IF YOU’RE SMART, YOU’LL READ THIS. IF YOU DON’T, I MAY OR MAY NOT COME TO YOUR HOUSE AND DIG OUT YOUR EYES WITH A RUSTY PLASTIC SPORK
1. You do not talk about Inheritance Mafia, with anyone, spectators included, whether or not they’re dead, or if you’re dead. Not even in your sleep. You can only talk to people specifically designated in your PM.
2. Editing for grammar and code purposes is allowed up to 3 minutes after you post. Anything else will result in an automatic mod-kill or replacement, depending on the situation. No warnings, besides this one.
3. Posting in large text is fine. Using images is also allowed, so long as forum rules would not prohibit them.
4. Be careful about paraphrasing your role PMs. And whatever you do, don’t quote them.
5. Roles that are allowed to talk to one another at night may also talk during the day. Hopefully this will make nights pass more quickly (hint hint: try to conduct your discussions during the day as much as possible, to save time).
Some Pieces of Advice:
1. This is not your grandmother’s game of mafia. Don’t expect what you’ve tried in the past to always work.
2. Watch your back.
3. Expect to be surprised.
4. Don’t trust anyone. Including me.
Pvt. Tim Harris - Dead Man
Pvt. Tim Harris had a perfectly simple life. Save pay, take leave, spend pay, regain consciousness, and repeat. Tim Harris preferred simple plans. What they lacked in imagination, they made up for with fewer bothersome brain cells.
Of course, if he’d had the brain cells to avoid decking a fleet officer, and assisting said officer in swallowing half his teeth, perhaps he wouldn’t have ended up in the newly formed 102nd, the black-sheep dumping ground of the Colonial Marines. But it made little difference. Ambition was never one of Tim Harris’ flaws.
Unfortunately, neither was foresight. Otherwise, perhaps he would have lived long enough to kill off the rest of his brain.
Win condition- The scum must die.
Inheritance Mafia- The User’s Manual
For the Town- If you are not completely comfortable trusting your behavioral analysis over role analysis, start running now. This game will devour your soul.
A few brave souls still with me? Good. Here’s a small outline of some (not all) of the common mechanics. I recommend reading these with an eye to how they might play out to make role-based analysis a bottomless barrel of ugly.
Inheritance- Upon the occurrence of certain conditions, players will “inherit” abilities or aspects. Before they inherit their abilities or aspects, they will not know when, why, or if they could inherit abilities/ aspects, or what abilities/aspects they might possibly inherit. Generally speaking.
Aspects-Some players within the game may switch between multiple sets of abilities. Aspects are chosen at the beginning of the night period. They may only use one at a time. (No switching to use both aspects during the night, for example.) At the start of the game, players must choose their starting aspect.
Items- Items may be used in addition to any abilities or aspects players are using. Be aware that there is an extremely important difference between the way items typically function in other games. When a player is killed by a method other than lynching (for example, a nightkill), if that player had an item, it might pass to the player who killed them, or it might stay with the body. When a player is lynched, the default is that the item will stay with the body.
NPCs- All abilities that target players may also target NPCs. NPCs do not count against other players' win conditions.
Randomized Role Distribution-Not only do some of the scum get their own roles, they’re getting the town’s roles, too. Which ones? Completely at random. However, the scum may have a few extra tricks up their sleeve that the town won’t have.
Should you leave all your setup speculation at the door? Not quite. This is an Azrael specialty game. All manner of hell and mayhem is about to break loose, and a major part of the town’s strategy should be to piece together what could be going on and how best to manage its resources to achieve victory. Only with creativity and cunning can the town develop its potential powers to the maximum, deduct what the scum are up to, and counter it. Just because you can’t use mass-claims, setup analysis, or gaming the mod to find scum directly does not mean that role analysis won’t have a major part to play in stopping them. So if you’ve got a talent for cunning plans, get ready to unleash it.
For the Scum- Enjoy the ride, gentlemen. And remember. Trust no one…
Game Rules subject to change:
Aspect Toggling-Enabled
Ghost Zone-Enabled
Inheritance-Enabled
Items-Enabled
Item Sharing-Disabled.
Mafia Factioning-Enabled.
Mafia Nightkill- ENABLED
Moderator’s PM-Enabled.
Point Sharing-ENABLED
Points-Enabled
Real-life Mailing-Enabled.
Role PMs Revealed on Death-ENABLED
Deadline Set For- X
Lynch Threshold Set At- X
For additional information on any of these options, type in the format: Query: Aspect Toggling in the thread.
You are the main computer of the research facility located beneath Sector Six.
You are alive, but you will not count against any win conditions. You have the potential to vote. Each night, you must target the player with the highest number of posts in the thread. That player will receive one point. You are immune to the first kill that targets you each day or night. The ********* ******* ****** **** * ********* ** *** ********* ** ***** *****.
Win Condition-Survive to the end of the game, or all lurkers must be eliminated.
NPCs
1. Seer
2. Main Computer
3. Kindergarten Class - Brutually slaughtered night six.
Additional role information such as inheritance triggers and Rider's role PM is provided circa post 5700.
The Ash PM -
Ash LV-426, the SchizophrenicAndroid
During the war, you served with great distinction on the battle-cruiser Farragut.
During the war, you serviced bar maids with great distinction upon a grand piano.
However, there was some question whether you personality subroutines may have become slightly unhinged, slightly split, by your war experiences.
However, there was some question whether you unhinged a general’s daughter with your prodigious experience, in light of her ear-splitting pleasured screams.
Consequently, you were transferred to the 102nd for a reevaluation of your psychological profile.
Consequently, you were transferred to the worst frakking outfit in the sector, for a reevaluation of your ability to serve coleslaw and mashed potatoes to washed out has-been marines.
But then, catastrophe struck!
Death, mayhem, and destruction! The spice of life!
You were ordered to accompany the boarding party to the station on Sector Six and infiltrate it through the secondary docking hatch.
You were ordered to board the enemy’s rear hatch and thoroughly infiltrate it. Very thoroughly. Infiltrate. Board. Hehehehehe. Hee hee!
Now, you’ll stop at nothing to complete your mission and prove your worth.
Now, you’ll stop at nothing to complete your mission. Whatever that may be…
Current Abilities-
Suggested Post Restriction- Post as a schizophrenic android. Personalities are encouraged to argue with one another.
The Schizophrenic Android’s vote counts double, unless it has voted for itself that day.
At any time, any player or any personality with access to the schizophrenic android account may PM me through the schizo-account (or their parent account, if applicable) and spend one point to send a non-player the password to the schizophrenic android account. Choose town or mafia. The non-player will be granted access to the account as a new personality and will gain the chosen alignment.
Restrictions:
Ash counts as only a single living player. Dead players may not be targeted by this ability. Personalities may not confer privately with one another, unless such communication is permitted by another ability. You may NOT change the password. You may NOT post the password publicly.
It was the darkest, dirtiest bar on the surface of New Earth. Notorious even for Sector Six, the lawless zone. No pollution filters. No law. No police. When you were committed to Sector Six, you were committed for more than life. Even in death, not even a corpse was permitted past the massive border walls, the razor-sharp wire, and the armored guards in their heated sentry towers. There were no gates to Sector Six. In the last three hundred years, the inmates had found only one way to leave Sector Six. When the dust-choked wind carried their ashes over the walls.
The wind carried flurries of ash and snow into the bar every time it blew open to admit another soul into its cramped confines, bringing muttered curses at the wind and the persistent cold. Outside, choked out by black clouds, the sun was a distant, hazy reminder of another life. On New Earth, cold was the only constant you could trust. In that respect, it was scarcely different from the lives the inhabitants of Sector Six had previously known, scattered across the cool void of space. The life they had known before society decided they had forfeited the right to walk among the well-behaved, the content. A life lived in company with addictions, theft, piracy, slavery, genocide, murder: any and all of the myriad ways humanity had devised to advance itself at others’ expense.
The bar in Sector Six no longer had a name. It needed none. Much like its patrons, its names were lies that changed from day to day, until the true name, the first name, was almost forgotten. One day, when the present owner took over from the previous owner's corpse, they had done away with names altogether.
This suited the man who leaned against the far wall of the bar, wrapped in shadow-cloaked anonymity. He was a formless hulking shape, seemingly little different from the others crowding into the seedy confines. But occasionally, the dim flash of the neon lights that provided the bar's only illumination would betray a small detail. Fat, meaty arms, but with taut muscles lying underneath. Skin growing weathered with age and the cold wind, marred by faded tattoos inking arcane and complicated designs. Hard, gray eyes that slipped in and out of focus, sometimes dwelling on the present, but sometimes, somewhere far beyond it. And occasionally, a glint of metal would shine in the wash of neon, close against his scalp.
When the stranger sat down at the table, the eyes slipped back into focus. His mouth twisted in distaste.
“Dyne.” It was both a greeting and a warning. “When do we leave?”
The dropship detached from the cruiser’s hull and glided through the moonless night with the smoothness of an eel through ocean depths. Against the backdrop of New Earth, neither dropship nor cruiser could seem much larger than a child’s playthings. The men and women inside, no more than toy soldiers. But their intent tonight was lifetimes away from the innocence of children.
Downward plunged the dropship, descending through veils of wispy cloud and snow. It broke through the clouds over a walled encampment, split by a massive fissure in the ground. Its hurtling descent began to slow. Manuevering itself over the fissure, it glided past gray, icy walls, until it reached a metal gate set deep into the canyon wall. A research station.
“Approaching security gate, slowing to 5 m/s, over.”
The facility’s titanium docking gates were sealed, as they were programmed to do in emergencies. The dropship sidled up against the metal, a hatch on the bottom opening up to deploy a laser welder. Fierce, concentrated light etched its way through the metal, until a circular hole had been cut. With a few well-placed engine thrusts, the dropship pointed its nose forward and burst through the weakened metal into the interior of the docking bay.
Neither pilot nor his twenty-odd passengers remarked as debris bounced off the nose of the shuttle, some of it human remains, some of it scorched and blackened scraps of the station. Hardened marines, they had seen, and done, much worse. The unit was newly formed, scraps and remains of other units too battered and worn down to reinforce. Still fit for service, but most were passing from well-seasoned to the far end of middle-aged. Retirement to the relative backwater of New Earth, far from the wave of outward expansion on the colonial rim, was their lot. A quiet place, where they could lose their edge in peace; that was the thought.
The dropship edged to a stop against one of the upper platforms, its landing skids scraping paint off the surface with a low screech. With a hiss, the main hatch popped open, and armored marines poured out onto the platform, beams of light and red targeting lasers criss-crossing through smoke in every direction from their rifle-mounts. Servos within their hostile environment suits creaked and groaned with the rise and fall of feet, the magnetic soles gripping the metal and releasing only grudgingly.
A gravelly voice, an even walk between jaded and alert, spoke over the comlink. “Harris, Page, Hawkins. Point.” One of the armored giants gestured, and three others moved to the front. As one, the group stomped across the metal into the heart of the darkened station. Behind them, the dropship lifted off and drifted back into the haze, circling slowly.
“Frakkin’ hell, some colonial screwhole frakkin’ frakked the frak out of this frakker.” Harris poked one of the corpses with his foot, its mouth hanging open in a rictus.
Macey Hawkins brushed past him, her voice desert-dry. “Great, Harris. The station spewed gammas because a colonial took a squat on their hardware.”
“Eat one, Hawkins.”
Gravel-voice broke in. “Cut the chatter. What's your theory, specialist.”
Macey might have shrugged within her suit, but it was impossible to tell. “It’s no accident, these things don’t go nuclear on a whim. They tripped both the poison gas and at least half the conventional explosives. Not an assault, because there’s no sign of evac, only the automatic distress signals. But they only managed to detonate one of their tactical nukes, or there’d be nothing left of this place. Bugs, maybe. Or toxins. Something bad enough to force them to vent atmosphere in a hurry. ” Mutters ran through the unit, thinly masked curses.
“They did this to themselves?”
“Only way to do it, Lieutenant. Deliberately.”
“Base, are you reading this?”
“…Copy that, boarding party, stand by.” There was a brief silence. Very brief. “Orders are unchanged. Proceed with caution and secure the packages.”
An almost imperceptible pause preceded gravel-voice’s reply. “…Roger that. Keep moving. Page, take us to the command center.”
One of the marines, his suit read “Carter”, glanced up staring from a hand-held device. “Sir, I’m picking some heat readings on the lower level. Pretty faint.”
“Ross, confirm that.”
“Yes sir. Ah, confirm that sir. Probably life readings sir.”
“Alright, look sharp. We may have survivors. Bryan, Harris, Kade, secure the command center. I want status updates every ten minutes. If we don’t answer back, rig whatever nukes are left to blow this place to hell. The rest of you, come with me.”
---
The marines wormed their way through the station level by level, gun-lights probing the dark methodically. The corridors varied from cramped, stooped passages barely large enough to allow the marines in their bulky armor to pass one by one, to expansive causeways large enough for two or three cargo-lifts to pass through. Everywhere was strewn the debris of the station, from freight boxes, to food wrappers, to trashy magazines, to spatters of blood, painting the metal in lurid crimson.
A marine named Harper tucked one of the magazines into his pack and cleared his throat. “Sir, I’ve got electrical signals up ahead.”
“Safeties off. Ross, O’Connor, check it out.” The two marines darted forward, as much a man can dart when his boots are clinging magnetized to the floor, moving farther and farther from the team. Finally, they stopped in a section of corridor that seemed to emit a tiny splash of light, the first they’d seen since arriving.
“Sir, we’ve got a sealed airlock. Independent power supply.”
“Could be survivors. Try to make contact.”
Ross knocked on the airlock hatch with the back of his metal fist. “Hey, anybody in there? Colonial marines. Um, we’re here to uh, rescue you.”
O’Connor rolled his eyes. There was a short silence. Then, the buzz of a speaker.
“Are you guys really seriously out there?” A young voice, a girl, teenage, her voice half-disbelieving her luck.
“Yes, ma’am, we are seriously out here.” O’Connor drawled. “Can you seriously let us in?”
The outer hatch clicked open. The two men stepped inside, closed the outer hatch, and waited for the inner hatch to click open.
“Ah, god damn it Lieutenant.”
“What is it O’Connor?”
“We’ve got ourselves a fra-” he broke off, “A kindergarten class, Lieutenant.”
---
Bryan tapped his console perfunctorily, sending power from the handheld battery into the massive security door sealing off the command center, two feet of solid, reinforced titanium. After a few moments, the console came to life, charged and lit. With a nod at the others, who leveled their weapons at the hatchway, he punched the button. The door lifted with a groan and a hiss. The bridge was open.
Located at the highest point on the station, the command center had a sprawling, circular layout, long windows spanning the circumference 360 degrees. The stars glittered back coldly, behind a sheen of frost on the hard, transparent plastic. Uniformed crew lay slumped, most still in their chairs. Bryan went to the weapons terminal and the main computer terminal and plugged a battery into each.
“Lieutenant, we’ve got the main computer warming up and the launch terminal is booting. We should be up and running in no time.”
“We’ll be there shortly. Stand by.”
Kade went from body to body, collecting nuclear keys. Harris lounged against the door, his rifle propped up on one shoulder.
Bryan glanced over as the main computer terminal blinked back to life, its speakers calmly reciting. “EMERGENCY PROTOCOLS ACTIVATED. INHERITANCES FILES DOWNLOADING. OPERATION ISCARIOT FILES DOWNLOADING. DOWNLOAD TARGETS IDENTIFIED. AWAITING PERMISSIONS.”
“Lieutenant, the station’s ready to send us operational data through the wireless feeds.” He tapped his handheld a few more times. “Not reading any malicious programming. Should be safe to download directly into our cy feeds.”
“Double-check it, then approve. And make sure the files aren’t corrupted. We’ll need that data intact to complete the salvage operation and figure out what happened here.”
“Yes sir, I’ll-”
A fierce glow of light flashed from the windows. Bryan’s helmet canopy automatically darkened, filtering out the blinding light, and he leaped towards the windows. Then, a massive rumbling and a sickening crash, and the light from the windows went pitch black.
“Bryan, what the hell was that?!?” Harris blurted.
“Oh my sweet god…that’s the Arizona. She’s frakkin space dust, Harris. She’s gone, and she took half the canyon wall with her!”
“Sweet mother of- Frak!”
Bryan whirled around to the sound of automatic rifle fire. Tracer rounds ricchoteted wildly through the bridge, shattering screens and sending sparks flying. Harris slumped to the floor, his armor a ruined mess, blood tricking from his mouth to form a pool within his helmet canopy.
Bryan had only a brief moment of surprise before Kade’s second burst of fire shattered his helmet and caught him between the eyes.
“Bryan? Bryan!? Harris? Kade?” Gravel voice growled into his comlink. “Damn it. Split by squads of five. You and you,” he pointed at two marines. “You’re with me. Stay together until we reach the upper level, then create a perimeter around the bridge. Move.”
The boarding party sprang into action, boots pounding on metal, ascending the stairways in a long line like a serpent twisting its way into a jungle’s canopy. At the top, they split by units, quickly, professionally, alert. The hushed sound of muffled panting carried softly through the helmet comlinks.
A minute passed, then two. Abruptly, gunfire erupted from the area around the bridge, then died just as suddenly.
Gravel-voice chimed in over the comm. “I’ve got fire coming from the bridge. Checking it out, keep the stairwells secure.” Another minute passed.
Then, another spate of gunfire, this time sustained. The Lieutenant howled over the comlink, “All units go center, all units go, now, now, now! We got traitors! Frak, the nukes! It’s-!” Another burst of gunfire, then silence.
Racing to the command center, the marines arrived in a jumble to find a scene of carnage. The Lieuteant, Harris, Kade, Bryan, and four others: all dead. The nuclear keys to the station missing.
“Jesus Christ…” whispered Macey. It could have been a curse or a prayer. “What do we do now?”
I am familiar with Yoss, rider, RR and axel, and I think I've heard of pale mage before. If there's anything fancy I should know about dorks, now's the time.
Query: Aspect Toggling Query: Ghost Zone Query: Inheritance Query: Items Query: Item Sharing Query: Mafia Factioning Query: Mafia Nightkill Query: Moderator’s PM Query: Point Sharing Query: Points Query: Real-life Mailing Query: Role PMs Revealed on Death Query: Deadline Set For Query: Lynch Threshold Set At
<Aspect Toggling> While enabled, players may switch between their current aspects at night. While disabled, players may not choose a different aspect.Players may continue to select new aspects.
<Ghost Zone> Information currently unavailable.
<Inheritance> While enabled, players may inherit abilities. When disabled, players may not inherit new abilities.
<Items> While enabled, players may use items. While disabled, players may not use items.
<Item Sharing> While enabled, all players may send items in their control to another target player. While disabled, not all players may transfer items.
<Mafia Factioning> Information currently unavailable.
<Mafia Nightkill> Information currently unavailable.
<Moderator’s PM>While enabled, all activities of the central computer will proceed as normal. When disabled, all higher functions of the central computer will be terminated.
<Point Sharing>While enabled, all players may donate points to other players freely, using the format Donate: PlayernameXPoints. When disabled, not all players may transfer points freely.
<Points>While enabled, all point-based abilities may be used. While disabled, most point-based abilities will be disabled.
<Real-life Mailing> While enabled, players may send and receive real-life mail when permitted by abilities. While disabled, players may not send or receive real-life mail.
<Role PMs Revealed on Death> While enabled, players' full role PMs will be revealed upon their death. While disabled, only that player's role title and name will be revealed.
<Deadline Set For>Players may vote to set the deadline for lynch for the current day at the time of their choice, subject to change by the central computer.
<Lynch Threshold Set At>Players may vote to set the lynch threshold for the current day at the number of their choice.
Esper Simperer; Even the court homonculi need someone to look down on.
Jund Fangirl; Few things can describe the bliss of the fangirl's cries fading to silence (broken by occasional munching sounds).
Grixis Emo; 'Why should I go out there? They're all uncaring zombies! *sniff* No one understands me...' Bant Wageslave; Behind every successful knight is a corporate drudge doing his taxwork.
Naya Overenthusiast; Because there is such a thing as too much enthusiasm.
What does an invitation to edit my post look like?
It is cardboard with gold edging, and Azrael sends it to you in real life. It probably comes too late for whatever reason you want to edit, but hey, that's the rules.
It is cardboard with gold edging, and Azrael sends it to you in real life. It probably comes too late for whatever reason you want to edit, but hey, that's the rules.
nathed, and by a better post.
I award you no rider points, and may God have mercy on your soul
“Jesus Christ…” whispered Macey. It could have been a curse or a prayer. “What do we do now?”
The command center erupted into heated debate. Weapons swung into place. Marines ducked behind cover. A moment before violence broke out, a tall, grizzled marine stepped to the fore.
"Code 78. In the event an independent unit is compromised in the field and retreat is impossible, the unit must take immediate action to eliminate the internal threat. Field units are authorized to act as an independent tribunal, operating upon a majority vote. Capital punishment is authorized." He surveyed the group, gauging their response.
"That," he eyed the bullet-riddled body of gravel-voice, "Leaves me in command now. I suggest we start by scouting the rest of the complex. Together."
It is cardboard with gold edging, and Azrael sends it to you in real life. It probably comes too late for whatever reason you want to edit, but hey, that's the rules.
Oh, yeah. CrippledFist is in the game and hasn't had a chance to post yet. If someone has a daykill available, you're probably contractually obligated to get him before he does. It's a running gag.
Oh, yeah. CrippledFist is in the game and hasn't had a chance to post yet. If someone has a daykill available, you're probably contractually obligated to get him before he does. It's a running gag.
You can take your running gag and shove it where you store your stupid internet memes.
Don't worry if it hurts at first, you can get it in there.
I am voting the gimmick, because clearly he has something to hide:
Vote: Ash LV 426
Private Mod Note
():
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
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.
I feel sorry for the person who has to get the most posts in the thread to gain something, because he has no chance against rider.
Private Mod Note
():
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
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.
Incidentally, I have no knowledge that there is anyone in the game who gets something for having the most post in the thread.
Private Mod Note
():
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
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.
IF YOU’RE SMART, YOU’LL READ THIS. IF YOU DON’T, I MAY OR MAY NOT COME TO YOUR HOUSE AND DIG OUT YOUR EYES WITH A RUSTY PLASTIC SPORK
1. You do not talk about Inheritance Mafia, with anyone, spectators included, whether or not they’re dead, or if you’re dead. Not even in your sleep. You can only talk to people specifically designated in your PM.
2. Editing for grammar and code purposes is allowed up to 3 minutes after you post. Anything else will result in an automatic mod-kill or replacement, depending on the situation. No warnings, besides this one.
3. Posting in large text is fine. Using images is also allowed, so long as forum rules would not prohibit them.
4. Be careful about paraphrasing your role PMs. And whatever you do, don’t quote them.
5. Roles that are allowed to talk to one another at night may also talk during the day. Hopefully this will make nights pass more quickly (hint hint: try to conduct your discussions during the day as much as possible, to save time).
Some Pieces of Advice:
1. This is not your grandmother’s game of mafia. Don’t expect what you’ve tried in the past to always work.
2. Watch your back.
3. Expect to be surprised.
4. Don’t trust anyone. Including me.
Pvt. Tim Harris - Dead Man
Pvt. Tim Harris had a perfectly simple life. Save pay, take leave, spend pay, regain consciousness, and repeat. Tim Harris preferred simple plans. What they lacked in imagination, they made up for with fewer bothersome brain cells.
Of course, if he’d had the brain cells to avoid decking a fleet officer, and assisting said officer in swallowing half his teeth, perhaps he wouldn’t have ended up in the newly formed 102nd, the black-sheep dumping ground of the Colonial Marines. But it made little difference. Ambition was never one of Tim Harris’ flaws.
Unfortunately, neither was foresight. Otherwise, perhaps he would have lived long enough to kill off the rest of his brain.
Win condition- The scum must die.
Inheritance Mafia- The User’s Manual
For the Town- If you are not completely comfortable trusting your behavioral analysis over role analysis, start running now. This game will devour your soul.
A few brave souls still with me? Good. Here’s a small outline of some (not all) of the common mechanics. I recommend reading these with an eye to how they might play out to make role-based analysis a bottomless barrel of ugly.
Inheritance- Upon the occurrence of certain conditions, players will “inherit” abilities or aspects. Before they inherit their abilities or aspects, they will not know when, why, or if they could inherit abilities/ aspects, or what abilities/aspects they might possibly inherit. Generally speaking.
Aspects-Some players within the game may switch between multiple sets of abilities. Aspects are chosen at the beginning of the night period. They may only use one at a time. (No switching to use both aspects during the night, for example.) At the start of the game, players must choose their starting aspect.
Items- Items may be used in addition to any abilities or aspects players are using. Be aware that there is an extremely important difference between the way items typically function in other games. When a player is killed by a method other than lynching (for example, a nightkill), if that player had an item, it might pass to the player who killed them, or it might stay with the body. When a player is lynched, the default is that the item will stay with the body.
NPCs- All abilities that target players may also target NPCs. NPCs do not count against other players' win conditions.
Randomized Role Distribution-Not only do some of the scum get their own roles, they’re getting the town’s roles, too. Which ones? Completely at random. However, the scum may have a few extra tricks up their sleeve that the town won’t have.
Should you leave all your setup speculation at the door? Not quite. This is an Azrael specialty game. All manner of hell and mayhem is about to break loose, and a major part of the town’s strategy should be to piece together what could be going on and how best to manage its resources to achieve victory. Only with creativity and cunning can the town develop its potential powers to the maximum, deduct what the scum are up to, and counter it. Just because you can’t use mass-claims, setup analysis, or gaming the mod to find scum directly does not mean that role analysis won’t have a major part to play in stopping them. So if you’ve got a talent for cunning plans, get ready to unleash it.
For the Scum- Enjoy the ride, gentlemen. And remember. Trust no one…
Game Rules subject to change:
Aspect Toggling-Enabled
Ghost Zone-Enabled
Inheritance-Enabled
Items-Enabled
Item Sharing-Disabled.
Mafia Factioning-Enabled.
Mafia Nightkill- ENABLED
Moderator’s PM-Enabled.
Point Sharing-ENABLED
Points-Enabled
Real-life Mailing-Enabled.
Role PMs Revealed on Death-ENABLED
Deadline Set For- X
Lynch Threshold Set At- X
For additional information on any of these options, type in the format: Query: Aspect Toggling in the thread.
You are the main computer of the research facility located beneath Sector Six.
You are alive, but you will not count against any win conditions. You have the potential to vote. Each night, you must target the player with the highest number of posts in the thread. That player will receive one point. You are immune to the first kill that targets you each day or night. The ********* ******* ****** **** * ********* ** *** ********* ** ***** *****.
Win Condition-Survive to the end of the game, or all lurkers must be eliminated.
NPCs
1. Seer
2. Main Computer
3. Kindergarten Class - Brutually slaughtered night six.
Alive
1. DesCoures
2. robroy
3. ShadowKnight, replacing Loran16, replacing YossarianLives
Ghost Zone
1. Ash LV 426
Dead
1. rider, Private Travis Ortiz, Townie Quartermaster. Daykilled day one.
2. Nai, replacing Dragondart, Private Casey Frost, Townie Comm Unit Controller. Lynched day one.
3. Stormblind, Private Annika Garrot, Townie Heir. Lynched day one.
4. Cubus, Private Vault, Townie Vault Owner. Killed Night One.
5. Axelrod, Private Soren Kirke, Townie Ghost Pendant Controller. Daykilled day two.
6. Clem Da Squiggoth, Private Derek Ross, Townie AI Control Pad Owner. Lynched day two.
7. Crippled_Fist, Haley Kurtz, Mafia Item Tracker. Killed night two.
8. Arimnaes, Spc. Jill Crowe, Townie Enslaver. Daykilled day three.
9. DYH, Chris Taylor, Mafia, The Posssessed, Maelstrom Gate Controller, Lynched day three.
10. Creampuffeater, replacing Dagger, Pvt Lance Hudson, Townie Manipulator/Activator. Killed night three.
11. Pale Mage, Pvt. Rachel Remington/the Iscariot Virus. Killed night three.
12. iLord, Miles Jackson, Mafia, Radiation Marker. Daykilled, day four.
13. Zindabad, Pvt. Craig Harper, Townie Legislator. Lynched day four.
14. kpaca, replacing HKKID, Townie Ash Personality. Killed night four.
15. Seppel, Pvt. Logan Dietrich, Townie Revival Chamber Controller. Killed night four.
16. Uncle Istvun, Corp. Sam O’Connor, Townie Database Controller. Lynched day five.
17. Rafaelk, Spc. Eliot Cynder, Townie Seer/Mine-Layer. Killed night five.
1. rider, Private Travis Ortiz, Townie Quartermaster. Daykilled day six.
18. Deaths Vampire, replacing Cropcircle, Townie Ash Personality. Daykilled day six.
19. Cyan, Spc. Macey Hawkins, Townie Computer Tech/Historian. Lynched day six.
20. Help I'm a Bug, replacing Abbeygargoyle, Pvt. Peer Gynt, Townie Item Hunter. Killed night six.
Endgame.
Additional Scenes:
http://forums.mtgsalvation.com/showpost.php?p=3705645&postcount=1011 - The Seer
http://forums.mtgsalvation.com/showpost.php?p=3733658&postcount=1397 - Enter CC.
http://forums.mtgsalvation.com/showpost.php?p=3760343&postcount=1824 - Big Red Button 1.
http://forums.mtgsalvation.com/showpost.php?p=3761458&postcount=1850 - Big Red Button 2.
http://forums.mtgsalvation.com/showpost.php?p=3976655&postcount=3605 - Seer 2.
http://forums.mtgsalvation.com/showpost.php?p=4134572&postcount=4670 - Rider returns.
Additional role information such as inheritance triggers and Rider's role PM is provided circa post 5700.
The Ash PM -
Ash LV-426, the Schizophrenic Android
During the war, you served with great distinction on the battle-cruiser Farragut.
During the war, you serviced bar maids with great distinction upon a grand piano.
However, there was some question whether you personality subroutines may have become slightly unhinged, slightly split, by your war experiences.
However, there was some question whether you unhinged a general’s daughter with your prodigious experience, in light of her ear-splitting pleasured screams.
Consequently, you were transferred to the 102nd for a reevaluation of your psychological profile.
Consequently, you were transferred to the worst frakking outfit in the sector, for a reevaluation of your ability to serve coleslaw and mashed potatoes to washed out has-been marines.
But then, catastrophe struck!
Death, mayhem, and destruction! The spice of life!
You were ordered to accompany the boarding party to the station on Sector Six and infiltrate it through the secondary docking hatch.
You were ordered to board the enemy’s rear hatch and thoroughly infiltrate it. Very thoroughly. Infiltrate. Board. Hehehehehe. Hee hee!
Now, you’ll stop at nothing to complete your mission and prove your worth.
Now, you’ll stop at nothing to complete your mission. Whatever that may be…
Current Abilities-
Suggested Post Restriction- Post as a schizophrenic android. Personalities are encouraged to argue with one another.
The Schizophrenic Android’s vote counts double, unless it has voted for itself that day.
At any time, any player or any personality with access to the schizophrenic android account may PM me through the schizo-account (or their parent account, if applicable) and spend one point to send a non-player the password to the schizophrenic android account. Choose town or mafia. The non-player will be granted access to the account as a new personality and will gain the chosen alignment.
Restrictions:
Ash counts as only a single living player. Dead players may not be targeted by this ability. Personalities may not confer privately with one another, unless such communication is permitted by another ability. You may NOT change the password. You may NOT post the password publicly.
Win Condition: See PM.
The Year 2613
It was the darkest, dirtiest bar on the surface of New Earth. Notorious even for Sector Six, the lawless zone. No pollution filters. No law. No police. When you were committed to Sector Six, you were committed for more than life. Even in death, not even a corpse was permitted past the massive border walls, the razor-sharp wire, and the armored guards in their heated sentry towers. There were no gates to Sector Six. In the last three hundred years, the inmates had found only one way to leave Sector Six. When the dust-choked wind carried their ashes over the walls.
The wind carried flurries of ash and snow into the bar every time it blew open to admit another soul into its cramped confines, bringing muttered curses at the wind and the persistent cold. Outside, choked out by black clouds, the sun was a distant, hazy reminder of another life. On New Earth, cold was the only constant you could trust. In that respect, it was scarcely different from the lives the inhabitants of Sector Six had previously known, scattered across the cool void of space. The life they had known before society decided they had forfeited the right to walk among the well-behaved, the content. A life lived in company with addictions, theft, piracy, slavery, genocide, murder: any and all of the myriad ways humanity had devised to advance itself at others’ expense.
The bar in Sector Six no longer had a name. It needed none. Much like its patrons, its names were lies that changed from day to day, until the true name, the first name, was almost forgotten. One day, when the present owner took over from the previous owner's corpse, they had done away with names altogether.
This suited the man who leaned against the far wall of the bar, wrapped in shadow-cloaked anonymity. He was a formless hulking shape, seemingly little different from the others crowding into the seedy confines. But occasionally, the dim flash of the neon lights that provided the bar's only illumination would betray a small detail. Fat, meaty arms, but with taut muscles lying underneath. Skin growing weathered with age and the cold wind, marred by faded tattoos inking arcane and complicated designs. Hard, gray eyes that slipped in and out of focus, sometimes dwelling on the present, but sometimes, somewhere far beyond it. And occasionally, a glint of metal would shine in the wash of neon, close against his scalp.
When the stranger sat down at the table, the eyes slipped back into focus. His mouth twisted in distaste.
“Dyne.” It was both a greeting and a warning. “When do we leave?”
The dropship detached from the cruiser’s hull and glided through the moonless night with the smoothness of an eel through ocean depths. Against the backdrop of New Earth, neither dropship nor cruiser could seem much larger than a child’s playthings. The men and women inside, no more than toy soldiers. But their intent tonight was lifetimes away from the innocence of children.
Downward plunged the dropship, descending through veils of wispy cloud and snow. It broke through the clouds over a walled encampment, split by a massive fissure in the ground. Its hurtling descent began to slow. Manuevering itself over the fissure, it glided past gray, icy walls, until it reached a metal gate set deep into the canyon wall. A research station.
“Approaching security gate, slowing to 5 m/s, over.”
The facility’s titanium docking gates were sealed, as they were programmed to do in emergencies. The dropship sidled up against the metal, a hatch on the bottom opening up to deploy a laser welder. Fierce, concentrated light etched its way through the metal, until a circular hole had been cut. With a few well-placed engine thrusts, the dropship pointed its nose forward and burst through the weakened metal into the interior of the docking bay.
Neither pilot nor his twenty-odd passengers remarked as debris bounced off the nose of the shuttle, some of it human remains, some of it scorched and blackened scraps of the station. Hardened marines, they had seen, and done, much worse. The unit was newly formed, scraps and remains of other units too battered and worn down to reinforce. Still fit for service, but most were passing from well-seasoned to the far end of middle-aged. Retirement to the relative backwater of New Earth, far from the wave of outward expansion on the colonial rim, was their lot. A quiet place, where they could lose their edge in peace; that was the thought.
The dropship edged to a stop against one of the upper platforms, its landing skids scraping paint off the surface with a low screech. With a hiss, the main hatch popped open, and armored marines poured out onto the platform, beams of light and red targeting lasers criss-crossing through smoke in every direction from their rifle-mounts. Servos within their hostile environment suits creaked and groaned with the rise and fall of feet, the magnetic soles gripping the metal and releasing only grudgingly.
A gravelly voice, an even walk between jaded and alert, spoke over the comlink. “Harris, Page, Hawkins. Point.” One of the armored giants gestured, and three others moved to the front. As one, the group stomped across the metal into the heart of the darkened station. Behind them, the dropship lifted off and drifted back into the haze, circling slowly.
“Frakkin’ hell, some colonial screwhole frakkin’ frakked the frak out of this frakker.” Harris poked one of the corpses with his foot, its mouth hanging open in a rictus.
Macey Hawkins brushed past him, her voice desert-dry. “Great, Harris. The station spewed gammas because a colonial took a squat on their hardware.”
“Eat one, Hawkins.”
Gravel-voice broke in. “Cut the chatter. What's your theory, specialist.”
Macey might have shrugged within her suit, but it was impossible to tell. “It’s no accident, these things don’t go nuclear on a whim. They tripped both the poison gas and at least half the conventional explosives. Not an assault, because there’s no sign of evac, only the automatic distress signals. But they only managed to detonate one of their tactical nukes, or there’d be nothing left of this place. Bugs, maybe. Or toxins. Something bad enough to force them to vent atmosphere in a hurry. ” Mutters ran through the unit, thinly masked curses.
“They did this to themselves?”
“Only way to do it, Lieutenant. Deliberately.”
“Base, are you reading this?”
“…Copy that, boarding party, stand by.” There was a brief silence. Very brief. “Orders are unchanged. Proceed with caution and secure the packages.”
An almost imperceptible pause preceded gravel-voice’s reply. “…Roger that. Keep moving. Page, take us to the command center.”
One of the marines, his suit read “Carter”, glanced up staring from a hand-held device. “Sir, I’m picking some heat readings on the lower level. Pretty faint.”
“Ross, confirm that.”
“Yes sir. Ah, confirm that sir. Probably life readings sir.”
“Alright, look sharp. We may have survivors. Bryan, Harris, Kade, secure the command center. I want status updates every ten minutes. If we don’t answer back, rig whatever nukes are left to blow this place to hell. The rest of you, come with me.”
---
The marines wormed their way through the station level by level, gun-lights probing the dark methodically. The corridors varied from cramped, stooped passages barely large enough to allow the marines in their bulky armor to pass one by one, to expansive causeways large enough for two or three cargo-lifts to pass through. Everywhere was strewn the debris of the station, from freight boxes, to food wrappers, to trashy magazines, to spatters of blood, painting the metal in lurid crimson.
A marine named Harper tucked one of the magazines into his pack and cleared his throat. “Sir, I’ve got electrical signals up ahead.”
“Safeties off. Ross, O’Connor, check it out.” The two marines darted forward, as much a man can dart when his boots are clinging magnetized to the floor, moving farther and farther from the team. Finally, they stopped in a section of corridor that seemed to emit a tiny splash of light, the first they’d seen since arriving.
“Sir, we’ve got a sealed airlock. Independent power supply.”
“Could be survivors. Try to make contact.”
Ross knocked on the airlock hatch with the back of his metal fist. “Hey, anybody in there? Colonial marines. Um, we’re here to uh, rescue you.”
O’Connor rolled his eyes. There was a short silence. Then, the buzz of a speaker.
“Are you guys really seriously out there?” A young voice, a girl, teenage, her voice half-disbelieving her luck.
“Yes, ma’am, we are seriously out here.” O’Connor drawled. “Can you seriously let us in?”
The outer hatch clicked open. The two men stepped inside, closed the outer hatch, and waited for the inner hatch to click open.
“Ah, god damn it Lieutenant.”
“What is it O’Connor?”
“We’ve got ourselves a fra-” he broke off, “A kindergarten class, Lieutenant.”
---
Bryan tapped his console perfunctorily, sending power from the handheld battery into the massive security door sealing off the command center, two feet of solid, reinforced titanium. After a few moments, the console came to life, charged and lit. With a nod at the others, who leveled their weapons at the hatchway, he punched the button. The door lifted with a groan and a hiss. The bridge was open.
Located at the highest point on the station, the command center had a sprawling, circular layout, long windows spanning the circumference 360 degrees. The stars glittered back coldly, behind a sheen of frost on the hard, transparent plastic. Uniformed crew lay slumped, most still in their chairs. Bryan went to the weapons terminal and the main computer terminal and plugged a battery into each.
“Lieutenant, we’ve got the main computer warming up and the launch terminal is booting. We should be up and running in no time.”
“We’ll be there shortly. Stand by.”
Kade went from body to body, collecting nuclear keys. Harris lounged against the door, his rifle propped up on one shoulder.
Bryan glanced over as the main computer terminal blinked back to life, its speakers calmly reciting. “EMERGENCY PROTOCOLS ACTIVATED. INHERITANCES FILES DOWNLOADING. OPERATION ISCARIOT FILES DOWNLOADING. DOWNLOAD TARGETS IDENTIFIED. AWAITING PERMISSIONS.”
“Lieutenant, the station’s ready to send us operational data through the wireless feeds.” He tapped his handheld a few more times. “Not reading any malicious programming. Should be safe to download directly into our cy feeds.”
“Double-check it, then approve. And make sure the files aren’t corrupted. We’ll need that data intact to complete the salvage operation and figure out what happened here.”
“Yes sir, I’ll-”
A fierce glow of light flashed from the windows. Bryan’s helmet canopy automatically darkened, filtering out the blinding light, and he leaped towards the windows. Then, a massive rumbling and a sickening crash, and the light from the windows went pitch black.
“Bryan, what the hell was that?!?” Harris blurted.
“Oh my sweet god…that’s the Arizona. She’s frakkin space dust, Harris. She’s gone, and she took half the canyon wall with her!”
“Sweet mother of- Frak!”
Bryan whirled around to the sound of automatic rifle fire. Tracer rounds ricchoteted wildly through the bridge, shattering screens and sending sparks flying. Harris slumped to the floor, his armor a ruined mess, blood tricking from his mouth to form a pool within his helmet canopy.
Bryan had only a brief moment of surprise before Kade’s second burst of fire shattered his helmet and caught him between the eyes.
“Bryan? Bryan!? Harris? Kade?” Gravel voice growled into his comlink. “Damn it. Split by squads of five. You and you,” he pointed at two marines. “You’re with me. Stay together until we reach the upper level, then create a perimeter around the bridge. Move.”
The boarding party sprang into action, boots pounding on metal, ascending the stairways in a long line like a serpent twisting its way into a jungle’s canopy. At the top, they split by units, quickly, professionally, alert. The hushed sound of muffled panting carried softly through the helmet comlinks.
A minute passed, then two. Abruptly, gunfire erupted from the area around the bridge, then died just as suddenly.
Gravel-voice chimed in over the comm. “I’ve got fire coming from the bridge. Checking it out, keep the stairwells secure.” Another minute passed.
Then, another spate of gunfire, this time sustained. The Lieutenant howled over the comlink, “All units go center, all units go, now, now, now! We got traitors! Frak, the nukes! It’s-!” Another burst of gunfire, then silence.
Racing to the command center, the marines arrived in a jumble to find a scene of carnage. The Lieuteant, Harris, Kade, Bryan, and four others: all dead. The nuclear keys to the station missing.
“Jesus Christ…” whispered Macey. It could have been a curse or a prayer. “What do we do now?”
---
Day One of Inheritance Mafia has begun.
With 22 alive, it’s 12 to lynch.
I am familiar with Yoss, rider, RR and axel, and I think I've heard of pale mage before. If there's anything fancy I should know about dorks, now's the time.
Query: Aspect Toggling
Query: Ghost Zone
Query: Inheritance
Query: Items
Query: Item Sharing
Query: Mafia Factioning
Query: Mafia Nightkill
Query: Moderator’s PM
Query: Point Sharing
Query: Points
Query: Real-life Mailing
Query: Role PMs Revealed on Death
Query: Deadline Set For
Query: Lynch Threshold Set At
Vote: clem da squiggoth
We'll make you an offer you can't refuse.
Hosting: Vista Mafia
Hosted: Intrigue Mafia (Mini), Seance #43 (Basic), Conflux Mafia (Normal), Goo Mafia (FTQ), Experiment #26 (Basic)
Ongoing/Completed - 0/41
Town/Mafia/SK/Survivor - 30/6/4/1
NKed/Lynched/Survived - 15/11/15
vote: Lynch Threshold 12
This never gets old.
V/LA: 3/21-3/24 & 3/27-3/29
Logon: Password Tiddles
Set Role PMs Revealed on Death Enabled
Thanks for being superkind guys
Invisiblify post subset: ewie
Note: This is not an invitation for you to edit your post.
Access denied.
Access denied.
Vote: Kindergarten Class
Jund Fangirl; Few things can describe the bliss of the fangirl's cries fading to silence (broken by occasional munching sounds).
Grixis Emo; 'Why should I go out there? They're all uncaring zombies! *sniff* No one understands me...'
Bant Wageslave; Behind every successful knight is a corporate drudge doing his taxwork.
Naya Overenthusiast; Because there is such a thing as too much enthusiasm.
vote: Evil Scum Mod
(probably was within the edit time threshold, not sure about severity required for edits though)
What does an invitation to edit my post look like?
Toggle Set Role PMs Revealed on Death
It looks like this
It is cardboard with gold edging, and Azrael sends it to you in real life. It probably comes too late for whatever reason you want to edit, but hey, that's the rules.
nathed, and by a better post.
I award you no rider points, and may God have mercy on your soul
The command center erupted into heated debate. Weapons swung into place. Marines ducked behind cover. A moment before violence broke out, a tall, grizzled marine stepped to the fore.
"Code 78. In the event an independent unit is compromised in the field and retreat is impossible, the unit must take immediate action to eliminate the internal threat. Field units are authorized to act as an independent tribunal, operating upon a majority vote. Capital punishment is authorized." He surveyed the group, gauging their response.
"That," he eyed the bullet-riddled body of gravel-voice, "Leaves me in command now. I suggest we start by scouting the rest of the complex. Together."
Official Vote Count
1 Clem Da Squiggoth- Dagger
1 Cyan- DYH
1 Kindergarten Class-Descoures
Does not compute.
Access denied.
So you've seen one?
Vote: RafaelK
This is tardmo logic.
Using that tired meme picture so does not make it a better post.
So desCoures:
1. Did we resolve whether you're a gimmick? It's been a while
and
2. Of all the choices to test-vote, the Kindergarden Class? What's on your mind?
And speaking of test-votes:
vote CropCircles
Oh yeah, vote: Seppel
From all the games I've read, this happens eventually.
The Izzet
Unvote
Vote: Azrael
Being a better post makes it a better post
You can take your running gag and shove it where you store your stupid internet memes.
Don't worry if it hurts at first, you can get it in there.
Tardmo is my rolename.
I do not like tarps SamIAm.
I do not like them in a box
I do not like them with a fox
I do not like them upside down
I do not like them with a frown
Query: Operation Iscariot
See y'all later.
Don't be so hasty with your posts. Each one of them is like a leaf, sent to blow along the empty halls of the internet.
1 Clem Da Squiggoth- Dagger
1 Cyan- DYH
1 Kindergarten Class-Descoures
1 Seppel-Clem Da Squiggoth
1 Main Computer- Pale Mage
Rafaelk invites you all to listen to his inspired poetry reading. It is very, very, very bad.
Access denied.
I can ++ in a car,
I can ++ in a bar,
I can doublepost a lot!
I can post as if a bot
Yes I like to post in here,
If you don't like it, try the beer!
The important thing is that I AM POSTING MOAR THAN YOU.
MOAR
:hulksmash:
Are you a Vogon?
The Izzet
Unvote
Vote: Seer
For the sake of completeness.
I want the point.
(Yes, you may.)
Vote: Ash LV 426
But are you wearing pants?
Guy just wants to be the very best
Reading comprehension is tech in this game I hear.