I thought my theory was pretty clear.
Ok: ~V~ had been fairly aggressively going after Anak for the past couple of game days...
This continued right up until his replacement. Then PM steps in and unvotes. Presumably, this is so he can review the game and make some impressive PBPA or something to catch a scum, but after this long, his only real finger pointing has been at vezok, in a reactionary manner back in post #3051.
I think ~V~ maintained the early attack on Anak today for appearances only, and fully intended to unvote later on had he not been replaced. Since PM stepped in, it was the perfect cover for him to unvote under the premise of "reviewing the game" while at the same time stalling the game in an effort to save his new buddy.
But again, they're two different people. It's just as likely they just had different opinions.
Final bit of proof? If we are at LYLO, that means there's a 4-man scum team. If Anak has been town all this time, and hasn't been lynched yet, it would mean DV, Vezok and myself have all been scum trying to force through a mislynch. Since I know my own alignment, I'm certain this isn't the case.
If Anak was town, there would have been an attempt at a speed hammer by now, because that would end the game. The simple fact there hasn't yet means leads me to conclude Anak is scum.
Well this at least makes sense.
@ced: If this is Lylo, than Anak is scum. If it isn't Lylo, well it isn't Lylo.
Sorry I had to say it. I was telling the complete truth, and honestly I had nothing else to defend myself with. I was so dispirited by the end of this game, just because I knew nothing I could have done would have saved me.
Still, sucks to lose. Now what the hell is going on?
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.
I think I'd rather wait until after the lynch scene/confirmation/whatever.
Confirmed.
I had found a post by you at the end of day one that made me believe you were scum, but that didn't fit some of the other stuff from that day. It told me you were already thinking along the lines of needing to (possibly) be scum (if you were in fact a traitor, which seemed probable).
Were you just aware of the traitors from the get-go or were you in fact a traitor? When did you flip, etc.
Sorry I didn't end up with the time to put into this replacement that I thought I had, everybody. Sickness and then the kids being home an entire week from school (unplanned) pretty much ate up my recent time/energy.
Yeah, I was totally ambivalent about this game for some time. I'd probably have replaced out long ago if I thought a good replacement could be found...
Nights that go for nine days are not a good way to keep players invested in the game, especially one of this size.
But I enjoyed the flavour.
It was pretty obvious to me that the traitors were either scum taking advantage of an opening (I suspect that was the case for Ced) or this was a game they shouldn't have won.
Either way, we should have been lynching them far earlier.
At the start of the game, there was a lone mafioso (Skander), and three traitors turned during the game: me after Zchinque's lynch, and D_V and ~Tilde~ after night two's events. We also knew the rolenames of each of the traitors. That's about it.
It wouldn't have been a remotely good idea to lynch traitors for being traitors. There were far too many of them, and you'd still miss Skander and RafK. That said, some should have died at some stage (Nakamura is the only one who did). To be honest, I'm still not quite sure why I survived. I certainly did not mean to be a scum with a super saint claim, yet that is what happened, and somehow I still endgamed. That really shouldn't ever be happening.
Why did you kill me?!?!
I mean, seriously, I'm walking along my merry little way to PROTECT YOU FROM DEATH, and you blow me up in the elevator!!! Wth, man?
Our N1 rationale was a normal one: you and Seppel were active townies on who lynches would be difficult to push. hence you get to explode in an elevator (I prefer "lift").
Yeah, well, I prefer not to be killed for being too townie!
Thanks for the protect, though
Heh, you are soooo on your own from now on, you cheeky bastard!
I think our chances might have been a bit better if Nom Anor had not lied about investigating Azrael.
It's not a stretch to say that Nom Anor single-handedly caused this town to lose the game. TheFooFish's poorly conceived gambit certainly didn't help. What is with townies lying in do or die situations? This kind of bad play needs to be discouraged, but apparently otherwise smart players love to do stupid things instead of actually sitting down and doing some serious analysis.
Major props to Pale Mage for biting the bullet and trying to actually accomplish something for the town.
He didn't. dC told me Nom himself caused his result to be false, for claiming iirc. You'll have to ask him for clarification.
The moral is NA was telling the truth. He was just wrong.
Nom Anor was completely bull☺☺☺☺ting the town because he lost the ability to investigate anyone as soon as he voted Day One. His rationale was that he didn't trust a cop investigation in a bastard game. Too bad that not only was he sane, but that there were no Godfather roles in the game. Granted, this was the most nerfed cop role I have ever seen, but still...what a bad idea to think so highly of one's ability to read Azrael as to lie about an investigation one doesn't even have.
Nom Anor was completely bull☺☺☺☺ting the town because he lost the ability to investigate anyone as soon as he voted Day One. His rationale was that he didn't trust a cop investigation in a bastard game. Too bad that not only was he sane, but that there were no Godfather roles in the game. Granted, this was the most nerfed cop role I have ever seen, but still...what a bad idea to think so highly of one's ability to read Azrael as to lie about an investigation one doesn't even have.
Why? Why? For the love of all that is good why, Nom?
The bastardness was the mod causing individual townies to lie about their roles in major ways. *facepalm*
I also had a little gambit that never worked (because ced was scum). My ability to lower the vote threshhold of someone by 2? That only lasts until the end of the day. I was hoping that if ced was town, that the scum would try to speed-lynch him and be caught when ced doesn't die. It could have saved the game. If he was town. I didn't plan for it immediately, but I forgot to mention it only lasted until the end of the day, and nobody questioned it
And why did I have to switch from tracking Skander to Tilde on N3 when Skander did the kill
Probably because Day 3 I had put up some very weird (and true) things as what happened to me Night 2.
For the record I had a total of 3 abilities -
Blackmail : which forced me to target a player during the night
Price of Freedom : the traitor ability which caused me to flip after my blackmailer (AI) was killed.
And a bodyguard ability after I flipped, which was generally useless because if I successfully protected a buddy, we'd still be down a member.
As I've said at some length in the spectator forum since dying, Nom Anor and TFF's God-awful gambits screwed the town, but the setup made the entire game silly anyway because you couldn't rely on behavioural reads due to the sheer number of traitors who could turn at any time and be scum (not to mention the incentive for that huge number of traitors to hedge their bets in their play, which contributed to the stupid day 1).
What's particularly annoying is that you could lynch someone and they'd come up "town" and yet it would be a good play as they would have turned that night anyway, and you'd have no way to know that. Or that someone could be extremely townie for 4 days and then become scum and you have to somehow guess that.
A design which will unfortunately serve as an object lesson for future designers to avoid.
"...you think me your enemy? That I play at silly games of terrorism, at escalation and counter-escalation, like shivering children throwing snowballs on empty tundra? I?" The huge Russian barks out a belly laugh - long, guttural, and deep - that echoes chilly in the dead silence of the chamber. The sheer force of the reverberation is unnerving - the remaining delegates exchange uneasy glances at each other, fingers twitching nervously. All, that is, except one - a slim man with ordinary features, who merely stares at the Russian expressionlessly.
A slim, ordinary man who, the Australian notes, wasn't anywhere near this calm previously - heck, he looked like a nervous wreck a couple days before, bloodshot eyes and all. And come to think of it, wasn't he supposed to be from some chink country -
The Russian's booming voice sounds out again, commanding attention. "Fine! Come, and have done, yes? I tire of this farce. If winter is to swallow us all - " the thunderous expression fades from his face, replaced by a rueful smile - "Then let me sleep before it comes, yes?" He leans back into a chair; eyes closed as if dozing in sunshine.
The slim man wastes no time. "As you wish - " and then swifter than anyone can react, a hidden pistol (how could something so huge and monstrously black have been hidden..?) is in his hands and spurts two bullets straight into the Russian's broad forehead; the slim delegate - no, not delegate after all - never changing his empty expression.
To his credit, a mere half second passes before the Australian delegate surges from his seat, furious words and clenched fists ready - but before he can speak, two loud and dry gasps sound, followed by a chorus of horrid gurgling. The Australian whips his head around - but the dusky-skinned Pakistani and the darker-toned South African have both already collapsed out of their chairs, bubbling froth spilling from mouth, nostrils, and horribly, eyes. And seated, seemingly perfectly calmly between the poisoned and dying men; the Iranian studiously does not look at the sight of impending death, only fingers toying with an empty vial betraying any unease at all.
A flash of movement - the German is fleeing the room, but the slim man merely turns his pistol and plants two bullets in the moving target's back while barely even looking. His eyes remain fixed squarely upon the Australian even as the German crumples and falls. The eyes of the last two people in the room - the cool gaze of the Irishman and the fervent and mad stare of the Myanmar delegate - have never stopped observing the Australian.
The Australian merely sneers. "Should'a known you weren't no chink. Well played, mate, well played." Silently, the Australian swears he'll haunt the old man to his deathbed after this.
The slim man's only response is to tilt his head slightly, before gunning the laconic man down with the last two bullets. He reloads thoughtlessly, a conditioned reflex, before silently directing the remaining men to clean up the bodies, mind already on what evidence needs to be faked.
Outside, the storm begins to abate.
Anaklusmos, Russian Delegate, Politician Redirector/Poison & Chemical Immune has been lynched.
vezokpiraka, German Delegate, Politician Revealer/Self-Watcher/Traitor has been endgamed.
Pale Mage, South African Delegate, Politician Hider/Gunsmith/Traitor has been endgamed.
Wrath_of_DoG, Pakistani Delegate, Politician Heavy Wounds Doctor/Partner has been endgamed.
Talore, Australian Delegate, Politician Rabble Rouser/Traitor has been endgamed.
Skander, Political Extremist, Political Extremist Godfather/Faction Head has won.
ced395, Irish Delegate, Political Extremist Supersaint/One-shot Vig/Traitor turned Tough Guy has won.
~Tilde~, Myanmar Delegate, Political Extremist Blackmailed Traitor turned Bodyguard has won.
Deaths_Vampire, Iranian Delegate, Political Extremist Roleblocker/Motivator has won.
Private Mod Note
():
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
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.
Repeat state funeral being held for the dead Chinese delegate after protestors mar initial one. Did they like that guy or hate him?
about 6 hours ago via web
#Revelteir Oh, and the Irish guy
about 21 hours ago via web
#Revelteir No, I'm not disputing that the Cult of Consumer Expenditure was behind the whole incident. I just think there can't have been just the head himself going in. Isn't that Singaporean guy still missing?
about 21 hours ago via web
Or maybe they think its 'stimulating the economy'
about 23 hours ago via web
Water damage came up to US$101 mil. Damage to the Spires came up to US$170 mill. Expenses by the Cult to seed the clouds with EM-laden isotopes from space, US$2.5 billion. Not good economic sense, eh?
about 23 hours ago via web
[more]
An unmarked window appears at the bottom of the screen.
that went well.
The slim operative makes no move to type; instead, he leans back in the computer chair, and speaks as if to empty air. "All things considered, *only* that went well. Definitely our clients never envisioned such a huge uproar."
they did still pay, though.
"They know better than to do otherwise. And as it is, they'll have to lay low for a while, and trust to their new allies." His mouth twists sourly. "And so will we. Quite unfortunate, given the expense of those weapons we had to leave behind."
there are always remote contracts.
"We'll keep that option open for now. I'd rather not take the risk of your exposure."
i hear 'the AI did it' isn't permissible in court.
A sardonic grin. "And I'd rather keep it that way."
touche.
perhaps the time may be better spent with your guest, then.
"Here, is he? Mmm. Perhaps." As if on cue, a sound of a keycard lock disengaging; followed by a quiet knock. The consummate professional rises with easy grace and strides to the door; he verifies the Irish features of his visitor through a monitor, studying for a moment the detached, bland expression on the digital image of the man's face. Eyes logical and penetrating.
He smiles briefly, then schools his expression; and prepares to greet his new partner.
-----------------
"....for how much longer will we ignore this plague? No - for how much longer will the heathen West ignore it, and drag the rest of us down with their willful blindness?!
"The wanton slaughter perpetuated by the heathen scum - of Westerners and Easterners alike, of our Muslim brothers, and very nearly myself - all of it! All because they refuse to admit their past errors! Refuse to repudiate those who wish a return to the folly of full capitalism! Refuse - even now - to show, once and for all, that things must change, and that there can be no return to the old wasteful ways!
"...and the result? A neutral country - a font of sin, yes, but innocent in this regard - suffering millions of dollars worth of damage. Respected politicians murdered - including our Pakistani brother in faith, who brought a new era of peace to his land, and promising and eminent Saudi and Emirati brothers too.
"Have the Recessions taught us nothing?! Are we to once more blithely stand in ignorance as we walk the fool's path towards doom? Are we - once again! - to swallow Western lies about how their ridiculous houses of cards will never fall?
"I say - NO! A resounding, clarion 'no'. I will not stand for this. I will not stand to see us repeat the mistakes of the past. I will not stand to see all sacrificed again on the heathen altar of 'progress'. I will not stand to see us led to the edge of ruin at the hands of the West once more.
"And neither, I trust you, my brothers and sisters, will you."
The Iranian pauses the recording of his speech, and ponders the irony of his own words for a moment. Ah, but he has grown duplicitous these months - more duplicitous than he already was, of course, as a politician.
But it is for the good of his country - to once and for all regain prominence in the world. Maybe even for the good of all - he knows not enough of his erstwhile 'allies' to say. But should they ever be of no more use to him, his choice will be clear - as clear, he knows, as theirs will be should the same ever be the case for him.
He vents a throaty chuckle. So be it! Events will happen as Allah wills, and in no other way. Man will never turn the course of fate - neither he, nor they. All that remains is to see this through for as long as it can continue - perhaps to its ultimate end.
--------------------
Once again, it starts in a club.
It does not take the Myanmarese politician long to realize, afterward, that he has merely exchanged one master for another. But he strangely finds it difficult to care. This master, at least, keeps its promises - that cursed cellphone has grown long silent, following accident after 'accident' in nearby Indonesia. Instead, an oblique, nondescript black tab now serves as his yoke and chain.
Instructions came this morning. Worded like a request, but to all intents and purposes an order - an order that he should, by all rights, have been recoiling in horror from. But he does not, and he knows he is insane. His mind is broken, and held together in a facsimile of functionality by - ironically - the fact of his own indenture. And a broken mind will do so, so, many things.
When the man begins to spasm and choke a mere table away ('A man', 'the man' - so removed for a familiar face that might have been called a friend), the rictus horror on his face as he rises is all too authentic. And if it is turned, in fact, within rather than without - no one notices.
The man chokes, gasps, breathes his last. And now the broken man is one step closer to the influence his puppetmasters wish him to have.
----------------------
Private Mod Note
():
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
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.
All had a common win condition except for TheFooFish.
Some One/zindabad:
You are the American Delegate.
Your composure lasts until you re-enter your room. The door has barely finished clicking before you've hurled your suitcase with vicious violence clear across the breadth of the room.
THUNKclack -- the sound of the clasp breaking is in there somewhere, but the ringing in your ears is too loud. You are pacing -- pace, pace, pace, footfalls tracing fury across the plush carpet you really shouldn't be grinding shoe heels into.
Terrorists.
You hate terrorists. You hate the very word -- it provokes something primal - visceral - poisonous from deep inside you. The very mention sets your teeth gnashing. This incident wells up your urge to kill.
It's not that difficult to explain, you know. You're no past victim, and you're no fool -- you know that one man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter, and it's history written by the ones left standing that split the difference, as recent history can attest to. What the word universally means, however -- morality, philosophy, and reasons be damned -- is rebellion against the current order. Against the world order. The world order your country created, clung through tenuously throughout the Great Global Recessions, and with which it continues to lord over the rest of the plebian world entangled in its paradigm.
You are a true patriot. Rebellion against that world order is a cardinal sin you cannot forgive.
Fortunately, you think as you pull the hidden bottom out from your luggage, you're more than equipped to punish the benighted f***ers. You carefully remove three packages -- a compact but powerful carbon-fiber pistol with a single carbonized bullet; a brittle container of a compound that atomizes into deadly poison; and good old faithful, a block of C4 and series of detonator caps. Your hands are shivering with anticipation -- but some sliver of restraint stops you, telling you that the datafiles on your PDA are far more --
-- you grimace. The battery's low. Critically so. And you didn't bring a universal adaptor. When will the rest of the f***ing world learn to do it like America?
Restraint falls away, and fury gives way to crystal clarity. You run a tender hand across your weaponry.
Time for some good old-fashioned Texan justice.
Texan Justice (Overt, Night)
- Target one person every night with one of your three weapons; the gun, the poison capsule, or the block of C4. You will kill this person with the selected weapon.
- Usage of this ability will use up the selected weapon.
- You will lose this ability when you are out of weaponry.
- Usage of this ability is compulsory.
PDA Datafiles (Covert, Night)
- Target one person. You will learn this person's alignment.
- You will lose this ability on day 3, when your PDA runs out of power.
Zchinque:
You are the British Delegate.
*click* *click* *clack*
It's nothing new for a good Brit policyman to have a history of service. None of that play-service some of the Yanks get up to (well, not much). Real situations. Real missions. Sometimes even real combat.
*clack SHUNK -- clinkclinkclink*
Your term of service went beyond that. Not that it says so on paper. Official records show you've never served a day in any combat capacity in your life. It doesn't list you in military, law enforcement, or even civil works positions. Because technically, of course, you weren't.
chamber. lock. pin. barrel
MI6 wetworks. Black ops. And yours was the hours of waiting in darkness, perfectly still -- sometimes ignoring the occasional bug in the face -- waiting, and watching, and waiting, and watching, and waiting, and watching, and waiting, and SHOOT -- and a rarity, you made it all the way to a transfer, never being caught, never getting shot, never needing to be 'disavowed'. And then somehow, with the clinical detachment and split-second instinct that saw you through your years as a sniper you rose through the diplomatic ranks. To where you are today. Some of your old comrades might not recognize you now.
But a good sniper is always prepared, and you are and always will be a good sniper.
thumb the slide - load the single dull glimmer
You sight the reassembled, long-barreled rifle, the thickness of your worn but serviceable bulletproof vest shielding you from the muted, yet still considerable, force of the storm raging outside. You'll have to correct for the storm, you muse, as you begin to disassemble the rifle again.
You only have one bullet. Hopefully it will prove all that's necessary.
Snipe (Covert, Night)
- Target one person. You will kill this person with your sniper rifle and sabot round.
- You will lose this ability upon use.
Worn Kevlar Vest (Triggered)
- Triggered when someone targets you with a gun. This will stop the kill.
- You will lose this ability when it is triggered.
tordeck/Syrenz:
You are the Japanese Delegate.
A saying exists. 'The foolish man leads; the wise man follows, watches, and learns.'
You do not think yourself wise, but took the lesson to heart. Thus was your career in the diplomatic services shaped -- through following, and watching, and learning.
Following, nodding, at superiors seeking placid agreement.
Following colleagues seeking recognition.
Following in silent deference official after minister after administrator.
And over time, your presence so natural and expected that you followed and learned every secret and every private glory and shame they had. And, quietly and deferentially, you used what you could, and quietly and deferentially rose through the ranks.
A wise man, perhaps, would not have done so, knowing he would be watched. Thus you are not a wise man; but knowing you will be watched, you watch for the watchers.
Thus it will be here, too. You will follow, you will watch, and you will perhaps learn.
You are the last to leave the conference room. No one notices your shadow behind them.
Shadow (Overt, Night)
- Target one person. You will learn who this person targets this night with overt actions.
Watching the Watchers (Triggered)
- Triggered when you are targeted with a covert ability. You will be told who targeted you.
Nom_Anor:
You are the Chinese Delegate.
As the others quibble, bluster, and accuse, your eyes are calm and tranquil.
'Know the enemy and know yourself' - so oft misquoted, SUn Tzu, and yet so many truisms. The one you live by is of the primacy of information. Paramount, therefore, is the observation through which such information is gathered.
Known and valued is your insight at home. Yours was the foresight that predicted momentary chaos in Europe. Yours was the divination that led to profit in Southeast Asia. Yours was the counsel that saved billions in the wake of the Fourth Great Global Recession, and thus saved millions from starvation and bankruptcy.
But none of it foresight, nor divination, nor future sight; merely the fruits of observation, and of a spy network levels and cells immeasurably wide. 'None more critical than secret affairs', indeed. Wisdom of the ancestors is to be wisely heeded.
No spy network avails you here; but you did not always have that luxury. Your aged eyes are still sharp, and will cut like a knife.
It is nearly amusing, you ruminesce to yourself, how loud these children be. Let your secret observations be the path to victory.
Observe (Covert, Day)
- Target one person during the day.
- At the end of day 3, you will learn the alignments of all people you have previously targeted.
- Voting at any time during the first 3 game days will bring notice to you. You will lose this ability.
(Mod note: should the Chinese delegate target the Australian delegate, the Australian delegate's traitor ability will trigger at the end of day 3, after which this will resolve; thus giving the Australian delegate's alignment as 'Political Extremist'.
Azrael:
You are the North Korean Delegate.
You help yourself to another of the exotic sweetmeats still laid innocuously on the dresser, savoring the piquance of lemon blended with cream and milk. Truly, worthy of a seven-star resort.
Food is a luxury you learn to appreciate quickly in the Great Homeland, all the more when you don't have it. The Global Recessions brought change, but in your youth you knew hunger beyond the imaginings of many. Life was not easy in the lowlands of the Great Homeland, especially in times of tension; some died from the consuming hunger, and others from the fruits of mistakes past and mistakes present, in the forms of explosions. Always explosions -- not surprising, so far from any frontlines or borders, but nonetheless deadly. You, like other survivors, quickly learned to spot the patterns, and defuse the mines/bombs/carelessly mispackaged charges. It even became a game of sorts, one of many simple (though dangerous) pleasures to palliate the hunger.
It took years of good, hard work to secure yourself a better position, through patronage and through blackmail and through some measures you don't like to think about now. More than once you had to play your old game again, courtesy of jealous rivals; you even remember with particular fondness one devilishly complicated package you wouldn't have thought a nepotistic crony could have devised. Maybe he outsourced, but it was fun nonetheless.
Eventually the game faded, though, to be replaced instead by barely-hidden petitioning; your status solidified and reinforced by your actual steadfast competence. Restless, you fell upon a new pastime, one enabled by the excesses allowed your position; cooking, with access to the culinary resources of half the planet, combining your love for food with an artistic side you never knew. You drew inspiration from everything, from the dress uniform to the Great Leader's hairdo (although you kept that one a secret pleasure -- tasted great, too) to dimmer, childhood memories.
Food is the ultimate sign of life, the pinnacle of pleasure in the moment. Tomorrow hardly matters in the face of today; that's the lesson you've carried from your childhood. Hunger is a specter that must be exorcised every day, and you take the utmost delight in doing so as flamboyantly as possible.
The next bite is boysenberry, and you shiver in delight. You must visit the kitchens of the cafe they brought this was from -- and the other kitchens as well, for that matter. Perhaps you'll make something for everyone, too
They don't call you the Masked Iron Chef Kim for nothing.
The Game (Triggered)
- Triggered when someone targets you with a bomb. You will find and defuse the bomb.
Breakfast Fortissimo (Triggered)
- Triggered at the beginning of each day. You will visit various kitchens and, drawing inspiration from your surroundings, prepare a large and splendid repast for all. Each day you will draw new inspiration.
(Mod note: 3 players among the living delegates who have not been previously selected are randomly chosen each day. SK and Political Extremist faction head are rerolls, as their identities are fake. Food will correspond to the countries of these three players.)
MandersHex:
You are the Indian Delegate.
As surreptitiously as you can, you slip a soft tablet from the second container in your pocket, and palm it. Feigning a cough, you tilt the tablet into your mouth, and do a hard, dry swallow, then drop your shivering hands back under the table. It doesn't take long for the shaking to stop, and for a slow sense of euphoria to set in. You let loose a soft sigh of contentment -- no one seems to notice, but the one you knew would.
It's not a good habit. You know it. He knows it. But, you like to think, it's not like anyone would begrudge you it, not with what you've had to deal with over the years. The corruption; the power struggles; the sheer self-serving spite of the factions of the Indian government -- half the body politic working completely against the few striving to build towards the future. Enough to make a grown man scream, and cry, and beat his chest in agony. You know. You did it.
The poisonous wishes that Lord Shiva would strike the better half dead were not good karma at all; even worse when they seemed to come true. The Fourth Great Global Recession brought chaos, and hunger, and riots -- nothing too unusual if not for the scale. More than a few of those you secretly cursed fiery death upon really did fall to shrieking demise. You saw one, a corpulent Brahmin you hated with a passion -- but you would not have wished him torn limb from limb by half-maddened rioters desperate for something to blame. His head in the air still haunts you at times, hovering like a demented, shocked ball in an eternal spinning motion. Only the pills let you sleep then.
It started, ironically enough, with the ayurveda that was your hobby and field of study -- trying to regain your equilibrium through internal treatments. It worked too well. Soon the oils and herbs became almost a daily practice, you needing the herbs and fragrances to haze out the screaming epithets that threatened to escape your lips. Your calm was almost legendary, and also almost entirely chemical -- but garnered you renown for your understanding and patience.
The fragrances would not drown out the memories of the riots, however. It took you a month and... stronger substances... to stop seeing, and another two months to regain true functionality. It might have taken you longer had someone at a diplomatic meeting not noticed and arranged to shake you straight. That was the Pakistani Delegate, who is here with you right now, in this hellish situation; he is the only other person who knows of your unsavory habit, and also the person with whom you orchestrated a lasting peace with Pakistan for the first time in centuries, in the aftermath of the Recession.
You owe him a karmic debt, you know, that you can never repay in the this lifetime. It is for his sake as much as yours that you will gather your wits and live through the barbarism of the days to come.
Ayurvedic Medicine (Overt, Night)
- Target one person at night. Your unearthly skill in ayurvedic medicine will prevent the death of this person from wounds or poison this night.
- Due to your own substance abuse, this ability will not work on yourself.
Coded Correspondence (Covert, Any)
- You carry a coded communication device, the twin of which is carried by Wrath_of_DoG, the Pakistani Delegate. You may talk with Wrath_of_DoG at any time.
Wrath_of_DoG:
You are the Pakistani Delegate.
It is the soldier in you, you reflect as you observe the histronics in the room, that makes you want to yell at the whole lot of them like a drill sergeant and shake them straight. The diplomat you now are knows this is neither the time or the place; nor, if there are truly infiltrators among you, an action that will have any good consequences. As always, you muse, the diplomat seems to know better than the soldier.
You don't like to remember your military service, anyway. Or rather, you don't like to remember one part of your military service -- albeit a rather large part. You didn't mind the training (not even the Allah-cursed drill sergeant you feel so tempted to emulate now), or the shooting. It's not that you even minded the shooting people -- if you were a military man with a problem with that, you clearly should have quit ages ago. But you weren't, even when you had to help clear the bodies. It's not like you were that comfortable with it, either, but it was duty, and they were enemy.
At the beginning, the bomb squad transfer didn't bother you either -- the bomb squad in question not being one that cleared bombs (although there was some of that on occasion), but rather one which set bombs. You were good at it. Very good. More than one extremist base or vehicle was cleansed by the fire and shrapnel you set and often, detonated. And again, you weren't comfortable with it, but it was duty, and they were enemy.
One day you were too close and the enemy abruptly became all too human, with all too human outstretched disembodied charring arms, and in the billowing fire and smoke you could no longer see cleansing and duty, but merely iblis.
Still you did your duty, holding in sickness with stoicism. With your eventual promotion, and shift to more political concerns, you swore to yourself never to kill with bombs again. It is a sacred vow you will keep to the end of your life, cemented by the months of nightmares that followed you even as you learned the processes of policy.
You recognized the signs of the same nightmares one day, at a tense diplomatic meeting -- in the twitching edges of the shadows of the eyes of the Indian politician who remained polite and patient even in the tense undercurrent. A chance glimpse of the pill he swallowed mid-meeting told you the source of that patience, and that he was heading straight down a road that a less disciplined you might have walked.
In retrospect, hiring an assassin to attack and shock him was far from the most politic solution. But somehow, it worked; and unlikely as it may seem, the two of you became confidants of a sort, and over the next decade built the foundation for a final peace between your countries. Your great work is done, of a sort; yet this situation threatens it, and you, and the same Indian delegate, in this same room, in this same situation. You have an odd and uncomfortable sense that your old skills may come to be of use if you are all to survive this.
The Indian looks towards you, and you nod imperceptibly. But it is the soldier in you, you think regretfully, that keeps whispering in your ear: 'Trust no one.'
Bomb Disposal (Overt, Night)
- Target one person at night. You will check for and defuse any explosives in this person's room.
- You may not target yourself.
Coded Correspondence (Covert, Any)
- You carry a coded communication device, the twin of which is carried by MandersHex, the Indian Delegate. You may talk with MandersHex at any time.
AsianInvasion:
You are the Indonesian Delegate.
Sometimes, in life, there are hard decisions.
You, however, have never had to make any of them. Money? Your family has more money than you'd know what to do with, and has no compunctions about providing you with it. Education? Even if you weren't naturally gifted (all those tutors said so too, didn't they?), a few 'contributions' would have ensured your success. Relationships? People like money -- girls like money even more. Career? Your family's influence, your uncle's position, all led to a nice cushy government job.
You didn't really have to do anything once you were there, but hey, you were bored. And it really wasn't that difficult to push less talented and less *ahem* connected plebians out of the way to higher office. So you had to do some actual work now and then -- so what? It wasn't like it was difficult or anything. The family was even proud. You like that. You like your family, after all.
It wasn't family, though, but a friend in the intelligence branch who introduced you to your own secret little pleasure. It started with the drugs -- no, you're not stupid enough to use them on yourself. It was mostly soporifics, an advanced mixture, next to impossible to detect without specific training -- and damnable fun at clubs, landing the two of you the few frigid girls unimpressed by money, and getting a few laughs at the expense of the occasional male who you thought needed 'cooling off'. But one night your friend got a little too drunk and demonstrated interrogation techniques on this one guy, and ebulliently asked you to try it to. You did. And you liiiiked it.
He wasn't so cheery any more when he sobered up, but now he can't do a thing against you, just smuggle you your 'supplies' and help you set up your 'fun'. Ahhh, good times. But it was all getting a bit stale, which was why you jumped at a chance to head for the next Doha Round, and put in the effort to get there. (Well, the seven-star thing was a good part of that too.)
This situation, however, may well be the first hard decision you have to make. And somehow that just makes it all the more interesting. And it's not like you're unequipped... you've got your 'supplies', which you were intending on using on an employee or two, and you've got an anonymous address which is apparently some foreign politico your friend's got a hold on. If he's here, he's going to be doing your dirty work -- well, the non-fun bits, anyway.
And that's just the way you like it.
Soporifics (Overt, Night)
- Target one person at night. Your first dose of soporifics will render the person too drowsy to perform any action this night.
Kidnap (Overt - special, Night)
- Target one person you have previously targeted with Soporifics at night. Your second dose will knock the person unconscious, roleblocking him. The politician under blackmail will deliver the unconscious individual to a secure location, where you will interrogate the semi-conscious person to discover the person's rolename and abilities (covert, overt, and most triggered).
- This action will register as both you and the politician under blackmail targeting the person.
- You may not use this ability on the same night as Soporifics.
- Be warned; flavour for this action is highly suspicious.
- You will lose this ability if the politician under blackmail is dead.
(Modnote: Player under blackmail is the Myanmar delegate)
DYH/Seppel:
You are the Saudi Arabian Delegate.
You are a proud person. You know this as fact.
You know that it is seen as a flaw by some. You do not agree.
You have reasons for your pride. You are a member of a proud people, in a proud country, rich in cultural and religious significance, and one which weathered the storm of the Global Recessions well, unlike certain neighbours who cannot claim even half of this. Your family is of a proud and long heritage, stretching back to the earliest allies of the House of Saud, and have been of great prominence in the affairs of state for well over a century. You, personally, have been and still are at the pinnacle of academic and now professional achievement and responsiblity. Your very presence at this summit is deserving of pride; upon your shoulders is the heavy mantle of representative of your country's interests. You have reasons for your pride, and they are, you believe, full and puissant.
But in your pride, you know, you have had moments that you should not be proud of. One incident in particular shames you to think about -- some social function the purpose of which (had one even existed) long lost to you in the sands of memory, with guests from all Saudi and from neighbouring countries. You know, now, the careless comment from the Emirati had not been intended as slight, or indeed, even aimed at you; but your pride stung, you countered with pointed words, sharpened by your intellect and slicing as the edge of a sirocco. His face flushed with shame (and you know, bitter anger) -- years later, wisdom tells you that yours should have as well. You were not wrong. But being right is not cause for belligerent action. You know this now.
It is either irony of the highest order or the will of Allah manifest that the selfsame Emirati entered the diplomatic service of his country, as a representative of his emirate; and, that the same man would be at the same summit. You had hoped to make amends following the summit, and put to rest childhood grievances -- but it looks as though other priorities must come first. There are traitors and terrorists in your midst, and they must be rooted out.
So be it. You are a proud person, and your pride will not forgive these cowards. You will exercise your charisma and your judgment to stamp out this threat, and then, Allah willing, you will exorcise shadows of past shame as well, to step unfettered into the shining tomorrow.
Pardon (Overt, Day)
- Target one person. This person may not be lynched today.
- You may not use this ability on consecutive days.
Black Thread of Fate (Special)
- You know the Emirati Delegate is in the game. You do not know his alignment.
TheFooFish:
You are the Emirati Delegate.
A grudge is like a grain of sand, buried in the dunes of the desert. Searing hot and chilling cold - shifting, grinding; invisible, everpresent - and capable, with enough magnitude, of deadly fury.
The magnitude of yours is bespoken clearly by what it has driven you to achieve. You know you were a dissolute, thoughtless youth; it was that same thoughtlessness that doubtlessly let loose some comment that provoked the issue in the first place.
No longer. You have your connections, of course -- no one in a position such as yours does not -- but those alone would never suffice to take someone where you are. Your achievements have been born from bloody-minded determination as implacable and grim as jihad, tempered by hatred and bitterness. No longer the wastrel, destined for luxury and expense; your change was complete, total, and astonishing, to the talented and acerbic politician, known best for the ability to calm any situation with a few cutting words. It certainly astonished your family; it definitely astonishes you, when you think about it.
Sometimes you wonder at yourself and muse that you should thank the Saudi dog, before you slip a knife between his ribs. You do not entertain the thought of conciliation; the whispers and shadows of shame and ridicule will not let you. He insulted you -- your lineage -- your history. This cannot be borne. An earlier age might have declared blood feud on the spot.
But you are no murderer, nor have you lost rationality. Thus you avoided all contact with the arrogant Saudi, sidestepping appointments which might place you in close proximity to him -- for in the very essence of irony, the man entered his own country's diplomatic services and rose through the ranks like a whirling dervish. You had no wish to compromise yourself, your family, and your country through rash action. But all the time the grinding sands in your hard sifted, hot, and cold, hot, and cold.
You could not avoid him forever, though, not with your authority and his. And while you might have kept yourself to vitriol and spite across a conference table and through microphones, the dry and bitter sands in your heart now begin to pick up speed.
You are no murderer. But there are murderers about.
And then maybe the sands blasting your soul will still.
Assert Order (Overt, Day)
- Use of this ability will reset all votes currently cast.
- You may not use this ability on consecutive days.
Black Thread of Fate (Special)
- You know the Saudi Arabian Delegate is in this game. You do not know his alignment.
- Additionally, you need the Saudi Arabian Delegate dead to win.
You win when only members of the Politicians are left. Additionally, you need the Saudi Arabian Delegate dead to win.
Ace/Anaklusmos:
You are the Russian Delegate.
Scanning the directory of the suite's entertainment system brings an involuntary snort of laughter at the 'Classics' section. It is not so much that it is overrun with American films from the last century -- no one will deny that their oily prominence in the last decade justifies this. You even like some of the - how you say - campier ones. Their silliness is amusing to no end, especially when they do not think they are being silly.
Perhaps it is your age. But you find many things and people silly these days -- the new politicos of the Motherland, so puffed up in their shining squeaky pride; the mere children of this new generation who only think they know cold winter - pah!; and so very many of these foreign 'diplomats', yapping like mad chihuahuas. Like so many schoolyard boys.
These terrorists, too. Bombs and killing and threats -- bozhe moi! All so silly. Change will come when it comes -- the Great Global Recessions showed that. Neither talk nor terror changed a thing until the weight of the world's Babel collapsed in on itself. Nothing will change here, whatever happens in these days. The dark and winter will come when they come.
But, you suppose, you are not so ready to die just yet. Your thoughts flick briefly to the store of 'persuasive measures' your luggage holds; useless on you, of course. Russian diplomats are among the most paranoid in the world. No poison or chemical has hold on you. Most, you are sure, cannot say the same.
But in the meantime, some silliness is to be enjoyed rather than endured. Ah! South Park!
'Changing of Mind' (Overt, Night)
- Target one person. Any actions taken by that person this night will be redirected to another person of your choice.
- Your target will not be aware of this change.
Ultimate Chemical Balance (Triggered)
- Triggered when you are targeted by a poison or chemical effect. This effect will not work on you.
(Modnote: Ultimate Chemical Balance prevents poison kills and chemical roleblocks, i.e. Iranian and Indonesian delegates' abilities)
dropkickdude:
You are the Micronesian Delegate.
You are a sad, bitter man.
Well, maybe that's overstating it a bit. But you are currently very much and undoubtedly feeling most benighted, unfortunate, and put upon.
It's not like you even like going to these stupid summits, every single time they're held. It's just that no one else ever wants to, so it always gets shoved onto you. You'd probably enjoy the extravagant locations more if your expense account wasn't so damned limited -- as it is, watching the other delegates wine and dine just makes you feel sorrier for yourself.
It's not like you have any function here, other than to occasionally suck up to someone. You know as well as everyone else that you really have no place here. You love your country, but you know very well it has no say in global economic matters. Why in the world did they even accept that first blasted invitation anyway? That ridiculous 'reward' for participation in that idiotic 'Coalition of the Willing', and again in that regrettable altercation after the Third Great Global Recession... 'participation' being used very loosely, about as loosely as your current 'participation' in the Doha Rounds is.
And of all things, this year, to get caught in a terrorist attack! You know you should have snuck out to Shelford-on-Cimmer, like some of the others did. But your damned expense account, again...
You breathe a deep, terrible sigh. Getting killed would just top it all off, wouldn't it? At least you can try to be minimally useless... it's not like anyone else could be less unhelpful. Except the terrorists themselves. Who certainly are better equipped than you, at least.
Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.
Only Vanilla (Special)
- You have no abilities. You will gain no abilities. Nothing can give you abilities.
- You know you are the only person with no abilities.
Survivor:
indomitablebug:
You are the Swiss Delegate.
It would surprise no one to learn that your first thought, and first priority, is of survival. It certainly does not surprise you.
It is not that your country is known for neutrality -- at least not precisely. Your people are a deeply opinionated people, and one that loves debate, consideration, and persuasion. Argue well enough in your own favour and you can do many things in Switzerland. Fail to convince and you will find yourself without aid or recourse.
The corollary, then, is that you are a people very capable and willing of seeing all sides of an argument, and with a natural resistance to herd instinct and mass paranoia. (Not a perfect resistance, of course. You are still human.) Thus while you certainly deplore the barbarism of this terrorist act, you're not going to let yourself get dragged into an 'us-or-them' mentality. But neither can you stop this yourself, you know -- thus your best choice (and the one that coincides with your best chance of survival) is to hang back, and negotiate with those who prevail.
Luckily, as the representative of several prominent Swiss banks, you do indeed have the means with which to perform such negotiations. Even terrorists have finances, after all -- many of which are doubtless somewhere under your authority. And you are not above using said authority, should those plebians attempt to threaten you with their mob justice.
Wait and see. This is your motto, and the one thing you follow as religiously as your country's neutrality. As for what happens under your watch... that is rarely any of your concern.
Monetary Threat (Triggered)
- Triggered when you are to be lynched. You will reveal your rolename and alignment, and prevent your lynch through monetary threat. All town players will be roleblocked this night. The game will still go to night.
- This ability will only work once.
You are a Survivor, and win when you survive to the end of the game.
Private Mod Note
():
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
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.
Fact is, you didn't really want to be here. Reason's simple, and there ain't any way of getting around it -- y'hate chinks. And y'know well enough that you'd never be able to deal with Asian delegates well enough to do your job properly. (That, and they make your skin crawl. Really.)
Irony is, that's the entire reason you became a politician. Waaaay back when, the One Nation party inspired you, told you all whose fault it all was. But they faded just as quickly as they came, sad t'say -- though you're secretly a member of it even now. Card-carrying, even. Well, okay, it's a point card for Pauline Hanson's old fish-and-chips shop, but hey, it's the thought that counts.
Though now that you think about it, it probably isn't all that much of a secret. Considering you go out of your way not to talk to Lee over at the Perth office. And considering how much you have lunch at a fish-and-chip shop with a 'No Chinks' sign by the counter. Heh. Might explain why the old Minister had that weird look on his face when he told you it was your turn to represent at the Doha Round, no arguments.
Heh. Sneaky old man. Probably that whole 'work out your issues' bunk. You'll feed him to kangaroos for this -- joking, of course. It's not like he's Asian or anything.
You will yell at him a bit for getting you dumped into a terrorist situation, though. Danger to your life and all that. Although honestly the bit you mind the most is being stuck in a hotel with some chinks for god knows how long.
Heh. Actually getting a few of them killed sounds pretty good to you, all things considered. You'll go along for now and help break a few heads, hopefully Asian heads. And if the opportunity comes up, who knows...?
Mob Up (Covert, Day)
- Activate this ability by voting the same person 3 times in a row, in different posts, with no other votes or unvotes in between. (You may want to PM the mod as well to ensure the mod does not miss this.) That person will require two less votes to lynch on this day.
- You may use this ability only once.
Racist Influence (Triggered)
- Triggered by certain conditions being met. Your alignment and win condition will change.
(Modnote: Racist Influence triggers when targeted by Chinese, Japanese, Indonesian, or Myanmar delegates. North Korean delegate has no ability with which to target.)
Emo_Pinata/Deaths_Vampire
You are the Iranian Delegate.
Fuming, you violently slam the door of your suite behind you -- or at least try to. The door sinks into the vacuum frame making hardly a sound; instead, a strangled sound of frustration rips itself from your throat.
Always. Always, it's something. This isn't your first Doha Round, and never a one has ever gone by without incident for you. The first time, it was the damnable Americans, sniping at you the whole time, slanderous insinuation after insinuation that everyone else just studiously ignored. And after that, and after that, with that new heathen English dog joining in -- and just the last time, some of your own fellow Muslims took their shots at you and your country. Infuriating! Just who was the bastion of Islam for so many years? Who provided consistent and stubborn resistance to America's wrongheaded directives and debt-bloated economic measures all the way to and throughout the Great Global Recessions? The sheer disrespect drives you to distraction!
But it always comes back to the heathen Americans, and their English tools. You have no doubt in your mind that whoever instigated this ridiculous act of terrorism, it was in response to some American high-handedness. And this so-called 'solution'! This barbarian, savage plan of action! YOu didn't see who actually suggested it first, but it's so typically American mob mentality that you didn't have to. You knew.
....and you are perhaps the most angry at yourself, for not having a ready alternative to this barbarian lynch mob. It sears your chest with tangible mortification, but you'll have to go ahead with this for the time being. And perhaps take your own measures at night, using some of your.. personal.. supplies.
But if those Americans or British take even one step wrong...
Opiate of the Masses (Covert, Night)
- Target one person at night. This person will be rendered semi-conscious via certain 'additives' mixed into their water, roleblocking them.
- You may not use this ability in the same night as Motivational Medicine.
Motivational Medicine (Overt, Night)
- Target one person at night. This person will be given a boost of stamina that will allow them to perform an extra non-lethal action this night.
- You have two uses of this ability.
- You may not use this ability in the same night as Opiate of the Masses.
Righteous Indignation (Triggered)
- Triggered by certain conditions being met. Your alignment and win condition will change.
(Modnote: Righteous Indignation triggers when the American or British delegates kill a town-aligned player at night.)
ced395:
You are the Irish Delegate.
Few would recognize your name now. Fewer will recognize your name in several decades.
But you, and your closest colleagues, know the true extent of your contribution to your nation of New Ireland. Many of those closest colleagues were, like you, members of Neue Sin Fein -- and many, like you, will never have those contributions be recorded in history, for your sakes, and for the sake of New Ireland.
Although few of them are at half the risk you would be. You were, after all, one of the frontline -- you performing everything from agitating, to rioting, to the darker tools of rebellion; of which you excelled at the bombing which your movement's predecessor used so well. And perhaps, more wondrously, you survived the years of rebellion (both quiet and open) mostly intact, and definitively alive; which is more, sadly, that many of your comrades can presently say. You began your work at the movement's very inception, in the wake of the Second Great Global Recession; and even among those who joined later, few of your frontline comrades lived to see the glorious day of secession and independence, after the Third Great Global Recession. And several less discrete ones met their ends in suspicious circumstances following that -- no doubt at the hands of the same British snipers that so decimated your ranks at the height of the rebellion.
For your patriotic service, you were rewarded with a new identity, and a post in government services. Your history and contributions will never be known, unlike many of your slain comrades; the price of survival. But you would not have it any other way. New Ireland lives; this is enough for you.
For you know it was also a favour to you. You have seen too much. Done too much. You are, sad to say, no longer a creature of peace, though for now you wear such a skin; and your new, untraceable history is a form of freedom you would never have had with greater recognition or notoriety. You are free to do as you wish, and your country will live on -- with or without you. There is no greater legacy.
God has a sense of irony, to cast one such as you into this situation; a hidden killer surrounded by hidden killers. Perhaps you will see it through. Perhaps you will not.
A single vial of highly potent nitroglycerin compound represents your right to decide. After that, who knows?
Suicide Bomber (Triggered)
- Triggered if you are lynched. You will kill yourself and the person who cast the lynching vote with your vial of nitroglycerin. This will bypass all resistances.
- You will lose this ability if you use Night Raid.
- You will lose this ability if your alignment changes.
Night Raid (Overt, Night)
- Target one person at night. You will kill that person with your nitroglycerin bomb.
- You will lose this ability after use.
Shadow of the Rebellion (Triggered)
- Triggered by certain conditions being met. Your alignment and win condition will change.
(Modnote: Shadow of the Rebellion triggers at the end of any day in which the British delegate claims his rolename truthfully.)
vezokpiraka:
You are the German Delegate.
It is as certain and unavoidable as it is uneviable a fact, that the glory of your country is a waning moon, a fading star.
The Second Great Global Recession, for all that it was the trigger, was not the beginning. The problems were deeper, more endemic; but the chaos that erupted in Europe spelled the beginning of the slow, creeping end. Economic recovery was terminally slow. The usual recovery of market enthusiasm never happened. The soul of the people was as sluggish as the stock market, so much so that you began to wonder if some demonic pact linked the two. And just as things were beginning to return to some semblance of normalcy, the Third Great Global Recession came and knocked down all the dominoes again.
Still Germany persevered, endured -- survived the Third, and somehow weathered the Fourth as well, avoiding France's fate. But the scars were permanent, irreparable; the economy a shattered shell of its former self. Your very participation in the Doha Round is but an echo of past glory, you know; in truth, your country no longer has the capability to exert any real influence on the world. A fact which certain factions never let you forget; the arrogant Americans, for one, and your snobbish British neighbours, for all that it was their own troubles that helped bring ruin upon you all. And the snide Israeli and their permanent victim complex. And most frustrating of all is the fact that they are right.
This is the shape of your greatest regret; that you could do nothing to stop the fall. You were too young, you knew too little, you had no authority; these are all excuses, you know. Excuses that the great men of history, heroes or villains, paid no heed to. Instead you have cultivated paranoia and observancy in equal measures -- but what good either of these without courage?
And indeed, recently, your traitorous thoughts have begun to take a decidedly sinister turn, that you yourself shrink back from consciously, while drawn to unconsciously. For (your sibilant mental voice whispers) the most dramatic recovery Germany ever saw was at the hands and measures of a certain Austrian painter. A common enemy does wonders to revitalize any country.
As soon as the thought crosses your mind (yet again) you seal it away into the furthest reaches of your consciousness (yet again). But you know it will be back. Hitler was a monster, prone to several of the worst excesses in your country's history; but also the father of one of its greatest recoveries, from a shell-shocked and shattered state, to once again a European superpower. It is sheer poison, but one that seems oh so very sweet indeed...
It is true you hold no love for the Americans, or the British, or those drama queen Jews... and if you simply worked to keep the country from excess?... you shake your head violently. But the thought refuses to go away.
Courage. Courage is what you lack. But is it the courage to deny the thought totally, or to act upon it?
To your own horror, you truly have no idea.
Paranoia Sense (Triggered)
- Triggered when someone targets you with an overt action. You will detect the person who targeted you.
Discerning Gaze (Overt, Night)
- Target one person at night. You will observe said person and learn their triggered abilities.
A Simple Push (Triggered)
- Triggered by certain conditions being met. Your alignment and win condition will change.
(Modnote: A Simple Push is triggered at the end of any day in which the German delegate is voted by any of the American, British, or Israeli delegates.)
Nakamura:
You are the Israeli Delegate.
It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you.
Colloquial, but in a way it describes much of what drives you. And why shouldn't it? The history of your people is a long and chequered history of persecution; from the Romans, to the Church, and now the Moslems. Forced from place after place - faced repeatedly with scorn and prejudice - and even now, locked in a constant struggle to retain the lands that are historically yours. The lesson that long years of history have taught you is that the world is your enemy -- the enemy of Israel and the Jewish tribes.
If the world is your enemy, then, treat it like one. Take whatever it gives you, and take whatever it won't; the former you do with the Americans, and the former you did with the Moslems. In a hostile world, one carves out one's own place, and defends it tooth and nail; or loses it in an instant. That last is a part of your history which you refuse to see repeated. Some, even in Israel itself, call your viewpoint too extreme -- you think they do not feel the weight of their ancestors enough. But it is your role and duty to protect them from having to know the same terrible weight. A quandary, but one oddly comfortable to you. A cornered rat that wins its fight knows never to be scared again.
This terrorist attack? More of the same. Yet another attempt upon the dignity and existence of holy Israel. There are more than a few here whom you have personal distaste for, but it is no more and no less than everyone else deserves. They are all enemies. You will simply work with one enemy against the other.
Take what they will give you. Take what they will not. And one way or the other, you, and Israel, will never be left in the cold again.
Lobby Power (Covert, Night)
- Target one person at night. You will invoke Jewish lobby power and destroy this person's diplomatic authority, removing their vote permanently.
- You will lose this ability after use.
Victim Complex (Triggered)
- Triggered by certain conditions being met. Your alignment and win condition will change.
(Modnote: Victim Complex is triggered at the end of any day in which the Israeli delegate is put at L-2. Additionally, the ability will fail if either the German or Iranian delegates are currently alive and part of the Political Extremist faction, and must be triggered again at a later date.)
~V~/Pale Mage:
You are the South African Delegate.
Were there a handy bookmaker, you would be willing to lay half your fortune on good odds that yours was the most natural, most human reaction of the lot. And then you would pray fervently to escape alive to collect on that bet.
Put simply, you are utterly and completely terrified. You have no wish to die. That body beside the ruined passageway reminded you far too much of things you have seen in your homeland. You don't want to end up like that, or dead in any other (doubtless gruesome and painful) way. You survived years in the snakepit of South African politics. You've come too far to die now!
It's all so patently unfair. This was supposed to be relaxing, a vacation... an exclusive seven-star resort, paid for by a diplomatic expense account, and with no worries of assassins sent by ideological opposition and political rivals! And all you really had to do was stand your ground against a few arrogant foreigners. Small beans, compared to the uncoiled wrath of some of your superiors at home. These have an image to keep up, after all; and it's not like they can try to have you killed.
Except that somehow, impossibly, someone that can try to have you killed has infiltrated the summit. And you have no idea how many or who they are. This sets you shaking to the bone,in a way you have not felt for years. You do not like the feeling, you do not like it at all.
But you only have two talents; running and hiding, and a sense for someone able to kill you. And a third, perhaps. Does begging for your life count?
If push comes to shove, you know you will do anything to survive. You will join anyone if you will live. You have family to return to and a life yet to live. And that is the one creed that every coward in the world cling to with everything last scrap of strength in his frame. So it is with you.
Hide (Overt, Night)
- Target one person at night. You will hide with this person. Abilities targeting you will fail. Abilities that target the person you hide with may affect you.
- You may not normally use this ability on the same night as Inspect.
Inspect (Overt, Night)
- Target one person at night. You will learn if this person has or has had the ability to kill a person.
- You may not normally use this ability on the same night as Hide.
Survival Instinct (Triggered)
- Triggered by certain conditions being met. Your alignment and win condition will change.
(Modnote: Survival Instinct is triggered when the South African delegate or the player the SA delegate is hiding behind is successfully targeted by the mafia kill.)
~Tilde~:
You are the Myanmar Delegate.
In retrospect, it really was fairly obvious what would finally get the Westerners to shut their mouths and get out of your country's business. In fact, they became positively friendly once the discovery was made; although you suppose the whole Great Global Recession thing had something to do with it. But it's not like the junta minded, past a few shaded whispers; bygones were made bygones. Money was made.
The answer was, of course, oil. The moment a new wellspring of the substance was found, all frosty attitudes thawed. Negotiations friendlier than any in history were opened. Contracts were signed, money (and weapons, under the table) changed hands. Myanmar was the new toast of Southeast Asia. The few that invested beforehand boasted of their foresight, nevermind that no one could have foreseen the chance discovery of black gold.
The months afterwards were prosperous beyond comparison in your country's history, and it wasn't unusual for many officials and officers to engage in certain.... excesses. Not unusual at all. Almost expected, wouldn't you think?
You were one of them, of course. It's not like you were alone, or even one of a minority. You were all drunk, not with liquor (not initially, anyway), but on the feeling of success, on new (if certainly artificial) respect, on the feeling of a brighter future opening up before you all. And perhaps some of you went a bit overboard. But it's all expected. Right? Right?
So unfair, then, that you would be the one blackmailed by some bastard who happened to pick up evidence. (Or so you think. Maybe the others are being blackmailed too. Wouldn't make you feel better.) And then said bastard shared it with his whole family, apparently, so now you're doing the bidding of any number of minor contractors and politicians and businessmen. And you don't even know exactly who they are.
Small wonder that you're tense. It's beginning to get to you, stepping this fine line -- the evidence would ruin you, but getting caught is no better. The junta are harsh on those too overly corrupt (the ironies), and you know that you've stepped over that line many many times now. This whole terrorist thing came almost as a relief, really. Almost like a temporary escape.
Right up until the point you found a message on your personal contact, a message that you know could not have come from the outside, with this unnatural storm. Which means that one of your blackmailers is here. In this resort. In this same situation with you. One of the other 21 people.
The shakes are starting again. You want to scream, but only manage to choke out a whimper. You hands clench, and unclench, and clench again. You feel the cloud of doom closing in on you again, and wonder that you don't suffer a heart attack on the spot. You almost want the terrorists to come kill you to set you free.
But something about that last thought sets a desperate, traitorous hope in your heart to shrieking. And after a while, you pick yourself up off the floor of your suite, and go to bed. Eyes still wide open. And still open. And still. Still.
Blackmail (Triggered)
- Triggered by another person's action. You will be forced to target another person.
The Price of Freedom (Triggered)
- Triggered by certain conditions being met. Your alignment and win condition will change.
(Modnote: The Price of Freedom triggers when the Indonesian delegate dies.)
Political Extremist:
Skander:
You are the Political Extremist.
You sigh imperceptibly, in the shadowed lighting of your 'borrowed' suite. Things are not going according to plan. Not at all. You hate that.
You dislike disruptions to the plan. You can and have dealt with disruptions, of course; but yet you dislike them. It is why you dislike dealing with ideologists, whether political or religious; too many complexes, too many emotional issues, too many impracticalities insisted upon. More than once you've had to 'deal with' dangers to the plan among your own employers; carefully covered up, of course. Bodies hidden, or signs planted. Sometimes you even use the deaths to stir them up; but rarely. Such usually results in more impractical requests. And you really don't like that.
The plan was simple, really. You took the place of one of the delegates -- the Singaporean Delegate rushed right out of the hotel at the rumour of a chilli crab fair and practically free prices, in a cheerfully simple-minded tactic that you would have doubted would work had you not observed the man yourself. From there, it was a simple matter to abduct the man and insert yourself among the delegates, and meet with the rest of your three-man team; the negotiator, even better at hiding in the shadows than you are but completely untrained in combat, and the wetworks specialist, who was supposed to prime the bombs. The bombs that were only supposed to go off in the final days, after you and the negotiator had had the time to influence, one overtly and one covertly, some number of the delegates into joining your employers' faction; to mask your associate's escape, and create just enough of an incident to allow for your new allies to begin to make their respective inroads.
Except that someone or something set off the bombs prematurely. The 'waiter' in the passage was the wetworks specialist. That look of surprise on the ruin of his face could have been horror at a fatal mistake... but more likely it was momentary shock as something attacked and killed him. His body was in the wrong place for the bomb to have been the primary cause of death. Something else set off the bombs. And this storm, oppressive and unnatural...
Enough of that. This is a mere disruption, and one you'll have to deal with. You and your remaining associate have already decided to go forward with the plan, albeit with a more direct approach. And as for the rest... you have, besides your personal armament, the store of weaponry left by the wetworks man. They will simply all have to die.
Along, of course, with whoever created this whole disruption in the first place. That one will make the perfect one to blame the bombing on.
Kill (Overt - special, Night)
- Choose one member of your faction. That person will target and kill another person tonight, with your choice of three forms of weaponry: firearms, poison, or explosive devices.
- This will override choices made by other members of your faction, if applicable.
Consummate Professional (Triggered)
- Triggered when you are targeted with a firearms, poison, or explosive kill, or with some form of chemical effect. You will avoid or be unaffected by this kill or ability.
Assumed Identity (Special)
- You are acting under an assumed identity, that of the Singaporean Delegate. You may PM the mod at any time for a fake role PM for the Singaporean Delegate. The Singaporean Delegate's stated ability will be Self-Defensiveness (Overt, Night), with the effect of rendering the Delegate untargetable.
- All investigations which target you will return this assumed identity, the alignment of Politician, and the above stated ability. No other abilities will be shown.
The Plan (Triggered)
- Triggered by certain conditions being met. Your associate will meet with another person and persuade him to join your faction. You will gain the ability to talk to that person at any time, and may select him to perform the Kill ability.
- Triggered at the beginning of every day. Your associate is investigating and profiling the remaining delegates. He will leave a message detailing the conditions under which one the persons still living may be persuaded to join your faction.
In case you haven't guessed, you are the Mafia in this game, and win when the Political Extremists must inevitably prevail.
(Modnote: Consummate Professional voids chemical roleblocks and redirects as well as kills. The Plan gives a clue to the turn condition of a randomly selected living traitor at the beginning of each day, as well as a list of traitor rolenames at the beginning of day 1. Consummate Professional does not block the SK roleblock or kill.)
Serial Killer
RafaelK:
You are the Religious Extremist.
Oh, curse ye heathens who hath abandoned the way.
Your presence among these heathens is for one purpose, and one purpose only -- to punish those who would participate in this travesty. This 'Doha Round' -- it is a very bed of unholy temptation, a seething cesspool of corruption. Long has been the patience of you and your flock, hoping at each summit that the misguided rediscover the True Way. No more. If hope and prayer will not show them the light, then action and punishment will.
Oh, how weak is man! To fall from the true path at mere earthly hardship. It is true that hundreds upon thousands were bankrupted, starved, experienced misery in the wake of the Great Global Recessions... but what of it? They were doubtlessly the unblessed, undeserving of the blessings of the Great Invisible Will. Their casting down into agony and gnashing of teeth? Doubtless the freeing of resources for the faithful and the blessed. And yet somehow, heads of state failed to see it that way, and they and their subordinates strayed from the light, and continued to spurn the True Way in the years that came. Now is the time, you know, to punish them for their perfidy.
So you and your acolytes called down the storm, laced with electromagnetic energies, to disrupt the delegates and cast them into uncertainty, while cutting them off from the outside world. It was also you who spirited away the staff during the night, relocating them to the other wing of the resort, such that you might need take as few lives as possible. These alone might have been sufficient for your purposes, but in the course of removing the staff with your servitors (effigies of your Lord, moving by the force of your and your Lord's manifest will), you found that someone had inexplicably placed bombs at critical movement points along the entire conference and VIP wing. Surely this was a blessing from your Lord! And you took it as such upon finding the one who had set the explosives, swiftly slaying him and later detonating the bombs yourself.
Now the heathens writhe in shock and fear, and begin to plan to slaughter one another -- it is to laugh! Now you may truly begin the judgment. Your only point of uncertainty is of the man who laid the explosives; the explosives were not placed to collapse the building (not that this building is so easily toppled), and so he must have had some other motive. A motive, you highly suspect, to do with comrades of his and some plan of their own.
But, you think as you kneel before your Lord, this is no matter. They will fall to the judgment, as surely as the heathens. And then you may begin to once again spread the message of the True Way, and signal a return to the days of yore. The rapture is almost too much for you, as you gaze upon the red plush fur and googly eyes of your Lord.
All hail Lord Elmo, and the Cult of Consumer Expenditure! Hail! Hail! HAIL!
Judgment (Covert, Night)
- Target one person at night. You will send an Elmo effigy to deliver lethal judgment upon this person. This kill may not be stopped by conventional means.
- You begin with 4 Elmo effigies. You will not be able to send more than one to use this ability per night.
Trial of Darkness (Covert, Night)
- Target one person at night. This person will be roleblocked by an Elmo effigy.
- You begin with 4 Elmo effigies. You will not be able to send more than one to use this ability per night.
Holy Protection (Covert, Night)
- Target one person at night. This person will be protected from a kill this night by an Elmo effigy.
- You begin with 4 Elmo effigies. You are able to send as many Elmo effigies as you like to use this ability per night.
- Any Elmo effigy that successfully prevents one or more kills will be destroyed.
- By default, all Elmo effigies unused for Judgment or Trial of Darkness will be invoking Holy Protection on you.
In case you haven't guessed, you are the Serial Killer, and you win when everyone else is dead, all praise Lord Elmo.
(Modnote: SK kills bypass all doc protections and immunities. Only Holy Protection or a roleblock on the SK can stop an SK kill.)
Political Extremist's Assumed Identity Role PM:
Unnoticed by all, you breathe deeply, and briefly tune out the hysterical accusations. The yelling a mere murmur in your ears, you call to mind the mask under which you entered this conference, and reconstruct your assumed identity's very personality and reactions.
-------------
You are the Singaporean Delegate.
Your hands are shaking. Shaking trembling quaking, and you can't. Stop.
Terrorists? Terrorists? That was just always something that happened to someone else. Not to good old Singapore. Not to good old Singaporeans.
This was supposed to be peaceful, dammit. You - you were just supposed to nod and smile at half the proceedings, agree when asked and disagree when demanded, then stand your ground on any and all bottom-line issues with all the intrinsic stubbornness in your highly-educated frame. And in between try out some of Shelford-on-Cimmer's local version of chilli crab. And the truffle dishes in the fifth floor Le Provinciale restaurant. And the famous Spanish black pig at the Midnight Cafe. And...
But this - this - this - what are you going to do? You can't defend yourself! Sure, there was that compulsory military service and all, but who actually took that seriously? And - and - who knows what insidious methods these terrorists have at their disposal?
You can almost feel the paranoia setting in, but you make no effort to stop it. (You can't. You're not actually very good with surprises.) Your eyes flick wildly around - back, forth, desk, mirror, light switch, mirror, door --
Door. Door. Before you realize it, your bloodshot gaze is fixed squarely on the door. That door. That cursed entryway.
Sleep escapes you. All you can do is stare at the door, mad yammering behind your eyes - that door that you will hold shut at any cost. Any cost. Any.
Hyper-Defensiveness (Overt, Night)
- On nights you choose to activate this ability, you will be rendered untargetable by most actions.
- You may or may not have limited uses of this ability.
You win when only members of the Politicians are left.
--------------------------------------
...you open your eyes, feeling the weight of the paranoid and pompous persona settling around you. You can feel his paranoia clawing at your nerves, and make sure to show just enough - just enough - to establish your character. And underneath that, your true tactical mind lies, waiting. Waiting.
Private Mod Note
():
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
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.
Roleblocks were given timestamp priority. On the day in which RafK successfully performed a kill, he really did send in the roleblock and kill literally an hour after night began.
Let me know if you want a list of night actions and PMs.
Discussion following me catching up in current games.
Private Mod Note
():
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
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.
Yes, the flavor of the game was great. I enjoyed reading it quite a lot. The game...well I tried to play my best, and minus my choice of night action N4, I don't think I played too badly.
Actually that could have swung things wide open. Ced killing Tilde
Thanks for the game. Really enjoyed D1. Was the weird way everything mafia related passed through me designed to make me paranoid or was I just seeing things?
I would've hated to be town in this game (even though it turns out that the town made some really bad plays, it's hard to evaluate people's alignments when they could always switch and only a single mafioso from the start).
What was supposed to happen was that the next three traitors whose turn conditions were fulfilled would find one of Skander's three
weapon caches (randomly decided) and become an SK with that kill
method, and unable to kill and use their regular ability in the same
night. The town would then win at any point when all SKs were dead,
even if there was an SK turn 'on the stack'.
-I think we were screwed anyway, but yeah, that was bad play on my part. Won't be doing anything like that again. -Or if I do, I'll at least follow through with the gambit, and not get nervous, then greedy.
Anyway, flavor was great, and I'm really glad the bastardness of the game was disclosed upfront.
I was really intrigued by this game. The flavor was amazing, and I'm sad I was forced to leave early. On that note: what was the thought process that went in to killing me? I'm just curious is all.
The funny thing is, the town could still win on Day Two if it got really lucky and none of the traitors turned. This game was probably the most swingy I've ever played.
I've modified access for the Google Group. Anyone should be able to read it now.
As for the game itself... well. The setup itself was born largely out of two things - the first being my own personal liking of the traitor mechanic and the behavioural tightrope it engenders, and the second being yet another attempt to center the game around behaviour rather than role analysis or claim analysis, this time by actively punishing many of the 'usual habits' that towns on MTGS get up to. If you look at some of the traitor turn conditions, that should become immediately clear; the Irish delegate would flip on massclaim, the Iranian delegate would switch due to random vigging, the Israeli punished the random bandwagon -> claim at L-2 -> next bandwagon syndrome. On a similar note, some of the roles were thoroughly useless once disclosed - the Light Wound/Heavy Wound doctor pair would be rendered utterly useless if one ever died and the other claimed, as the mafia would just adjust their kill to the kill method not covered by the surviving partner. And finally, the traitors themselves addressed one of what I always feel to be one of the primary mistakes of many players, including myself - the tendency to declare someone town in the face of scummy behaviour based on something that happened days ago. See CCMIV for a reference - even if I hadn't been lynched, I doubt I would ever have settled on passislisk as the last mafia. Simply because of Seppel's (his scumbuddy's) day 1 badgering.
But then I hadn't foreseen basically half the traitors claiming on day 1, which both told Skander who not to kill, while ensuring WIFOM from day 1. That Nakamura's modkill confirmed the existence of traitors on top of that was perhaps one of the worst outcomes for the town. So yes, that stacked the deck against the town from day 1, and the town never recovered; although I remain amazed that no one, short of RafK, attempted to kill any of the traitors at any point.
I think I can better understand now the general dislike of traitors, and if any of you didn't have fun because of it, I apologize for it. I still maintain that there were behavioural cues aplenty - like how, after making such a big deal about wanting to be lynched to use his supersaint ability on day 1, ced.... completely dropped the subject from day 2 onwards. And how DV's day 5 bluster was so obviously a 'shut up and let me win'. Additionally, vezok's ability might have nabbed you all ced on day 5, if he'd thought a bit more about his results - because he got ced's traitor ability, but not the supersaint ability, which he had lost on turning mafia. Nor was the setup completely opaque - I know some people brought up the possibility of a single mafia among many traitors day 1. But now I acknowledge that the hurdle was indeed set high.
I must also say that this game gave me new respect for Azrael and Xyre - for being able to constantly write PMs, lynch scenes, and all sorts in between for their respective flavour-heavy games. Part of the reason why I decided to make a flavour-heavy game was to get myself back into the fiction-writing groove - but as a result, I struggled with flavour scenes, characterizations, and justifying in flavour just how in the world all the different abilities would work. (As it was, I completely glossed over just how the heck the Hide ability got the South African into other people's rooms.) At least some of the delay many nights was due to getting stuck on flavour scenes, and I apologize for that as well. As it is, I remain unsatisfied with a good chunk of it, to tell the truth.
That being said, my next game is slated to be a flavour-heavy one as well, and one in which something else entirely is uncertain. But no traitors whatsoever in that one. I promise.
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.
Exactly ten seconds after you enter your adopted suite, the currents of the air seem to change.
This is expected, though sooner than anticipated. At the edge of your bed, you begin to speak to seemingly empty air.
'I wasn't expecting contact again this quickly.'
disruption was less than feared. situation, however, is not optimal
'I realize that.' Indeed.
course of action?
You quirk an eyebrow. 'Continue with the plan, of course. With necessary modifications.'
...
very well
'I don't suppose you have any information ready?'
....
observation suggests the following are possible targets for persuasion
australian delegate
german delegate
iranian delegate
irish delegate
israeli delegate
myanmar delegate
south african delegate
also one of the above may be more amenable after being voted for by certain other delegates
'That's... remarkably non-specific.'
limited time. situation in chaos
You almost think you catch a hint of annoyance.
'..very well. Continue surveillance. And take any opportunities you see.'
understood
communications may become sporadic. will leave messages
A few short seconds later, you are alone.
A Careless Word (Nom_Anor)
It takes no more than a mere flutter to raise a storm. So it is here. A single careless utterance draws surprised eyes to you like dewdrops to morning leaves. Several do not seem to have even noticed you there before this.
Inwardly you curse your own foolishness. A spymaster revealed is of no use to anyone. You are as one blind, marching into the enemy's killing field; and behind you are merely more of the blind.
But what is done is done. And your fumbling in the dark, now, will have to suffice.
You have lost the use of your Observe ability.
Shadow of the Rebellion (ced395)
Unlike some of the others, you are cool and collected as you retire to your chambers. Positively glacial, in fact.
It is your game face, which you have not had to use for years now. The mask you wore before pushing the button. The arctic calm with which you approached each operation, and with which you emerged alive from each operation, even as your fellows lay unrecognizable in the streets, brains excoriated by British sniper shells. The same kind of shell the dead man held.
...you lay on the bed, staring up at your hands, still flecked with blood; hands that are perfectly steady, displaying not a sign of regret or remorse. Nor betraying the thrill of murderous intent that ran through you at the man's gasped mention of his identity as he was run down. He was British, he was a sniper -- two of your most hated types of people in the world.
But even that hate is now a distant feeling. The man is dead now, victim of tired paranoia -- a sniper caught in the open. All that is left is a vague feeling of sadness; sadness not for what you did, but for what you are going to do.
For you realize now that the end of the revolution came too late for you. You are a killer now, and always have been -- the sheepskin coat was snug upon you, but the wolf beneath remembers his instincts. You have an appetite for change, and an appetite for killing, and neither will be denied any longer.
And yet, when the invitation comes this night, you yet have one last attachment to settle.
"Do you intend to harm Ireland?" you ask, a hand grasping the nitroglycerin under your coat.
The reply is instantaneous.
Your country simply does not interest us. We have no operations there.
Words are cheap, you know. But the killer will not be denied any longer.
Your alignment has changed from Politician to Political Extremist as a result of your ability, Shadow of the Rebellion, being triggered.
You have lost the Suicide Bomber ability.
You and Skander now form the Political Extremist faction, and may talk to each other at any time. You may wish to set up a mafiachat board. Please PM me the URL or invite me to any such message board.
Night 1 PMs:
Inspect (~V~)
Breathe. Breathe. Breath through the mad, too-loud pounding of your coward's heart, damn your eyes, and breathe quietly.
You sidle closer to the closed door -- your shoe scuffed the floor -- a bit too loud?! No, no... no sounds of activity from the room, no one wandering the corridor. You're clear. Clear. You think.
Breathe. Breaaaathe.
Your ears feel hypersensitive to even the slightest sound, prompting a wince at every step, every brush, every rustle -- but you'll need that sensitivity, along with what passes for your sixth sense. Trepidation in every movement, you lean in, placing your ear to the door, half-expecting every moment for the door to swing open and a gun to be pointing at your face --
...but nothing happens... and you hear nothing behind the door. There is no faint scent of gunpowder, no oily stench of impending death. Gradually, your senses quieten -- your breathing returns to normal.
Silently - so much more silently without your heart pounding fit to burst! - you rise, and make your way to your room. You are certain of one thing this night -- whatever else he may be, this man is not a killer, not an immediate threat to your existence.
Nom_Anor does not presently have the capability to kill.
Kill (Skander)
While you prefer minimal risk to yourself, you are more than capable of getting your own hands dirty. Your new associate off with other priorities this night, it falls to you to get the job done.
The security of this resort is not renowned without cause. But you and your employers have been planning this for nearly a year now, and besides the impressive technology at your personal disposal, you also hold a number of override codes that will neutralize even the rotating keycodes of each delegate's door.
The matte-black device you affix to the electronic lock is done with its job in a matter of minutes, a green, blinking light the only sign of its operation, and mirrored by the green light shining from the lock besides its red, unlit partner.
Half a second later, you open the door, and lift your firearm in a smooth, practiced motion. Your target barely has time to rise from the desk and open his mouth before your bullet catches him in the throat, turning doubtless angry words into a sickening gurgle. He slumps, facedown and boneless, to the floor.
Closing the door, you detach the device, and erase all traces of it, and you, with the chemically-treated cloth you have used a million times before. This is mere caution. No one here has to capability to recognize any of the traces, you are sure, nor would they be able to link them to you if they were. But you are always thinking ahead; you could not stop even if you wanted to.
And you do not want to. It is why you are alive. It is why you are highly paid.
You ghost silently to your own rooms, mind already spinning with plans for the next day.
You have killed Seppel.
Texas Justice and PDA Datafiles (zindabad)
It's almost anticlimatic, how easy it was.
The stupid f***ker wasn't in his room, but that's because you found him heading for a bar, of all places. Probably intending to help himself to some of the pricier drinks while the staff were gone. Strolling along, all confidence and swagger in his stride -- probably thought he had nothing to fear. Arrogant f***ing terrorist.
Well, he'll be drinking in hell, tonight -- a single silenced shot from down the corridor and he crumpled like a used afternote. You made yourself scarce immediately after, of course, but you've no doubt his body'll show his guilt on the morrow. Heh.
You're not done this night, though, and this tedious task is taking far longer than just shooting the idiot did. You never were that good at data gathering -- that's what interns are for -- and your eyes keep flicking to the battery display. Still showing 80%, but you know the battery dies right quick after about 70%. Yet again, you curse the lack of a proper electrical socket. One of these days, you swear, it'll be the American way or the friggin' highway --
Wait, there it is. That file picture looks just like the old man. You pour yourself a stiff drink from the minibar and settle in to read.
Half an hour later, you're done. The record for the guy is clean -- almost too clean, and suspiciously so; if they haven't been compromised somehow, you'll eat your metaphorical hat -- but it has, also, jogged your memory. You've met the man before, multiple times, now that you think about it -- over nearly a decade of appearances at various political events. Especially that mark on his brow -- no matter how much foreigners blur into each other, you're very certain that this is the same person. Yes. Yes.
-- then after through the haze of memory and realization cuts a sliver of annoyance. If your memory of him is that clear, then he's obviously not one of the terrorists you're looking for. Bleh.
Now mildly irritated, you click off the PDA (battery now blinking a serene 67%) and turn in for bed. There will be more killing to do tomorrow. Best keep your strength up for it.
You have killed indomitablebug. You have used up your carbon-fiber pistol.
Nom_Anor is a Politician.
Opiate of the Masses (DV)
Huh. The ironies, that the English dog would be the first victim of such typically American brutality.
But as it soon becomes apparent that whatever barbarism the man was engaged in did not include terrorism, you know you must act fast. Your opportunity comes quickly, as it turns out -- as some number of the shaken delegates approach the table for a quick drink before retiring for the night (some faking, no doubt), you are able to slip, with a smooth, undetectable motion, a discrete tablet into the drink of your designated target.
You return to your room with a sense of satisfaction. That man, at least, will not be doing anything tonight.
You have roleblocked RafaelK.
Night Raid (ced395)
Apparently whoever you've gone and joined up with, they have their own stockpile of weaponry. Not terribly surprising, of course, but it does render the vial you're turning over in your hand a lot less essential than it was when this whole thing began.
It doesn't take long for your reawakened instincts to come to the logical conclusion -- that given the lack of other assignments for you this night, your best option is to use it. Coldly calm thought processes soon arrive at a suitable target, and you purposefully pick yourself off the sofa and exit your room.
You chance upon your chosen target, of all things, coming down the hallway towards the elevator hall. He seems almost in unnaturally high spirits, somehow -- and maintaining a veneer of civility over your murderous self, you pose a leading question, only half-listening for the answer, that when it comes, is almost painful in its naivete.
"Ah. Well. No, no I don't. But I was restless, you see, and this is such a nice place, regardless of unfortunate circumstances..." Backed by a sheepish smile utterly devoid of doubt or killing instinct.
It catches you off guard enough that you extemporate, distracted words seeking to prevent the dredging of hazy memories you'd rather not see. It is only your training that guides an unhurried finger to depress the elevator button.
"....safe. Yes. Well. It would be... nice... to be safe. But... that goes for you as well. For us. For all of us," he half-murmurs, eyes beginning to gain the shine of conviction. "There's... something wrong with how we're doing it, I think. Really wrong. We should try to save everyone. Everyone... yes, everyone..." The man begins to trail off. He is obviously distracted with his own thoughts, which - you think, almost sadly - makes your following action all the easier.
Your lips utter words, but your hands have a life of their own. In mere moments they have hurled the (surprisingly light) delegate into the open elevator, and then snake in swiftly to hit the 'Close' button. And then, even as the man begins to regain his senses, your right hand tosses the delicate vial through the last of the closing gap.
A click, and a muffled bang. One man's life draws to a close -- your road of murder begins again.
You have killed MandersHex with Night Raid.
You have lost the use of Night Raid.
Judgment and Trial of Darkness (RafaelK)
This day could not have gone better had you planned it. The discord, the paranoia, the self-destructive murder! The Israeli's death showed the wrath of your gods and the British man's death the futility of their own actions. Truly this is retribution!
But judgment yet awaits them, oh yes it does -- and it will be carried out by the plush limbs of your holy effigies. You chuckle darkly to yourself, even as you begin to will your instructions for the night to the extensions of your Lord's will --
-- but your vision blurs, and you stagger, words halting mid-order. You place a hand to your temple.. what in -
- bone deep exhaustion hits you, and you are forced to lean against a desk - and then your arm fails to support you -
- drugged! Drugged, you've been! Whoever it is will pay for this insol -
- pay! in the fury of a thousand cookie monsters -
- black.
.........
........
....by the time you wake, a chalky, bitter taste in your mouth, it is nearly morning. Annoyed, you purse your lips -- but it is time for deception once more, and you cannot allow yourself to rage as you would wish.
But you swear to yourself you will find the heathen who dared drug you, and have your Lord feast on his proverbial entrails.
You have been roleblocked.
All 4 effigies have invoked Holy Protection on you by default.
You have 4 effigies remaining.
Discerning Gaze (vezokpiraka)
You chase one delegate in particular with your eyes, as you all gather to leave the room, and the bodies now bundled in an antechamber. Idly, you scratch at your fingernails, imagining red still clinging to them. You did not like either of the dead men, but you would not have wished that fate on them. Now, at least.
...you shiver, and firmly shut the door on that line of thought. Instead, you detach yourself from the wall, and join the line of delegates leaving the room -- your gaze still fixed firmly on the same delegate.
The walk through the corridors and to the elevator hall is of middling distance, and you make use of every profligately floored and carpeted step to observe every hint of the delegate's manner. The way he moves his fingers. His reactions to conversation. Eye movements, flickers, blinks. Body language. Actual languge, from what you can hear. Even skin pallor and sweat, or the lack thereof.
A face can launch a thousand ships, and can similarly tell a thousand tales. By the time you part ways with the man, heading towards your room, you are certain you have his measure -- and in this case, it is a brutally honest one. He has no deeply hidden secrets to hide, no involuntary reactions to betray.
He is, you realize in the darkness of your own mind, more honest than you. And then you firmly shut the door on that line of thought as well.
Seppel has no triggered abilities.
Soporifics (AsianInvasion)
You quickly learn that it is one thing to slip a few tablets into a drink at a dark, busy nightclub, with everyone paying attention to music or to opposite-gendered company. It's something else entirely to do the same thing in a reasonably well-lit conference room (occasional electrical issues notwithstanding, remembering the Israeli's death), and with everyone eyeing everyone else with suspicion and paranoia.
The aftermath of the lynch mob and the revelation of the poor bugger's identity gives you your first and last window of opportunity, and you hurriedly toss a few tablets into your target's drink, and give the milky lassi a few quick swirls. You scowl inwardly at the sheer carelessness of it - if offends your *ahem* 'professional pride', almost - but if you were going to do it, it was then or never. You can only hope no one saw you.
But still, when you return to your room, it is with a spring to your step. You saw your target gulp down the drink before returning. Doubtless he'll be spending the night sprawled dead asleep -- in his heavily-cushioned bed, if he's lucky, although the floors of these suites aren't exactly uncomfortable, either. You almost wish you had company for your own bed, but beggars can't be choosers. And it's not exactly an appropriate time, come to think of it. Heh.
Besides, the first dose is pretty mild. The follow-up... now that's the scary one. You smile toothily to yourself, your pearly whites glimmering in an outwardly charming and inwardly chilling smile.
Perhaps you'll indulge yourself tomorrow night, in another way. With.... help, of course. Heh heh heh.
You have roleblocked Wrath_of_DoG.
You may target Wrath_of_DoG with Kidnap on following nights.
Shadow (Syrenz)
As always, you are the last to leave the room. And even as delegate after delegate filters corridors to their own rooms, no one appears to notice you still following. And following. All the way to the man's rooms, it is as if two are really but one -- one, and the wavering shadow behind him.
This shadow, however, cannot follow into the darkness of the room, at least. No matter. Patience is as clear as the crystal sky, and you do not even have to stand in shadow to become as one. Should he emerge again, you will simply follow once more, as though it were the natural order of things.
But as hours pass, and night deepens and wanes again, the door does not open. It becomes clear that your target is, for one reason or another, not going anywhere this night.
With a barely perceptible sigh, you unfold your limbs and begin the trek back to your quarters.
Wrath_of_DoG did nothing overt to anyone tonight.
Bomb Disposal (Wrath_of_DoG)
The course is set. Your Indian compatriot has stated his intentions this night, and you have stated yours. It is time to progress plan to action.
It is only after you have returned to your rooms and retrieved your makeshift bomb disposal tools, however, that you have an inkling that something is amiss. Halfway through checking the implements, the first mild wave of vertigo hits. Checking the chemicals produces a rising sense of nausea. And finally, when you begin to stand, the leaden weight of the bag slips from your jelly-like fingers. Frowning drowsily, you try to lift it again - but your fingers miss, and miss, and again -
- and you are flat on your back. The ceiling is white. Why -
- left shoulder up. left shoulder UP. left shoulder is not movi -
- twitch that finger twitch -
- panic slips away in slee -
- eyelids like mercury film over eyes -
- wide -
- shut.
You have been roleblocked.
Ayurvedic Medicine and Death (MandersHex)
You gather your supplies and are out of the room in no time at all. Perhaps it is the... relaxants... or perhaps it is the sense that you are doing something to aid others; you are unnaturally full of ebullience as you travail the corridors, the weight of your deceptively simple medical tools in your satchel. You feel better than you have in years. It is though the weight of your years has slipped off your back, even despite the horror of the lynch mob that you averted your eyes from earlier in the day.
Surprisingly, you find the man you have set out to aid this night coming down the richly carpeted hallway rather than near his room. His perfectly clear eyes are fixed on you even as he steps forward -- no harm appears to have visited him this night. You almost feel embarrassed at your presumption -- but he does not stop walking.
The two of you come face to face in the elevator hall.
"Fancy meeting you here. Do you make it a habit of wandering about at night?"
Is he suspicious? Well, that's not really surprising if you think about it. Sheepish, you dance around the subject.
"Oh? That sounds reasonable, I suppose... but given last night, it seems hardly safe to be exploring the halls. As nice a resort as this is." His hand reaches out leisurely, stabbing the elevator button.
You know. Oh, you know. But for the first time -- the first time in ages -- it feels like you are doing something, something good. Something in person, not like what you and your Pakistani benefactor achieved -- something you can feel with your own two hands, experience with your eyes and ears. Something more concrete to weigh against the *karma* of your drug-addled and intolerant life.
What is mere safety, compared to that?
Some of this must have shown in your eyes -- it is now reflected in his, together with some hint of... sadness?
"You... truly want to help people, don't you? A good bloke, you are. Really.
"Makes me feel more than a bit guilty, for this. Sorry, chap. Really. Sorry."
And before you can react, you have been shoved inside the open elevator, sent sprawling across the soft (because of course, the elevators are lushly carpeted as well) floor. Before you lift your head, the door is already closing - but there is a strangely shaped crystal vial whirling at the mirrored wall, redolent of a sickly sweet --
And then your world dies with an explosive crack, and violent, searing pain.
You have been killed. Thanks for playing.
You may no longer talk to Wrath_of_DoG.
Would you like an invitation to the spectator forum when I have it set up?
Death (Seppel)
t is your custom to reflect upon each day as it comes, and as it goes. Today, you reflect, was not one of your better days at all.
You are doubtless more affected by this situation than you thought -- that early burst of anger was unbecoming of you and your station, and having to use your persuasive powers to render yourself untouchable left a bitter taste in your mouth. And that you all finally sentenced an innocent man to brutal death -- well. You will pray to Allah for the man's soul, heathen though he might have been. It is partially your error, and you should simply know better than most of these misguided men.
No longer. You have thoroughly and painstaking picked through your mental framework and exorcised every foul spirit of illogical hate. You will be a different person tonight, and tomorrow, and in the days to come, than the person you were today. This, is your resolve. Closing your eyes, you begin to recap the day's events, in preparation for the day to come.
It is thus instinct, not sight nor sound, which has you rising from your chair as the door opens unexpectedly. But it does not help you. Your mouth is barely opening for a strident denunciation when the bullet slams into your throat, and then pain and choking blood is all your brilliant mind can process. No amount of self-control can overcome the overwhelming presence of impending death, and it is your last realization before the darkness starts to set in.
Your last conscious thought is of regret that you never had the opportunity to make proper amends with the Emirati. But now it is too late. Far, far too late, for everything.
- everything.
You have been killed. Thanks for playing.
Would you like an invitation to the spectator forum when I have it set up?
Death (indomitablebug)
The gruesome deaths of the day have you quite disconcerted. Enough that, despite logically knowing that you should stay in your room, you set out at a brisk walk for one of the many leisure establishments located in this wing.
In more peaceful times, you ruminate, there would no doubt be others doing the same -- more than a few of them probably were doing the same the night before, come to think of it. You caught more than a few bleary faces at the day's meeting. The British delegate had been one of them, come to think of it --
Mmph. Perhaps that wasn't such a good thing to think of. The sheer brutality of that death almost made the delegates scarier than the terrorists.
Still, you reflect, you're confident in being able to cow that unruly lot with your connections. Any career politician should fear financial ruin, after all -- your stride gains confidence even thinking about it. Even terrorists should have funds to think of. Just let them try to perpetrate that same barbarism upon your person -- imagining the looks on their faces brings a wholly inappropriate glee to your heart. You'll get out of this, yet --
You glimpse a shadow out of the edge of your perception, but react too late. The bullet drills into the side of your head, and you fall before you even know it.
There is no threatening a bullet, after all.
You have been killed. Thanks for playing.
Would you like an invitation to the spectator forum when I have it set up?
Day 2 PMs:
The Plan (Skander)
The contact this time is a simple message.
one may prove persuadable should an american or british delegate kill an innocent
You purse your lips in annoyance. The British delegate is quite dead at this point, which renders this somewhat less useful.
Still, it is information, and information is power. You sigh, and allow the mantle of the 'Singaporean delegate' to fall upon you once more.
Night 2 PMs:
Discerning Gaze and Paranoia Sense (vezokpiraka)
As the remaining delegates mill around in panicked confusion, you affix your piercing gaze cleanly on the obvious target -- the aged delegate who instigated this day's fiasco in the first place. An action not particularly difficult to hide, if you were so inclined; more than one person is sending sharp gazes the old man's way.
Said old man, however, remains almost disgustingly calm; he cannot have failed to notice the growing antipathy towards him, yet all that shows on his face is a mild incredulity. It almost makes your blood boil just looking at it. You nearly want to denounce him on the spot.
...and yet... no matter how much you study the (imperious, arrogant, unfeeling) delegate, you can sense nothing out of the ordinary. Even to your practiced study, this man shows no complexes, no hidden tendencies, no deep-seated vulnerabilities. It is as though he is a clear stream, with no secrets to hide.
Infuriated, you lower your gaze. You will discover no secrets from this man this day.
-------------------------
In any case, you have other things to worry about.
The instant you enter your room, your everpresent paranoia rings metaphorical clarion alarums in your head. You flick your eyes around, confirming with a simple glance that nothing is out of place -- but that does not calm your paranoia, and you trust it far more than mere orbs of aqueous humour.
It seems that someone else has had their eyes set on you this night. And, with a sense bordering on the preternatural, you know exactly who it is.
Nom_Anor has no triggered abilities.
~V~ has targeted you with an overt action this night.
Kidnap and Death (AsianInvasion)
You grin in giddy anticipation. The scene is set -- a simple dose of drugs to make the target groggy, and a simple message to the cat's paw to intercept said target and bring him to a secure location. The hour you wait seems torturously long, and even the suspiciously copious pornographic library the digital entertainment centre holds cannot hold your attention.
It seems an eternity before the hour is up. But the last seconds tick by, and, still sporting a vicious grin, you pick up an innocuous bag, and leave your room, taking long strides towards the location sent back by the convenient scapegoat. It is all you can do not to hum and skip like a schoolboy heading towards a candy store.
The hallways pass in a blur, and you hardly even register opening the door; all you see is your victim, tied roughly to a chair with torn sheets, eyes drowsy and unfocused, but still very, very much conscious.
The grin blooms into a full, beatific smile. As you begin to withdraw the first tools from your bag, the last fleeting thought through your mind is vague regret that your victim isn't female.
-----------------------------------------
You unlock your suite door, feeling very much satisfied and fulfilled; not just having left your victim in a bruised mess behind you, but also having found all kinds of tasty information. Nothing really useful, sadly... but still something you can clearly use. And what uses you'll put it to, now and after, you think, as you settle yourself on the lavish couch.
But there will be no after for you. The moment you place your weight on the velvet upholstery, something leaps at your neck from the air vent behind you, dislodging the cover in the process. You manage to react to neither in time -- the metal grate slams onto your head, and a millisecond later, something grabs your throat in an inhuman, vice-like grip. You stand, you struggle, you peel at the (surprisingly soft and elastic) hands around your neck -- you whip around, you roll, you attempt to smash your back against the wall. But although you feel certain contact, nothing appears to faze whatever is slowly and inevitably cutting off your oxygen supply. The strange fingers continue to dig into your throat. Your movements grow heavy. You - cannot - breathe -
You slump to the floor - your struggles eating oxygen faster - but -
- you don't want to die -
Wrath_of_DoG is the Pakistani Delegate, and has the following abilities:
Bomb Disposal (Overt, Night)
- Target one person at night. You will check for and defuse any explosives in this person's room.
- You may not target yourself.
Coded Correspondence (Covert, Any)
- You carry a coded communication device, the twin of which is carried by MandersHex, the Indian Delegate. You may talk with MandersHex at any time.
You have been killed. Thanks for playing. If you would like an invite to the spectator Google Group, please send me your e-mail.
Hide (~V~)
The bodies are piling up, and you can almost feel the specter of death looming. You are no imaginative man; no anthropomorphic hooded skeletons, or pale riders, or even droll goth women for you. Death, for you, is a terrifying, palpable shroud -- everywhere and nowhere, and closing inevitably, inevitably in. You can almost feel yourself choking as the drawstrings tighten.
....no. No, you cannot stand it. You - must - hide. Hide. Run. RUN.
You stumble out of the room before the other delegates, mercifully unnoticed by the other delegates, who are still reeling at the second failure of democratic murder in two days. You flee the chamber as though the shadow of death were right behind you -- and it is! It is! You are certain of it! --
-- your legs have a life of their own. This is someone else's chamber -- it's locked! Of course, of course... but that fails to dull the rising panic. How will you get in? How? How?
......................
...but obviously you managed it somehow, because when the edge of panic fades enough to allow reason again, you are curled up in a foetal ball in a wardrobe full of (as far as you can tell, in the utter darkness) unfamilar clothes. A conclusion reinforced by the sound of the door opening, causing an involuntary flinch that sends you shrinking further back into the back wall of the wardrobe.
And it is there you remain for the rest of the night, ignoring dinner, ignoring scuffling sounds outside that indicate the delegate going about his business -- ignoring everything in fear-drenched oblivion.
You have hidden behind vezokpiraka.
'Changing of Mind' (Anaklusmos)
...well. This is a right mess. Not that you expected any better, but one can always wish to be pleasantly surprised. Which is clearly not happening here.
It looks as though you will have to move your aged bones to keep these fools from screwing up -- even more. And you will undoubtedly have to start with the aged man over yonder. Bozhe moi, he looks older than you do -- you'd think he'd have a bit more sense. Senile, maybe? Alzheimer's?
Bah. Well, you will have to correct that, as a fellow old-timer. The liquid contents of several vials should do it..
..ahh, there it goes. He is downing the 'modified' drink -- of course, since he dare not find another drink. That would mean moving closer to the young pups sending death glares his way. Heh. So predictable, all of them.
You idly fill another plate with food -- it is dinnertime, and you will need your strength (such as it is) the next day. The food is truly delicious -- it is a pity that there will be no more of this on the morrow.
New meaning to 'killing the chef', it is. Feh. All the more reason for you to take some charge tomorrow, it seems.
Nom_Anor has been redirected to you this night.
Shadow (Syrenz)
Enough, you reflect, is enough. You are no impatient man - you cannot be, and are therefore not - but misdirection and mistake pile upon each other, and the edifice can only, inevitably, fall.
And you know you must find something, one way or another, before it buries you all.
This night you have chosen the ebullient man, with his (overly, to you) loud and booming voice. You do not and have not liked his character from the beginning, but now you begin to suspect deeper reasons to dislike him. And thus you follow behind him, apparently undetected. Certainly he walks unhurriedly to his rooms, displaying no awareness of your slight frame behind him.
But after he disappears into his rooms, it is fruitless hours that await you. He does not emerge from his rooms again, not even as you chew on the morsels you snuck from the remnants of the table, not even as evening deepens into night (not that anyone would know, with the storm outside), and not even as night begins to fade into morning. Finally, you leave your self-appointed post, to catch a few hours of sleep before the day proper begins.
You are no impatient man, but you are, currently, a frustrated one. It is a new sensation to you. You do not like it.
RafaelK performed no overt actions this night.
Texas Justice, PDA Datafiles, and Death (zindabad)
Well. So the last guy wasn't exactly who you thought, but close enough. Useless Swiss mercenary. He would have threatened all of you -- especially you. You, of all people. Where the heck did he think all that money in those precious banks of his came from? Stupid f**ker.
Tonight's target is easy enough to find, too -- the sucker isn't even coming out of his rooms. It's child's play to set up the C4 to blow when he opens the door. Obviously you won't be there to make sure it goes off, but you've got every confidence it will. The idiot didn't show anywhere near the capability to get out of it, gaping at everything like that. Uneducated yokels.
(and something at the back of your head whispers, how would a terrorist able to sneak in here be so stupid? - but you ignore it quickly)
Far more important is getting what damned use you can out of your PDA before it croaks. Battery's already critical, stupid thing. The thought passes idly through your mind that maybe, just maybe, you could try asking around for a universal charger tomorrow --
-- what. What?? The heck?!
...that f**ker. Strolling in here broad as daylight, mouthing off all that crap -- and his record's right here. The bloody freakin' leader of that freakshow cult, that Cult of Consumer Expenditure. The fruitcakes that worship Elmo, of all things! That want to bring back the old economic ways -- fine, that you can kind of sympathize with, but Saint Elmo?! That's one of the nutjobs you're dealing with here? It makes you want to laugh and hurl at the same time. That you'd be pushed into a corner by a terrorist like this.
For he is a terrorist, of that there's no question. CIA's sure he's got his fingers in all kinds of shady operations, and in at least one outright assassination. No one's been able to pin hard evidence on the sucker, and at least two assassination attempts on him have outright failed. Pretty impressive for a loony, but his luck ends here. You smile viciously even as the PDA turns dark --
-- danger! You whirl around, just fast enough to avoid the bullet screaming for your head -- but not fast enough to avoid the one that slams into your shoulder, that was on a trajectory for your heart. The force of the bullet enhances your torque, spinning you almost all the way around. Your balance is completely gone, and you crash to the ground. Every cell in your brain is screaming at you, but you simply have no way to avoid the next shot -
- and the next, and the next -- pain is blooming in your shoulder, your chest, your stomach, your lung. You're dying. F**king terrorists have gotten you. Before you got them. Rage and regret vie in your quickly fading mind.
You stare with steadily glazing eyes into the face of the man that shot you -- the Irish-looking guy. And your last realization is that those are not the eyes of a fervent cultist -- they're something much colder. And a wet, burbling laugh are the last words you ever utter, as you come to the realization that there are two groups of terrorists here.
The irony overwhelms your fading mind, and thus your last thought has nothing to do with the other delegates, or with yourself, or even with the country you so idolize. Like Ahab to Moby Dick, your last ever thought is one of venomous spite. You hope they kill each other; and the vicious knowledge that at least one of them will die produces the mad joy you die with.
You have bombed dropkickdude.
RafaelK is the Religious Extremist (Serial Killer).
You have been killed. Thanks for playing. If you would like an invitation to the spectator Google Group, please send me your e-mail.
Death (dropkickdude)
Another day, another death, another night. The lack of any success is starting to unnerve you, but nothing, very fortunately, yet rocks the placid certainty of your own continued existence. Your arms and legs are whole, your head intact, your lungs still breathing. That's more than you could have hoped for, and it (at the end of it) is all that you are hoping for.
The same placid fatalism tells you that you would be helpless against any attempt on your life, and thus you slept early and soundly, after a brief raid on a deserted cafe freezer. At least that way, you'd figured, dying would simply be not waking up, rather than anything painful.
But you do, in fact, wake up, and that alone makes it a beautiful day. (Except it doesn't, really -- you can still feel the palpable fury of the storm even through the soundproofed walls.) The clock confirms that early to bed is early to rise, and you make liberal use of the time to complete your morning ablutions.
Soon enough you are dressed and ready (as much as you can be) for another day of attempting to stay alive. You take a deep breath, reach out for the door handle, and twist it, idly noting a strange click as you begin to pull the door open -
and past vague brief heat it is surprisingly painless
You have been killed. Thanks for playing. If you would like an invitation to the spectator Google Group, please send me your e-mail.
Bomb Disposal (Wrath_of_DoG)
...it is dark when you wake up. Even your fogged senses, though, do not take long to realize it is cloth-induced darkness, rather than the real absence of light.
You had not felt right even as you left the room. The chalky, dull taste on your tongue tells the story why, or would, if you were not having such difficulty chaining thoughts to your brain and to each other. Gradually, vague flashes return -- intention to aid hobbled by vertigo - stumbling - impact - dragging. Impact. Dragging.
That's... not good. It finally occurs to you to try to move, but something is restricting your hands, which are behind the chair you are tied to. Tied to. Mm. You try your legs, which are also immovable. You mulishly attempt to move them several more times before realizing that those are tied too.
Well. You seem rather out of options. You toss your head in agitation, but manage no more than a jerky loll. Another attempt flops your wobbly skull in the opposite direction - that hurts. You shouldn't try it again - loosening the blindfold from around your eyes. But the glare of the room hurts as well, and you squint painfully, unable to see much of anything clearly -- not even when the door opens, and a blurry shape moves inside.
After that, nothing remains in your memory but pain, a vague sense of shame, and cruel, mocking laughter.
------------------------
It is nearly morning by the time you reawaken, with a much clearer head and a building sense of rage, and when you do, you make quick work of the pathetic restraints that were so daunting the previous night.
Torn sheets, of all things! That you would have been helpless against such primitive bonds! It would make your blood boil, were your vision not already a field of furious red at your ordeal.
You are ex-military, and your hands are not clean either. You know. Someone drugged you, captured you, and tortured you - to what exact purpose you are utterly unclear, and equally unclear as to whether he fulfilled that purpose. and by Allah you will repay him threefold for this shame.
You have been roleblocked and tortured.
Blackmail (~Tilde~)
The shakes are starting again. Or for all you know, they never stopped -- certainly the events of the previous days have given you no cause for calm. There are still killers. There is still killing.
But (you know) illogically, neither of those seems even close as important to you as the innocuous message you found blinking at you from your cellphone, your metaphorical collar and chain. The message was simple - a target, a deed, and instructions to supply a location, sparse and clipped - but you swear you felt a palpable, horrible glee from the digital display. The thought of that glee being at your expense fills you with as much directionless rage as it does helpless terror.
You find your target stumbling along a corridor - already weakened somehow, through ways you would rather not know. You, and him, are alone.
...your hand is trembling, even as it raises the improvised club. It's covered in cloth, of course, but still you tremble, and you do not even know why.
You are not a violent man. But you know you will do very strange things if you have to.
---------------------------------
Minutes later, you are putting all your weight into dragging the (surprisingly heavy) man into a nearby storage room. Conveniently, the room contains both a fairly sturdy chair and spare sheets you can easily tear apart for use as bindings.
Momentarily you consider loosening the strips of cloth, entertaining brief fantasies of the unconscious man ripping out the throat from the nebulous outline of your imagined blackmailer. But fear, backed up by practicality, stops you, and you instead punch in a message with shaky fingers, and leave the room behind you.
You were made to target Wrath_of_DoG this night.
Opiate of the Masses (DV)
Your lips curl at the sheer incompetence on display. That doddering fool! What was he thinking, making such a thoughtless accusation? Has age addled what little sense he ever had? The very thought almost makes you punch the wall -- it is with conscious effort that you restrain the urge, and fight to regain some modicum of calm.
With some equilibrium restored, your curled lips instead purse in thought. Perhaps he had been thinking... thinking towards a more nefarious end than you had initially supposed. Perhaps... just perhaps...
...but no. Your target this night is set - the same man you rendered incapable the previous night. But annoyingly the usual method failed; the day's slaughter (for that is all it can be described as, other than utter foolishness) was concluded too swiftly, and the man left without eating or drinking anything further. No matter. You have other methods to enforce unconsciousness. The method you have chosen is admittedly crude, but unmistakeably effective; burning the compound should produce fumes that will get the job done. As to how to fill your target's room with said fumes... well, you'll figure something out. You --
!!!
-- choking! Something wrapped around your face and neck --
You thrash around wildly, trying to pull whatever it is from your face -- but you stumble over the earthen container you dropped, and fall --
- can't. breathe! can't. --
..with a gasp, you fall unconscious. Something ghosts across your face, and your unconscious body begins to breathe easily again. But you will not be doing anything else this night.
You have been roleblocked.
Kill (ced395)
Apparently the other guy has some kind of fancy device with which to bypass locked doors. Must make breaking & entering highly convenient.
Since he's neglected to provide said device, though, you're going to have to improvise. Thus the thin chuff of powder threading into the electronic lock; a tiny jury-rigged explosive, mostly silent and which should (hopefully) take out the entire locking mechanism.
And such it does, with a bright flash and a dull pop. You have the gun raised already, and quickly push the door open, hoping the occupant hasn't already noticed the suddenly loose door.
The poor blighter hasn't, and only begins to rise as you push in. By then it's rather too late. A bullet catches him in the shoulder, spinning him around and sending him to the floor -- after that it's a matter of advancing and pumping another three bullets into his chest. And then out again, moving swiftly to avoid the chance that anyone actually heard the man's last cries. You never know, no matter how unlikely the soundproofed rooms make it.
Ironic, that. And it's irony you can appreciate now -- your head clearer, your step lighter. Everything really is so much easier now.
You have killed zindabad.
Judgment and Trial of Darkness (RafaelK)
A metaphorical fly on the wall might be incredulous, or bemused. It doesn't take you much time or action to set your plans in motion at all; a mere ten minutes after you return to your rooms, two of the holy effigies, each powered differently and with different purpose, are making their way through the air ducts, while two more take up their station around you. All it really takes is a few instructions; your Lord's will made manifest does the rest.
And then you find yourself somewhat at odds with what to do for the rest of the night. A trifle hasty, perhaps? But you wished to prevent a repeat of the previous night.
But what's done is done; and done well, at that. The first effigy returns halfway through your religious observances, and falls temporarily inert in a corner, it's purpose fulfilled. The second returns near the end of a viewing of Wall Street - the original, not the insipid sequel - similarly successful.
A dark smile finds its way onto your lips. You were foiled the previous night, but now it has truly begun. And soon these heathens shall all know true fear, before they gasp, gnash their teeth, and die.
You have killed AsianInvasion.
You have roleblocked Deaths_Vampire.
Day 3 PMs:
The Price of Freedom (~Tilde~)
You can scarce believe it, as you stare down at the Indonesian delegate's body. The scattered tools on the floor, the man's oily, laconic voice -- it all fits. He was the one blackmailing you.
The resulting surge of joy and relief would almost certainly show on your face, were it not immediately swallowed by renewed despair. So what if this one man is dead? There are any number of others, presumably from Indonesia as well, who continue to hold the keys to your skeleton closet. This one man's death changes nothing. In fact, it may make things worse, if this man was family. This is but a temporary freedom, you realize, your thoughts beginning to spiral down the same inevitable road...
...you freeze. Your cellphone is blinking at you. Your cellphone is blinking at you. An impossibility made real. Is this a message from the dead?
With shaking hands, you check the message as surreptitiously as you can. It is not, in fact, a message from the dead. The words blazing there are something else entirely.
we offer to extend our assistance in eliminating your blackmailers. all we ask is your aid in exchange.
It is as though hope has taken the form of an LCD cellphone display.
----------------------------------
Mere minutes and several messages later, it is done, and you feel lighter than you have for years. You feel refreshed. Invigorated. And you know you will do anything, anything at all, for your saviours. You would even give your life for them.
A tiny voice in your mind whispers that there is something wrong with that line of logic. But nothing penetrates your newfound beatific state.
Your alignment has changed from Politician to Political Extremist as a result of your ability, The Price of Freedom, being triggered.
You have lost the Blackmail ability.
You have gained the following ability: Bodyguard (Overt, Night)
- Target a player at night. If that player would be killed in any way this night, you will be killed instead.
You, Skander, and two others now form the Political Extremist faction, and may talk to each other at any time.
Righteous Indignation (Deaths_Vampire)
At the sight of the Micronesian's blasted body, your mind goes blank. Not with horror, nor with grief (hah); but with sheer, blinding rage.
For an instant, a flash of twisted, blackened bodies just across the border, superimposed, before reality reasserts itself. But the certainty does not go away. This is (and the word is nearly an epithet in your mind) the American's work. The thoughtless snuffing of another life in pursuit of their own selfish, hypocritical justice. It can be no other.
Disgust and indignation roil inside your gut; indignation at those that could have allowed this to happen, and disgust at the fact that you were one of them. Finding the American's body abates the indignation momentarily -- only for it to resurge tenfold at the difference in reaction and lamentation accorded to the American as opposed to the Micronesian. As if the cursed murderer's life was somehow worth more due to his overblown country!
Irrational rage begins to take over conscious thought, though thankfully not translating to action, as you walk with the other delegates to the room of the improvised kangaroo court. Not yet, translating to action.
But in the depths of your rage-reddened mind, the decision is already made, as per the offer extended via the unsettling message you found in your rooms. You are done with these people, these bigots. If you will fall to iniquity, you will at least do it with people more honest about their evils.
Your alignment has changed from Politician to Political Extremist as a result of your ability, Righteous Indignation, being triggered.
You, Skander, and two others now form the Political Extremist faction, and may talk to each other at any time.
A Simple Push (vezokpiraka)
You stare down at the body of the American delegate, and swallow imperceptibly. The saliva running down your throat feels no more moistening than grave dust.
What was it you were thinking scance few days ago? Of history, of politics, of petty and less-petty concerns beyond these very floors and hallways in which someone is trying to kill you all? Those thoughts seem so very, very far away now... superceded by something far more immediate and relevant.
It is almost ironic, if not chilling. The Israeli, the Brit, the American -- all have fallen, all in brutal, violent ways. Ways that you would almost have been all too willing to visit among them days earlier. Now, confronted with charnel, no thought could be furthest from your mind.
Your resolve is reaffirmed. You can only hope it will be enough to survive the days ahead.
Your ability, A Simple Push, is now inactive. You retain the ability, but to all intents and purposes it now does nothing.
The Plan (Skander)
In all honesty, you are uncertain if you should feel bolstered or endangered by your new partners. The first one was fine, but these two seem honestly unbalanced in some way. Irrational, certainly. And you don't like the irrational.
Still, this is technically part of what you came here to accomplish in the first place, though originally meant to be under less trying circumstances. Therefore, possibly unpleasant as it may be, it is a sign of mission parameters being fulfilled. A positive. You try to think of it that way.
Speaking of which... you study the message left by your associate. A surprisingly cryptic one.
one may be threatened should you attempt to kill him or perhaps a person he targets at night
Perhaps? That sounds uncomfortably uncertain. And whatever is this person doing at night...?
Too many unanswered questions. You didn't think it would be possible for your associate to be illogical, but this is beginning to raise uncertainties.
Night 3 PMs:
'Changing of Mind' (Anaklusmos)
You nurse the last vodka in the suite's minibar, some American cartoon blaring in the background. Well-stocked it was, but it has been many days. Many days, with little to no progress - no thanks to self-serving fools and liars. Pah!
Not that you have any problem with liars, of course - as long as they lie intelligently, and with measured purpose. And in that, you think darkly, the terrorists among you are clearly far more competent than your erstwhile comrades. These young fools would never survive a year in Mother Russia; career-wise, of course. Although it looks increasingly less likely they - or you - will survive here.
Hopefully you have caught of said more competent liars in his own traps this night. That ebullient, loud one could use a taste of his own actions this night. Perhaps he will even show up dead by his own hand! That would be a good joke, one worthy of a true Russian belly laugh.
You take a deep drink of the burning liquid, and lean back, feeling the fire settle into your bones. No rest for the wicked. Several more days, you know, and this will all be done, one way or another.
A toothy grin settles on your face - feral, and dark. Let's see how this deadly roulette ends...
You have redirected RafaelK's actions this night to RafaelK.
Shadow (Syrenz)
The vague thought occurs to you to wonder if this man would notice you even were you not such a good follower. Strangely twitchy, somewhat manic, yet he seems to fail to note his surroundings. CUrious.
As such, it is all too simple to follow him straight to his room, and watch him enter. The door closes almost soundlessly, and you settle in for a night of waiting.
And, like before, it is a long, fruitless night indeed. The man never leaves his rooms. And, like the night previous, you finally return to your rooms with nothing more gained than a sense of dreadful urgency.
~Tilde~ has taken no overt actions this night.
Inspect (~V~)
Death, death, death. The body count rises, and accordingly so does your panic. You want to run and hide again this night, but something animal in you tells you that you will need to undertake more pro-active action.
Thus, despite being on the verge of screaming panic, you force yourself to creep along the lushly carpeted corridor. Step, by step, by step, eyes flicking constantly from shadow to imagined shadow in the as yet well-lit hallway. It is none too soon that your target's door comes into sight.
...you do not even get close. You do not even *need* to get close. The mere sight of the door transfixes you like a deer in the face of an oncoming train; you nearly imagine you can feel tangible clouds of menace and lethal intent spilling from the door. Involuntarily, you back away - and then the next moment, you are fleeing back to your rooms, all pretence at stealth forgotten.
You shiver uncontrollably under the covers. You have no tangible proof whatsoever; but you are nonetheless unmistakably sure that you just escaped from the door of one very capable of dealing death.
RafaelK has the capability to kill.
Discerning Gaze (vezokpiraka)
Another false lead, another senseless death. One portion of your mind laments the waste, another rails at the foolishness, and yet another gibbers in animal fear.
The rest of your mind, however, is focused entirely upon one of the delegates, a man who seems overly fearful even for the increasingly worsening situation. In fact... you narrow your eyes. Yes, he does indeed have something to hide, as his manner would suggest. You are sure of it.
You keep your gaze affixed on him even as the assembled begin to stream from the room, mind whirling with memories and comparisons, seeking to plumb the man's depths, to discern the secrets he so desperately wishes to hide. It does not take long, in fact - the comparison you arrive at is all too close to home. It appears that he is one of potentially shifting allegiance, such as (you think ashamedly) you were all too recently; although it appears his particular breaking point is something rather different than yours was. What it might be exactly, however, escapes you.
~V~ has the following triggered ability:
Survival Instinct (Triggered)
- Triggered by certain conditions being met. Your alignment and win condition will change.
Bomb Disposal (Wrath_of_DoG)
You release a quiet grunt as you lift your bag of tools. It appears you are slightly out of shape; and last night's half-remembered ordeal has not helped at all.
But for the first night, you are able to move freely. For the sake of your deceased friend and for those still alive, you are determined to make it count.
It does not take long for you to arrive at the door of the quiet, slim man who you have chosen to safeguard this night. Of course, you have no way to enter; but, if earlier deaths were any indication, any lethal bombs will not be set within in any case.
It appears, though, you have little to do this night. A thorough inspection reveals no sign of any explosives attached to the door; nor, indeed, any sign of tampering at all. It appears your safeguards were unneeded after all.
You protected Skander from bombs this night.
Death (Nom_Anor)
Perhaps it is age. Perhaps it is foolish pride.
Perhaps it is simply both, an old man's foolish mistakes. Bluster is unlike you, and unbecoming of you; yet bluster and bravado is precisely how you have spent the last few days, forcing through lie upon lie to save your own skin.
Are all humans reduced to such ignominy in the face of lethal menace? You lament your behaviour, humbled by the realization that even at your age, with your achievements, and the respect and reputation you have garnered -- you still make all too human mistakes, and still have much to learn. Truly, in matters of learning and self-examination, one must never stand still; as you now realize you have been doing.
You heave a deep sigh, and rise from the chair. Perhaps it is not too late to make up for these grievous err-
-you are on your knees. Why are you on your knees? You try to rise, but your legs are refusing to support you. And... you cannot feel your fingers either. They are numb and unresponsive, and the numbness is begin to spread upwards... your thighs and upper arms are growing cold, and fear begins to break through your strangely clouded thoughts.
Too late you notice, with a panicked glimpse, the odd tube protruding from your door, and the oddly discoloured smoke rising from it -- the smoke forming a heavy mist on the floor of your room, that slowly wafts upwards on the drafts of the air-conditioning. Your increasingly heavy thoughts are immediately galvanized by the realization: poison.
But by then it is far too late. You pitch forward, face first; you can no longer feel your limbs at all, and the cold numbness is creeping up your torso. And even when you try to move your head, you barely manage a twitch.
Hazy white fills your vision, and your eyelids drift closed.
You have been killed. Thanks for playing. If you would like to join the Google spectator group, please PM me your email account.
Judgment and Trial of Darkness (RafaelK)
Buoyed by the death of another heretic (and as a consequence of his own foolishness! Glorious!), your more rational thoughts are nonetheless full aware of the increasing threat the other group of doubtless heathen killers poses to your mission, the longer they remain unchecked. It is time for you to go on the hunt; and it is with this in mind that you set the night's targets.
But even as you finish instructing the first of your holy effigies, you feel a sudden wave of crippling fatigue - an obviously unnatural one, and one all too familiar to you. You have felt this before, and rage breaks through the fog for a moment - but you are soon spinning to the ground again, black drowsiness encroaching on your awareness.
You will wake up with a headache, and spitting rage. But for the moment, the last thing you recall is the oddly still form of the effigy you had instructed, its googly eyes staring, it seems, straight at you.
You have been roleblocked.
Opiate of the Masses (Deaths_Vampire)
Despite working with more competent individuals now, it appears your actions have changed little. It is nearly routine by now, your attempt to drug the same man, though again, rendered troublesome by the lack of fresh comestibles. Luckily, you manage to catch him pouring himself a glass of water from a carafe no doubt originally intended for the conference; it is a simple matter from there to spike the water. You later observe him taking a deep swallow from the glass with barely hidden glee.
Your fellow Muslim's death does not overly concern you. He was a fool, like so many of these others. You eye them all with disdain, excepting your hidden partners; these plebian sheep that mill around like so much livestock. Ready for the slaughter.
You will purge them all, and then you will see what these erstwhile partners have to offer you and Iran. Competent partners can sometimes be as much curse as blessing, you think... but at least it is preferable to sheer idiocy.
You have roleblocked RafaelK.
Kill (Skander)
The tools at your disposal are many and myriad, and you are versed in the use of all of them, no matter how curious or exotic. The method for your lethality this night falls somewhere midway along both the 'curious' and 'exotic' scales; a long, tubular object ending in a drill-like, hollow tip, a hooked clamp affixed behind that, and (you know) a device derived from perfume atomizers in the middle of the tube. The bastard child of a drill and perfume bottle.
The true purpose of the device, lies behind said atomizer; a crystallized chunk of deadly poison, which begins to degrade once exposed to air, and sifted through the atomizer, becomes a heavy smoke which sticks close to the ground. Or so it would, except when stirred and lifted by the silent drafts of any air-conditioning system. And by the time any unwary target notices, their nervous system is already shutting down.
But just in case... some quick-drying resin solution seals the door shut. It will not stand up to repeated battering, but it will last long enough. With that done, you set the device against the door, and activate it. Within moments, it has drilled a silent hole into the door, at speeds so fast that little more than a momentary whine could have been heard within. The clamps secure the device against the door; and with soft clicks the shutters within the device disengage, exposing the crystal to air.
You rise, and move to return to your borrowed rooms. Your work is done; your target will die, and you will retrieve the device off everyone else's dead bodies.
You have killed Nom_Anor.
Night 4 PMs:
'Changing of Mind' (Anaklusmos)
As satisfying as the day's result was, it is a wintry certainty that you are all far, far from done. And you are nothing if not prepared for such certainties. Before the day was done you had already set your sights upon a target - one of the heretofore more trusted individuals in this gaggle of silly sheep - prepared your 'persuasive method', and administered it before the day was even done. Even as you stride towards your rooms, it is taking effect that he will never notice. The method? A secret, of course. Just one of your many, like the Bostyev Papers. And the way to cadge extra fries off the McDonalds down the street from the Ministry.
You pause. Is it an old man's imagination, or...
Heh. You cannot resist an amused snort. You know this feeling -- someone slipped you some drug of their own, it seems. Won't they be surprised, eh? Drugs, poisons -- these have not had hold on you for a long, long time. Today is no different.
It is all so terribly amusing that you can almost laugh. You settle for humming a merry tune as you unlock your door, and prepare for another night, and another day.
You were targeted by a chemical effect, which was ineffective.
You have successfully redirected ced395 to ~Tilde~.
Kill (~Tilde~)
This should be new to you. The application of violence; the process of murder; the dealing of death. This should shock and horrify you. But instead it all just feels somehow familiar, like a natural progression.
Perhaps, you reflect (even as you raise the gun, thoughts moving faster than body, time slowing to infinitesimal stop-motion) it is the violence your dearly departed (good riddance!) blackmailer had you visit upon that one delegate - but no, that was too mild; the real brutality he doubtless visited himself. Some things (everything) were his fault; but not this.
Ah. No, you know why this feels so natural - pulling the trigger, watching the Oriental man's eyes widen in shock, slumping bonelessly against the wall. It almost approaches epiphany. But of course anything feels natural if you've done it a million times - even in mere fantasy, dark wishes against faceless tormentors. A million times in half-remembered dream you have dealt death; plotted murder with every note, every mail; thirsted for violence with every unwilling act.
And now... for now... and perhaps forever, should these terrorists keep their promises... you are free. And free to visit all this violence within you upon as many people as you can find. The thought almost brings ecstacy to your (broken) mind - and you cannot resist humming a merry tune, spinning the gun jauntily around, as you leave the scene of an innocent man's death.
You have successfully killed Syrenz.
Opiate of the Masses (Deaths_Vampire)
You realize something is wrong before you even leave the room. Or more pertinently, before your target even leaves the room.
Some of the delegates are unsteady in their steps as they move, shaken either from shallow cuts (like the annoying gash on your upper arm, curse that heathen!) or from the simple unearthliness of those small robotic monstrosities. One, however, is leaving the room with a firm, steady stride, unbroken, it seems, by fright, fatigue, or anything else.
Which is *not* as it should be, because your mixtures should have begun to take effect by now. Even on an individual of his size, he should have begun to display some signs of dizziness or stuttering consciousness by now. No, something is wrong. You are sure of it.
You are so close to finishing this debacle; this is an unneeded complication. But it is also a complication you can do nothing more about this night. Under your breath, you mutter imprecations about the man's lineage; clearly, you will have no more opportunity to do anything else to the man this night.
You attempted to roleblock Anaklusmos, but it failed for some reason.
Bomb Disposal (Wrath_of_DoG)
What in Allah's name was that madman trying to accomplish? Using toys of all things as instruments of murder. A more twisted individual you have never met, not even in all your time in the military or in politics.
No matter. He is dead now, reaping the just consequences for his actions. But if those... those abominations were his chosen weapon, then you know all too well that there remain other killers amongst you. The memory of your comrade's bomb-charred corpse tells you that quite clearly - another death on your conscience, one you failed to prevent.
Nor will you be preventing any such fatality this night, it seems. Like the previous night, your inspection of the soft-spoken, aloof man's door shows no signs of tampering. Your tools will go unused again this night; and you can only hope that no other bodies appear in the morning.
You have protected Skander from bombs this night.
Hide (~V~)
The terror of facing those sinister smiling things overcomes your conscious mind well before even the death of their controller. You have a vague recollection of seeing a table slam into the fiendish man - but soon after your consciousness turns black.
When your consciousness returns to you (lungs burning like fire, hands aching terribly for some reason) it is, just as it was two nights ago, dark and cramped. A closet again, you suppose, feeling the rustling of fine cloth against your head. You don't much care as long as no one finds you.
And no one does. For hours, you sit, wide-eyed and wide awake, in the darkness; nameless terror and the survival instinct dispelling any mere biological need for sleep. From outside, you briefly hear snatches of sound, that might be a television; but even when the sounds cease, you remain perfectly, utterly, still.
You have successfully hidden behind Anaklusmos.
Death (Syrenz)
After the frustration of the previous nights, and the confusion of the day's execution, you find yourself at loose ends, unable to decide on someone to follow.
It is an unfamiliar, unpleasant feeling. Direction is the one thing you have never lacked for; from superiors, from family, and then finally from none but yourself -- until this day. This day, when you finally find yourself aimless and wandering, lost, along a corridor.
It is in the instant you hear the harsh click behind you that you once more know yourself to be a foolish man. You turn just in time to see the Asian man, the light of insanity in his eyes, level the barrel of the gun at you, and, flat-footed as you are, there is no evading the muzzle flash, and the instant of pain, that fades almost instantly into -
You have been killed. Thanks for playing. If you would like an invite to the Google spectator group, please PM me your email.
Discerning Gaze (vezokpiraka)
You shiver even as the last light leaves the crazed man's eyes, that dreadful rictus grin still frozen on his face. You cannot stand zealots; neither your country's history nor your own has ever shown a single redeeming feature of slavish obsession. You nearly cannot believe that you had even thought of encouraging such zealotry once more.
You force your eyes from the corpse, even as other delegates prepare to move it to the adjoining room. There is yet work that needs to be done; you cannot believe the deceptive charmer was the only killer. Taking a quick glance around the room, you at last affix your narrowed eyes upon one of the delegates in the process of moving the corpse, a quavering smile upon his face, as if unnerved and anxious.
Anxious he is, but not how he would wish others to believe. He clearly has something to hide; to what purpose you cannot guess, but it does not take long for you to discern the shape of his secrets.
When the cleanup is done, you retire quickly to your rooms. You must mull upon these revelations. The long days are not yet done.
ced395 has the following triggered ability:
Shadow of the Rebellion (Triggered)
- Triggered by certain conditions being met. Your alignment and win condition will change.
....and after posting these, I realize that Skander should have gotten another The Plan PM on day 4 with a clue towards Talore's turn condition. Oops.
And also, since I forgot to say it in the previous post, a great vote of thanks to Pale Mage for replacing in at a late juncture and attempting to give the town a shot. I'll pull a Dagger and give you an auto-/in into my next game if you want it.. ^_-
@Skander: The reason everything went through you was more a safeguard; I'd heard of previous incidents where traitors revealed their new scumbuddies out of frustration.
Private Mod Note
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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.
And also, since I forgot to say it in the previous post, a great vote of thanks to Pale Mage for replacing in at a late juncture and attempting to give the town a shot. I'll pull a Dagger and give you an auto-/in into my next game if you want it.. ^_-
This would mark the first time I'm happy someone is pulling a dagger on me.
I am very curious about this as well. Nom, if I promise not to say anything mean knowing the result of your gambit, will you please explain why you went through with it?
I completely checked out of this game following TFF's gambit since it was plain we were on the road to ruin. Townies, please be advised: lying is a very bad idea except when the town has absolutely nothing to lose. No matter how sure you are that it's going to work, you always get burned. Tilde (Symbiote), bateleur (CCMIV), Seppel (also Symbiote), N_A (Cubus's Normal) - I could go on and on and on. Never do it.
The flavor was excellent in both day scenes and PMs, and I enjoyed going through all of the night action PMs you've just provided. One nitpick, however - please don't use "Allah" when writing in English. Allah is an Arabic word that represents a concept for which we have a perfectly good word in English, to wit, "God." The propensity of both Muslims and non-Muslims to incorrectly use the word "Allah" propagates an inaccurate belief that Muslims worship "some other god" whose name is Allah, as opposed to the God of the Abrahamic tradition. If my point isn't clear enough, consider the following:
English: God
French: Dieu
Spanish: Dios
German: Gott
Arabic: Allah
All of these names refer to the same being. Anyway, nothing personal. I correct this error wherever and whenever I find it.
Regarding the moderation itself, I will say this: in future, please consider bringing a co-moderator on board for any large games you plan to host.
It is pretty interesting that you are telling us not to lie but your custom title says otherwise. You should change it. Maybe it sens a subliminal message.
Private Mod Note
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Thanks to DNC at Heroes of the plane studios for this awesome sig and SGT_Chubbz for the awesome avy. Check out the Shop Thread
I completely checked out of this game following TFF's gambit since it was plain we were on the road to ruin. Townies, please be advised: lying is a very bad idea except when the town has absolutely nothing to lose. No matter how sure you are that it's going to work, you always get burned. Tilde (Symbiote), bateleur (CCMIV), Seppel (also Symbiote), N_A (Cubus's Normal) - I could go on and on and on. Never do it.
The flavor was excellent in both day scenes and PMs, and I enjoyed going through all of the night action PMs you've just provided. One nitpick, however - please don't use "Allah" when writing in English. Allah is an Arabic word that represents a concept for which we have a perfectly good word in English, to wit, "God." The propensity of both Muslims and non-Muslims to incorrectly use the word "Allah" propagates an inaccurate belief that Muslims worship "some other god" whose name is Allah, as opposed to the God of the Abrahamic tradition. If my point isn't clear enough, consider the following:
English: God
French: Dieu
Spanish: Dios
German: Gott
Arabic: Allah
All of these names refer to the same being. Anyway, nothing personal. I correct this error wherever and whenever I find it.
Regarding the moderation itself, I will say this: in future, please consider bringing a co-moderator on board for any large games you plan to host.
Well, Seppel was scum in CCMIV, but other than that, what he said. Townies should never lie, unless they have a damn good, townie reason for it.
I completely checked out of this game following TFF's gambit since it was plain we were on the road to ruin. Townies, please be advised: lying is a very bad idea except when the town has absolutely nothing to lose. No matter how sure you are that it's going to work, you always get burned. Tilde (Symbiote), bateleur (CCMIV), Seppel (also Symbiote), N_A (Cubus's Normal) - I could go on and on and on. Never do it.
I had hope that Pale Mage would make some magic but the Kitten Killer laid waste to those dreams.
What happened? Games' too long to read, though apparently townies lied?
Day One dragged forever and we mislynched Zchinque out of frustration and confusion.
Day Two Nom_Anor faked an investigation on Azrael resulting in his mislynch.
Day Three TheFooFish tried a gambit which backfired and resulted in his mislynch.
Day Four RafaelK was (the only non-town) lynched; the mafia jumped hard on him.
Day Five the Kitten Killer gave the mafia the vote they needed to mislynch Anaklusmos FTW.
I completely checked out of this game following TFF's gambit since it was plain we were on the road to ruin. Townies, please be advised: lying is a very bad idea except when the town has absolutely nothing to lose
Yah. This.
I lied very recently in GHS but that was to save me from being mislynched.
Quote from zindabad »
Regarding the moderation itself, I will say this: in future, please consider bringing a co-moderator on board for any large games you plan to host.
Or if not, we might want to at least make it a policy that any mod who realises they're going to have extended absences needs to bring a co-mod in.
I'm glad to see so many of you liked the flavour nonetheless. If any of you have any questions about it, feel free to ask or PM me.
Re: Nom and TFF - it's probably accurate to say that the town lost two days due to this, and Nom's was particularly egregious due to the fact that it was day 2, which should have given the most evidence to ced's traitor flip. I'm also fairly certain that he did so thanks to his cop claim the day before, which needless to say kept him alive but wasn't the best percentage deal for the town at all.
As town, lie with greater purpose, not with individual goals. As much as I applauded ITF for the insight that led to the gambit that got me lynched in Manipulator, I also lambasted him because if he had been wrong the scum might very well have won that night.
Re: zindabad and RafaelK - acknowledged and apologized for. The vast majority of the delays was due to me getting stuck on writing flavour, but a co-mod is definitely something I'll consider to avoid the whole 'no internet access due to relatives' circumstances' and similar issues that led to the one extra-long night.
Private Mod Note
():
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
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.
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But again, they're two different people. It's just as likely they just had different opinions.
Well this at least makes sense.
@ced: If this is Lylo, than Anak is scum. If it isn't Lylo, well it isn't Lylo.
Unvote Vote Anak
That was a really fast hammer
Sorry I had to say it. I was telling the complete truth, and honestly I had nothing else to defend myself with. I was so dispirited by the end of this game, just because I knew nothing I could have done would have saved me.
Still, sucks to lose. Now what the hell is going on?
Endgame to be edited in later today.
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.
Skander, Anak , ***, and me.
We weren't mafia. So the rest where mafia. I am thinking D_V was town. What the hell happened then?
Thanks to DNC at Heroes of the plane studios for this awesome sig and SGT_Chubbz for the awesome avy.
Check out the Shop Thread
Confirmed.
I had found a post by you at the end of day one that made me believe you were scum, but that didn't fit some of the other stuff from that day. It told me you were already thinking along the lines of needing to (possibly) be scum (if you were in fact a traitor, which seemed probable).
Were you just aware of the traitors from the get-go or were you in fact a traitor? When did you flip, etc.
Sorry I didn't end up with the time to put into this replacement that I thought I had, everybody. Sickness and then the kids being home an entire week from school (unplanned) pretty much ate up my recent time/energy.
Nights that go for nine days are not a good way to keep players invested in the game, especially one of this size.
But I enjoyed the flavour.
It was pretty obvious to me that the traitors were either scum taking advantage of an opening (I suspect that was the case for Ced) or this was a game they shouldn't have won.
Either way, we should have been lynching them far earlier.
And there were another 4 out there?
Thanks to DNC at Heroes of the plane studios for this awesome sig and SGT_Chubbz for the awesome avy.
Check out the Shop Thread
Why didn't I turn at Nom's death?
I'd also really like to know what happened Night 2.
Why did you kill me?!?!
I mean, seriously, I'm walking along my merry little way to PROTECT YOU FROM DEATH, and you blow me up in the elevator!!! Wth, man?
Sorry, I've been waiting all game to ask that.
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Come join ours!!
And why did I have to switch from tracking Skander to Tilde on N3 when Skander did the kill...
Lair of the Cat (Mafia Stats)
Yeah, well, I prefer not to be killed for being too townie!
Heh, you are soooo on your own from now on, you cheeky bastard!
He didn't. dC told me Nom himself caused his result to be false, for claiming iirc. You'll have to ask him for clarification.
The moral is NA was telling the truth. He was just wrong.
Ooh, you should always trust your instinct.
So, I wasn't following along. How did Ced survive?
And, do you guys know that WoD was my mason partner?
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It's not a stretch to say that Nom Anor single-handedly caused this town to lose the game. TheFooFish's poorly conceived gambit certainly didn't help. What is with townies lying in do or die situations? This kind of bad play needs to be discouraged, but apparently otherwise smart players love to do stupid things instead of actually sitting down and doing some serious analysis.
Major props to Pale Mage for biting the bullet and trying to actually accomplish something for the town.
EDIT:
Nom Anor was completely bull☺☺☺☺ting the town because he lost the ability to investigate anyone as soon as he voted Day One. His rationale was that he didn't trust a cop investigation in a bastard game. Too bad that not only was he sane, but that there were no Godfather roles in the game. Granted, this was the most nerfed cop role I have ever seen, but still...what a bad idea to think so highly of one's ability to read Azrael as to lie about an investigation one doesn't even have.
The town was more concerned with players who didn't claim to be traitors than players who did.
Yes, it was publicly claimed.
Why? Why? For the love of all that is good why, Nom?
The bastardness was the mod causing individual townies to lie about their roles in major ways. *facepalm*
I also had a little gambit that never worked (because ced was scum). My ability to lower the vote threshhold of someone by 2? That only lasts until the end of the day. I was hoping that if ced was town, that the scum would try to speed-lynch him and be caught when ced doesn't die. It could have saved the game. If he was town.
Probably because Day 3 I had put up some very weird (and true) things as what happened to me Night 2.
For the record I had a total of 3 abilities -
Blackmail : which forced me to target a player during the night
Price of Freedom : the traitor ability which caused me to flip after my blackmailer (AI) was killed.
And a bodyguard ability after I flipped, which was generally useless because if I successfully protected a buddy, we'd still be down a member.
Note to self: Your mafia theories are usually wrong, so don't act on them.
What's particularly annoying is that you could lynch someone and they'd come up "town" and yet it would be a good play as they would have turned that night anyway, and you'd have no way to know that. Or that someone could be extremely townie for 4 days and then become scum and you have to somehow guess that.
A design which will unfortunately serve as an object lesson for future designers to avoid.
Anaklusmos (5) - ~Tilde~, vezokpiraka, Deaths_Vampire, Skander, ced395
----------------------
14:11, 17 August 20XX
"...you think me your enemy? That I play at silly games of terrorism, at escalation and counter-escalation, like shivering children throwing snowballs on empty tundra? I?" The huge Russian barks out a belly laugh - long, guttural, and deep - that echoes chilly in the dead silence of the chamber. The sheer force of the reverberation is unnerving - the remaining delegates exchange uneasy glances at each other, fingers twitching nervously. All, that is, except one - a slim man with ordinary features, who merely stares at the Russian expressionlessly.
A slim, ordinary man who, the Australian notes, wasn't anywhere near this calm previously - heck, he looked like a nervous wreck a couple days before, bloodshot eyes and all. And come to think of it, wasn't he supposed to be from some chink country -
The Russian's booming voice sounds out again, commanding attention. "Fine! Come, and have done, yes? I tire of this farce. If winter is to swallow us all - " the thunderous expression fades from his face, replaced by a rueful smile - "Then let me sleep before it comes, yes?" He leans back into a chair; eyes closed as if dozing in sunshine.
The slim man wastes no time. "As you wish - " and then swifter than anyone can react, a hidden pistol (how could something so huge and monstrously black have been hidden..?) is in his hands and spurts two bullets straight into the Russian's broad forehead; the slim delegate - no, not delegate after all - never changing his empty expression.
To his credit, a mere half second passes before the Australian delegate surges from his seat, furious words and clenched fists ready - but before he can speak, two loud and dry gasps sound, followed by a chorus of horrid gurgling. The Australian whips his head around - but the dusky-skinned Pakistani and the darker-toned South African have both already collapsed out of their chairs, bubbling froth spilling from mouth, nostrils, and horribly, eyes. And seated, seemingly perfectly calmly between the poisoned and dying men; the Iranian studiously does not look at the sight of impending death, only fingers toying with an empty vial betraying any unease at all.
A flash of movement - the German is fleeing the room, but the slim man merely turns his pistol and plants two bullets in the moving target's back while barely even looking. His eyes remain fixed squarely upon the Australian even as the German crumples and falls. The eyes of the last two people in the room - the cool gaze of the Irishman and the fervent and mad stare of the Myanmar delegate - have never stopped observing the Australian.
The Australian merely sneers. "Should'a known you weren't no chink. Well played, mate, well played." Silently, the Australian swears he'll haunt the old man to his deathbed after this.
The slim man's only response is to tilt his head slightly, before gunning the laconic man down with the last two bullets. He reloads thoughtlessly, a conditioned reflex, before silently directing the remaining men to clean up the bodies, mind already on what evidence needs to be faked.
Outside, the storm begins to abate.
Anaklusmos, Russian Delegate, Politician Redirector/Poison & Chemical Immune has been lynched.
vezokpiraka, German Delegate, Politician Revealer/Self-Watcher/Traitor has been endgamed.
Pale Mage, South African Delegate, Politician Hider/Gunsmith/Traitor has been endgamed.
Wrath_of_DoG, Pakistani Delegate, Politician Heavy Wounds Doctor/Partner has been endgamed.
Talore, Australian Delegate, Politician Rabble Rouser/Traitor has been endgamed.
Skander, Political Extremist, Political Extremist Godfather/Faction Head has won.
ced395, Irish Delegate, Political Extremist Supersaint/One-shot Vig/Traitor turned Tough Guy has won.
~Tilde~, Myanmar Delegate, Political Extremist Blackmailed Traitor turned Bodyguard has won.
Deaths_Vampire, Iranian Delegate, Political Extremist Roleblocker/Motivator has won.
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.
Repeat state funeral being held for the dead Chinese delegate after protestors mar initial one. Did they like that guy or hate him?
about 6 hours ago via web
http://newtinypic.com/999101c8a.jpg BWAHAHAHAHA
about 8 hours ago via web
And apparently Sesame Street's current owners are suing the Cult for defamation
about 10 hours ago via web
BB just released their 'Doha Cult Special' set lunch. Really anything goes with them, eh?
about 11 hours ago via web
Inconsistencies with the remains? http://theunderscoop.net/20XX/11/108/
about 16 hours ago via web
#Revelteir Oh, and the Irish guy
about 21 hours ago via web
#Revelteir No, I'm not disputing that the Cult of Consumer Expenditure was behind the whole incident. I just think there can't have been just the head himself going in. Isn't that Singaporean guy still missing?
about 21 hours ago via web
Or maybe they think its 'stimulating the economy'
about 23 hours ago via web
Water damage came up to US$101 mil. Damage to the Spires came up to US$170 mill. Expenses by the Cult to seed the clouds with EM-laden isotopes from space, US$2.5 billion. Not good economic sense, eh?
about 23 hours ago via web
[more]
An unmarked window appears at the bottom of the screen.
that went well.
The slim operative makes no move to type; instead, he leans back in the computer chair, and speaks as if to empty air. "All things considered, *only* that went well. Definitely our clients never envisioned such a huge uproar."
they did still pay, though.
"They know better than to do otherwise. And as it is, they'll have to lay low for a while, and trust to their new allies." His mouth twists sourly. "And so will we. Quite unfortunate, given the expense of those weapons we had to leave behind."
there are always remote contracts.
"We'll keep that option open for now. I'd rather not take the risk of your exposure."
i hear 'the AI did it' isn't permissible in court.
A sardonic grin. "And I'd rather keep it that way."
touche.
perhaps the time may be better spent with your guest, then.
"Here, is he? Mmm. Perhaps." As if on cue, a sound of a keycard lock disengaging; followed by a quiet knock. The consummate professional rises with easy grace and strides to the door; he verifies the Irish features of his visitor through a monitor, studying for a moment the detached, bland expression on the digital image of the man's face. Eyes logical and penetrating.
He smiles briefly, then schools his expression; and prepares to greet his new partner.
-----------------
"....for how much longer will we ignore this plague? No - for how much longer will the heathen West ignore it, and drag the rest of us down with their willful blindness?!
"The wanton slaughter perpetuated by the heathen scum - of Westerners and Easterners alike, of our Muslim brothers, and very nearly myself - all of it! All because they refuse to admit their past errors! Refuse to repudiate those who wish a return to the folly of full capitalism! Refuse - even now - to show, once and for all, that things must change, and that there can be no return to the old wasteful ways!
"...and the result? A neutral country - a font of sin, yes, but innocent in this regard - suffering millions of dollars worth of damage. Respected politicians murdered - including our Pakistani brother in faith, who brought a new era of peace to his land, and promising and eminent Saudi and Emirati brothers too.
"Have the Recessions taught us nothing?! Are we to once more blithely stand in ignorance as we walk the fool's path towards doom? Are we - once again! - to swallow Western lies about how their ridiculous houses of cards will never fall?
"I say - NO! A resounding, clarion 'no'. I will not stand for this. I will not stand to see us repeat the mistakes of the past. I will not stand to see all sacrificed again on the heathen altar of 'progress'. I will not stand to see us led to the edge of ruin at the hands of the West once more.
"And neither, I trust you, my brothers and sisters, will you."
The Iranian pauses the recording of his speech, and ponders the irony of his own words for a moment. Ah, but he has grown duplicitous these months - more duplicitous than he already was, of course, as a politician.
But it is for the good of his country - to once and for all regain prominence in the world. Maybe even for the good of all - he knows not enough of his erstwhile 'allies' to say. But should they ever be of no more use to him, his choice will be clear - as clear, he knows, as theirs will be should the same ever be the case for him.
He vents a throaty chuckle. So be it! Events will happen as Allah wills, and in no other way. Man will never turn the course of fate - neither he, nor they. All that remains is to see this through for as long as it can continue - perhaps to its ultimate end.
--------------------
Once again, it starts in a club.
It does not take the Myanmarese politician long to realize, afterward, that he has merely exchanged one master for another. But he strangely finds it difficult to care. This master, at least, keeps its promises - that cursed cellphone has grown long silent, following accident after 'accident' in nearby Indonesia. Instead, an oblique, nondescript black tab now serves as his yoke and chain.
Instructions came this morning. Worded like a request, but to all intents and purposes an order - an order that he should, by all rights, have been recoiling in horror from. But he does not, and he knows he is insane. His mind is broken, and held together in a facsimile of functionality by - ironically - the fact of his own indenture. And a broken mind will do so, so, many things.
When the man begins to spasm and choke a mere table away ('A man', 'the man' - so removed for a familiar face that might have been called a friend), the rictus horror on his face as he rises is all too authentic. And if it is turned, in fact, within rather than without - no one notices.
The man chokes, gasps, breathes his last. And now the broken man is one step closer to the influence his puppetmasters wish him to have.
----------------------
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.
All had a common win condition except for TheFooFish.
Some One/zindabad:
Your composure lasts until you re-enter your room. The door has barely finished clicking before you've hurled your suitcase with vicious violence clear across the breadth of the room.
THUNKclack -- the sound of the clasp breaking is in there somewhere, but the ringing in your ears is too loud. You are pacing -- pace, pace, pace, footfalls tracing fury across the plush carpet you really shouldn't be grinding shoe heels into.
Terrorists.
You hate terrorists. You hate the very word -- it provokes something primal - visceral - poisonous from deep inside you. The very mention sets your teeth gnashing. This incident wells up your urge to kill.
It's not that difficult to explain, you know. You're no past victim, and you're no fool -- you know that one man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter, and it's history written by the ones left standing that split the difference, as recent history can attest to. What the word universally means, however -- morality, philosophy, and reasons be damned -- is rebellion against the current order. Against the world order. The world order your country created, clung through tenuously throughout the Great Global Recessions, and with which it continues to lord over the rest of the plebian world entangled in its paradigm.
You are a true patriot. Rebellion against that world order is a cardinal sin you cannot forgive.
Fortunately, you think as you pull the hidden bottom out from your luggage, you're more than equipped to punish the benighted f***ers. You carefully remove three packages -- a compact but powerful carbon-fiber pistol with a single carbonized bullet; a brittle container of a compound that atomizes into deadly poison; and good old faithful, a block of C4 and series of detonator caps. Your hands are shivering with anticipation -- but some sliver of restraint stops you, telling you that the datafiles on your PDA are far more --
-- you grimace. The battery's low. Critically so. And you didn't bring a universal adaptor. When will the rest of the f***ing world learn to do it like America?
Restraint falls away, and fury gives way to crystal clarity. You run a tender hand across your weaponry.
Time for some good old-fashioned Texan justice.
Texan Justice (Overt, Night)
- Target one person every night with one of your three weapons; the gun, the poison capsule, or the block of C4. You will kill this person with the selected weapon.
- Usage of this ability will use up the selected weapon.
- You will lose this ability when you are out of weaponry.
- Usage of this ability is compulsory.
PDA Datafiles (Covert, Night)
- Target one person. You will learn this person's alignment.
- You will lose this ability on day 3, when your PDA runs out of power.
Zchinque:
*click* *click* *clack*
It's nothing new for a good Brit policyman to have a history of service. None of that play-service some of the Yanks get up to (well, not much). Real situations. Real missions. Sometimes even real combat.
*clack SHUNK -- clinkclinkclink*
Your term of service went beyond that. Not that it says so on paper. Official records show you've never served a day in any combat capacity in your life. It doesn't list you in military, law enforcement, or even civil works positions. Because technically, of course, you weren't.
chamber. lock. pin. barrel
MI6 wetworks. Black ops. And yours was the hours of waiting in darkness, perfectly still -- sometimes ignoring the occasional bug in the face -- waiting, and watching, and waiting, and watching, and waiting, and watching, and waiting, and SHOOT -- and a rarity, you made it all the way to a transfer, never being caught, never getting shot, never needing to be 'disavowed'. And then somehow, with the clinical detachment and split-second instinct that saw you through your years as a sniper you rose through the diplomatic ranks. To where you are today. Some of your old comrades might not recognize you now.
But a good sniper is always prepared, and you are and always will be a good sniper.
thumb the slide - load the single dull glimmer
You sight the reassembled, long-barreled rifle, the thickness of your worn but serviceable bulletproof vest shielding you from the muted, yet still considerable, force of the storm raging outside. You'll have to correct for the storm, you muse, as you begin to disassemble the rifle again.
You only have one bullet. Hopefully it will prove all that's necessary.
Snipe (Covert, Night)
- Target one person. You will kill this person with your sniper rifle and sabot round.
- You will lose this ability upon use.
Worn Kevlar Vest (Triggered)
- Triggered when someone targets you with a gun. This will stop the kill.
- You will lose this ability when it is triggered.
tordeck/Syrenz:
A saying exists. 'The foolish man leads; the wise man follows, watches, and learns.'
You do not think yourself wise, but took the lesson to heart. Thus was your career in the diplomatic services shaped -- through following, and watching, and learning.
Following, nodding, at superiors seeking placid agreement.
Following colleagues seeking recognition.
Following in silent deference official after minister after administrator.
And over time, your presence so natural and expected that you followed and learned every secret and every private glory and shame they had. And, quietly and deferentially, you used what you could, and quietly and deferentially rose through the ranks.
A wise man, perhaps, would not have done so, knowing he would be watched. Thus you are not a wise man; but knowing you will be watched, you watch for the watchers.
Thus it will be here, too. You will follow, you will watch, and you will perhaps learn.
You are the last to leave the conference room. No one notices your shadow behind them.
Shadow (Overt, Night)
- Target one person. You will learn who this person targets this night with overt actions.
Watching the Watchers (Triggered)
- Triggered when you are targeted with a covert ability. You will be told who targeted you.
Nom_Anor:
As the others quibble, bluster, and accuse, your eyes are calm and tranquil.
'Know the enemy and know yourself' - so oft misquoted, SUn Tzu, and yet so many truisms. The one you live by is of the primacy of information. Paramount, therefore, is the observation through which such information is gathered.
Known and valued is your insight at home. Yours was the foresight that predicted momentary chaos in Europe. Yours was the divination that led to profit in Southeast Asia. Yours was the counsel that saved billions in the wake of the Fourth Great Global Recession, and thus saved millions from starvation and bankruptcy.
But none of it foresight, nor divination, nor future sight; merely the fruits of observation, and of a spy network levels and cells immeasurably wide. 'None more critical than secret affairs', indeed. Wisdom of the ancestors is to be wisely heeded.
No spy network avails you here; but you did not always have that luxury. Your aged eyes are still sharp, and will cut like a knife.
It is nearly amusing, you ruminesce to yourself, how loud these children be. Let your secret observations be the path to victory.
Observe (Covert, Day)
- Target one person during the day.
- At the end of day 3, you will learn the alignments of all people you have previously targeted.
- Voting at any time during the first 3 game days will bring notice to you. You will lose this ability.
(Mod note: should the Chinese delegate target the Australian delegate, the Australian delegate's traitor ability will trigger at the end of day 3, after which this will resolve; thus giving the Australian delegate's alignment as 'Political Extremist'.
Azrael:
You help yourself to another of the exotic sweetmeats still laid innocuously on the dresser, savoring the piquance of lemon blended with cream and milk. Truly, worthy of a seven-star resort.
Food is a luxury you learn to appreciate quickly in the Great Homeland, all the more when you don't have it. The Global Recessions brought change, but in your youth you knew hunger beyond the imaginings of many. Life was not easy in the lowlands of the Great Homeland, especially in times of tension; some died from the consuming hunger, and others from the fruits of mistakes past and mistakes present, in the forms of explosions. Always explosions -- not surprising, so far from any frontlines or borders, but nonetheless deadly. You, like other survivors, quickly learned to spot the patterns, and defuse the mines/bombs/carelessly mispackaged charges. It even became a game of sorts, one of many simple (though dangerous) pleasures to palliate the hunger.
It took years of good, hard work to secure yourself a better position, through patronage and through blackmail and through some measures you don't like to think about now. More than once you had to play your old game again, courtesy of jealous rivals; you even remember with particular fondness one devilishly complicated package you wouldn't have thought a nepotistic crony could have devised. Maybe he outsourced, but it was fun nonetheless.
Eventually the game faded, though, to be replaced instead by barely-hidden petitioning; your status solidified and reinforced by your actual steadfast competence. Restless, you fell upon a new pastime, one enabled by the excesses allowed your position; cooking, with access to the culinary resources of half the planet, combining your love for food with an artistic side you never knew. You drew inspiration from everything, from the dress uniform to the Great Leader's hairdo (although you kept that one a secret pleasure -- tasted great, too) to dimmer, childhood memories.
Food is the ultimate sign of life, the pinnacle of pleasure in the moment. Tomorrow hardly matters in the face of today; that's the lesson you've carried from your childhood. Hunger is a specter that must be exorcised every day, and you take the utmost delight in doing so as flamboyantly as possible.
The next bite is boysenberry, and you shiver in delight. You must visit the kitchens of the cafe they brought this was from -- and the other kitchens as well, for that matter. Perhaps you'll make something for everyone, too
They don't call you the Masked Iron Chef Kim for nothing.
The Game (Triggered)
- Triggered when someone targets you with a bomb. You will find and defuse the bomb.
Breakfast Fortissimo (Triggered)
- Triggered at the beginning of each day. You will visit various kitchens and, drawing inspiration from your surroundings, prepare a large and splendid repast for all. Each day you will draw new inspiration.
(Mod note: 3 players among the living delegates who have not been previously selected are randomly chosen each day. SK and Political Extremist faction head are rerolls, as their identities are fake. Food will correspond to the countries of these three players.)
MandersHex:
As surreptitiously as you can, you slip a soft tablet from the second container in your pocket, and palm it. Feigning a cough, you tilt the tablet into your mouth, and do a hard, dry swallow, then drop your shivering hands back under the table. It doesn't take long for the shaking to stop, and for a slow sense of euphoria to set in. You let loose a soft sigh of contentment -- no one seems to notice, but the one you knew would.
It's not a good habit. You know it. He knows it. But, you like to think, it's not like anyone would begrudge you it, not with what you've had to deal with over the years. The corruption; the power struggles; the sheer self-serving spite of the factions of the Indian government -- half the body politic working completely against the few striving to build towards the future. Enough to make a grown man scream, and cry, and beat his chest in agony. You know. You did it.
The poisonous wishes that Lord Shiva would strike the better half dead were not good karma at all; even worse when they seemed to come true. The Fourth Great Global Recession brought chaos, and hunger, and riots -- nothing too unusual if not for the scale. More than a few of those you secretly cursed fiery death upon really did fall to shrieking demise. You saw one, a corpulent Brahmin you hated with a passion -- but you would not have wished him torn limb from limb by half-maddened rioters desperate for something to blame. His head in the air still haunts you at times, hovering like a demented, shocked ball in an eternal spinning motion. Only the pills let you sleep then.
It started, ironically enough, with the ayurveda that was your hobby and field of study -- trying to regain your equilibrium through internal treatments. It worked too well. Soon the oils and herbs became almost a daily practice, you needing the herbs and fragrances to haze out the screaming epithets that threatened to escape your lips. Your calm was almost legendary, and also almost entirely chemical -- but garnered you renown for your understanding and patience.
The fragrances would not drown out the memories of the riots, however. It took you a month and... stronger substances... to stop seeing, and another two months to regain true functionality. It might have taken you longer had someone at a diplomatic meeting not noticed and arranged to shake you straight. That was the Pakistani Delegate, who is here with you right now, in this hellish situation; he is the only other person who knows of your unsavory habit, and also the person with whom you orchestrated a lasting peace with Pakistan for the first time in centuries, in the aftermath of the Recession.
You owe him a karmic debt, you know, that you can never repay in the this lifetime. It is for his sake as much as yours that you will gather your wits and live through the barbarism of the days to come.
Ayurvedic Medicine (Overt, Night)
- Target one person at night. Your unearthly skill in ayurvedic medicine will prevent the death of this person from wounds or poison this night.
- Due to your own substance abuse, this ability will not work on yourself.
Coded Correspondence (Covert, Any)
- You carry a coded communication device, the twin of which is carried by Wrath_of_DoG, the Pakistani Delegate. You may talk with Wrath_of_DoG at any time.
Wrath_of_DoG:
It is the soldier in you, you reflect as you observe the histronics in the room, that makes you want to yell at the whole lot of them like a drill sergeant and shake them straight. The diplomat you now are knows this is neither the time or the place; nor, if there are truly infiltrators among you, an action that will have any good consequences. As always, you muse, the diplomat seems to know better than the soldier.
You don't like to remember your military service, anyway. Or rather, you don't like to remember one part of your military service -- albeit a rather large part. You didn't mind the training (not even the Allah-cursed drill sergeant you feel so tempted to emulate now), or the shooting. It's not that you even minded the shooting people -- if you were a military man with a problem with that, you clearly should have quit ages ago. But you weren't, even when you had to help clear the bodies. It's not like you were that comfortable with it, either, but it was duty, and they were enemy.
At the beginning, the bomb squad transfer didn't bother you either -- the bomb squad in question not being one that cleared bombs (although there was some of that on occasion), but rather one which set bombs. You were good at it. Very good. More than one extremist base or vehicle was cleansed by the fire and shrapnel you set and often, detonated. And again, you weren't comfortable with it, but it was duty, and they were enemy.
One day you were too close and the enemy abruptly became all too human, with all too human outstretched disembodied charring arms, and in the billowing fire and smoke you could no longer see cleansing and duty, but merely iblis.
Still you did your duty, holding in sickness with stoicism. With your eventual promotion, and shift to more political concerns, you swore to yourself never to kill with bombs again. It is a sacred vow you will keep to the end of your life, cemented by the months of nightmares that followed you even as you learned the processes of policy.
You recognized the signs of the same nightmares one day, at a tense diplomatic meeting -- in the twitching edges of the shadows of the eyes of the Indian politician who remained polite and patient even in the tense undercurrent. A chance glimpse of the pill he swallowed mid-meeting told you the source of that patience, and that he was heading straight down a road that a less disciplined you might have walked.
In retrospect, hiring an assassin to attack and shock him was far from the most politic solution. But somehow, it worked; and unlikely as it may seem, the two of you became confidants of a sort, and over the next decade built the foundation for a final peace between your countries. Your great work is done, of a sort; yet this situation threatens it, and you, and the same Indian delegate, in this same room, in this same situation. You have an odd and uncomfortable sense that your old skills may come to be of use if you are all to survive this.
The Indian looks towards you, and you nod imperceptibly. But it is the soldier in you, you think regretfully, that keeps whispering in your ear: 'Trust no one.'
Bomb Disposal (Overt, Night)
- Target one person at night. You will check for and defuse any explosives in this person's room.
- You may not target yourself.
Coded Correspondence (Covert, Any)
- You carry a coded communication device, the twin of which is carried by MandersHex, the Indian Delegate. You may talk with MandersHex at any time.
AsianInvasion:
Sometimes, in life, there are hard decisions.
You, however, have never had to make any of them. Money? Your family has more money than you'd know what to do with, and has no compunctions about providing you with it. Education? Even if you weren't naturally gifted (all those tutors said so too, didn't they?), a few 'contributions' would have ensured your success. Relationships? People like money -- girls like money even more. Career? Your family's influence, your uncle's position, all led to a nice cushy government job.
You didn't really have to do anything once you were there, but hey, you were bored. And it really wasn't that difficult to push less talented and less *ahem* connected plebians out of the way to higher office. So you had to do some actual work now and then -- so what? It wasn't like it was difficult or anything. The family was even proud. You like that. You like your family, after all.
It wasn't family, though, but a friend in the intelligence branch who introduced you to your own secret little pleasure. It started with the drugs -- no, you're not stupid enough to use them on yourself. It was mostly soporifics, an advanced mixture, next to impossible to detect without specific training -- and damnable fun at clubs, landing the two of you the few frigid girls unimpressed by money, and getting a few laughs at the expense of the occasional male who you thought needed 'cooling off'. But one night your friend got a little too drunk and demonstrated interrogation techniques on this one guy, and ebulliently asked you to try it to. You did. And you liiiiked it.
He wasn't so cheery any more when he sobered up, but now he can't do a thing against you, just smuggle you your 'supplies' and help you set up your 'fun'. Ahhh, good times. But it was all getting a bit stale, which was why you jumped at a chance to head for the next Doha Round, and put in the effort to get there. (Well, the seven-star thing was a good part of that too.)
This situation, however, may well be the first hard decision you have to make. And somehow that just makes it all the more interesting. And it's not like you're unequipped... you've got your 'supplies', which you were intending on using on an employee or two, and you've got an anonymous address which is apparently some foreign politico your friend's got a hold on. If he's here, he's going to be doing your dirty work -- well, the non-fun bits, anyway.
And that's just the way you like it.
Soporifics (Overt, Night)
- Target one person at night. Your first dose of soporifics will render the person too drowsy to perform any action this night.
Kidnap (Overt - special, Night)
- Target one person you have previously targeted with Soporifics at night. Your second dose will knock the person unconscious, roleblocking him. The politician under blackmail will deliver the unconscious individual to a secure location, where you will interrogate the semi-conscious person to discover the person's rolename and abilities (covert, overt, and most triggered).
- This action will register as both you and the politician under blackmail targeting the person.
- You may not use this ability on the same night as Soporifics.
- Be warned; flavour for this action is highly suspicious.
- You will lose this ability if the politician under blackmail is dead.
(Modnote: Player under blackmail is the Myanmar delegate)
DYH/Seppel:
You are a proud person. You know this as fact.
You know that it is seen as a flaw by some. You do not agree.
You have reasons for your pride. You are a member of a proud people, in a proud country, rich in cultural and religious significance, and one which weathered the storm of the Global Recessions well, unlike certain neighbours who cannot claim even half of this. Your family is of a proud and long heritage, stretching back to the earliest allies of the House of Saud, and have been of great prominence in the affairs of state for well over a century. You, personally, have been and still are at the pinnacle of academic and now professional achievement and responsiblity. Your very presence at this summit is deserving of pride; upon your shoulders is the heavy mantle of representative of your country's interests. You have reasons for your pride, and they are, you believe, full and puissant.
But in your pride, you know, you have had moments that you should not be proud of. One incident in particular shames you to think about -- some social function the purpose of which (had one even existed) long lost to you in the sands of memory, with guests from all Saudi and from neighbouring countries. You know, now, the careless comment from the Emirati had not been intended as slight, or indeed, even aimed at you; but your pride stung, you countered with pointed words, sharpened by your intellect and slicing as the edge of a sirocco. His face flushed with shame (and you know, bitter anger) -- years later, wisdom tells you that yours should have as well. You were not wrong. But being right is not cause for belligerent action. You know this now.
It is either irony of the highest order or the will of Allah manifest that the selfsame Emirati entered the diplomatic service of his country, as a representative of his emirate; and, that the same man would be at the same summit. You had hoped to make amends following the summit, and put to rest childhood grievances -- but it looks as though other priorities must come first. There are traitors and terrorists in your midst, and they must be rooted out.
So be it. You are a proud person, and your pride will not forgive these cowards. You will exercise your charisma and your judgment to stamp out this threat, and then, Allah willing, you will exorcise shadows of past shame as well, to step unfettered into the shining tomorrow.
Pardon (Overt, Day)
- Target one person. This person may not be lynched today.
- You may not use this ability on consecutive days.
Black Thread of Fate (Special)
- You know the Emirati Delegate is in the game. You do not know his alignment.
TheFooFish:
A grudge is like a grain of sand, buried in the dunes of the desert. Searing hot and chilling cold - shifting, grinding; invisible, everpresent - and capable, with enough magnitude, of deadly fury.
The magnitude of yours is bespoken clearly by what it has driven you to achieve. You know you were a dissolute, thoughtless youth; it was that same thoughtlessness that doubtlessly let loose some comment that provoked the issue in the first place.
No longer. You have your connections, of course -- no one in a position such as yours does not -- but those alone would never suffice to take someone where you are. Your achievements have been born from bloody-minded determination as implacable and grim as jihad, tempered by hatred and bitterness. No longer the wastrel, destined for luxury and expense; your change was complete, total, and astonishing, to the talented and acerbic politician, known best for the ability to calm any situation with a few cutting words. It certainly astonished your family; it definitely astonishes you, when you think about it.
Sometimes you wonder at yourself and muse that you should thank the Saudi dog, before you slip a knife between his ribs. You do not entertain the thought of conciliation; the whispers and shadows of shame and ridicule will not let you. He insulted you -- your lineage -- your history. This cannot be borne. An earlier age might have declared blood feud on the spot.
But you are no murderer, nor have you lost rationality. Thus you avoided all contact with the arrogant Saudi, sidestepping appointments which might place you in close proximity to him -- for in the very essence of irony, the man entered his own country's diplomatic services and rose through the ranks like a whirling dervish. You had no wish to compromise yourself, your family, and your country through rash action. But all the time the grinding sands in your hard sifted, hot, and cold, hot, and cold.
You could not avoid him forever, though, not with your authority and his. And while you might have kept yourself to vitriol and spite across a conference table and through microphones, the dry and bitter sands in your heart now begin to pick up speed.
You are no murderer. But there are murderers about.
And then maybe the sands blasting your soul will still.
Assert Order (Overt, Day)
- Use of this ability will reset all votes currently cast.
- You may not use this ability on consecutive days.
Black Thread of Fate (Special)
- You know the Saudi Arabian Delegate is in this game. You do not know his alignment.
- Additionally, you need the Saudi Arabian Delegate dead to win.
You win when only members of the Politicians are left. Additionally, you need the Saudi Arabian Delegate dead to win.
Ace/Anaklusmos:
Scanning the directory of the suite's entertainment system brings an involuntary snort of laughter at the 'Classics' section. It is not so much that it is overrun with American films from the last century -- no one will deny that their oily prominence in the last decade justifies this. You even like some of the - how you say - campier ones. Their silliness is amusing to no end, especially when they do not think they are being silly.
Perhaps it is your age. But you find many things and people silly these days -- the new politicos of the Motherland, so puffed up in their shining squeaky pride; the mere children of this new generation who only think they know cold winter - pah!; and so very many of these foreign 'diplomats', yapping like mad chihuahuas. Like so many schoolyard boys.
These terrorists, too. Bombs and killing and threats -- bozhe moi! All so silly. Change will come when it comes -- the Great Global Recessions showed that. Neither talk nor terror changed a thing until the weight of the world's Babel collapsed in on itself. Nothing will change here, whatever happens in these days. The dark and winter will come when they come.
But, you suppose, you are not so ready to die just yet. Your thoughts flick briefly to the store of 'persuasive measures' your luggage holds; useless on you, of course. Russian diplomats are among the most paranoid in the world. No poison or chemical has hold on you. Most, you are sure, cannot say the same.
But in the meantime, some silliness is to be enjoyed rather than endured. Ah! South Park!
'Changing of Mind' (Overt, Night)
- Target one person. Any actions taken by that person this night will be redirected to another person of your choice.
- Your target will not be aware of this change.
Ultimate Chemical Balance (Triggered)
- Triggered when you are targeted by a poison or chemical effect. This effect will not work on you.
(Modnote: Ultimate Chemical Balance prevents poison kills and chemical roleblocks, i.e. Iranian and Indonesian delegates' abilities)
dropkickdude:
You are a sad, bitter man.
Well, maybe that's overstating it a bit. But you are currently very much and undoubtedly feeling most benighted, unfortunate, and put upon.
It's not like you even like going to these stupid summits, every single time they're held. It's just that no one else ever wants to, so it always gets shoved onto you. You'd probably enjoy the extravagant locations more if your expense account wasn't so damned limited -- as it is, watching the other delegates wine and dine just makes you feel sorrier for yourself.
It's not like you have any function here, other than to occasionally suck up to someone. You know as well as everyone else that you really have no place here. You love your country, but you know very well it has no say in global economic matters. Why in the world did they even accept that first blasted invitation anyway? That ridiculous 'reward' for participation in that idiotic 'Coalition of the Willing', and again in that regrettable altercation after the Third Great Global Recession... 'participation' being used very loosely, about as loosely as your current 'participation' in the Doha Rounds is.
And of all things, this year, to get caught in a terrorist attack! You know you should have snuck out to Shelford-on-Cimmer, like some of the others did. But your damned expense account, again...
You breathe a deep, terrible sigh. Getting killed would just top it all off, wouldn't it? At least you can try to be minimally useless... it's not like anyone else could be less unhelpful. Except the terrorists themselves. Who certainly are better equipped than you, at least.
Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.
Only Vanilla (Special)
- You have no abilities. You will gain no abilities. Nothing can give you abilities.
- You know you are the only person with no abilities.
Survivor:
indomitablebug:
It would surprise no one to learn that your first thought, and first priority, is of survival. It certainly does not surprise you.
It is not that your country is known for neutrality -- at least not precisely. Your people are a deeply opinionated people, and one that loves debate, consideration, and persuasion. Argue well enough in your own favour and you can do many things in Switzerland. Fail to convince and you will find yourself without aid or recourse.
The corollary, then, is that you are a people very capable and willing of seeing all sides of an argument, and with a natural resistance to herd instinct and mass paranoia. (Not a perfect resistance, of course. You are still human.) Thus while you certainly deplore the barbarism of this terrorist act, you're not going to let yourself get dragged into an 'us-or-them' mentality. But neither can you stop this yourself, you know -- thus your best choice (and the one that coincides with your best chance of survival) is to hang back, and negotiate with those who prevail.
Luckily, as the representative of several prominent Swiss banks, you do indeed have the means with which to perform such negotiations. Even terrorists have finances, after all -- many of which are doubtless somewhere under your authority. And you are not above using said authority, should those plebians attempt to threaten you with their mob justice.
Wait and see. This is your motto, and the one thing you follow as religiously as your country's neutrality. As for what happens under your watch... that is rarely any of your concern.
Monetary Threat (Triggered)
- Triggered when you are to be lynched. You will reveal your rolename and alignment, and prevent your lynch through monetary threat. All town players will be roleblocked this night. The game will still go to night.
- This ability will only work once.
You are a Survivor, and win when you survive to the end of the game.
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.
Talore:
Fact is, you didn't really want to be here. Reason's simple, and there ain't any way of getting around it -- y'hate chinks. And y'know well enough that you'd never be able to deal with Asian delegates well enough to do your job properly. (That, and they make your skin crawl. Really.)
Irony is, that's the entire reason you became a politician. Waaaay back when, the One Nation party inspired you, told you all whose fault it all was. But they faded just as quickly as they came, sad t'say -- though you're secretly a member of it even now. Card-carrying, even. Well, okay, it's a point card for Pauline Hanson's old fish-and-chips shop, but hey, it's the thought that counts.
Though now that you think about it, it probably isn't all that much of a secret. Considering you go out of your way not to talk to Lee over at the Perth office. And considering how much you have lunch at a fish-and-chip shop with a 'No Chinks' sign by the counter. Heh. Might explain why the old Minister had that weird look on his face when he told you it was your turn to represent at the Doha Round, no arguments.
Heh. Sneaky old man. Probably that whole 'work out your issues' bunk. You'll feed him to kangaroos for this -- joking, of course. It's not like he's Asian or anything.
You will yell at him a bit for getting you dumped into a terrorist situation, though. Danger to your life and all that. Although honestly the bit you mind the most is being stuck in a hotel with some chinks for god knows how long.
Heh. Actually getting a few of them killed sounds pretty good to you, all things considered. You'll go along for now and help break a few heads, hopefully Asian heads. And if the opportunity comes up, who knows...?
Mob Up (Covert, Day)
- Activate this ability by voting the same person 3 times in a row, in different posts, with no other votes or unvotes in between. (You may want to PM the mod as well to ensure the mod does not miss this.) That person will require two less votes to lynch on this day.
- You may use this ability only once.
Racist Influence (Triggered)
- Triggered by certain conditions being met. Your alignment and win condition will change.
(Modnote: Racist Influence triggers when targeted by Chinese, Japanese, Indonesian, or Myanmar delegates. North Korean delegate has no ability with which to target.)
Emo_Pinata/Deaths_Vampire
Fuming, you violently slam the door of your suite behind you -- or at least try to. The door sinks into the vacuum frame making hardly a sound; instead, a strangled sound of frustration rips itself from your throat.
Always. Always, it's something. This isn't your first Doha Round, and never a one has ever gone by without incident for you. The first time, it was the damnable Americans, sniping at you the whole time, slanderous insinuation after insinuation that everyone else just studiously ignored. And after that, and after that, with that new heathen English dog joining in -- and just the last time, some of your own fellow Muslims took their shots at you and your country. Infuriating! Just who was the bastion of Islam for so many years? Who provided consistent and stubborn resistance to America's wrongheaded directives and debt-bloated economic measures all the way to and throughout the Great Global Recessions? The sheer disrespect drives you to distraction!
But it always comes back to the heathen Americans, and their English tools. You have no doubt in your mind that whoever instigated this ridiculous act of terrorism, it was in response to some American high-handedness. And this so-called 'solution'! This barbarian, savage plan of action! YOu didn't see who actually suggested it first, but it's so typically American mob mentality that you didn't have to. You knew.
....and you are perhaps the most angry at yourself, for not having a ready alternative to this barbarian lynch mob. It sears your chest with tangible mortification, but you'll have to go ahead with this for the time being. And perhaps take your own measures at night, using some of your.. personal.. supplies.
But if those Americans or British take even one step wrong...
Opiate of the Masses (Covert, Night)
- Target one person at night. This person will be rendered semi-conscious via certain 'additives' mixed into their water, roleblocking them.
- You may not use this ability in the same night as Motivational Medicine.
Motivational Medicine (Overt, Night)
- Target one person at night. This person will be given a boost of stamina that will allow them to perform an extra non-lethal action this night.
- You have two uses of this ability.
- You may not use this ability in the same night as Opiate of the Masses.
Righteous Indignation (Triggered)
- Triggered by certain conditions being met. Your alignment and win condition will change.
(Modnote: Righteous Indignation triggers when the American or British delegates kill a town-aligned player at night.)
ced395:
Few would recognize your name now. Fewer will recognize your name in several decades.
But you, and your closest colleagues, know the true extent of your contribution to your nation of New Ireland. Many of those closest colleagues were, like you, members of Neue Sin Fein -- and many, like you, will never have those contributions be recorded in history, for your sakes, and for the sake of New Ireland.
Although few of them are at half the risk you would be. You were, after all, one of the frontline -- you performing everything from agitating, to rioting, to the darker tools of rebellion; of which you excelled at the bombing which your movement's predecessor used so well. And perhaps, more wondrously, you survived the years of rebellion (both quiet and open) mostly intact, and definitively alive; which is more, sadly, that many of your comrades can presently say. You began your work at the movement's very inception, in the wake of the Second Great Global Recession; and even among those who joined later, few of your frontline comrades lived to see the glorious day of secession and independence, after the Third Great Global Recession. And several less discrete ones met their ends in suspicious circumstances following that -- no doubt at the hands of the same British snipers that so decimated your ranks at the height of the rebellion.
For your patriotic service, you were rewarded with a new identity, and a post in government services. Your history and contributions will never be known, unlike many of your slain comrades; the price of survival. But you would not have it any other way. New Ireland lives; this is enough for you.
For you know it was also a favour to you. You have seen too much. Done too much. You are, sad to say, no longer a creature of peace, though for now you wear such a skin; and your new, untraceable history is a form of freedom you would never have had with greater recognition or notoriety. You are free to do as you wish, and your country will live on -- with or without you. There is no greater legacy.
God has a sense of irony, to cast one such as you into this situation; a hidden killer surrounded by hidden killers. Perhaps you will see it through. Perhaps you will not.
A single vial of highly potent nitroglycerin compound represents your right to decide. After that, who knows?
Suicide Bomber (Triggered)
- Triggered if you are lynched. You will kill yourself and the person who cast the lynching vote with your vial of nitroglycerin. This will bypass all resistances.
- You will lose this ability if you use Night Raid.
- You will lose this ability if your alignment changes.
Night Raid (Overt, Night)
- Target one person at night. You will kill that person with your nitroglycerin bomb.
- You will lose this ability after use.
Shadow of the Rebellion (Triggered)
- Triggered by certain conditions being met. Your alignment and win condition will change.
(Modnote: Shadow of the Rebellion triggers at the end of any day in which the British delegate claims his rolename truthfully.)
vezokpiraka:
It is as certain and unavoidable as it is uneviable a fact, that the glory of your country is a waning moon, a fading star.
The Second Great Global Recession, for all that it was the trigger, was not the beginning. The problems were deeper, more endemic; but the chaos that erupted in Europe spelled the beginning of the slow, creeping end. Economic recovery was terminally slow. The usual recovery of market enthusiasm never happened. The soul of the people was as sluggish as the stock market, so much so that you began to wonder if some demonic pact linked the two. And just as things were beginning to return to some semblance of normalcy, the Third Great Global Recession came and knocked down all the dominoes again.
Still Germany persevered, endured -- survived the Third, and somehow weathered the Fourth as well, avoiding France's fate. But the scars were permanent, irreparable; the economy a shattered shell of its former self. Your very participation in the Doha Round is but an echo of past glory, you know; in truth, your country no longer has the capability to exert any real influence on the world. A fact which certain factions never let you forget; the arrogant Americans, for one, and your snobbish British neighbours, for all that it was their own troubles that helped bring ruin upon you all. And the snide Israeli and their permanent victim complex. And most frustrating of all is the fact that they are right.
This is the shape of your greatest regret; that you could do nothing to stop the fall. You were too young, you knew too little, you had no authority; these are all excuses, you know. Excuses that the great men of history, heroes or villains, paid no heed to. Instead you have cultivated paranoia and observancy in equal measures -- but what good either of these without courage?
And indeed, recently, your traitorous thoughts have begun to take a decidedly sinister turn, that you yourself shrink back from consciously, while drawn to unconsciously. For (your sibilant mental voice whispers) the most dramatic recovery Germany ever saw was at the hands and measures of a certain Austrian painter. A common enemy does wonders to revitalize any country.
As soon as the thought crosses your mind (yet again) you seal it away into the furthest reaches of your consciousness (yet again). But you know it will be back. Hitler was a monster, prone to several of the worst excesses in your country's history; but also the father of one of its greatest recoveries, from a shell-shocked and shattered state, to once again a European superpower. It is sheer poison, but one that seems oh so very sweet indeed...
It is true you hold no love for the Americans, or the British, or those drama queen Jews... and if you simply worked to keep the country from excess?... you shake your head violently. But the thought refuses to go away.
Courage. Courage is what you lack. But is it the courage to deny the thought totally, or to act upon it?
To your own horror, you truly have no idea.
Paranoia Sense (Triggered)
- Triggered when someone targets you with an overt action. You will detect the person who targeted you.
Discerning Gaze (Overt, Night)
- Target one person at night. You will observe said person and learn their triggered abilities.
A Simple Push (Triggered)
- Triggered by certain conditions being met. Your alignment and win condition will change.
(Modnote: A Simple Push is triggered at the end of any day in which the German delegate is voted by any of the American, British, or Israeli delegates.)
Nakamura:
It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you.
Colloquial, but in a way it describes much of what drives you. And why shouldn't it? The history of your people is a long and chequered history of persecution; from the Romans, to the Church, and now the Moslems. Forced from place after place - faced repeatedly with scorn and prejudice - and even now, locked in a constant struggle to retain the lands that are historically yours. The lesson that long years of history have taught you is that the world is your enemy -- the enemy of Israel and the Jewish tribes.
If the world is your enemy, then, treat it like one. Take whatever it gives you, and take whatever it won't; the former you do with the Americans, and the former you did with the Moslems. In a hostile world, one carves out one's own place, and defends it tooth and nail; or loses it in an instant. That last is a part of your history which you refuse to see repeated. Some, even in Israel itself, call your viewpoint too extreme -- you think they do not feel the weight of their ancestors enough. But it is your role and duty to protect them from having to know the same terrible weight. A quandary, but one oddly comfortable to you. A cornered rat that wins its fight knows never to be scared again.
This terrorist attack? More of the same. Yet another attempt upon the dignity and existence of holy Israel. There are more than a few here whom you have personal distaste for, but it is no more and no less than everyone else deserves. They are all enemies. You will simply work with one enemy against the other.
Take what they will give you. Take what they will not. And one way or the other, you, and Israel, will never be left in the cold again.
Lobby Power (Covert, Night)
- Target one person at night. You will invoke Jewish lobby power and destroy this person's diplomatic authority, removing their vote permanently.
- You will lose this ability after use.
Victim Complex (Triggered)
- Triggered by certain conditions being met. Your alignment and win condition will change.
(Modnote: Victim Complex is triggered at the end of any day in which the Israeli delegate is put at L-2. Additionally, the ability will fail if either the German or Iranian delegates are currently alive and part of the Political Extremist faction, and must be triggered again at a later date.)
~V~/Pale Mage:
Were there a handy bookmaker, you would be willing to lay half your fortune on good odds that yours was the most natural, most human reaction of the lot. And then you would pray fervently to escape alive to collect on that bet.
Put simply, you are utterly and completely terrified. You have no wish to die. That body beside the ruined passageway reminded you far too much of things you have seen in your homeland. You don't want to end up like that, or dead in any other (doubtless gruesome and painful) way. You survived years in the snakepit of South African politics. You've come too far to die now!
It's all so patently unfair. This was supposed to be relaxing, a vacation... an exclusive seven-star resort, paid for by a diplomatic expense account, and with no worries of assassins sent by ideological opposition and political rivals! And all you really had to do was stand your ground against a few arrogant foreigners. Small beans, compared to the uncoiled wrath of some of your superiors at home. These have an image to keep up, after all; and it's not like they can try to have you killed.
Except that somehow, impossibly, someone that can try to have you killed has infiltrated the summit. And you have no idea how many or who they are. This sets you shaking to the bone,in a way you have not felt for years. You do not like the feeling, you do not like it at all.
But you only have two talents; running and hiding, and a sense for someone able to kill you. And a third, perhaps. Does begging for your life count?
If push comes to shove, you know you will do anything to survive. You will join anyone if you will live. You have family to return to and a life yet to live. And that is the one creed that every coward in the world cling to with everything last scrap of strength in his frame. So it is with you.
Hide (Overt, Night)
- Target one person at night. You will hide with this person. Abilities targeting you will fail. Abilities that target the person you hide with may affect you.
- You may not normally use this ability on the same night as Inspect.
Inspect (Overt, Night)
- Target one person at night. You will learn if this person has or has had the ability to kill a person.
- You may not normally use this ability on the same night as Hide.
Survival Instinct (Triggered)
- Triggered by certain conditions being met. Your alignment and win condition will change.
(Modnote: Survival Instinct is triggered when the South African delegate or the player the SA delegate is hiding behind is successfully targeted by the mafia kill.)
~Tilde~:
In retrospect, it really was fairly obvious what would finally get the Westerners to shut their mouths and get out of your country's business. In fact, they became positively friendly once the discovery was made; although you suppose the whole Great Global Recession thing had something to do with it. But it's not like the junta minded, past a few shaded whispers; bygones were made bygones. Money was made.
The answer was, of course, oil. The moment a new wellspring of the substance was found, all frosty attitudes thawed. Negotiations friendlier than any in history were opened. Contracts were signed, money (and weapons, under the table) changed hands. Myanmar was the new toast of Southeast Asia. The few that invested beforehand boasted of their foresight, nevermind that no one could have foreseen the chance discovery of black gold.
The months afterwards were prosperous beyond comparison in your country's history, and it wasn't unusual for many officials and officers to engage in certain.... excesses. Not unusual at all. Almost expected, wouldn't you think?
You were one of them, of course. It's not like you were alone, or even one of a minority. You were all drunk, not with liquor (not initially, anyway), but on the feeling of success, on new (if certainly artificial) respect, on the feeling of a brighter future opening up before you all. And perhaps some of you went a bit overboard. But it's all expected. Right? Right?
So unfair, then, that you would be the one blackmailed by some bastard who happened to pick up evidence. (Or so you think. Maybe the others are being blackmailed too. Wouldn't make you feel better.) And then said bastard shared it with his whole family, apparently, so now you're doing the bidding of any number of minor contractors and politicians and businessmen. And you don't even know exactly who they are.
Small wonder that you're tense. It's beginning to get to you, stepping this fine line -- the evidence would ruin you, but getting caught is no better. The junta are harsh on those too overly corrupt (the ironies), and you know that you've stepped over that line many many times now. This whole terrorist thing came almost as a relief, really. Almost like a temporary escape.
Right up until the point you found a message on your personal contact, a message that you know could not have come from the outside, with this unnatural storm. Which means that one of your blackmailers is here. In this resort. In this same situation with you. One of the other 21 people.
The shakes are starting again. You want to scream, but only manage to choke out a whimper. You hands clench, and unclench, and clench again. You feel the cloud of doom closing in on you again, and wonder that you don't suffer a heart attack on the spot. You almost want the terrorists to come kill you to set you free.
But something about that last thought sets a desperate, traitorous hope in your heart to shrieking. And after a while, you pick yourself up off the floor of your suite, and go to bed. Eyes still wide open. And still open. And still. Still.
Blackmail (Triggered)
- Triggered by another person's action. You will be forced to target another person.
The Price of Freedom (Triggered)
- Triggered by certain conditions being met. Your alignment and win condition will change.
(Modnote: The Price of Freedom triggers when the Indonesian delegate dies.)
Political Extremist:
Skander:
You sigh imperceptibly, in the shadowed lighting of your 'borrowed' suite. Things are not going according to plan. Not at all. You hate that.
You dislike disruptions to the plan. You can and have dealt with disruptions, of course; but yet you dislike them. It is why you dislike dealing with ideologists, whether political or religious; too many complexes, too many emotional issues, too many impracticalities insisted upon. More than once you've had to 'deal with' dangers to the plan among your own employers; carefully covered up, of course. Bodies hidden, or signs planted. Sometimes you even use the deaths to stir them up; but rarely. Such usually results in more impractical requests. And you really don't like that.
The plan was simple, really. You took the place of one of the delegates -- the Singaporean Delegate rushed right out of the hotel at the rumour of a chilli crab fair and practically free prices, in a cheerfully simple-minded tactic that you would have doubted would work had you not observed the man yourself. From there, it was a simple matter to abduct the man and insert yourself among the delegates, and meet with the rest of your three-man team; the negotiator, even better at hiding in the shadows than you are but completely untrained in combat, and the wetworks specialist, who was supposed to prime the bombs. The bombs that were only supposed to go off in the final days, after you and the negotiator had had the time to influence, one overtly and one covertly, some number of the delegates into joining your employers' faction; to mask your associate's escape, and create just enough of an incident to allow for your new allies to begin to make their respective inroads.
Except that someone or something set off the bombs prematurely. The 'waiter' in the passage was the wetworks specialist. That look of surprise on the ruin of his face could have been horror at a fatal mistake... but more likely it was momentary shock as something attacked and killed him. His body was in the wrong place for the bomb to have been the primary cause of death. Something else set off the bombs. And this storm, oppressive and unnatural...
Enough of that. This is a mere disruption, and one you'll have to deal with. You and your remaining associate have already decided to go forward with the plan, albeit with a more direct approach. And as for the rest... you have, besides your personal armament, the store of weaponry left by the wetworks man. They will simply all have to die.
Along, of course, with whoever created this whole disruption in the first place. That one will make the perfect one to blame the bombing on.
Kill (Overt - special, Night)
- Choose one member of your faction. That person will target and kill another person tonight, with your choice of three forms of weaponry: firearms, poison, or explosive devices.
- This will override choices made by other members of your faction, if applicable.
Consummate Professional (Triggered)
- Triggered when you are targeted with a firearms, poison, or explosive kill, or with some form of chemical effect. You will avoid or be unaffected by this kill or ability.
Assumed Identity (Special)
- You are acting under an assumed identity, that of the Singaporean Delegate. You may PM the mod at any time for a fake role PM for the Singaporean Delegate. The Singaporean Delegate's stated ability will be Self-Defensiveness (Overt, Night), with the effect of rendering the Delegate untargetable.
- All investigations which target you will return this assumed identity, the alignment of Politician, and the above stated ability. No other abilities will be shown.
The Plan (Triggered)
- Triggered by certain conditions being met. Your associate will meet with another person and persuade him to join your faction. You will gain the ability to talk to that person at any time, and may select him to perform the Kill ability.
- Triggered at the beginning of every day. Your associate is investigating and profiling the remaining delegates. He will leave a message detailing the conditions under which one the persons still living may be persuaded to join your faction.
In case you haven't guessed, you are the Mafia in this game, and win when the Political Extremists must inevitably prevail.
(Modnote: Consummate Professional voids chemical roleblocks and redirects as well as kills. The Plan gives a clue to the turn condition of a randomly selected living traitor at the beginning of each day, as well as a list of traitor rolenames at the beginning of day 1. Consummate Professional does not block the SK roleblock or kill.)
Serial Killer
RafaelK:
Oh, curse ye heathens who hath abandoned the way.
Your presence among these heathens is for one purpose, and one purpose only -- to punish those who would participate in this travesty. This 'Doha Round' -- it is a very bed of unholy temptation, a seething cesspool of corruption. Long has been the patience of you and your flock, hoping at each summit that the misguided rediscover the True Way. No more. If hope and prayer will not show them the light, then action and punishment will.
Oh, how weak is man! To fall from the true path at mere earthly hardship. It is true that hundreds upon thousands were bankrupted, starved, experienced misery in the wake of the Great Global Recessions... but what of it? They were doubtlessly the unblessed, undeserving of the blessings of the Great Invisible Will. Their casting down into agony and gnashing of teeth? Doubtless the freeing of resources for the faithful and the blessed. And yet somehow, heads of state failed to see it that way, and they and their subordinates strayed from the light, and continued to spurn the True Way in the years that came. Now is the time, you know, to punish them for their perfidy.
So you and your acolytes called down the storm, laced with electromagnetic energies, to disrupt the delegates and cast them into uncertainty, while cutting them off from the outside world. It was also you who spirited away the staff during the night, relocating them to the other wing of the resort, such that you might need take as few lives as possible. These alone might have been sufficient for your purposes, but in the course of removing the staff with your servitors (effigies of your Lord, moving by the force of your and your Lord's manifest will), you found that someone had inexplicably placed bombs at critical movement points along the entire conference and VIP wing. Surely this was a blessing from your Lord! And you took it as such upon finding the one who had set the explosives, swiftly slaying him and later detonating the bombs yourself.
Now the heathens writhe in shock and fear, and begin to plan to slaughter one another -- it is to laugh! Now you may truly begin the judgment. Your only point of uncertainty is of the man who laid the explosives; the explosives were not placed to collapse the building (not that this building is so easily toppled), and so he must have had some other motive. A motive, you highly suspect, to do with comrades of his and some plan of their own.
But, you think as you kneel before your Lord, this is no matter. They will fall to the judgment, as surely as the heathens. And then you may begin to once again spread the message of the True Way, and signal a return to the days of yore. The rapture is almost too much for you, as you gaze upon the red plush fur and googly eyes of your Lord.
All hail Lord Elmo, and the Cult of Consumer Expenditure! Hail! Hail! HAIL!
Judgment (Covert, Night)
- Target one person at night. You will send an Elmo effigy to deliver lethal judgment upon this person. This kill may not be stopped by conventional means.
- You begin with 4 Elmo effigies. You will not be able to send more than one to use this ability per night.
Trial of Darkness (Covert, Night)
- Target one person at night. This person will be roleblocked by an Elmo effigy.
- You begin with 4 Elmo effigies. You will not be able to send more than one to use this ability per night.
Holy Protection (Covert, Night)
- Target one person at night. This person will be protected from a kill this night by an Elmo effigy.
- You begin with 4 Elmo effigies. You are able to send as many Elmo effigies as you like to use this ability per night.
- Any Elmo effigy that successfully prevents one or more kills will be destroyed.
- By default, all Elmo effigies unused for Judgment or Trial of Darkness will be invoking Holy Protection on you.
In case you haven't guessed, you are the Serial Killer, and you win when everyone else is dead, all praise Lord Elmo.
(Modnote: SK kills bypass all doc protections and immunities. Only Holy Protection or a roleblock on the SK can stop an SK kill.)
Political Extremist's Assumed Identity Role PM:
-------------
You are the Singaporean Delegate.
Your hands are shaking. Shaking trembling quaking, and you can't. Stop.
Terrorists? Terrorists? That was just always something that happened to someone else. Not to good old Singapore. Not to good old Singaporeans.
This was supposed to be peaceful, dammit. You - you were just supposed to nod and smile at half the proceedings, agree when asked and disagree when demanded, then stand your ground on any and all bottom-line issues with all the intrinsic stubbornness in your highly-educated frame. And in between try out some of Shelford-on-Cimmer's local version of chilli crab. And the truffle dishes in the fifth floor Le Provinciale restaurant. And the famous Spanish black pig at the Midnight Cafe. And...
But this - this - this - what are you going to do? You can't defend yourself! Sure, there was that compulsory military service and all, but who actually took that seriously? And - and - who knows what insidious methods these terrorists have at their disposal?
You can almost feel the paranoia setting in, but you make no effort to stop it. (You can't. You're not actually very good with surprises.) Your eyes flick wildly around - back, forth, desk, mirror, light switch, mirror, door --
Door. Door. Before you realize it, your bloodshot gaze is fixed squarely on the door. That door. That cursed entryway.
Sleep escapes you. All you can do is stare at the door, mad yammering behind your eyes - that door that you will hold shut at any cost. Any cost. Any.
Hyper-Defensiveness (Overt, Night)
- On nights you choose to activate this ability, you will be rendered untargetable by most actions.
- You may or may not have limited uses of this ability.
You win when only members of the Politicians are left.
--------------------------------------
...you open your eyes, feeling the weight of the paranoid and pompous persona settling around you. You can feel his paranoia clawing at your nerves, and make sure to show just enough - just enough - to establish your character. And underneath that, your true tactical mind lies, waiting. Waiting.
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.
Let me know if you want a list of night actions and PMs.
Discussion following me catching up in current games.
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.
desCoures will probably have to let you in, but most Night actions are posted there. I'd be interested in the role PMs.
Great job with flavor, as expected. This game's silver lining, for me.
Thanks to DNC at Heroes of the plane studios for this awesome sig and SGT_Chubbz for the awesome avy.
Check out the Shop Thread
Actually that could have swung things wide open. Ced killing Tilde
Oh well. Live and learn.
I would've hated to be town in this game (even though it turns out that the town made some really bad plays, it's hard to evaluate people's alignments when they could always switch and only a single mafioso from the start).
EDIT: Oh wait, there was still the SK.
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
here you go:
Lair of the Cat (Mafia Stats)
....
Oops, sorry?
-I think we were screwed anyway, but yeah, that was bad play on my part. Won't be doing anything like that again. -Or if I do, I'll at least follow through with the gambit, and not get nervous, then greedy.
Anyway, flavor was great, and I'm really glad the bastardness of the game was disclosed upfront.
Modern
WBR Mardu Midrange
UR Storm
Commander
WBR Queen Marchesa Stax
WUB Oloro, Ageless Ascetic Pillowfort
RRR Krenko, Mob Boss Chaos
The funny thing is, the town could still win on Day Two if it got really lucky and none of the traitors turned. This game was probably the most swingy I've ever played.
No, RafaelK was RB'd by DV N1.I'm not sure where that kill came from if you didn't order it.
EDIT: zindabad must have vigged him.
I have the semi-proud distinction of being the only player choked to death by an Elmo effigy.
Modern
WBR Mardu Midrange
UR Storm
Commander
WBR Queen Marchesa Stax
WUB Oloro, Ageless Ascetic Pillowfort
RRR Krenko, Mob Boss Chaos
As for the game itself... well. The setup itself was born largely out of two things - the first being my own personal liking of the traitor mechanic and the behavioural tightrope it engenders, and the second being yet another attempt to center the game around behaviour rather than role analysis or claim analysis, this time by actively punishing many of the 'usual habits' that towns on MTGS get up to. If you look at some of the traitor turn conditions, that should become immediately clear; the Irish delegate would flip on massclaim, the Iranian delegate would switch due to random vigging, the Israeli punished the random bandwagon -> claim at L-2 -> next bandwagon syndrome. On a similar note, some of the roles were thoroughly useless once disclosed - the Light Wound/Heavy Wound doctor pair would be rendered utterly useless if one ever died and the other claimed, as the mafia would just adjust their kill to the kill method not covered by the surviving partner. And finally, the traitors themselves addressed one of what I always feel to be one of the primary mistakes of many players, including myself - the tendency to declare someone town in the face of scummy behaviour based on something that happened days ago. See CCMIV for a reference - even if I hadn't been lynched, I doubt I would ever have settled on passislisk as the last mafia. Simply because of Seppel's (his scumbuddy's) day 1 badgering.
But then I hadn't foreseen basically half the traitors claiming on day 1, which both told Skander who not to kill, while ensuring WIFOM from day 1. That Nakamura's modkill confirmed the existence of traitors on top of that was perhaps one of the worst outcomes for the town. So yes, that stacked the deck against the town from day 1, and the town never recovered; although I remain amazed that no one, short of RafK, attempted to kill any of the traitors at any point.
I think I can better understand now the general dislike of traitors, and if any of you didn't have fun because of it, I apologize for it. I still maintain that there were behavioural cues aplenty - like how, after making such a big deal about wanting to be lynched to use his supersaint ability on day 1, ced.... completely dropped the subject from day 2 onwards. And how DV's day 5 bluster was so obviously a 'shut up and let me win'. Additionally, vezok's ability might have nabbed you all ced on day 5, if he'd thought a bit more about his results - because he got ced's traitor ability, but not the supersaint ability, which he had lost on turning mafia. Nor was the setup completely opaque - I know some people brought up the possibility of a single mafia among many traitors day 1. But now I acknowledge that the hurdle was indeed set high.
I must also say that this game gave me new respect for Azrael and Xyre - for being able to constantly write PMs, lynch scenes, and all sorts in between for their respective flavour-heavy games. Part of the reason why I decided to make a flavour-heavy game was to get myself back into the fiction-writing groove - but as a result, I struggled with flavour scenes, characterizations, and justifying in flavour just how in the world all the different abilities would work. (As it was, I completely glossed over just how the heck the Hide ability got the South African into other people's rooms.) At least some of the delay many nights was due to getting stuck on flavour scenes, and I apologize for that as well. As it is, I remain unsatisfied with a good chunk of it, to tell the truth.
That being said, my next game is slated to be a flavour-heavy one as well, and one in which something else entirely is uncertain. But no traitors whatsoever in that one. I promise.
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.
Day 1 PMs:
The Plan (Skander)
This is expected, though sooner than anticipated. At the edge of your bed, you begin to speak to seemingly empty air.
'I wasn't expecting contact again this quickly.'
disruption was less than feared. situation, however, is not optimal
'I realize that.' Indeed.
course of action?
You quirk an eyebrow. 'Continue with the plan, of course. With necessary modifications.'
...
very well
'I don't suppose you have any information ready?'
....
observation suggests the following are possible targets for persuasion
australian delegate
german delegate
iranian delegate
irish delegate
israeli delegate
myanmar delegate
south african delegate
also one of the above may be more amenable after being voted for by certain other delegates
'That's... remarkably non-specific.'
limited time. situation in chaos
You almost think you catch a hint of annoyance.
'..very well. Continue surveillance. And take any opportunities you see.'
understood
communications may become sporadic. will leave messages
A few short seconds later, you are alone.
A Careless Word (Nom_Anor)
Inwardly you curse your own foolishness. A spymaster revealed is of no use to anyone. You are as one blind, marching into the enemy's killing field; and behind you are merely more of the blind.
But what is done is done. And your fumbling in the dark, now, will have to suffice.
You have lost the use of your Observe ability.
Shadow of the Rebellion (ced395)
It is your game face, which you have not had to use for years now. The mask you wore before pushing the button. The arctic calm with which you approached each operation, and with which you emerged alive from each operation, even as your fellows lay unrecognizable in the streets, brains excoriated by British sniper shells. The same kind of shell the dead man held.
...you lay on the bed, staring up at your hands, still flecked with blood; hands that are perfectly steady, displaying not a sign of regret or remorse. Nor betraying the thrill of murderous intent that ran through you at the man's gasped mention of his identity as he was run down. He was British, he was a sniper -- two of your most hated types of people in the world.
But even that hate is now a distant feeling. The man is dead now, victim of tired paranoia -- a sniper caught in the open. All that is left is a vague feeling of sadness; sadness not for what you did, but for what you are going to do.
For you realize now that the end of the revolution came too late for you. You are a killer now, and always have been -- the sheepskin coat was snug upon you, but the wolf beneath remembers his instincts. You have an appetite for change, and an appetite for killing, and neither will be denied any longer.
And yet, when the invitation comes this night, you yet have one last attachment to settle.
"Do you intend to harm Ireland?" you ask, a hand grasping the nitroglycerin under your coat.
The reply is instantaneous.
Your country simply does not interest us. We have no operations there.
Words are cheap, you know. But the killer will not be denied any longer.
Your alignment has changed from Politician to Political Extremist as a result of your ability, Shadow of the Rebellion, being triggered.
You have lost the Suicide Bomber ability.
You and Skander now form the Political Extremist faction, and may talk to each other at any time. You may wish to set up a mafiachat board. Please PM me the URL or invite me to any such message board.
Night 1 PMs:
Inspect (~V~)
You sidle closer to the closed door -- your shoe scuffed the floor -- a bit too loud?! No, no... no sounds of activity from the room, no one wandering the corridor. You're clear. Clear. You think.
Breathe. Breaaaathe.
Your ears feel hypersensitive to even the slightest sound, prompting a wince at every step, every brush, every rustle -- but you'll need that sensitivity, along with what passes for your sixth sense. Trepidation in every movement, you lean in, placing your ear to the door, half-expecting every moment for the door to swing open and a gun to be pointing at your face --
...but nothing happens... and you hear nothing behind the door. There is no faint scent of gunpowder, no oily stench of impending death. Gradually, your senses quieten -- your breathing returns to normal.
Silently - so much more silently without your heart pounding fit to burst! - you rise, and make your way to your room. You are certain of one thing this night -- whatever else he may be, this man is not a killer, not an immediate threat to your existence.
Nom_Anor does not presently have the capability to kill.
Kill (Skander)
The security of this resort is not renowned without cause. But you and your employers have been planning this for nearly a year now, and besides the impressive technology at your personal disposal, you also hold a number of override codes that will neutralize even the rotating keycodes of each delegate's door.
The matte-black device you affix to the electronic lock is done with its job in a matter of minutes, a green, blinking light the only sign of its operation, and mirrored by the green light shining from the lock besides its red, unlit partner.
Half a second later, you open the door, and lift your firearm in a smooth, practiced motion. Your target barely has time to rise from the desk and open his mouth before your bullet catches him in the throat, turning doubtless angry words into a sickening gurgle. He slumps, facedown and boneless, to the floor.
Closing the door, you detach the device, and erase all traces of it, and you, with the chemically-treated cloth you have used a million times before. This is mere caution. No one here has to capability to recognize any of the traces, you are sure, nor would they be able to link them to you if they were. But you are always thinking ahead; you could not stop even if you wanted to.
And you do not want to. It is why you are alive. It is why you are highly paid.
You ghost silently to your own rooms, mind already spinning with plans for the next day.
You have killed Seppel.
Texas Justice and PDA Datafiles (zindabad)
The stupid f***ker wasn't in his room, but that's because you found him heading for a bar, of all places. Probably intending to help himself to some of the pricier drinks while the staff were gone. Strolling along, all confidence and swagger in his stride -- probably thought he had nothing to fear. Arrogant f***ing terrorist.
Well, he'll be drinking in hell, tonight -- a single silenced shot from down the corridor and he crumpled like a used afternote. You made yourself scarce immediately after, of course, but you've no doubt his body'll show his guilt on the morrow. Heh.
You're not done this night, though, and this tedious task is taking far longer than just shooting the idiot did. You never were that good at data gathering -- that's what interns are for -- and your eyes keep flicking to the battery display. Still showing 80%, but you know the battery dies right quick after about 70%. Yet again, you curse the lack of a proper electrical socket. One of these days, you swear, it'll be the American way or the friggin' highway --
Wait, there it is. That file picture looks just like the old man. You pour yourself a stiff drink from the minibar and settle in to read.
Half an hour later, you're done. The record for the guy is clean -- almost too clean, and suspiciously so; if they haven't been compromised somehow, you'll eat your metaphorical hat -- but it has, also, jogged your memory. You've met the man before, multiple times, now that you think about it -- over nearly a decade of appearances at various political events. Especially that mark on his brow -- no matter how much foreigners blur into each other, you're very certain that this is the same person. Yes. Yes.
-- then after through the haze of memory and realization cuts a sliver of annoyance. If your memory of him is that clear, then he's obviously not one of the terrorists you're looking for. Bleh.
Now mildly irritated, you click off the PDA (battery now blinking a serene 67%) and turn in for bed. There will be more killing to do tomorrow. Best keep your strength up for it.
You have killed indomitablebug. You have used up your carbon-fiber pistol.
Nom_Anor is a Politician.
Opiate of the Masses (DV)
But as it soon becomes apparent that whatever barbarism the man was engaged in did not include terrorism, you know you must act fast. Your opportunity comes quickly, as it turns out -- as some number of the shaken delegates approach the table for a quick drink before retiring for the night (some faking, no doubt), you are able to slip, with a smooth, undetectable motion, a discrete tablet into the drink of your designated target.
You return to your room with a sense of satisfaction. That man, at least, will not be doing anything tonight.
You have roleblocked RafaelK.
Night Raid (ced395)
It doesn't take long for your reawakened instincts to come to the logical conclusion -- that given the lack of other assignments for you this night, your best option is to use it. Coldly calm thought processes soon arrive at a suitable target, and you purposefully pick yourself off the sofa and exit your room.
You chance upon your chosen target, of all things, coming down the hallway towards the elevator hall. He seems almost in unnaturally high spirits, somehow -- and maintaining a veneer of civility over your murderous self, you pose a leading question, only half-listening for the answer, that when it comes, is almost painful in its naivete.
"Ah. Well. No, no I don't. But I was restless, you see, and this is such a nice place, regardless of unfortunate circumstances..." Backed by a sheepish smile utterly devoid of doubt or killing instinct.
It catches you off guard enough that you extemporate, distracted words seeking to prevent the dredging of hazy memories you'd rather not see. It is only your training that guides an unhurried finger to depress the elevator button.
"....safe. Yes. Well. It would be... nice... to be safe. But... that goes for you as well. For us. For all of us," he half-murmurs, eyes beginning to gain the shine of conviction. "There's... something wrong with how we're doing it, I think. Really wrong. We should try to save everyone. Everyone... yes, everyone..." The man begins to trail off. He is obviously distracted with his own thoughts, which - you think, almost sadly - makes your following action all the easier.
Your lips utter words, but your hands have a life of their own. In mere moments they have hurled the (surprisingly light) delegate into the open elevator, and then snake in swiftly to hit the 'Close' button. And then, even as the man begins to regain his senses, your right hand tosses the delicate vial through the last of the closing gap.
A click, and a muffled bang. One man's life draws to a close -- your road of murder begins again.
You have killed MandersHex with Night Raid.
You have lost the use of Night Raid.
Judgment and Trial of Darkness (RafaelK)
But judgment yet awaits them, oh yes it does -- and it will be carried out by the plush limbs of your holy effigies. You chuckle darkly to yourself, even as you begin to will your instructions for the night to the extensions of your Lord's will --
-- but your vision blurs, and you stagger, words halting mid-order. You place a hand to your temple.. what in -
- bone deep exhaustion hits you, and you are forced to lean against a desk - and then your arm fails to support you -
- drugged! Drugged, you've been! Whoever it is will pay for this insol -
- pay! in the fury of a thousand cookie monsters -
- black.
.........
........
....by the time you wake, a chalky, bitter taste in your mouth, it is nearly morning. Annoyed, you purse your lips -- but it is time for deception once more, and you cannot allow yourself to rage as you would wish.
But you swear to yourself you will find the heathen who dared drug you, and have your Lord feast on his proverbial entrails.
You have been roleblocked.
All 4 effigies have invoked Holy Protection on you by default.
You have 4 effigies remaining.
Discerning Gaze (vezokpiraka)
...you shiver, and firmly shut the door on that line of thought. Instead, you detach yourself from the wall, and join the line of delegates leaving the room -- your gaze still fixed firmly on the same delegate.
The walk through the corridors and to the elevator hall is of middling distance, and you make use of every profligately floored and carpeted step to observe every hint of the delegate's manner. The way he moves his fingers. His reactions to conversation. Eye movements, flickers, blinks. Body language. Actual languge, from what you can hear. Even skin pallor and sweat, or the lack thereof.
A face can launch a thousand ships, and can similarly tell a thousand tales. By the time you part ways with the man, heading towards your room, you are certain you have his measure -- and in this case, it is a brutally honest one. He has no deeply hidden secrets to hide, no involuntary reactions to betray.
He is, you realize in the darkness of your own mind, more honest than you. And then you firmly shut the door on that line of thought as well.
Seppel has no triggered abilities.
Soporifics (AsianInvasion)
The aftermath of the lynch mob and the revelation of the poor bugger's identity gives you your first and last window of opportunity, and you hurriedly toss a few tablets into your target's drink, and give the milky lassi a few quick swirls. You scowl inwardly at the sheer carelessness of it - if offends your *ahem* 'professional pride', almost - but if you were going to do it, it was then or never. You can only hope no one saw you.
But still, when you return to your room, it is with a spring to your step. You saw your target gulp down the drink before returning. Doubtless he'll be spending the night sprawled dead asleep -- in his heavily-cushioned bed, if he's lucky, although the floors of these suites aren't exactly uncomfortable, either. You almost wish you had company for your own bed, but beggars can't be choosers. And it's not exactly an appropriate time, come to think of it. Heh.
Besides, the first dose is pretty mild. The follow-up... now that's the scary one. You smile toothily to yourself, your pearly whites glimmering in an outwardly charming and inwardly chilling smile.
Perhaps you'll indulge yourself tomorrow night, in another way. With.... help, of course. Heh heh heh.
You have roleblocked Wrath_of_DoG.
You may target Wrath_of_DoG with Kidnap on following nights.
Shadow (Syrenz)
This shadow, however, cannot follow into the darkness of the room, at least. No matter. Patience is as clear as the crystal sky, and you do not even have to stand in shadow to become as one. Should he emerge again, you will simply follow once more, as though it were the natural order of things.
But as hours pass, and night deepens and wanes again, the door does not open. It becomes clear that your target is, for one reason or another, not going anywhere this night.
With a barely perceptible sigh, you unfold your limbs and begin the trek back to your quarters.
Wrath_of_DoG did nothing overt to anyone tonight.
Bomb Disposal (Wrath_of_DoG)
It is only after you have returned to your rooms and retrieved your makeshift bomb disposal tools, however, that you have an inkling that something is amiss. Halfway through checking the implements, the first mild wave of vertigo hits. Checking the chemicals produces a rising sense of nausea. And finally, when you begin to stand, the leaden weight of the bag slips from your jelly-like fingers. Frowning drowsily, you try to lift it again - but your fingers miss, and miss, and again -
- and you are flat on your back. The ceiling is white. Why -
- left shoulder up. left shoulder UP. left shoulder is not movi -
- twitch that finger twitch -
- panic slips away in slee -
- eyelids like mercury film over eyes -
- wide -
- shut.
You have been roleblocked.
Ayurvedic Medicine and Death (MandersHex)
Surprisingly, you find the man you have set out to aid this night coming down the richly carpeted hallway rather than near his room. His perfectly clear eyes are fixed on you even as he steps forward -- no harm appears to have visited him this night. You almost feel embarrassed at your presumption -- but he does not stop walking.
The two of you come face to face in the elevator hall.
"Fancy meeting you here. Do you make it a habit of wandering about at night?"
Is he suspicious? Well, that's not really surprising if you think about it. Sheepish, you dance around the subject.
"Oh? That sounds reasonable, I suppose... but given last night, it seems hardly safe to be exploring the halls. As nice a resort as this is." His hand reaches out leisurely, stabbing the elevator button.
You know. Oh, you know. But for the first time -- the first time in ages -- it feels like you are doing something, something good. Something in person, not like what you and your Pakistani benefactor achieved -- something you can feel with your own two hands, experience with your eyes and ears. Something more concrete to weigh against the *karma* of your drug-addled and intolerant life.
What is mere safety, compared to that?
Some of this must have shown in your eyes -- it is now reflected in his, together with some hint of... sadness?
"You... truly want to help people, don't you? A good bloke, you are. Really.
"Makes me feel more than a bit guilty, for this. Sorry, chap. Really. Sorry."
And before you can react, you have been shoved inside the open elevator, sent sprawling across the soft (because of course, the elevators are lushly carpeted as well) floor. Before you lift your head, the door is already closing - but there is a strangely shaped crystal vial whirling at the mirrored wall, redolent of a sickly sweet --
And then your world dies with an explosive crack, and violent, searing pain.
You have been killed. Thanks for playing.
You may no longer talk to Wrath_of_DoG.
Would you like an invitation to the spectator forum when I have it set up?
Death (Seppel)
You are doubtless more affected by this situation than you thought -- that early burst of anger was unbecoming of you and your station, and having to use your persuasive powers to render yourself untouchable left a bitter taste in your mouth. And that you all finally sentenced an innocent man to brutal death -- well. You will pray to Allah for the man's soul, heathen though he might have been. It is partially your error, and you should simply know better than most of these misguided men.
No longer. You have thoroughly and painstaking picked through your mental framework and exorcised every foul spirit of illogical hate. You will be a different person tonight, and tomorrow, and in the days to come, than the person you were today. This, is your resolve. Closing your eyes, you begin to recap the day's events, in preparation for the day to come.
It is thus instinct, not sight nor sound, which has you rising from your chair as the door opens unexpectedly. But it does not help you. Your mouth is barely opening for a strident denunciation when the bullet slams into your throat, and then pain and choking blood is all your brilliant mind can process. No amount of self-control can overcome the overwhelming presence of impending death, and it is your last realization before the darkness starts to set in.
Your last conscious thought is of regret that you never had the opportunity to make proper amends with the Emirati. But now it is too late. Far, far too late, for everything.
- everything.
You have been killed. Thanks for playing.
Would you like an invitation to the spectator forum when I have it set up?
Death (indomitablebug)
In more peaceful times, you ruminate, there would no doubt be others doing the same -- more than a few of them probably were doing the same the night before, come to think of it. You caught more than a few bleary faces at the day's meeting. The British delegate had been one of them, come to think of it --
Mmph. Perhaps that wasn't such a good thing to think of. The sheer brutality of that death almost made the delegates scarier than the terrorists.
Still, you reflect, you're confident in being able to cow that unruly lot with your connections. Any career politician should fear financial ruin, after all -- your stride gains confidence even thinking about it. Even terrorists should have funds to think of. Just let them try to perpetrate that same barbarism upon your person -- imagining the looks on their faces brings a wholly inappropriate glee to your heart. You'll get out of this, yet --
You glimpse a shadow out of the edge of your perception, but react too late. The bullet drills into the side of your head, and you fall before you even know it.
There is no threatening a bullet, after all.
You have been killed. Thanks for playing.
Would you like an invitation to the spectator forum when I have it set up?
Day 2 PMs:
The Plan (Skander)
one may prove persuadable should an american or british delegate kill an innocent
You purse your lips in annoyance. The British delegate is quite dead at this point, which renders this somewhat less useful.
Still, it is information, and information is power. You sigh, and allow the mantle of the 'Singaporean delegate' to fall upon you once more.
Night 2 PMs:
Discerning Gaze and Paranoia Sense (vezokpiraka)
Said old man, however, remains almost disgustingly calm; he cannot have failed to notice the growing antipathy towards him, yet all that shows on his face is a mild incredulity. It almost makes your blood boil just looking at it. You nearly want to denounce him on the spot.
...and yet... no matter how much you study the (imperious, arrogant, unfeeling) delegate, you can sense nothing out of the ordinary. Even to your practiced study, this man shows no complexes, no hidden tendencies, no deep-seated vulnerabilities. It is as though he is a clear stream, with no secrets to hide.
Infuriated, you lower your gaze. You will discover no secrets from this man this day.
-------------------------
In any case, you have other things to worry about.
The instant you enter your room, your everpresent paranoia rings metaphorical clarion alarums in your head. You flick your eyes around, confirming with a simple glance that nothing is out of place -- but that does not calm your paranoia, and you trust it far more than mere orbs of aqueous humour.
It seems that someone else has had their eyes set on you this night. And, with a sense bordering on the preternatural, you know exactly who it is.
Nom_Anor has no triggered abilities.
~V~ has targeted you with an overt action this night.
Kidnap and Death (AsianInvasion)
It seems an eternity before the hour is up. But the last seconds tick by, and, still sporting a vicious grin, you pick up an innocuous bag, and leave your room, taking long strides towards the location sent back by the convenient scapegoat. It is all you can do not to hum and skip like a schoolboy heading towards a candy store.
The hallways pass in a blur, and you hardly even register opening the door; all you see is your victim, tied roughly to a chair with torn sheets, eyes drowsy and unfocused, but still very, very much conscious.
The grin blooms into a full, beatific smile. As you begin to withdraw the first tools from your bag, the last fleeting thought through your mind is vague regret that your victim isn't female.
-----------------------------------------
You unlock your suite door, feeling very much satisfied and fulfilled; not just having left your victim in a bruised mess behind you, but also having found all kinds of tasty information. Nothing really useful, sadly... but still something you can clearly use. And what uses you'll put it to, now and after, you think, as you settle yourself on the lavish couch.
But there will be no after for you. The moment you place your weight on the velvet upholstery, something leaps at your neck from the air vent behind you, dislodging the cover in the process. You manage to react to neither in time -- the metal grate slams onto your head, and a millisecond later, something grabs your throat in an inhuman, vice-like grip. You stand, you struggle, you peel at the (surprisingly soft and elastic) hands around your neck -- you whip around, you roll, you attempt to smash your back against the wall. But although you feel certain contact, nothing appears to faze whatever is slowly and inevitably cutting off your oxygen supply. The strange fingers continue to dig into your throat. Your movements grow heavy. You - cannot - breathe -
You slump to the floor - your struggles eating oxygen faster - but -
- you don't want to die -
Wrath_of_DoG is the Pakistani Delegate, and has the following abilities:
Bomb Disposal (Overt, Night)
- Target one person at night. You will check for and defuse any explosives in this person's room.
- You may not target yourself.
Coded Correspondence (Covert, Any)
- You carry a coded communication device, the twin of which is carried by MandersHex, the Indian Delegate. You may talk with MandersHex at any time.
You have been killed. Thanks for playing. If you would like an invite to the spectator Google Group, please send me your e-mail.
Hide (~V~)
....no. No, you cannot stand it. You - must - hide. Hide. Run. RUN.
You stumble out of the room before the other delegates, mercifully unnoticed by the other delegates, who are still reeling at the second failure of democratic murder in two days. You flee the chamber as though the shadow of death were right behind you -- and it is! It is! You are certain of it! --
-- your legs have a life of their own. This is someone else's chamber -- it's locked! Of course, of course... but that fails to dull the rising panic. How will you get in? How? How?
......................
...but obviously you managed it somehow, because when the edge of panic fades enough to allow reason again, you are curled up in a foetal ball in a wardrobe full of (as far as you can tell, in the utter darkness) unfamilar clothes. A conclusion reinforced by the sound of the door opening, causing an involuntary flinch that sends you shrinking further back into the back wall of the wardrobe.
And it is there you remain for the rest of the night, ignoring dinner, ignoring scuffling sounds outside that indicate the delegate going about his business -- ignoring everything in fear-drenched oblivion.
You have hidden behind vezokpiraka.
'Changing of Mind' (Anaklusmos)
It looks as though you will have to move your aged bones to keep these fools from screwing up -- even more. And you will undoubtedly have to start with the aged man over yonder. Bozhe moi, he looks older than you do -- you'd think he'd have a bit more sense. Senile, maybe? Alzheimer's?
Bah. Well, you will have to correct that, as a fellow old-timer. The liquid contents of several vials should do it..
..ahh, there it goes. He is downing the 'modified' drink -- of course, since he dare not find another drink. That would mean moving closer to the young pups sending death glares his way. Heh. So predictable, all of them.
You idly fill another plate with food -- it is dinnertime, and you will need your strength (such as it is) the next day. The food is truly delicious -- it is a pity that there will be no more of this on the morrow.
New meaning to 'killing the chef', it is. Feh. All the more reason for you to take some charge tomorrow, it seems.
Nom_Anor has been redirected to you this night.
Shadow (Syrenz)
And you know you must find something, one way or another, before it buries you all.
This night you have chosen the ebullient man, with his (overly, to you) loud and booming voice. You do not and have not liked his character from the beginning, but now you begin to suspect deeper reasons to dislike him. And thus you follow behind him, apparently undetected. Certainly he walks unhurriedly to his rooms, displaying no awareness of your slight frame behind him.
But after he disappears into his rooms, it is fruitless hours that await you. He does not emerge from his rooms again, not even as you chew on the morsels you snuck from the remnants of the table, not even as evening deepens into night (not that anyone would know, with the storm outside), and not even as night begins to fade into morning. Finally, you leave your self-appointed post, to catch a few hours of sleep before the day proper begins.
You are no impatient man, but you are, currently, a frustrated one. It is a new sensation to you. You do not like it.
RafaelK performed no overt actions this night.
Texas Justice, PDA Datafiles, and Death (zindabad)
Tonight's target is easy enough to find, too -- the sucker isn't even coming out of his rooms. It's child's play to set up the C4 to blow when he opens the door. Obviously you won't be there to make sure it goes off, but you've got every confidence it will. The idiot didn't show anywhere near the capability to get out of it, gaping at everything like that. Uneducated yokels.
(and something at the back of your head whispers, how would a terrorist able to sneak in here be so stupid? - but you ignore it quickly)
Far more important is getting what damned use you can out of your PDA before it croaks. Battery's already critical, stupid thing. The thought passes idly through your mind that maybe, just maybe, you could try asking around for a universal charger tomorrow --
-- what. What?? The heck?!
...that f**ker. Strolling in here broad as daylight, mouthing off all that crap -- and his record's right here. The bloody freakin' leader of that freakshow cult, that Cult of Consumer Expenditure. The fruitcakes that worship Elmo, of all things! That want to bring back the old economic ways -- fine, that you can kind of sympathize with, but Saint Elmo?! That's one of the nutjobs you're dealing with here? It makes you want to laugh and hurl at the same time. That you'd be pushed into a corner by a terrorist like this.
For he is a terrorist, of that there's no question. CIA's sure he's got his fingers in all kinds of shady operations, and in at least one outright assassination. No one's been able to pin hard evidence on the sucker, and at least two assassination attempts on him have outright failed. Pretty impressive for a loony, but his luck ends here. You smile viciously even as the PDA turns dark --
-- danger! You whirl around, just fast enough to avoid the bullet screaming for your head -- but not fast enough to avoid the one that slams into your shoulder, that was on a trajectory for your heart. The force of the bullet enhances your torque, spinning you almost all the way around. Your balance is completely gone, and you crash to the ground. Every cell in your brain is screaming at you, but you simply have no way to avoid the next shot -
- and the next, and the next -- pain is blooming in your shoulder, your chest, your stomach, your lung. You're dying. F**king terrorists have gotten you. Before you got them. Rage and regret vie in your quickly fading mind.
You stare with steadily glazing eyes into the face of the man that shot you -- the Irish-looking guy. And your last realization is that those are not the eyes of a fervent cultist -- they're something much colder. And a wet, burbling laugh are the last words you ever utter, as you come to the realization that there are two groups of terrorists here.
The irony overwhelms your fading mind, and thus your last thought has nothing to do with the other delegates, or with yourself, or even with the country you so idolize. Like Ahab to Moby Dick, your last ever thought is one of venomous spite. You hope they kill each other; and the vicious knowledge that at least one of them will die produces the mad joy you die with.
You have bombed dropkickdude.
RafaelK is the Religious Extremist (Serial Killer).
You have been killed. Thanks for playing. If you would like an invitation to the spectator Google Group, please send me your e-mail.
Death (dropkickdude)
The same placid fatalism tells you that you would be helpless against any attempt on your life, and thus you slept early and soundly, after a brief raid on a deserted cafe freezer. At least that way, you'd figured, dying would simply be not waking up, rather than anything painful.
But you do, in fact, wake up, and that alone makes it a beautiful day. (Except it doesn't, really -- you can still feel the palpable fury of the storm even through the soundproofed walls.) The clock confirms that early to bed is early to rise, and you make liberal use of the time to complete your morning ablutions.
Soon enough you are dressed and ready (as much as you can be) for another day of attempting to stay alive. You take a deep breath, reach out for the door handle, and twist it, idly noting a strange click as you begin to pull the door open -
and past vague brief heat it is surprisingly painless
You have been killed. Thanks for playing. If you would like an invitation to the spectator Google Group, please send me your e-mail.
Bomb Disposal (Wrath_of_DoG)
You had not felt right even as you left the room. The chalky, dull taste on your tongue tells the story why, or would, if you were not having such difficulty chaining thoughts to your brain and to each other. Gradually, vague flashes return -- intention to aid hobbled by vertigo - stumbling - impact - dragging. Impact. Dragging.
That's... not good. It finally occurs to you to try to move, but something is restricting your hands, which are behind the chair you are tied to. Tied to. Mm. You try your legs, which are also immovable. You mulishly attempt to move them several more times before realizing that those are tied too.
Well. You seem rather out of options. You toss your head in agitation, but manage no more than a jerky loll. Another attempt flops your wobbly skull in the opposite direction - that hurts. You shouldn't try it again - loosening the blindfold from around your eyes. But the glare of the room hurts as well, and you squint painfully, unable to see much of anything clearly -- not even when the door opens, and a blurry shape moves inside.
After that, nothing remains in your memory but pain, a vague sense of shame, and cruel, mocking laughter.
------------------------
It is nearly morning by the time you reawaken, with a much clearer head and a building sense of rage, and when you do, you make quick work of the pathetic restraints that were so daunting the previous night.
Torn sheets, of all things! That you would have been helpless against such primitive bonds! It would make your blood boil, were your vision not already a field of furious red at your ordeal.
You are ex-military, and your hands are not clean either. You know. Someone drugged you, captured you, and tortured you - to what exact purpose you are utterly unclear, and equally unclear as to whether he fulfilled that purpose. and by Allah you will repay him threefold for this shame.
You have been roleblocked and tortured.
Blackmail (~Tilde~)
But (you know) illogically, neither of those seems even close as important to you as the innocuous message you found blinking at you from your cellphone, your metaphorical collar and chain. The message was simple - a target, a deed, and instructions to supply a location, sparse and clipped - but you swear you felt a palpable, horrible glee from the digital display. The thought of that glee being at your expense fills you with as much directionless rage as it does helpless terror.
You find your target stumbling along a corridor - already weakened somehow, through ways you would rather not know. You, and him, are alone.
...your hand is trembling, even as it raises the improvised club. It's covered in cloth, of course, but still you tremble, and you do not even know why.
You are not a violent man. But you know you will do very strange things if you have to.
---------------------------------
Minutes later, you are putting all your weight into dragging the (surprisingly heavy) man into a nearby storage room. Conveniently, the room contains both a fairly sturdy chair and spare sheets you can easily tear apart for use as bindings.
Momentarily you consider loosening the strips of cloth, entertaining brief fantasies of the unconscious man ripping out the throat from the nebulous outline of your imagined blackmailer. But fear, backed up by practicality, stops you, and you instead punch in a message with shaky fingers, and leave the room behind you.
You were made to target Wrath_of_DoG this night.
Opiate of the Masses (DV)
With some equilibrium restored, your curled lips instead purse in thought. Perhaps he had been thinking... thinking towards a more nefarious end than you had initially supposed. Perhaps... just perhaps...
...but no. Your target this night is set - the same man you rendered incapable the previous night. But annoyingly the usual method failed; the day's slaughter (for that is all it can be described as, other than utter foolishness) was concluded too swiftly, and the man left without eating or drinking anything further. No matter. You have other methods to enforce unconsciousness. The method you have chosen is admittedly crude, but unmistakeably effective; burning the compound should produce fumes that will get the job done. As to how to fill your target's room with said fumes... well, you'll figure something out. You --
!!!
-- choking! Something wrapped around your face and neck --
You thrash around wildly, trying to pull whatever it is from your face -- but you stumble over the earthen container you dropped, and fall --
- can't. breathe! can't. --
..with a gasp, you fall unconscious. Something ghosts across your face, and your unconscious body begins to breathe easily again. But you will not be doing anything else this night.
You have been roleblocked.
Kill (ced395)
Since he's neglected to provide said device, though, you're going to have to improvise. Thus the thin chuff of powder threading into the electronic lock; a tiny jury-rigged explosive, mostly silent and which should (hopefully) take out the entire locking mechanism.
And such it does, with a bright flash and a dull pop. You have the gun raised already, and quickly push the door open, hoping the occupant hasn't already noticed the suddenly loose door.
The poor blighter hasn't, and only begins to rise as you push in. By then it's rather too late. A bullet catches him in the shoulder, spinning him around and sending him to the floor -- after that it's a matter of advancing and pumping another three bullets into his chest. And then out again, moving swiftly to avoid the chance that anyone actually heard the man's last cries. You never know, no matter how unlikely the soundproofed rooms make it.
Ironic, that. And it's irony you can appreciate now -- your head clearer, your step lighter. Everything really is so much easier now.
You have killed zindabad.
Judgment and Trial of Darkness (RafaelK)
And then you find yourself somewhat at odds with what to do for the rest of the night. A trifle hasty, perhaps? But you wished to prevent a repeat of the previous night.
But what's done is done; and done well, at that. The first effigy returns halfway through your religious observances, and falls temporarily inert in a corner, it's purpose fulfilled. The second returns near the end of a viewing of Wall Street - the original, not the insipid sequel - similarly successful.
A dark smile finds its way onto your lips. You were foiled the previous night, but now it has truly begun. And soon these heathens shall all know true fear, before they gasp, gnash their teeth, and die.
You have killed AsianInvasion.
You have roleblocked Deaths_Vampire.
Day 3 PMs:
The Price of Freedom (~Tilde~)
The resulting surge of joy and relief would almost certainly show on your face, were it not immediately swallowed by renewed despair. So what if this one man is dead? There are any number of others, presumably from Indonesia as well, who continue to hold the keys to your skeleton closet. This one man's death changes nothing. In fact, it may make things worse, if this man was family. This is but a temporary freedom, you realize, your thoughts beginning to spiral down the same inevitable road...
...you freeze. Your cellphone is blinking at you. Your cellphone is blinking at you. An impossibility made real. Is this a message from the dead?
With shaking hands, you check the message as surreptitiously as you can. It is not, in fact, a message from the dead. The words blazing there are something else entirely.
we offer to extend our assistance in eliminating your blackmailers. all we ask is your aid in exchange.
It is as though hope has taken the form of an LCD cellphone display.
----------------------------------
Mere minutes and several messages later, it is done, and you feel lighter than you have for years. You feel refreshed. Invigorated. And you know you will do anything, anything at all, for your saviours. You would even give your life for them.
A tiny voice in your mind whispers that there is something wrong with that line of logic. But nothing penetrates your newfound beatific state.
Your alignment has changed from Politician to Political Extremist as a result of your ability, The Price of Freedom, being triggered.
You have lost the Blackmail ability.
You have gained the following ability:
Bodyguard (Overt, Night)
- Target a player at night. If that player would be killed in any way this night, you will be killed instead.
You, Skander, and two others now form the Political Extremist faction, and may talk to each other at any time.
Righteous Indignation (Deaths_Vampire)
For an instant, a flash of twisted, blackened bodies just across the border, superimposed, before reality reasserts itself. But the certainty does not go away. This is (and the word is nearly an epithet in your mind) the American's work. The thoughtless snuffing of another life in pursuit of their own selfish, hypocritical justice. It can be no other.
Disgust and indignation roil inside your gut; indignation at those that could have allowed this to happen, and disgust at the fact that you were one of them. Finding the American's body abates the indignation momentarily -- only for it to resurge tenfold at the difference in reaction and lamentation accorded to the American as opposed to the Micronesian. As if the cursed murderer's life was somehow worth more due to his overblown country!
Irrational rage begins to take over conscious thought, though thankfully not translating to action, as you walk with the other delegates to the room of the improvised kangaroo court. Not yet, translating to action.
But in the depths of your rage-reddened mind, the decision is already made, as per the offer extended via the unsettling message you found in your rooms. You are done with these people, these bigots. If you will fall to iniquity, you will at least do it with people more honest about their evils.
Your alignment has changed from Politician to Political Extremist as a result of your ability, Righteous Indignation, being triggered.
You, Skander, and two others now form the Political Extremist faction, and may talk to each other at any time.
A Simple Push (vezokpiraka)
What was it you were thinking scance few days ago? Of history, of politics, of petty and less-petty concerns beyond these very floors and hallways in which someone is trying to kill you all? Those thoughts seem so very, very far away now... superceded by something far more immediate and relevant.
It is almost ironic, if not chilling. The Israeli, the Brit, the American -- all have fallen, all in brutal, violent ways. Ways that you would almost have been all too willing to visit among them days earlier. Now, confronted with charnel, no thought could be furthest from your mind.
Your resolve is reaffirmed. You can only hope it will be enough to survive the days ahead.
Your ability, A Simple Push, is now inactive. You retain the ability, but to all intents and purposes it now does nothing.
The Plan (Skander)
Still, this is technically part of what you came here to accomplish in the first place, though originally meant to be under less trying circumstances. Therefore, possibly unpleasant as it may be, it is a sign of mission parameters being fulfilled. A positive. You try to think of it that way.
Speaking of which... you study the message left by your associate. A surprisingly cryptic one.
one may be threatened should you attempt to kill him or perhaps a person he targets at night
Perhaps? That sounds uncomfortably uncertain. And whatever is this person doing at night...?
Too many unanswered questions. You didn't think it would be possible for your associate to be illogical, but this is beginning to raise uncertainties.
Night 3 PMs:
'Changing of Mind' (Anaklusmos)
Not that you have any problem with liars, of course - as long as they lie intelligently, and with measured purpose. And in that, you think darkly, the terrorists among you are clearly far more competent than your erstwhile comrades. These young fools would never survive a year in Mother Russia; career-wise, of course. Although it looks increasingly less likely they - or you - will survive here.
Hopefully you have caught of said more competent liars in his own traps this night. That ebullient, loud one could use a taste of his own actions this night. Perhaps he will even show up dead by his own hand! That would be a good joke, one worthy of a true Russian belly laugh.
You take a deep drink of the burning liquid, and lean back, feeling the fire settle into your bones. No rest for the wicked. Several more days, you know, and this will all be done, one way or another.
A toothy grin settles on your face - feral, and dark. Let's see how this deadly roulette ends...
You have redirected RafaelK's actions this night to RafaelK.
Shadow (Syrenz)
As such, it is all too simple to follow him straight to his room, and watch him enter. The door closes almost soundlessly, and you settle in for a night of waiting.
And, like before, it is a long, fruitless night indeed. The man never leaves his rooms. And, like the night previous, you finally return to your rooms with nothing more gained than a sense of dreadful urgency.
~Tilde~ has taken no overt actions this night.
Inspect (~V~)
Thus, despite being on the verge of screaming panic, you force yourself to creep along the lushly carpeted corridor. Step, by step, by step, eyes flicking constantly from shadow to imagined shadow in the as yet well-lit hallway. It is none too soon that your target's door comes into sight.
...you do not even get close. You do not even *need* to get close. The mere sight of the door transfixes you like a deer in the face of an oncoming train; you nearly imagine you can feel tangible clouds of menace and lethal intent spilling from the door. Involuntarily, you back away - and then the next moment, you are fleeing back to your rooms, all pretence at stealth forgotten.
You shiver uncontrollably under the covers. You have no tangible proof whatsoever; but you are nonetheless unmistakably sure that you just escaped from the door of one very capable of dealing death.
RafaelK has the capability to kill.
Discerning Gaze (vezokpiraka)
The rest of your mind, however, is focused entirely upon one of the delegates, a man who seems overly fearful even for the increasingly worsening situation. In fact... you narrow your eyes. Yes, he does indeed have something to hide, as his manner would suggest. You are sure of it.
You keep your gaze affixed on him even as the assembled begin to stream from the room, mind whirling with memories and comparisons, seeking to plumb the man's depths, to discern the secrets he so desperately wishes to hide. It does not take long, in fact - the comparison you arrive at is all too close to home. It appears that he is one of potentially shifting allegiance, such as (you think ashamedly) you were all too recently; although it appears his particular breaking point is something rather different than yours was. What it might be exactly, however, escapes you.
~V~ has the following triggered ability:
Survival Instinct (Triggered)
- Triggered by certain conditions being met. Your alignment and win condition will change.
Bomb Disposal (Wrath_of_DoG)
But for the first night, you are able to move freely. For the sake of your deceased friend and for those still alive, you are determined to make it count.
It does not take long for you to arrive at the door of the quiet, slim man who you have chosen to safeguard this night. Of course, you have no way to enter; but, if earlier deaths were any indication, any lethal bombs will not be set within in any case.
It appears, though, you have little to do this night. A thorough inspection reveals no sign of any explosives attached to the door; nor, indeed, any sign of tampering at all. It appears your safeguards were unneeded after all.
You protected Skander from bombs this night.
Death (Nom_Anor)
Perhaps it is simply both, an old man's foolish mistakes. Bluster is unlike you, and unbecoming of you; yet bluster and bravado is precisely how you have spent the last few days, forcing through lie upon lie to save your own skin.
Are all humans reduced to such ignominy in the face of lethal menace? You lament your behaviour, humbled by the realization that even at your age, with your achievements, and the respect and reputation you have garnered -- you still make all too human mistakes, and still have much to learn. Truly, in matters of learning and self-examination, one must never stand still; as you now realize you have been doing.
You heave a deep sigh, and rise from the chair. Perhaps it is not too late to make up for these grievous err-
-you are on your knees. Why are you on your knees? You try to rise, but your legs are refusing to support you. And... you cannot feel your fingers either. They are numb and unresponsive, and the numbness is begin to spread upwards... your thighs and upper arms are growing cold, and fear begins to break through your strangely clouded thoughts.
Too late you notice, with a panicked glimpse, the odd tube protruding from your door, and the oddly discoloured smoke rising from it -- the smoke forming a heavy mist on the floor of your room, that slowly wafts upwards on the drafts of the air-conditioning. Your increasingly heavy thoughts are immediately galvanized by the realization: poison.
But by then it is far too late. You pitch forward, face first; you can no longer feel your limbs at all, and the cold numbness is creeping up your torso. And even when you try to move your head, you barely manage a twitch.
Hazy white fills your vision, and your eyelids drift closed.
You have been killed. Thanks for playing. If you would like to join the Google spectator group, please PM me your email account.
Judgment and Trial of Darkness (RafaelK)
But even as you finish instructing the first of your holy effigies, you feel a sudden wave of crippling fatigue - an obviously unnatural one, and one all too familiar to you. You have felt this before, and rage breaks through the fog for a moment - but you are soon spinning to the ground again, black drowsiness encroaching on your awareness.
You will wake up with a headache, and spitting rage. But for the moment, the last thing you recall is the oddly still form of the effigy you had instructed, its googly eyes staring, it seems, straight at you.
You have been roleblocked.
Opiate of the Masses (Deaths_Vampire)
Your fellow Muslim's death does not overly concern you. He was a fool, like so many of these others. You eye them all with disdain, excepting your hidden partners; these plebian sheep that mill around like so much livestock. Ready for the slaughter.
You will purge them all, and then you will see what these erstwhile partners have to offer you and Iran. Competent partners can sometimes be as much curse as blessing, you think... but at least it is preferable to sheer idiocy.
You have roleblocked RafaelK.
Kill (Skander)
The true purpose of the device, lies behind said atomizer; a crystallized chunk of deadly poison, which begins to degrade once exposed to air, and sifted through the atomizer, becomes a heavy smoke which sticks close to the ground. Or so it would, except when stirred and lifted by the silent drafts of any air-conditioning system. And by the time any unwary target notices, their nervous system is already shutting down.
But just in case... some quick-drying resin solution seals the door shut. It will not stand up to repeated battering, but it will last long enough. With that done, you set the device against the door, and activate it. Within moments, it has drilled a silent hole into the door, at speeds so fast that little more than a momentary whine could have been heard within. The clamps secure the device against the door; and with soft clicks the shutters within the device disengage, exposing the crystal to air.
You rise, and move to return to your borrowed rooms. Your work is done; your target will die, and you will retrieve the device off everyone else's dead bodies.
You have killed Nom_Anor.
Night 4 PMs:
'Changing of Mind' (Anaklusmos)
You pause. Is it an old man's imagination, or...
Heh. You cannot resist an amused snort. You know this feeling -- someone slipped you some drug of their own, it seems. Won't they be surprised, eh? Drugs, poisons -- these have not had hold on you for a long, long time. Today is no different.
It is all so terribly amusing that you can almost laugh. You settle for humming a merry tune as you unlock your door, and prepare for another night, and another day.
You were targeted by a chemical effect, which was ineffective.
You have successfully redirected ced395 to ~Tilde~.
Kill (~Tilde~)
Perhaps, you reflect (even as you raise the gun, thoughts moving faster than body, time slowing to infinitesimal stop-motion) it is the violence your dearly departed (good riddance!) blackmailer had you visit upon that one delegate - but no, that was too mild; the real brutality he doubtless visited himself. Some things (everything) were his fault; but not this.
Ah. No, you know why this feels so natural - pulling the trigger, watching the Oriental man's eyes widen in shock, slumping bonelessly against the wall. It almost approaches epiphany. But of course anything feels natural if you've done it a million times - even in mere fantasy, dark wishes against faceless tormentors. A million times in half-remembered dream you have dealt death; plotted murder with every note, every mail; thirsted for violence with every unwilling act.
And now... for now... and perhaps forever, should these terrorists keep their promises... you are free. And free to visit all this violence within you upon as many people as you can find. The thought almost brings ecstacy to your (broken) mind - and you cannot resist humming a merry tune, spinning the gun jauntily around, as you leave the scene of an innocent man's death.
You have successfully killed Syrenz.
Opiate of the Masses (Deaths_Vampire)
Some of the delegates are unsteady in their steps as they move, shaken either from shallow cuts (like the annoying gash on your upper arm, curse that heathen!) or from the simple unearthliness of those small robotic monstrosities. One, however, is leaving the room with a firm, steady stride, unbroken, it seems, by fright, fatigue, or anything else.
Which is *not* as it should be, because your mixtures should have begun to take effect by now. Even on an individual of his size, he should have begun to display some signs of dizziness or stuttering consciousness by now. No, something is wrong. You are sure of it.
You are so close to finishing this debacle; this is an unneeded complication. But it is also a complication you can do nothing more about this night. Under your breath, you mutter imprecations about the man's lineage; clearly, you will have no more opportunity to do anything else to the man this night.
You attempted to roleblock Anaklusmos, but it failed for some reason.
Bomb Disposal (Wrath_of_DoG)
No matter. He is dead now, reaping the just consequences for his actions. But if those... those abominations were his chosen weapon, then you know all too well that there remain other killers amongst you. The memory of your comrade's bomb-charred corpse tells you that quite clearly - another death on your conscience, one you failed to prevent.
Nor will you be preventing any such fatality this night, it seems. Like the previous night, your inspection of the soft-spoken, aloof man's door shows no signs of tampering. Your tools will go unused again this night; and you can only hope that no other bodies appear in the morning.
You have protected Skander from bombs this night.
Hide (~V~)
When your consciousness returns to you (lungs burning like fire, hands aching terribly for some reason) it is, just as it was two nights ago, dark and cramped. A closet again, you suppose, feeling the rustling of fine cloth against your head. You don't much care as long as no one finds you.
And no one does. For hours, you sit, wide-eyed and wide awake, in the darkness; nameless terror and the survival instinct dispelling any mere biological need for sleep. From outside, you briefly hear snatches of sound, that might be a television; but even when the sounds cease, you remain perfectly, utterly, still.
You have successfully hidden behind Anaklusmos.
Death (Syrenz)
It is an unfamiliar, unpleasant feeling. Direction is the one thing you have never lacked for; from superiors, from family, and then finally from none but yourself -- until this day. This day, when you finally find yourself aimless and wandering, lost, along a corridor.
It is in the instant you hear the harsh click behind you that you once more know yourself to be a foolish man. You turn just in time to see the Asian man, the light of insanity in his eyes, level the barrel of the gun at you, and, flat-footed as you are, there is no evading the muzzle flash, and the instant of pain, that fades almost instantly into -
You have been killed. Thanks for playing. If you would like an invite to the Google spectator group, please PM me your email.
Discerning Gaze (vezokpiraka)
You force your eyes from the corpse, even as other delegates prepare to move it to the adjoining room. There is yet work that needs to be done; you cannot believe the deceptive charmer was the only killer. Taking a quick glance around the room, you at last affix your narrowed eyes upon one of the delegates in the process of moving the corpse, a quavering smile upon his face, as if unnerved and anxious.
Anxious he is, but not how he would wish others to believe. He clearly has something to hide; to what purpose you cannot guess, but it does not take long for you to discern the shape of his secrets.
When the cleanup is done, you retire quickly to your rooms. You must mull upon these revelations. The long days are not yet done.
ced395 has the following triggered ability:
Shadow of the Rebellion (Triggered)
- Triggered by certain conditions being met. Your alignment and win condition will change.
....and after posting these, I realize that Skander should have gotten another The Plan PM on day 4 with a clue towards Talore's turn condition. Oops.
And also, since I forgot to say it in the previous post, a great vote of thanks to Pale Mage for replacing in at a late juncture and attempting to give the town a shot. I'll pull a Dagger and give you an auto-/in into my next game if you want it.. ^_-
@Skander: The reason everything went through you was more a safeguard; I'd heard of previous incidents where traitors revealed their new scumbuddies out of frustration.
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.
Did the mafia make a QT or something you could share?
This would mark the first time I'm happy someone is pulling a dagger on me.
x10,000
I am very curious about this as well. Nom, if I promise not to say anything mean knowing the result of your gambit, will you please explain why you went through with it?
The flavor was excellent in both day scenes and PMs, and I enjoyed going through all of the night action PMs you've just provided. One nitpick, however - please don't use "Allah" when writing in English. Allah is an Arabic word that represents a concept for which we have a perfectly good word in English, to wit, "God." The propensity of both Muslims and non-Muslims to incorrectly use the word "Allah" propagates an inaccurate belief that Muslims worship "some other god" whose name is Allah, as opposed to the God of the Abrahamic tradition. If my point isn't clear enough, consider the following:
English: God
French: Dieu
Spanish: Dios
German: Gott
Arabic: Allah
All of these names refer to the same being. Anyway, nothing personal. I correct this error wherever and whenever I find it.
Regarding the moderation itself, I will say this: in future, please consider bringing a co-moderator on board for any large games you plan to host.
"...a talisman against all evil, so long as you obey me."
Thanks to DNC at Heroes of the plane studios for this awesome sig and SGT_Chubbz for the awesome avy.
Check out the Shop Thread
Well, Seppel was scum in CCMIV, but other than that, what he said. Townies should never lie, unless they have a damn good, townie reason for it.
Tired of corporate corruption ruining your favorite MtG site?
Come join ours!!
What happened? Games' too long to read, though apparently townies lied?
I had hope that Pale Mage would make some magic but the Kitten Killer laid waste to those dreams.
This.
Noted for future reference.
"Seppel, who was town in Symbiote with ~Tilde~" not "Seppel, who was town in Symbiote as well as CCMIV."
Day One dragged forever and we mislynched Zchinque out of frustration and confusion.
Day Two Nom_Anor faked an investigation on Azrael resulting in his mislynch.
Day Three TheFooFish tried a gambit which backfired and resulted in his mislynch.
Day Four RafaelK was (the only non-town) lynched; the mafia jumped hard on him.
Day Five the Kitten Killer gave the mafia the vote they needed to mislynch Anaklusmos FTW.
This guy:
Yah. This.
I lied very recently in GHS but that was to save me from being mislynched.
Or if not, we might want to at least make it a policy that any mod who realises they're going to have extended absences needs to bring a co-mod in.
Re: Nom and TFF - it's probably accurate to say that the town lost two days due to this, and Nom's was particularly egregious due to the fact that it was day 2, which should have given the most evidence to ced's traitor flip. I'm also fairly certain that he did so thanks to his cop claim the day before, which needless to say kept him alive but wasn't the best percentage deal for the town at all.
As town, lie with greater purpose, not with individual goals. As much as I applauded ITF for the insight that led to the gambit that got me lynched in Manipulator, I also lambasted him because if he had been wrong the scum might very well have won that night.
Re: zindabad and RafaelK - acknowledged and apologized for. The vast majority of the delays was due to me getting stuck on writing flavour, but a co-mod is definitely something I'll consider to avoid the whole 'no internet access due to relatives' circumstances' and similar issues that led to the one extra-long night.
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.