to feel they got skipped over, questions-wise.

 

 

Could I get a clarification on what you meant about the Shamed Guard? My understanding is that if the Guard doesn't die, then his action ("If I die, kill X") has not been used. In that case, is it permissible for the Guard to say the next day, "If I die, kill Y"?

 

 

 

This is correct. I was referring to a situation where the Shamed Guard is killed that day. If the target he chose was already up for death, his action was essentially wasted, since that person would die with or without that. However, if the Shamed Guard doesn't die but words his action like that ("If I die, kill X"), it doesn't matter if person X dies. Shamed Guard does still have that ability, since it wasn't used. Make sense? 

 

 

How does the fake Voidbringer's 'seeing what he expects' work? If the Nobles fake Voidbringer has been told by another player that the latter is a Darkeyes, for instance, and then he searches the player, would he then see the player as a Darkeyes instead of random?

 

 

Good question. It's still a coin-toss. (The reason I use "cointoss" here is because it's 50-50 what the outcome will be. The fake Voidbringer knows the person isn't of their faction, so they won't see their faction. So it'll be one of the other two).

 

Can the Worldsinger cancel passive abilities? So for instance, if a Worldsinger hits the Steward, will he lose his immunity? Can the Freed Bridgeman's double vote be cancelled in such a way? What about if a Worldsinger cancels X's action, and another Worldsinger cancels the first Worldsinger's action? How will the actions be resolved?

 

 

 

Passive abilities like double lives cannot be canceled. I'm going to ask Rubix's opinion on the immunity, and then I'll follow-up on that part of the question. I'm inclined to say that yes, it would be, but don't quote me on that yet.

 

Silencing someone means they can't act or vote. So if the Worldsinger silences the Freed Bridgeman, the Bridgeman's vote doesn't count. As for a the vote change, it's both the votes, since while the Bridgeman has two votes, he doesn't cast twice. He casts once, but there's more power behind his vote (making it a double vote).

 

The Worldsinger silencing actions happen simultaneously and are the first to resolve. Therefore, if Worldsinger A silences a Ghostblood, the Ghostblood's kill doesn't happen. But if Worldsinger B silences Worldsinger A, the Ghostblood is free to make that kill (and he would never even know there was a chance he wouldn't have been able to).

 

 

If we have successfully spooked the spying Sharders in our document, can the loyal Sharders reveal themselves or reveal information without reprisal, as they haven't been responsible for betraying their brethren?

 

 

The Sharders are free to reveal themselves whenever they choose to. They just can't reveal their alignment (or other Sharders). But if you know the two spying ones have been spooked, and someone comes forward saying they're a Sharder, logic tells you they must be loyal (unless it's someone actually on your team lying to you....).

[Macen he/him]

Ok. Those two seem trustworthy. I am much better off now than I was yesterday. They won't betray me because I have the food codes.

"Ok. Your name is Sarcasm Sarams, right, I don't know Panda-man's name, but we can deal with that later. Anybody got any deep dark secrets? No? Good. Follow me."

Asphodel turned around and walked towards his stash. They can follow if they want to, or not. I can probably find other people if I need to, but I don't really want to.

 

Edit: Sarams= Sarcasm? Yay Auto Correct (should be in blue, but my tablet isn't letting me change colors)

The Trick to this is using the [*color=blue][/color] tags (Minus the *). I used to have the same problem.

*EDIT* Wilson, I'm trying to send in my commands, but I can't find a list of the players anywhere. Can we get a list on the main post of the main thread? That way I don't spell people's Character names wrong.

Edited June 5, 2014 by Macen

[luckat she/her]

Lucy made her way back to her home amid the sound of fighting and scent of death. She tried not to look at the bodies that surrounded her, while trying to be alert for any dangers at the same time. It was difficult.

Her meeting had been relatively successful–well, at least the people she had met with hadn’t killed her yet. She wasn’t sure whether she was surprised or not. They had the same goals as her, but with the insanity of the riots, she wasn’t sure how well any alliance would hold up. Hopefully their company would be some form of protection.

She saw movement out of the corner of her eye. Was that an enemy about to attack? No, it was rotspren crawling over a body.

Lucy shuddered and stepped away, trying not to breathe in too deeply. It was awful how the streets were getting. The evidence of the riots lay out in plain sight with no chance of being cleared, and fewer and fewer people alive to see it. Few people even seemed to care anymore. Most of those left were the murderers.

[little wilson she/her]

*EDIT* Wilson, I'm trying to send in my commands, but I can't find a list of the players anywhere. Can we get a list on the main post of the main thread? That way I don't spell people's Character names wrong.

 

That wasn't put in? *sigh* I'll go edit the first post on the main thread to include the player list I made last week...not sure how it didn't get added in there. Sorry about that.