Long Game 74: You Want It Darker

[Quivil she/her]

1 minute ago, The Young Pyromancer said:

>INB4 the Spiked kill Matrim to lower the village's morale

Don't anybody dare kill Matrim! Or I will hunt you down! With my flashlight! !

Also, all you lurchers out there! Matrim needs your help!

(what does INB4 mean?)

[Mat he/him]

38 minutes ago, Tani said:

(what does INB4 mean?)

I could be wrong, but I think it just literally means 'in before'.

• in -> IN
• before -> B4

Like, 'Let the record show I'm saying this before it happens' or something  

[Kasimir he/him]

Alright, so I've probably cleared my backlog, so here are the main clarification updates:

• Are there any circumstances under which a Rioter's vote does not disappear?

As mentioned, if a Rioter has been Smoked, or if a Rioter failed to vote.

• How do you determine a Mistborn's metals for the cycle?

I'm aiming to stay consistent with Meta's rulings, so as Meta did, I roll a d10 - 9 and 10 means I reroll, and if I land on any metals the Mistborn previously drew, I'll reroll once, so this slightly weights them in favour of getting new metals. Once they've gone through all 8, I repeat.

[Ashbringer he/him]

Quote

Roko the Basilisk stared at 'Derrick', pondering the nature of masks. This was the kandra it had known, but also not. The porcelain had sunk into the flesh and burned its visage upon the bones. Something new, something old, something different. This entity was interesting. It pulled out a small metal orb from a pocket and handed it to Derrick before slipping back into the shadows. That was a risk, a danger, but perhaps worth the cost, if it could just see... If it could just know the inner workings of this new thing that walked the earth. "An offering," it said calmly, holding itself still lest the humming of its circuits reveal the anticipation crawling within the flesh it wore. "Traverse the corridors of madness and you will always be free."

It left, the loss of the bauble weighing on its mind, the snake of paranoia coiling around its throat with fangs brushing over the vulnerable places. But if the gamble paid off... If this profited, then perhaps the loss of the town would not be a net deficit.

Derrick watched the lizard go.

"No, Roko's not a lizard. Not a lizard... something like the serfant... basilisk! Lost the word there for a second... unimportant. But... this..."

Derrick clutched the orb. The... bead? It was metal. That was enough to trigger the old remembrances of Derrick, the search, the future, the benevolent endowment... no, not Endowment, endowment. Endowment. Like honor and Honor and honour, and sometimes Hunor. 

Was this mystery one to be solved now, get a peak into the inner workings of the Basilask? Derrick thought he had a good idea of what that could be, if he remembered his prehistory correctly. He didn't, usually, but it could have be. But this trinket... could be what he thought it was, of astronomical value. Could be much more than astronomical, but why Roko would have that Derrick had no idea, much less why it would be given unto him. Could be just a means. Derrick had no way to know, and asking would likely beg for unheard ears to listen in. So, Derrick decided to do what he always did with small items of value - he swallowed it. It should be safe there, even if a normal digestive system would ruin or be ruined by whatever it was. It wouldn't be in the digestive system very long, anyway; how Derrick usually did it it never entered there in the first place, but he'd found doing that spread the... wrong rumors. Derrick had a reputation to maintain, you see.

"Traverse the corridors of madness and you will always be free..." he murmered. "Derrick, what think you of that? Madness has its advantages. A certain drive, a certain ignorability, a certain... near-invulnerability. 'Poor Mad Derrick', they say. 'Poor Bone Collector', they said, and see how that turned out for them. Heh! Derrick gets a certain view, does he not... but, madness does have some limits, does it not... blast this rusting town and this rusting planet!" He fell to his knees, face distorting as he raised his fists to the sky.

"This isn't Derrick anymore, is it?" he whispered out of one half of his mouth.

The other continued, unabated. "Why have you left me here! WHY! WHY HERE AND WHY NOW!"

"Derrick knows why... but Derrick mustn't tell, mustn't he. And yet... Derrick... must know..."

He shuddered, then uttered a single "no".

Derrick looked around. The exchange, the outburst. Both should be hidden. Roko knew of the first, and was likely in earshot of the second. It had happened in the village grounds, which meant Philico already knew. No preventing that, although the shifter was unlikely to act upon it; his portrayal was good, but it lacked the non-culpability that Derrick had. Philico. Hmph. Derrick would need to pay him a visit. He could use a good story. Who else... it was impossible to know. Well, not here. He didn't want to use that, not yet. Derrick knew, which could be problematic. Kast and Wyl, they would likely hear tale of the sounds. Derrick doubted they knew of the reasons, though. Unless he had... told, them? It was so hard to remember... so hard to think when one's thoughts are jumbled through the uncanny view.

He could feel another scream coming. One that would be far more dangerous. He'd been alright for now but he could rusting feel the staring. Oh... the staring.

No, the corridors of madness were not freedom. Not for Derrick. Not when every inch, every outburst, every crazed detail had to be set to perfection, to avoid what had just happened. They were close. And yet the for all the doors in the world, Derrick lacked a key. Perhaps that was what Roko had meant. Derrick needed a key. This? Perhaps a key, perhaps not. He'd barely looked. He didn't have time. It was driving him... driving him mad.

He let a single whisper escape his lips. "Why have you forsaken me..."

It's hard to pretend to be mad, you see.

It ends up being real.

[The Windrunner Supreme he/him]

Hello. I really wanted to get some thoughts done so far, but it's late, and I still have like 2 pages left to analyze  (thats only day 1 so far ).

I should be able to add that here tomorrow

[Kasimir he/him]

Reminder that this absurdly long night ends in two hours. I am also reasonably well again or at least in recovery and stand ready to do my job.

[Fifth Scholar he/him]

Glad you’re feeling better, Kas!  

To the rest of y’all: sorry for the radio silence. This week’s been very busy (writing this currently as I eat), and the weekend doesn’t look any easier, so I’ve been mainly responding to PMs during the Night turns, though I’m still reading the thread and trying to form what opinions I can.  If you have specific questions, @‘ing me is going to be the easiest way I’ll see it if you want a public response. Otherwise, I’m still happy to talk in PMs even if I rarely start them  

[STINK he/him]

59 minutes ago, Fifth Scholar said:

If you have specific questions, @‘ing me is going to be the easiest way

@Fifth Scholar whatcha eating

[Fifth Scholar he/him]

14 minutes ago, STINK said:

@Fifth Scholar whatcha eating

Nothing now, though I was having eggs and cereal. Don't measure up to the delicious Scadrian waffles you're advertised as making, though  

[Kasimir he/him]

8 minutes ago, Fifth Scholar said:

Nothing now, though I was having eggs and cereal. Don't measure up to the delicious Scadrian waffles you're advertised as making, though  

Both of these sound delicious. I am an angsty 11PM Kas who can't have these but I do have tofu so I guess I'm just snacking on tofu.

Also, the Turn is endlich closed so stoppeth thy posting and PMing, you know the drill, boarding stations! 

[Kasimir he/him]

Day Three: Lost Stars

“God, tell us the reason youth is wasted on the young
It’s hunting season and the lambs are on the run
Searching for meaning
But are we all lost stars, trying to light up the dark?”

—’Lost Stars’, Adam Levine/Keira Knightley

Far as I could tell, Kast was out of it.

Passed out stone dead on the old sofa. Probably could’ve had a gang fight break out in the office and he wouldn’t have noticed a thing. I thought of prodding him, but figured he could use the rest. Stubborn bastard doesn’t seem to believe in sleep, the way most normal folks do. Ain’t natural, but what can you do? I work my share of late nights, as you do in this line of work, but that’s just this life being a pain in the arse. 

Honestly, it might’ve been for the better. See, the way I saw it, what with the spikes and the rogue Coinshot at work, there was a lot of murkiness right now. I didn’t like that. Too many things coming up out of nowhere, as far as these cases were concerned. I knew they were connected, but it ground my gears that I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how. Felt a bit like I was poking around blindly in the dark, trying to shed even a little light. Of course, that’s what it’s like a lot of times in this line of work. You draw a few diagrams, connect a few threads, and figure out what leads to chase down and ask some questions. Or you keep your ear to the ground. You never know what’s going to be your next break in the case. And sometimes, that break never really comes, and then you’re staring at a case gone colder than the tea they served back at the precinct.

God, that was some awful tea. Still sets my teeth on edge, thinking about it. Was the colour of the canal water before dredging, and tasted half as filthy, too. Used to be, we’d get one of the runners to go down to the shops and pick up a round of tea with the baywraps. Sometimes, I’d do it myself. It’s good to go have a walk, stretch your legs a bit while trying to make progress on your latest caseload. 

...Don’t ask me how I know what canal water tastes like.

At any rate, I could’ve used Kast working the cases as well, but a tired investigator makes mistakes. In Tremredare, we learned there are times you need to keep working even though you’re dead on your feet, because time matters, and if you’re too slow, the perp gets away, or the vic’s dead. And there are times you need to call it a day and just clock out, because you aren’t going to be doing anybody at all a lick of good by staying put and running over the same old ground, hour after hour.

I reckoned this was one of those times. And—though I hated to admit it, because it’s never the case investigators work better alone, and we had a whole team back in the precinct for a reason—I felt like getting to work without Kast would do me some good. Wasn’t that I doubted him, not exactly, but the spikes and the rogue Coinshot had me worried. And with Kast dead to the world right now, I’d know that if anything went down tonight, he couldn’t have been involved. Occam’s Razor and all that. Of course, sometimes there really is a second shooter. And sometimes you cut yourself, shaving in the dark.

Still, I could do with a smoke, and a think. Some of it had to do with the events of the day. I was troubled by the way Variel had died. The way that fear, that hostility, and all those other darker instincts of human nature had surged in Fallion’s Tears and had the villagers turning on him. Truth to be told, some of that was worry for us. I figured if they were stringing up strangers, or looking to do so, Kast and I would be next. Little wonder they’d have gotten to that point, if Erik and the newly-minted volunteers of the militia hadn’t intervened. Seven years is the blink of an eye, in a place like Fallion’s Tears, and I wasn’t interested in dancing the hemp fandango. 

Mayor Wilson talked to me, asked me if I’d be interested in joining up. I thought about it. She told me to take my time, but I figured I wasn’t the sort of guy to go back to taking orders and giving them. I don’t really handle authority and all that structure well, which is probably ironic if you think about how much of my work involves making sure the law matters. Too much time since I’d been that man, back in Tremredare, and look at how well that ended up. 

“Why aren’t you asking Kast?” I wanted to know.

“I think if you agreed, he would too,” said the Mayor, and I suppose I couldn’t disagree with that. “And if I asked him straight up, he’d probably say no.” Which just goes to show at least one of us is pretty damned predictable, I guess.

I hadn’t liked the way Variel had died either, though I supposed there was no help for it. Back in the precinct, they always warn you about the desperate ones. Corner a rat, and he’ll fight. Last thing you want is to push a suspect into a corner and make them feel desperate enough and watch them come at you with every last thing they have. Of course, we’d been talking before that, and I figured it was just a friendly interview, but in the end, I’d really rather my business partner stay alive, so that was that.

Best I could figure, he was another name on the list of people I owed it to to crack this case right open. Leas Fel, Bart, Lasalen, and now Variel. I didn’t know where Niru or that bystander who got attacked fit in just yet, but I was determined to work that out.

Ain’t no point in burying your head in the past, not when there’s work to be done. There’s only one way we have to go, and that’s forwards. My next best set of leads meant I needed to chase down the metallurgists in the village, see what I could get out of them. So I got my hat and my coat. I hesitated over the weighted vest. Hadn’t worn one in a long time since training, but you take what advantage you can get. Even if I was getting old. Vest went on, and I picked up the dueling cane. Wasn’t much for dueling, not the way Kast had been, but a cane is a fairly simple weapon and you can’t really mess it up much. Between that and my iron vials, I figured I was more or less set for anyone I might encounter.

Then I went to have a chat with Tesse Mourn and Dayle Palladiel, see what I could turn up.

 

Tesse Mourn was out.

Wyl rapped on the store door a couple times but got no response. As far as he could see, the whole place was dark, just as the apartment above was. He frowned. Strange time to be out and about, though maybe Mourn was taking the chance to run some errands. Maybe being one of the resident metallurgists in Fallion’s Tears left her with little time, though that thought rang false. He couldn’t see how a metallurgist would be kept busy, not with the likely small number of Mistings in a quiet village like this.

Someone cracked the neighbouring door open. “What’re you after?” asked a cheerful old man, with a curious glint in his eye. Wyl recognised him by reputation: Willie, one of the older residents of Fallion’s Tears, who never found any sort of business he wouldn’t poke his nose into. “Surely you ain’t thinking one of us did it, are you?”

“No,” Wyl shook his head. “Just here to ask some questions.”

“Looking for Tesse then? Tesse’s a good girl, just a little...odd.” 

“Doesn’t appear to be in.”

Willie cackled. “She goes out at night, a lot. Never on the same day, and always at different timings. Always with that small satchel, or a bundle of hers.”

That caught Wyl’s interest. “Huh,” he said. “She look worried, then?”

“Often enough,” Willie replied. “Not really sure why—she seems to be doing good business, lately. Better than normal, even.”

“Lots of customers?”

“No, but you can see smoke from the shop,” said Willie. “Deliveries of ingots, too. Don’t think even a Mourn has that sort of money to throw on experimentation!” He cackled, mostly to himself. “Not like Lasalen. You know they used to hold illegal cage matches where they made ducks dance to the worst music?”

It wasn’t something Wyl had known, or had really wanted to know.

“Won enough money in one of them that day,” Willie continued. “Paid off Arenta for good! Ah, the ducks were kind to me that day…”

“Nothing slips by you, does it? Any idea if Leas Fel ever came to her?” Wyl asked. Even if Tesse was closed-mouthed about her customers, perhaps Willie might’ve seen something. He certainly seemed to have no compunctions about sharing what he knew. Wyl fully intended to take advantage of that.

Willie shook his head, and then hesitated. “Once,” he said, frowning as he tried to recall. “Wasn’t about the metals, though, I don’t think. He had a sword with him. Tesse does metalwork on the side, you know. Not just the ones the Mistings swallow. Otherwise, I’ve never seen him around.”

Wyl took that in thoughtfully. Most people in Fallion’s Tears took metalwork that needed doing to Edgar, the blacksmith. But it made sense that Tesse did some metalwork on the side. You had to have some of the skills, when you spent your time refining and alloying metals to the exact degree of precision needed so that Allomancers didn’t fall sick trying to burn them. Maybe she liked it. Or maybe she needed the extra boxings. Edgar’s queue was always full up, and he was always complaining there was more work to be done than hands that could do it.

Or maybe there was something else there. His instincts said the deviation mattered, which meant he really needed to talk to Tesse Mourn.

“What about Bart, seen him?”

“Couple times,” Willie said, with a shrug. “He gets his metals from her. Always said you can’t do better than a Mourn if you want pure metals that won’t get you sick.”

Wyl nodded, contemplatively. There was at least a link between Bart and Leas Fel, then, in the person of Tesse Mourn. That was a bit better than what they had to go on, previously.

“You looking for her, then?” Willie asked, as the silence stretched on out.

“Like I said, I just have some questions to ask her.”

“Like those you asked Variel?”

There was a hint there, almost an accusation. Wyl’d killed with his metal and he expected he’d go on killing, when he had to. Sometimes, life just didn’t give you this much of a choice. He’d held against it the lists of cases cracked, lives saved. Sometimes, it weighed up. And sometimes you were just a bitter old man out in the night, trying to ask the questions that needed to be asked.

“I just asked him questions,” Wyl replied. “He felt he didn’t have much choice.” 

“Say that a lot, do you?”

“Been in a few scraps, and yeah, it starts to feel that way,” Wyl said. He didn’t invite further conversation, and after a few more inarticulate grunts, Willie got the point and withdrew into the darkness of his own lodgings.

He lit his pipe, and settled in for a while. The night was young, and he could afford to wait for Tesse Mourn to return.

 

Hours ticked past. Tesse Mourn did not return.

Wyl clicked open his pocket watch and grunted irritably. It looked like getting ahold of Tesse Mourn this night was a wash. The symbol of the Tremredare Watch glinted on the battered face as he clicked it shut again and shoved it into a coat pocket. Sometimes, you just had to accept it was a dead end.

He stamped about a bit to get the numbness out of his legs and headed off for Dayle Palladiel’s metallurgist shop instead. Odd woman, Palladiel. Shut herself in with her books and her metals. Wasn’t much of a conversationalist, either, though Wyl liked to think they had a decent working relationship, if only because he bought metals from her.

Maybe she’d have an answer for him on the rogue Coinshot angle. He could only hope, really.

He crossed the village square, keeping his eyes open. There was—some people had scribbled graffiti on the walls of the local watering hole again, and Wyl sighed with exasperation. Sure, probably wasn’t illegal. The local ordinances against graffiti in Tremredare had always been precinct-based, and seen more as nuisance laws than anything. With enough stabbings, thefts, assaults, and robberies, you just didn’t have energy to give a damn about someone’s daubings on someone else’s storefront, unless it was moneylender harassment, which always had the potential to escalate. Still, he felt bad for Sara, he supposed. Poor woman had enough on her mind, no doubt. Didn’t need the hassle of removing ever more graffiti from the walls of The Steel Crow.

And that random bystander, she’d been attacked outside the Crow. Made Wyl frown, really, to think that a woman wasn’t safe in Fallion’s Tears, not even leaving the tavern. That was the state of things now, especially if they didn’t put a stop to the murders soon.

There was a scream.

Another scream, tearing through the night that blanketed Fallion’s Tears, and the swirling mists.

Wyl cursed, and ran for it.

Fool he, to go running in the direction of danger. But he was better armed, today. And it was what he did. Couldn’t live with himself if he’d done anything else, really, without seeing if he could go help. 

This time, he burned iron, even as he ran. Immediately, the tracery of blue lines flared to life, which was good enough for him—he yanked at a wrought-iron sign, sending himself speeding upwards and in the direction of the screaming.

Moving quickly was always more difficult as a Lurcher, and as much as he hated to admit it, Wyl was starting to feel his years. Easier with Coinshots, who could often slow their fall with a dropped clip, or push off of one. Most Lurchers were clumsier—they just burned iron and pulled themselves right at things.

Wyl had never liked clumsiness.

He didn’t quite soar through the night, but he made good progress, Ironpulling on various metal structures. It was amazing how many nails there were in Fallion’s Tears, driven into wood and stone solidly enough that Wyl could trust them to hold up as he Lurched towards them.

Coins whipped through the night, and Wyl slapped them aside with his Lurching. People often thought iron was less versatile, and it was partially true. Pulling things meant you had to be more precise. Any Coinshot could deflect coins. A Lurcher had to pull them away, preferably embed them in a wooden shield, something that it would be difficult to extricate them from. Those that headed right at him, he pulled to both sides of him, wincing as they bounced off the flagstones. He’d have been giving the rogue Coinshot more to work with, if he didn’t get rid of the coins as soon as he could.

But tonight, it seemed the Coinshot had company. Unfriendly company.

Another shower of coins whipped towards the Coinshot, who deflected them in all directions. Wyl dodged those that came his way and tried to take in the situation. There had been a scream, hadn’t there?

He saw the prone body of Pie Roayong, lying on the ground in a pool of blood. Bent over him, as if to shield him, was Thiriel. Wyl hadn’t a good opinion of Thiriel—he knew the type: spineless social climber, the sort you found licking the Herons’s boots in Tremredare. Word was that Thiriel had been putting out feelers, trying to support both the Lord Ruler and the skaa rebellion, which was pretty smart on his part, if downright unsavoury. 

Thiriel hadn’t been killed by the Coinshots, though. Best as Wyl could tell, there was a blue line going right to Thiriel’s back, and unless he missed his guess, Thiriel had been knifed.

Or killed by another spike, he supposed. He wasn’t wandering into a two-way steel fight just to figure it out at the moment.

Lord Ruler, Wyl thought, glancing at Pie Roayong’s body. Dead only two days after his adopted father had died. What sort of screwed up world did this to a kid, really?

In a kinder world, a better world, Pie Roayong wouldn’t have needed to bury his father, let alone join him in the grave.

He felt the anger burn within him again, harsh and uncompromising. 

Wyl welcomed it.

The two Coinshots were backing off. Maybe they hadn’t expected so many Mistings to be out on this particular night. He thought of calling out a caution, but hesitated. Last thing he needed was for them to team up against him without any backup.

Goddamnit, this was when he missed having Kast around. Both of them together, even with Kast’s game leg, he’d have put good odds on them stopping the Coinshots. But it was just him, and Wyl knew better than to try heroics at a time like this.

He kept his metal on, even as the Coinshots departed and went over to the two dead men. It would give him early warning, if either of the Coinshots decided to return for round two.

There was a third body, one that Wyl hadn’t noticed earlier. Probably the fact he’d gone in the middle of a live steel fight was throwing him off. That, and the opacity of the night mists.

He knelt by it. Multiple wounds, consistent with the bloodied coins that lay strewn on the ground. It was Shard, he realised. Lots of the village regarded him as the crazy kid in town, though Wyl knew it was a facade. Shard asked way too many questions and listened way too much. Question was, who was he reporting to? Had it been some kind of grudge killing?

He stood up and drew in a long breath. He’d been up all night, it seemed. He was tired, and the first light was beginning to steal over Fallion’s Tears, bathing the village square in blood.

All these damned killings were going to end, one way or another. Wyl didn’t care how, but he would see them stopped, or he would die trying.

You didn’t just whack someone. Not without consequences. Not in Tremredare, and Wyl wasn’t about to let them start in Fallion’s Tears.

 

 

The Young Pyromancer was a Regular Villager!

The Young Bard was a Village Lurcher!

Experience was a Village Rioter!

The Day has begun and will end on 7th March at 2300hrs SGT (GMT+8)! PMs remain open!

The Writing on the Walls of the Crow:

Spoiler

Tick Tock                            Clock?    A timer...       Time passes...

it passes...         Danger         Night night, full of fright...       Spite              Hello!

Friends!                   They speak....No. He does. Hello!             Hello Hi Hi Hi

Company!   Beware.  Friendships!      Deceit.  Not alone not alone!

 

Oh.   sigh  A new friend.      Hello again! 

Will you tire of me I wonder

Alike alike!              No.... We cannot know this                Hope.

Pathetic. You know better.

Friend.

 

I help!  Fool.  Together.              Partnership

You can't even help yourself.

We smile at you all! We offer friendship!

 

Request! We listen! 

Find us. 

One knows us.

He doesn't know us.

 

 

and

Spoiler

Heyo :thonk: welp any ideas people?4Circles and circles and circles are going crazy.

Maybe we'll win? Are there good suspicions? We need to get something good here. 

Here, spiked, spiked, spiked. Come to us and let us put you out of misery

Ye ix fzfwcegniepxy bsp tezz zr aopd
Zo tzysez zyxy i nznbtpc

 

Edited March 5, 2021 by Kasimir

[Kasimir he/him]

Player List:

Spoiler

1. @Matrim's Dice as Philico, the Magician Extraordinaire! - Come one, come all!
2. Random Bystander as the village's random bystander and musician, a Regular Villager
3. @Gears as Roko the Basilisk, the gambling menace - Building a house of cards
4. @Quintessential as Tesse Mourn, resident metallurgist - Mixologist but metal
5. @Fifth Scholar as Iste Confessor, village scholar - I confess I'm interested in this one
6. @Shard of Reading as Joe, gambling duck wrangler who drinks - I'd be driven to drink too if I had to wrangle ducks 
7. @Araris Valerian as Arenta, grumpy landlady - or the unholy conglomeration of AG Araris and Ren, tremble with fear ye tenants!
8. @Dannex as Dr. Aliker - A doctor, just probably not the one you're looking for
9. @Elandera as a confused and overworked metallurgist - Whose order is it anyway?
10. @Ashbringer as Derrick, general madman and secret kandra - Twice the pride, double the fall!
11. @TJ Shade as Fleur Tieste, hopeless romantic and god of cheesy one-liners - Are you a Lurcher? 'Cause I think I'm pulled towards you.
12. @Illwei - definitely not an Elantrian
13. @Devotary of Spontaneity as Sonnah Cojic, alchemist - But probably not full metal
14. Experience as Shard, the crazy 'kid' in town, a Village Rioter
15. @Mailliw73 as Marll, a gambling cobbler who heard of Tyrian Falls - Beware beetles!
16. StrikerEZ as Variel, a fastidious storyteller, a Regular Villager
17. @The Unknown Order as Obliteration, a Shard inhabiting one of his followers - Guess you could use somebody
18. @The Windrunner Supreme as Merritt Cavallo - Pending
19. Ventyl as Niru, a watcher of ashes, a Village Smoker
20. Flyingbooks as Lasalen, a Regular Villager
21. @Burnt Spaghetti as Roseanna Ghetti, an insomniac artist - But what is there to art in this village but an infinity of ducks?
22. @STINK as Smirkai - Smirkai, now that's a name I haven't heard in a very long time...
23. @_Stick_ as Sunny, the intrepid baking worldhopping dolphin - So long and thanks for all the fish!
24. @Biplet as Sara, the local tavern-keeper - Toss a coin to your keeper, o' valley of plenty!
25. @Daisy as Hadra the storyteller - We are the stories we live! The tales we tell ourselves!
26. The Young Pyromancer as Pie Roayong, foreigner kid out for blood, a Regular Villager
27. Young Bard as Thiriel, social climber, a Village Lurcher
28. @Tani as Daux, duck poacher - The socially-accepted term is 'wrangler'.

Rule Clarifications:

Spoiler

• Will the write-up indicate if a player was attacked, survived, and then killed?

Yes. It will.

 

Edited March 5, 2021 by Kasimir

[---]

Experience

EDIT:

wait

Edited March 5, 2021 by Illwei

[Mat he/him]

...Alright, I had generally village-read all three of those :P. Cool.

I want to vote Maill right out of the gate, but I'm gonna read through his stuff first. I probably shouldn't vote him right away, I don't think.

Good job Illwei :P.

[Ashbringer he/him]

So Bard was the Elim kill. Other two are coinshots.

Did Bard claim to anyone? He was low-activity enough to be a believable potshot but being a known Lurcher would seem to make more sense for a N2 returning player kill.

[---]

1 minute ago, Ashbringer said:

So Bard was the Elim kill. Other two are coinshots.

Did Bard claim to anyone? He was low-activity enough to be a believable potshot but being a known Lurcher would seem to make more sense for a N2 returning player kill.

Elims could potentially have a seeker as well.

Experience

[Mat he/him]

1 minute ago, Ashbringer said:

So Bard was the Elim kill. Other two are coinshots.

Did Bard claim to anyone? He was low-activity enough to be a believable potshot but being a known Lurcher would seem to make more sense for a N2 returning player kill.

I'm curious as to why Bard wasn't self-protecting, honestly. It's only N2, what else could he have been doing?

The other one could be a Mistborn with a steel roll, as we didn't see a third kill N1. But idk.

[Ashbringer he/him]

That too. But that would mean Bard was scanned N1 and the Elims were confident enough that Bard wasn’t self protecting. Which he evidently wasn’t, unless there’s a Coinshot behind Door #4.

Edit: wait, if Bard got Seeked he was probably on the Seeker. Right.

Edited March 5, 2021 by Ashbringer

[---]

8 minutes ago, Ashbringer said:

Edit: wait, if Bard got Seeked he was probably on the Seeker. Right.

Why would he be protecting a seeker that hadn't outed themselves tho??

[Ashbringer he/him]

... why would the Seeker need to out to deserve protection? Losing a (Village) Seeker to a potshot is probably worse than losing a Village Lurcher. And there’s already worry the Elims have a Coinshot or Mistborn.

[---]

Just now, Ashbringer said:

... why would the Seeker need to out to deserve protection? Losing a (Village) Seeker to a potshot is probably worse than losing a Village Lurcher. And there’s already worry the Elims have a Coinshot or Mistborn.

Because if the only person the seeker claims to is the Lurcher, then why would the Elims know they were a seeker to target them in the first place?

[Burnt Spaghetti she/her]

Thats.  A whole lot of death.  Rip the Youngs and Experience D:

[Ashbringer he/him]

By ‘potshot’ I mean a random attack. Not knowing the role of the target.

[Quintessential she/her]

1 minute ago, Illwei said:

Because if the only person the seeker claims to is the Lurcher, then why would the Elims know they were a seeker to target them in the first place?

...because we have no idea what they'll do? They can hit a Seeker without meaning to hit a Seeker, and the same goes for Coinshots.

[---]

Oh

I can read.