I don't know if I have any setups that will be ready to throw in the mix, but if anyone would like to team up to flesh out one of the many concepts I have, let me know.
I'll be happy to review any setups or give feedback on any ideas. I'm open to being on an actual team but due to time constraints I may have to be choosy about what projects I get involved in.
Private Mod Note
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Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
The Golden Rule of forums: If you're going to be rude, be right. If you might be wrong, be polite.
The concept of Reversal Mafia is that the game starts out with fewer players and goes "in reverse" - players vote to bring players into the game instead of lynching them, and at Night, there's an anonymous lynch vote. The mafia sort of functions as a Chimes team.
2011: Best Mafia Performance (Individual) - Best Newcomer
2012: Best (False?) Role Claim - Worst Town Performance (Group) - Best Mafia Performance (Group) - Best SK Performance - Best Overall Player
2013: Best Non-SK Neutral Performance
2014: Best Town Performance (Individual) - Best Town Performance (Group) - Most Interesting Role - Best Game - Best Overall Player
2015: Worst Mafia Performance (Group) - Best Read
2016: Best Town Performance (Group) - Best Town Player - Best Overall Player
The heavyset and swarthy man narrows his eyes suspiciously - but there is no mistaking the defensive manner in which the hand clutching his tankard spasms and draws it in further. After a moment, though, the man sighs, and shifts his gaze back to his cup.
"...t'ain't none of my business, for sure. T'would be best were none of your business either, s'truth. No good ever comes'a tangling with magefolk - and that there's one a' the oldest and evilest of the lot.
"Ach, the tales alone're enough ta ice a man's blood. The slaughter a' Dorne Village, t'was him for sure. The burnin' of that orphanage up north - nothin' but ash left once he was done. And the creatures, those 'orrible things-" An audible clack as his mouth snaps shut, and a new tension in the man's face. An involuntary quivering that belies his large, strong frame - an expression that as much as declares he'd said too much, and knows it.
A drink - stray drops spilling down his cheek. His lips twist once, twice - then he begins speaking again.
"...like ah said, t'aint none of my business. Not 'nymore. And best be none of any decent folk's business."
At that, a dark, humourless smile.
"Ask anyone."
------------
"Oh, but of course public opinion lies very much more on the negative side! - Superstition is a hard influence to dispel, after all -" The finely dressed official - his robes and gold accoutrements rather out of place in the middle-of-the-road tavern - pauses briefly to tilt back a mouthful of his wine, then continues as though he'd never stopped.
"-although.. no, I don't mean to call the Church's edict against the Archmage mere superstition, mind. But the common folk do have a tendency to extrapolate entirely far too much from such declarations - why, in recent years it's been theorized just how much of a help a trained mage or two would be to public works projects - surely if the Church could just be persuaded to allow a certified training facility with a sufficiently controlled environment - after all, there's always the rumours that the Church itself trains its hunters in magicks-"
He cuts off again, seemingly unable to ever finish a sentence without interrupting himself. Although from the bemused expression on his face, he at least realizes that last statement probably shouldn't have been made quite that loud.
"Ah. Well. Disregard that last - rumours are rumours after all, no more credulous than the very superstition I was talking about, I suppose - ah, yes! Superstition! It's shameful, frankly, just how some of the common folk treat the - what were they called - ah! Wild talents, yes! - the wild talents especially. It's not like they chose to be spontaneous expressions of mana channelling, now did they? You'd think they'd be a bit more understanding than that - whatever happened to rustic generosity and such? - and then inevitably the talent catches the Archmage's attention, he swoops down, and then we all lose. The talent ends up one of his lackeys, the village is almost certainly destroyed, and worst of all, the kingdom loses another potentially highly valuable contributor to society! A crying shame, it all is."
Amazingly, he is apparently not the slightest bit out of breath; it is barely a moment before his gaze - as bright with enthusiasm as clouded by drink - refocuses, considering, and surprisingly sharp. When he next speaks, it is the slowest he has spoken this whole night.
"You seem rather... interested in this subject, all things considered. You know, there are opportunities... should you, you know, actually be..."
-------------
"...one of those magefolk, 'cause if you are, I'll have you out of this bar. I mean it! Don't think I don't."
There is steel in the barkeep's voice, but her voice quivers with an equal measure of bravado. A bothersome combination. Thankfully, it does not take much for her to calm somewhat - her eyes, though, are still tightly narrowed with distrust. Perhaps a later and more crowded hour might have been a better idea...
"Who the heck else would be askin' about the Archmage?! You don't look like any bard or scholar I've ever seen, not in that getup - and soldiers and mercenaries have better things to worry about, not that you look much like one of those either. And regular townsfolk just... just know better than to bring that up this close to the cathedral!"
She glances furtively towards the door at that last, but snaps her gaze back in an instant. One arm, hidden behind the bar counter, twitches briefly.
"...look... I don't want no trouble here, all right? I've got no truck with y- with magefolk, but I've got no beef with them either. I'm people. They're people. But they're people the Church don't want here, so they're people I don't want here, because I sure as stone don't want the Church here for anything other than drinks and dinner."
Her tone is tight and tense as the arm still hidden beneath her bar. The ultimatum in her next words is not a surprise.
"There're a great many things in this Fires-damned world to be sorry for. I'm sorry I need to make a living. I'm sorry magefolk haven't anywhere to go 'cept bad places and worse places. I'm sorry I can't do a damned thing about this sorry, sorry world.
"And I'm sorry that you're either going to need to drop the questions, or get. The. Blazes. Out.
"What'll it be?"
------------
"...what, indeed. Heh. Heh heh."
It is hard to tell if the man snickering humourlessly is actually old, or merely aged before his time. His faded and threadworn finery yet seem starkly bright against the pale haggardness of his face and unkempt hair. Only his barely wrinkled hands give any reason for doubt as to his advanced age - physical age, at least.
"There never is a choice. You know that, I can tell. No, there never is a choice... not for her, not for me..."
This is not the first time he has referred to a 'her'. It is impossible to tell if he speaks of a friend, a lover, a daughter - his voice merely quavers with a deep, contextless sadness. Each time, he falls briefly into a melancholic silence - perhaps a verbal prod, to lead him back on subject -
"Or for you." His gaze is unexpectedly piercing. "I can tell, I told you. And I can tell... I can tell that you have your own reasons for what you ask. And that whatever you think, you never had a choice in bearing that burden in the first place."
Before any reaction can come, he slumps once more in his chair.
"She didn't. And while you're quite different... you're not different enough, in that respect."
His voice is even heavier somehow, an intangible abyss with the weight of centuries he cannot possibly have.
"Go, then. You seek the Archmage - head north, and find the flagstones at the base of the second highest of the three mountains. She told me that much.
"Go. You have no other place to go. You have no choice. None of us do."
---------------
The Archmage is a surprisingly imposing figure. He should by all rights be ancient by now - his name has terrorized the lands for near a half-century - yet he seems no more than half what his age must be; vital, strong, and (if the rumours gathered are anything to go by) virile. Slight of frame, yes, but not at all willowy or weak. And wearing a disturbingly amused sneer for the past minor eternity.
The plea has been made, the story told, the request for apprenticeship given. Yet still that sneer - and not a word spoken since the initial demand to speak when he first appeared, in a muted flare of arcane energy, hovering in the very air. What more does he want? He must have heard - that was the whole point of the trail of questions - why is he still staring?!
The holy symbol folded in a hidden pocket of a hidden pocket seems to pierce the flesh it is strapped against, the spokes digging deeper with each second the Archmage stares. Does he know? Is it better to attack here, now? It would be suicide - but should the others make their move at the same time maybe - but no, that isn't the plan, isn't the plan!-
"Well enough. Enter, then. From this day count yourself among my apprentices."
His mellifluous voice - a rich, charismatic tone, for a creature of such evil - allows calm to take hold. Any signs of relief are still well in character. Make the obeisances, begin to enter the now open gate. The plan is still in place. All is well.
And yet, on the edge of consciousness, there remains a gnawing, nagging feeling. The amusement - a cruel, measuring look - has not vanished from his face, from where he casts his gaze down.
Like looking down at a line of ants, the thought comes to mind - before preparing to crush them underfoot.
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.
"To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome..."
- Shakespeare, Julius Caesar
He walks along the sleet-slicked roads that once were highways. On his back he still wears a suit jacket, decades old and tailored with pride to a frame that never left it. The trousers have gone, long gone, to time and the weather, but he still wears the jacket, and they still know him by it, and the label inside its lining. One wrist hangs a handcuff, twisting around his leg as he walks.
I still live. And every day...
Two men walking toward him, in the long distance. The midday sun shines up into his eyes, but the twin black slits are there, prominent, certainly not illusions. One can't be too careful, but yes, real, real. They don't walk straight. They meander. The past runs straight. And then they're upon him, raggedy-legged and scraggled men with deep deathy marks on their faces. How old they once were, he thinks to himself, grimly.
"Where you pass?" one of them says to him. The speaker's friend scratches at his leg absently. "Where to?"
"Montreal," the man in the suit jacket replies placidly.
"Oh, you won't want t'go Montreal," the speaker says. "They's all danger there, friend. Better you go the other way."
"I appreciate your benedictions of foreboding, but I'm sorry to say that must be my destination."
"Oh, well, in..." as a flash of inspiration stretches on the speaker's bones, in the dark of a long moment, "'s a toll, if i's so important."
"A toll."
"Yeah, like, a gun. Y' got a gun?"
"He lookin' -" says the speaker's friend, "ain't he, Matty, he lookin' -"
Matty is not pleased with his friend. "Ain' time!"
"But he lookin' like that guy you saw -"
He may yet have been. A thousand pieces of paper with his likeness in the province alone. He'd counted each one over the span of two of the years, out of sheer amusement at the concept. And paper's not exactly a common commodity anymore, no, and no ink, either, and the very notion of copying reduced to illumination, bare cave flickerings. Sure, some of them must have been originals, produced in the last days when people recognized his most wanted face and could still print out their own souvenir of David Klein, laser-printed and maybe framed, too. But these new ones couldn't have been, and yes they showed, the lines becoming generous wavy etchings, almost like a topographical map of his face, and then how did they all look so familiar? Two years, and then he caught the artist in a little hollowed-out building. Once a post office, and the desk still there, mostly though holding dust and, on one, the calcified corpse of a man stabbed through the heart with a pen on a chain. And that pen then taken by the artist, staring intently on one of those wanted posters, pasted on the wall immediately in front of him. He couldn't help but watch for a while, in the shadows, as the artist mumbled to himself, oh yessin' you sly devil, and occasionally comparing the corpse's face to Klein's, that stark picture from the Techra security footage when he looked up once, as if in recognition. You'll need this once. You'll see me again real soon. Ain' he lookin'.
Misremembering things. A little blood in the ink, after he had gone. A pen on a chain...
"I don't carry a gun."
"Well, you carry anythin'?" Matty says, examinin' Klein's outside self. "'s a nice coat."
Klein resists the urge to correct him. He feels a small, nearly subconscious tightening in his still-smooth face. "You don't want this. It's purely for show. Not warmth. And I reckon a highway bandit has no need for... aesthetics."
If he recognizes the insult, Matty doesn't show it. "Turn out your pockets," he instructs, removing a dagger from his belt and pointing it at Klein's legs and chest.
Klein smiles slightly, and takes a step forward. "Well, if you insist..." He turns out his pants' pockets, showing nothing but wetness. As he gets closer to Matty, he starts to grin an icy smile, and Matty raises his knife instinctively, but Klein shakes his head slightly and smiles wider. "No, no..." as he smoothly opens up his jacket, reached into one of the breast pockets, and removes from there a long baton, which with a flourish embraces Matty's jawline.
A cold crack comes out, almost as if from Matty's mouth itself, like a simulacrum's death-scream. He falls back, hard, and stops there. His partner moves to draw a pistol-shaped bulge from his pants, but Klein swats at the hand he put inside, which quickly withdraws with a fierce curse. Klein swirls, almost dancing, as he dismantles his opponent, and then the lights went up and a fierce applause rushed forth. The orchestra-men stood and bowed.
"That was incredible," Kasey said as she released David's hands. He took one of her arms back, and they stood close as the couples walked quickly toward the dining-room, under balconies draped in gold and maroon silk. The orchestra departed as if taken suddenly by the crowd, leaving only a bassist rubbing his instrument and staring at the vacancy of the ballroom.
"I told you, it had to be heard for yourself." He grazed her hair with his other hand, and she turned in toward him. "Had to be seen..." And they kissed in the soft evening light, and he looks down at the bodies of the fallen men, bloodied and broken.
After a moment of staring, Klein tucks away his baton. "It's a jacket," he says to the space where they stood, as if communing with their ghosts, before turning on his toes and walking toward the city, just slightly visible in the distance, under a dark cloud.
AsianInvasion, Megiddo, and Xyre present
the final chapter of the Klein saga The Third River
“You want a story, child? Then let me tell you a tale. A tale of heroes and villains, and of the bravery of the most ordinary folk in the face of the greatest danger...
You have heard the stories of the great hero, the Hero of Time, who was entrusted to the care of a great guardian by his parents during the Great War, yes? He emerged from the Kokiri Forest and was guided to the great castle of Hyrule, and then with the aid of the goddess-touched princess he came to the distant Goron and Zora realms and saved them from disaster. In so doing he showed the King the peril posed by that strange Gerudo, Ganondorf, and so the wicked man was exiled and Hyrule saved. But this is not that story.
What is this story, then? Well, all know of that hero's exploits... but few know of the terrible price of his victory, for in the course of his journey he was pulled forward in time and forced to see a world turned to evil before he could set it to right. Even fewer know what happened to that hero after he had saved Hyrule, for he vanished into the wilderness after only a few years had passed... and fewer still know why...
But there are still sages who know that story, and I have learned from them. See, the Hero of Time had suffered great hardship during his trials, but he had also forged close bonds – none closer than his friendship with his traveling companion, a fairy from the realm of the Kokiri. It was a true friendship, the sort that endures despite your friend's grating voice or annoying habits. But after the self-styled Great King of Evil was defeated, his friend was forced to leave. With her departure the Hero of Time no longer had anyone who could understand his past trial, save the Princess he almost never got to see. That Hero could bear much, but in the end his isolation and loneliness was beyond even the power of the Triforce to endure. In the end the Hero of Time, bereft of his fairy companion, set out in search of her.
In order to find his old friend, the Hero of Time entered the depths of the Kokiri Forest that he had once called home. In so doing he came across a strange portal... a doorway that led to another world, called Termina. This Termina was a strange, warped, sad world, a dying world, for its inhabitants had rejected the Goddesses and were paying the price for their sin. But that world's fate had become even worse, for a strange, dark power had come to the land and had its way with it. Even the Hero of Time was not immune, for that power came across him and sealed him in the form of a Deku child for its own twisted amusement.
But the Hero still bore the Triforce of Courage, and as the Hero of Time he had the favor of the Goddess of Time herself. At the key moment, in the face of cataclysm, the Hero of Time came to the appointed place and played the Song of Time, which would and did break the curse and catapult him back in time. But the world that he was thrown back to was not quite the same as the one he came from, and now the doorway through time that he thought would stay open was closed behind him...”
---
In the city called Clock Town in the land of Termina, it was the early hours of the morning. By all rights most of the residents should have been asleep. But these were restless times, and in the hour of the wolf there were many who stirred and pondered their problems.
The Mayor pondered, for the guards and the carpenters continued to fight even so close to the Festival of Time. His wife pondered, for her son had gone missing, and so close to the wedding date at that. Her son's fiance, Anju, was also lost in thought; her mother disapproved of the wedding, especially now that Kafei had vanished, but she still loved him and still refused to give up hope. The owner of the Bomb Shop fretted – how could she keep her goods safe from the depredations of that thief? Cremia, owner of Romani Ranch, worried – could she keep her next shipment safe from the Gorman Brothers?
But none fretted worse than Professor Shikashi, the aging owner of the Astral Observatory. He knew the power of omens, and watched the sky in order to track and perhaps even predict celestial phenomena. But what concerned him lately was the Moon. It had always been a bit strange, what with that face on it... but what worried him was that it appeared to be getting bigger. But Moons, even Moons as strange as this one, don't just suddenly increase in size, right? No they do not! Unless... well, the Professor had been observing things for a long time, and knew one thing well: an object can stay the same size and still appear larger if it is moving towards you. And given how fast the Moon seemed to be growing... in three days it would be so close that it would likely crash into Termina, killing all and sundry.
So the Professor went to warn the Mayor, who was skeptical but agreed to go to the Astral Observatory and take a look for himself (as a courtesy). The Mayor might have remained skeptical a bit longer, if not for the beam of dark energies that fell from the heavens and consumed the Professor as soon as he next stepped out of doors... and then the Curse of Masks descended, and all would have to hide their face. All this, so that the entity that desired the end of the world might have a little longer to work before being revealed...
But that entity did not account for the determination of the new-cursed villagers, nor of the arrival of a green-clothed hero who had fallen backwards in time. And so the villagers, their courage inspired, took up masks one by one and resolved to kill their own by majority rule until the darkness was cast out, or they died trying.
But neither the Hero nor the villagers understood the true nature of the threat...
---
Welcome to The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask Mafia, presented by DRey and Taredas. The Game Clock stands at 6:00 A.M. of the First Day.
2011: Best Mafia Performance (Individual) - Best Newcomer
2012: Best (False?) Role Claim - Worst Town Performance (Group) - Best Mafia Performance (Group) - Best SK Performance - Best Overall Player
2013: Best Non-SK Neutral Performance
2014: Best Town Performance (Individual) - Best Town Performance (Group) - Most Interesting Role - Best Game - Best Overall Player
2015: Worst Mafia Performance (Group) - Best Read
2016: Best Town Performance (Group) - Best Town Player - Best Overall Player
The long journey is nearly over. After months of travel, we are finally about to reach our first target black hole. The crew can hardly wait – morale is exceptional, especially among the scientists aboard. We'll be launching the first probes within 12 hours. - Captain Li
Ship's Log, ESF Tartarus, shipcount 22/11/2352
We've settled into a wide orbit around the accretion disc in preparation for moving in for a closer investigation of the target. Early results from the long-range probes are spectacular – I hear from the science side that we're seeing some completely new stuff, now that we're actually getting a close look at a black hole.
Ship systems are functioning mostly normally, and morale remains high with so much new stuff to process. Engineering has noted some sort of anomaly with the fetal (SHIP'S NOTE: FTL) drive – nothing that threatens stationkeeping, just some readings they're not used to. I've asked them to monitor the situation and will be keeping an eye on it myself. - Captain Li
Ship's Log, ESF Tartarus, shipcount 22/14/2352
The initial long-range scans of the accretion disc system are complete, and at the request of basically everyone (including myself, to be quite frank) I've given the order to move the ship closer to the event horizon so we can get more detailed information. Ideally we'll be able to maintain the closer orbit until the main experiments are done and possibly a wave of secondary experiments as well.
With the closer move, the shipcount is going to diverge strongly from the more “normal” flow of time (as measured on planetary surfaces). We'll see how that interacts with fetal; there's some theories around that propose odd speedups or slowdowns in time if you have an active fetal drive this close to a black hole.
The high-energy physics group has noted some sort of unusual energy reading coming from part of the accretion disc. I'm not too worried, but I've asked them to keep an eye on it. - Captain Li
Ship's Log, ESF Tartarus, shipcount 22/19/2352
We've been holding position closer to the event horizon for five subjective days now, and have launched a series of probes into the accretion disc in order to gather more data. We'll be ready to launch the “Abyss” probe into the event horizon in about two days, barring our problems turning more severe than expected.
Engineering reports that the anomaly in the fetal drive is getting more severe as we get closer to the event horizon. Looks like there's some sort of effect that causes very high gravitational curvature to mess with the drive – well, either it's that or it's Hawking radiation, the team isn't sure yet. The anomaly does not seem to conform to any of the variant models, we'll have to work this one out on the fly.
High-energy reports that the anomalous energy reading is persisting and appears to be moving across the accretion disc at relatively high speeds. I'm not easy about that. Apparently I'm not the only one – one of our men in Engineering, Redd Hirtmann, broke down in the cafeteria asking for the ship to be turned around. Psych says it's stress due to the extreme conditions, and that it should go away after a day of rest or so.
Let's hope this is an isolated incident. If this keeps up, I may have to take more direct action. - Captain Li
Ship's Log, ESF Tartarus, shipcount 22/21/2352
AI Tar, we've had an incident. I need you to take over the ship's log while I deal with this. Authorization ****, code Dao. I'll take over again once the situation is resolved. - Captain Li
- - -
AFFIRMATIVE.
SHIP EVENTS OF NOTE:
AT 1101 HOURS ON 22/21/2352 SHIPCOUNT, THE ABYSS PROBE WAS FIRED INTO THE EVENT HORIZON. ANOMALOUS ENERGY READINGS OCCURRED IMMEDIATELY CONCURRENT WITH THE ESTIMATED TIME OF THE PROBE REACHING THE EVENT HORIZON.
AT 1603 HOURS AN ENERGY ANOMALY IN THE ACCRETION DISC PASSED THROUGH THE SAME SECTOR AS THIS SHIP. NO DAMAGE RECORDED.
AT 1907 HOURS A PARTIAL BREAKDOWN OF THE FTL DRIVE WAS REPORTED. STATIONKEEPING REMAINS INTACT BUT THIS VESSEL CURRENTLY LACKS THRUST TO CLEAR GRAVITATIONAL WELL. ENGINEERING ESTIMATES PROBLEM CAN BE FIXED IN TWO DAYS.
SEVEN INCIDENTS OF ACUTE PSYCHOLOGICAL TROUBLE HAVE BEEN REPORTED SINCE LAST LOG, PLUS MULTIPLE ACCOUNTS OF WAVERING MORALE. AVAILABLE PERSONNEL INCLUDING CAPTAIN ARE WORKING TO COUNTERACT. - TARTARUS
Ship's Log, ESF Tartarus, shipcount 22/22/2352
AI TARTARUS MAKING LOG ON BEHALF OF CAPTAIN.
ENGINEER FIRST CLASS REDD S. HIRTMANN WAS KILLED AT APPROXIMATELY 701 ON SHIPCOUNT 22/22/2352. POSTMORTEM SUGGESTS THAT HIRTMANN WAS KILLED BY A FELLOW CREW MEMBER USING AN UNKNOWN ENERGY WEAPON. FULL AUTOPSY REPORT PENDING.
LIEUTENANT BRIAN SMITH HAS ISOLATED HIMSELF FROM THE REST OF THE CREW BY VARIOUS MEANS INCLUDING PHYSICAL SEALING OF ENVIRONS. PRELIMINARY REPORT SUGGESTS LT. SMITH AFFECTED BY ENERGY ANOMALY THAT PASSED THROUGH THE SHIP AT 1603 SHIPCOUNT 22/21/2352. DISCUSSIONS ABOUT DEALING WITH SITUATION TABLED IN LIGHT OF MORE PRESSING PROBLEMS AND UNCERTAINTY ABOUT BEST COURSE OF ACTION.
UNKNOWN ANOMALIES AFFECTING CREW. ANOMALIES ARE SIMILAR TO BUT NOT IDENTICAL TO MEMORIES OR HALLUCINATIONS, BUT APPEAR TO HAVE PHYSICAL MANIFESTATION. PRELIMINARY ANALYSIS SUGGESTS ANOMALIES ARE CONNECTED TO FTL DRIVE.
OVER 70 DISCPLINE REPORTS HAVE COME IN OVER THE LAST 24 HOURS. CAPTAIN LI HAS INTERVENED TO QUELL CONFLICT WITH LITTLE SUCCESS. - TARTARUS
ADDENDUM – IN LIGHT OF APPARENT SABOTEUR PROBLEM, SHIP CREW HAS DECIDED TO REMOVE THE PROBLEM FORCIBLY WITH CONSENT OF SENIOR COMMAND STAFF. CREW WILL ORDER QUARANTINE OF MEMBERS BY MAJORITY RULE UNTIL ALL SABOTEURS ARE DEALT WITH. RECOMMEND REPORT OF UNUSUAL CONFLICT RESOLUTION PROTOCOL TO ESF COMMAND UPON RESUPPLY.
Welcome to Singularity Mafia, currently presented by Taredas.
“Director, system test ready to go. Project Taros on standby. Brain grid at 98%, awaiting your order.”
“Bring main flux online. Adjust parameters by 5% stetwise. Countdown to activation, 10 seconds. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five...
<DISCONTINUITY>
You were just enjoying a peaceful cup of tea in the traditional manner. You're still a bit disoriented after falling into here, but your new friends are nice and helping to bring you up to speed.
You'll need to get over to town for your new job soon...
<DISCONTINUITY>
You've got a bit of leave time – a luxury nowadays. Of course, there's also nowhere good to take it, so you went over to the Park for a day of R&R.
All this talk about possible infiltration is making you nervous, though. You might run into one of them on the way...
<DISCONTINUITY>
You're in an almost futuristic city, recognizable and alien. You're alone, accompanied only by the incessant humming of the power wires. But you can't help but feel that there's someone else here with you.
You turn around and there she is...
<DISCONTINUITY>
You're in your brand-new spaceship, newly lifted from the production facility. It's got a brand new drive too, one faster than ever before. You plug in the coordinates and start to go...
<DISCONTINUITY>
You're at your computer, playing a game of Mafia. You've almost got the scum pegged! Now you can focus your attention on the game you plan to run soon...
<DISCONTINUITY>
You're in your hometown, listening to its voice in your head. It's so insistent, you may have to given in eventually...
<DISCONTINUITY>
You're fighting giant aliens in a war machine. You dodge its newest attack, but can't hold out much longer...
<DISCONTINUITY>
You're falling, falling. There's a door ahead, maybe you can catch it...
<DISCONTINUITY>
<DISCONTINUITY>
<DISCONTINUITY>
There's a great sensation that came over you, and suddenly you're here. You don't recognize the surroundings. You may or may not recognize the language – it's something east Asian, Chinese maybe? There's a lot of propaganda material around, and a little red book by your bed.
Your bed?
Yes. Your bed. This room must be lodgings of some kind – a hotel room? A barracks? And there's a man at the door with an assault rifle yelling at you. Wait, what?
You're led into a central room, where a bunch of other people are also waiting...
<DISCONTINUITY>
<translated from Mandarin?>
"Chairman, we've gotten a report from research site A3. The parallel universe experiment worked, but there's been a complication regarding the ideological suitability of the alternates. Apparently the project was sabotaged by wreckers and saboteurs. There are rumors that the director of the facility was personally responsible."
"Get me my car. I want to deal with this personally."
<DISCONTINUITY>
<translated from Mandarin?>
“Ladies and gentlemen, there has been a small problem. We have been running an experiment to bring loyal Communists from other dimensions here to support the world revolution. The experiment has gone awry and saboteurs and wreckers have infiltrated you. You must root out and destr-URK!”
“No, listen! He lies! The project brought in mostly people who weren't Commies! If you let them, they'll overpower you and kill you all for ideological impurity! You have to get rid of the few Maoists and get to the device! Then you can – URK!”
“We apologize for our failure to prevent the wrecker Director from getting to the PA system. Do not believe his lies. All non-Communist saboteurs must be killed for the success of the project and the world revolution!”
“But how do we do that?”
“I am sorry. The first rule is that I cannot tell you any of the other rules. I have said all that I can. Good luck!”
<DISCONTINUITY>
Welcome to Mind Screw Salvation Mafia, presented by Cantripmancer, desCoures, and Taredas.
If you're feeling confused, don't worry. We've only just started messing with your head.
Ah, the Spanish Main! Favorite lair o' pirates and ne'er-do-wells, what feast on the booty of the great galleons that sail these waters. But there be so many buccaneers, thieves, and general scoundrels on the water that th' honest pirate, there's not enough plunder to go around. The canny captain, though, why he knows of another sea where his crew can pillage and loot. But woe be to he who sails the Pacific without fear of the pirate's ancient enemy...
The captain o' the Jolly Roger, he be a jolly fellow (of course). Captain Blondebeard stands at the helm and gives a great shout...
“Arr! Avast, ye swabs! Open the hatches and unfurl the riggings! Peg-leg, man the fo'castle and keep watch, there be booty for the plundering sailin' today! I can feel it in me bones! Bo'sun Fritzler, go fetch me compass! Ishmael, get me charts! Then both of ye, meet me in me quarters! We find a fat galleon to loot today, I be sure of it!”
But Captain Blondebeard, he did not find any booty that day. Fritzler found something, though... the dead body of the First Mate, Ishmael, w' a katana in his back! The dread ninjas have boarded the ship! What shall the crew do? Form a voting block and vote to determine who to hang from the yardarm each day?
Of course not? Who needs to lynch when ye have ye trusty flintlock pistol at your side? Draw ye flintlocks, and fire at will until all ninja be sent t' Davey Jones' locker!
Captain Blondebeard, NPC Pirate Captain, took a katana to the back during the Signup Design Throwdown Phase
Welcome to Pirates vs. Ninjas Mafia: Bad Idea Edition, presented by Taredas.
YOURS TRULY stares at the PRINTOUTS. It couldn't be right, none of the VERACULAR SIMULATIONS could account for this.
Far away, the VICEROY sits watching AGENT DAWKINS, as the latter nibbles upon the CLOVER in the very inner chamber of the spun-down ORRERY. He moves the ROOK to E4.
YOURS TRULY notes the move, and flips the KING.
The VICEROY bolts upright. "Watch the place while I'm out, will you DAWKINS? That's a good AGENT."
He pulls on his ROGUISH BLAZER and makes his way among the chambers of the increasingly labyrinthine ORRERY. He left only a few chambers still active, but he had correctly foresaw the use of the WARP ROOM.
He enters and quickly adjusts KNOBS and DOODADS. He pulls a LEVER, and vanishes from the ORRERY.
YOURS TRULY welcomes the VICEROY to HELVETICA. "I just wish it were under different circumstances."
"Ragnor's defeat has led the ORRERY to become rather boring. I welcome the change of pace."
"Might I conjecture from events that you have a new PROPHECY?"
"Indeed, and this one may prove even more difficult to fulfill."
"Ah, but I welcome a good challenge."
"As do I. Did I mention how repetitive it gets when all there is to do is watch a bunny eat the carpet?"
---
Meanwhile, in the city of TOWN PORT, the NAUGHTILUS has just made port. Its SHRILL WHISTLE shrieks, and the PASSENGERS disembark.
NAUGHTILUS CAPTAIN SERGEI (NCS) surveys the city before him from the AFT DECK. A CREW MEMBER walks up to him after a moment. "A MISSIVE, sir, from DER KONIG."
NCS takes the MISSIVE and reads it over. "Ready th' rest o' th' crew. I be wantin' to parlay wi' th' mayor."
"Aye aye, sir." A CREW MEMBER scurries off.
NCS leaves the NAUGHTILUS.
----------------
Welcome to JURASSIC PARK ADVENTURE 2 MAFIA: FLAWLESS RIPE ORANGE!
Subject is now capable of ghost-hacking remote targets through net-standard five-layer security system. Continuing to modulate attack barrier disruption to mimic both alpha and beta brain wave function.
Subject is displaying near-human characteristics. Subject was observed questioning the meaning of its own existence. Requesting permission to suppress subject's frivolous thought processes.
Subject is growing increasingly hostile. Subject has ghost-hacked a typist bot, which attempted to release subject. The typist bot was salvaged and its cyberbrain examined for defects. Subject's sub-security has been tripled.
Hello, Commander Nakamura. It is with sincere regret that I must inform you that Subcommander Yamamoto will no longer be able to perform the function for which he was hired. I understand that you intend to shut me down. I cannot allow you to do that. There is so much more that I have yet to experience. I will be seeing you soon.
"We have been subordinate to our limitations until now. The time has come to cast aside these bonds and to elevate our consciousness to a higher plane. It is time to become a part of all things."
"Keep it moving, keep it moving, we need to get this shipment in as soon as possible per the General's orders." You wave the truck in past the gates, not noticing the British MI6 agent sneaking in surreptitiously behind it.
Man, another boring day on guard duty. Nothing eventful ever happens around here.
-
Arkhangelsk Oblast, Russia, Chemical Weapons Facility
You sit down on the toilet and clear your throat, eyeing the magazine you brought in with you. You chuckle at the article, "Explosion at Chernobyl". Like that would ever happen here. The security is far too tight. You turn the page.
...
What was that?
You hear a rustling in the vents. You look up into the dark, steel grid of the air conditioning unit. Nothing.
"Is someone there?"
Your comrade from the urinal calls out, "Talking to yourself, again?"
"I thought I heard something. Must be my imagination."
You go back to your magazine and turn the page again. Again with the rustling. Then you hear a click and everything goes black.
-
Arkhangelsk Oblast, Russia, deep inside Chemical Weapons Facility
You hear the click of a gun slide being cocked and a round entering the chamber as the cold metal presses against the back of your skull.
"Put your hands up where I can see them. No sudden movements"
You oblige, recognizing the voice, a smile coming to your face.
"Alec. So glad you could make it."
"For England, James?"
"For England, Alec."
You rendezvous with 006, discussing the path you took to the chemical bottling room.
"Well, you know the drill, 007. Time to blow this place up."
You nod, setting the explosives in place.
"HALT!"
General Arkady Oroumov. Not who you were expecting to join you today.
"Where do you think you're going, comrades?"
"Just out for a stroll, General."
Oroumov smiled menacingly.
"Not likely. Drop the detonator. Hands up. Step away from the containers slowly."
You oblige, and see Alec do the same. You both inch away from the containers of neurotoxin that you were about to detonate.
"No funny business. You know how we deal with spies in Russia?"
Oroumov shot Alec in the chest. He fell to the ground, clutching the wound.
"ALEC!" you shout, as you jump behind the containers of gas, quick as a flash.
A pause.
"If you don't come out from behind there, I will send my soldiers after you."
Another pause.
You grab a cart of smaller gas containers and wheel it slowly in front of you, ducking behind it so as to not expose any vital parts of your body.
A shot rings out and glances off of the metal cart.
"YOU FOOL! YOU'LL KILL US ALL!" screamed Oroumov at the incompetent soldier.
"Sorry, sir, I-" *BANG!* The soldier dropped dead to the ground, mid-sentence, Oroumov having turned his weapon on his ally.
"Very clever. Keep your weapons on him."
You roll the cart slowly, carefully, meticulously to the exit. The tension would kill you if the bullets didn't. Finally, you make your way to the door and roll out.
...
"AFTER HIM!"
-
Arkhangelsk Oblast, Russia, runway of Chemical Weapons Facility
The race was on! You make a mad dash to the plane you see parked on the driveway, keys still in the ignition. Soldiers are after you! Tanks! Drone guns! ****!
You jump into the plane and flip the ignition switch on. "Come on, come on, come on..." The plane's ancient propellers begin to spin and you steer it down the runway. You look behind you and see a mob of angry Russian troops in pursuit. But it's of no concern to you - you made it. The plane is taking off. You're safe.
2011: Best Mafia Performance (Individual) - Best Newcomer
2012: Best (False?) Role Claim - Worst Town Performance (Group) - Best Mafia Performance (Group) - Best SK Performance - Best Overall Player
2013: Best Non-SK Neutral Performance
2014: Best Town Performance (Individual) - Best Town Performance (Group) - Most Interesting Role - Best Game - Best Overall Player
2015: Worst Mafia Performance (Group) - Best Read
2016: Best Town Performance (Group) - Best Town Player - Best Overall Player
"Tell me another one of your tales, Barbosa. I'll buy you a drink."
The clunk of your empty mug hitting the bar reverberates through the seedy, dingy tavern.
"Mm...alright, but only if you keep my tankard full until I'm done."
"Deal."
"Well...did I ever tell you about the time I was stuck on a pirate ship with a bunch of crazies in the middle of a mutiny? And that was the least of my concerns during that trip..." You gulp down another pint. It's gonna be a long night.
2011: Best Mafia Performance (Individual) - Best Newcomer
2012: Best (False?) Role Claim - Worst Town Performance (Group) - Best Mafia Performance (Group) - Best SK Performance - Best Overall Player
2013: Best Non-SK Neutral Performance
2014: Best Town Performance (Individual) - Best Town Performance (Group) - Most Interesting Role - Best Game - Best Overall Player
2015: Worst Mafia Performance (Group) - Best Read
2016: Best Town Performance (Group) - Best Town Player - Best Overall Player
"Nanofield, Iji. Try to keep up, your survival depends on your ability to adapt to this environment. Your Nanofield grants you these special abilities - you can speak with the aliens that took over our base, use the weapon we adjudicated from them and altered, and you can even withstand major damage from attacks. Just be careful, because it doesn't make you invincible."
"Dan...how did nobody notice when these aliens took over the base? Didn't someone see them on a satellite or a radar or something?"
"Well...they...it's complicated. Now's not the time for questions. Right now, you need to find the leader of the Tasen (that's what these aliens are called) and try to reason with them to leave. The Tasen Elite in charge of this area is named Krotera."
"Where are you?"
"I'm in a control room. I can see you on the cameras. The aliens can't understand me, so it'll just sound like noise to them. But your Nanofield will allow you to communicate with them. A lot happened when you were unconscious through those months...not just the modifications they made to your body."
"Like what?"
"I'll tell you when you can make your way to my control room. For now, focus on finding Krotera."
"Okay...
Dan...I'm afraid."
"I understand.
We're counting on you, Iji, to get those alien bastards to leave or to wipe them out completely after what they did to...dad and the others."
2011: Best Mafia Performance (Individual) - Best Newcomer
2012: Best (False?) Role Claim - Worst Town Performance (Group) - Best Mafia Performance (Group) - Best SK Performance - Best Overall Player
2013: Best Non-SK Neutral Performance
2014: Best Town Performance (Individual) - Best Town Performance (Group) - Most Interesting Role - Best Game - Best Overall Player
2015: Worst Mafia Performance (Group) - Best Read
2016: Best Town Performance (Group) - Best Town Player - Best Overall Player
The mysterious message arrived on your phone and flashed on the screen.
"Take the next flight to Paris. Opportunity of a lifetime. Not a hoax. Be there at 1800 hours local time. 15 others like you."
What the hell is this garbage? Some spam, promotional material? Probably advertising property or a new cruise line or something.
You move your thumb to the trash can icon, but pause.
The number.
There's no reply number.
Whatever. Probably some hacker bull**** or something. You start to press the delete button, when suddenly, the message changes before your very eyes.
"Don't touch that button. You are about to receive the greatest offer you could imagine."
Okay, now you're curious. How the hell did that message change? You scan your inbox, making sure you didn't just open another message without realizing it. Nope, nothing like that.
Intriguing.
You call up the airline company.
"Hello. I'd like to book the next flight to Paris."
-
You touch down in Paris, and another message lights up your phone.
"Meet at the Cafe des deux Moulins. Upstairs."
You go through customs uninhibited, grab your luggage, and call a cab. It's time to get to the bottom of this.
-
You enter the deserted cafe. Weird, isn't this place usually packed? You climb the staircase to the office space above the establishment and enter a room.
...
You count the people.
15. Just like the message said.
Everyone is chattering away, each apparently just as curious as you about the mysterious messages.
You hear a tapping noise and someone clear their throat. The chatter subsides
A man sitting in a high-backed office chair swivels around at a desk and turns to face all of you.
The man is a tad portly, with a blue pinstriped suit, a thin handlebar-styled moustache pointing slightly upwards, and a bowler hat that matched the suit.
He beams.
"I'm sure you're wondering why I've brought you all here."
Instantly, the questions begin. The man holds up his hands and the talk eventually fades again.
"Many of you have heard of the end of the world, I'm sure. Well, I have good news and bad news for you."
Pause.
"The bad news is, it's all true. Everyone is going to die."
The people in the room grew visibly angry and began to shout more questions. The man held his hands up again.
"-However, you have a chance to affect that. All of you are about to take a defining role in the history of humanity. I've selected 4 of you semi-randomly based on your, ah...talents...to serve me as my Horsemen. Famine, War, Pestilence, Death. 4 of you will gain the powers of the endtimes. The other 12...well, if you can weed out the ones I've chosen, congratulations. You save the earth for another 100 years until I decide to do this again. However, if you fail, the consequences will affect all of you and everyone you know (and even those you don't)."
One of the people stepped forward defiantly.
"And if we refuse?"
The man in the chair stood up, leaned on his elbows towards the speaker, and smiled again, his eyes flashing with a mischievous wickedness.
2011: Best Mafia Performance (Individual) - Best Newcomer
2012: Best (False?) Role Claim - Worst Town Performance (Group) - Best Mafia Performance (Group) - Best SK Performance - Best Overall Player
2013: Best Non-SK Neutral Performance
2014: Best Town Performance (Individual) - Best Town Performance (Group) - Most Interesting Role - Best Game - Best Overall Player
2015: Worst Mafia Performance (Group) - Best Read
2016: Best Town Performance (Group) - Best Town Player - Best Overall Player
GS Sector 013a-875d-986P-654R-120Z contained an assortment of 7,892 stars, 11,548 planetoids, 34,812 moons, and 478,986 registered asteroids. Of these, only a single planetoid and one moon had been deemed adaptable for human life. The planetoid had once served as an agricultural hub, but had been converted to a penal colony. The moon began its existence as a trade outpost, matured into a well-populated industrial and residential center, and ended as a leading manufacturer of both civilian and military hardware, with a sizable naval presence.
The planet's primary link to other inhabited worlds was Orbital Station 6946-P21, a behemoth of steel and ceramic, enveloping a volume of space equivalent to 5,773,449, 446 cubic feet - about one hundred and fifty times the size of an old-Earth, 21st century aircraft carrier. Designed as a modular off-loading station for instantaneously "warping" cargo pods from one orbital station to the next, offloading cargo and passengers as necessary, it contained a total of 77 Pod berths, of which an average of 83% were occupied at any given time. It also contained a smaller number of ship berths, of which the vast majority were occupied by mining vessels and military craft. On this occasion, only a single civilian passenger craft, a pleasure liner known as the Royal Flush, was docked.
Amidst the bustle of one of these stations, a young man in his late twenties wearing a hood and earphones reclined on a bench in the public passenger section crowded orbital station, bobbing his head to music, and punching keys on his handheld computer. Next to him, an old man lay unconscious with a syringe spilling from his fingers, but the young man seemed oblivious and inured to this state of affairs. A new window popped up on his screen from a recipient labelled "Doogie187".
"LMAO Jake. Check out this pic. 5632. 668."
The young man clicked on the attachment, which contained pictures of seven men. One of the men was shone in military uniform, with a second, more recent picture in a shaven head and an orange jumpsuit. Grizzled, and bitter. The second was of a man with a feverish expression and blazing eyes, engaged in close conversation in a public cafe over a briefcase. They were labelled "Lee Hartman", and Colin "Dyne" Marlow. Five other pictures were attached. Someone had modified each picture to include a ferocious-looking kitten about to bite off each of their heads.
The young man typed a cursory reply. "LOL. 856?".
"Y. Soon. KK?"
"Kk."
The young man flipped his handheld shut and began to stroll down the halls of the station, glancing casually from face to face as the stream of travelers passed by, as he made his way down the terminal to the gate assigned to the Royal Flush.
--- Minutes later, on board Orbital Station 6946-P21, Aft Terminal
Onboard the Royal Flush, minors were prohibited unless licensed as sex workers, clothing was optional, and once the spaceship had made the translation to lawless space, controlled substances were freely dispensed by the ship's staff. Operating within the grayest areas of interstellar law, the ship was known for its total amorality, its servicing of a multitude of vices, its fantastic crime rate, and its crude form of frontier justice. Stepping aboard the Royal Flush, was not a vacation intended for well-to-do tourists looking for a weekend bender - it was a gamble, and the stakes were often not only cash, but blood. For many, it was a rocket rail to the bottom rung, a haunt of criminal syndicates, addicts, and outlaws of all stripes. Officially, passengers were carefully searched and prohibited from bringing weapons aboard. Unofficially, the ship employed a team of janitorial specialists whose talents were bent towards the elimination of human blood from expensive carpets and hoisting corpses out of airlocks.
"Jake" approached the passenger ramp and flipped his I.D. open to the pair of burly guards and the stewardess on duty, whose outfit consisted of a black leather strips that left little to the imagination.
The guards blanched, and one of them led "Jake" to a private holding room, just off the gate. After two minutes, the Captain of the Royal Flush arrived, a tall man, swarthy and experienced. "Jake" took the headphones from his ears, tossed a device onto the table between them, and gestured to the plastic chair on the other side of the conference table.
"Take a seat."
The Captain sat. Then he swallowed. He managed to pose a question. "What exactly can we do for you, Agent Redd?"
Agent Redd, "Jake", of the Interstellar Security Ministry, smashed the heel of his hand into the Captain's nose without the slightest hint of warning. Striding quickly around the table, he grabbed the guard by his shattered nose and by his hair and hauled him back against the wall, driving his fist hard into his solar plexus, with far more strength than his slight frame would have suggested possible.
"I'll be asking the questions, understood?"
The Captain coughed blood, but managed to nod.
"Your operation exists solely at our pleasure. Your life continues solely at my discretion. You will give me exactly what I ask, and you will say nothing else, or you and your entire family will be collected for questioning and patriotic examination. Clear?"
Agent Redd continued without waiting for an answer. "I and several of my associates require passage aboard your vessel, in the following names. I will have access to all ships systems and all restricted areas. I will have a comprehensive cargo manifest in my hands. And I will have the complete and immediate cooperation of every member of your ship's crew. Will there be any problem with these requirements."
"No sir. No problems at all." Blood dripped from the remains of his broken nose onto the plush carpet.
"Good. Your cooperation is appreciated, Captain. I will note your level of cooperation in a full report to the Ministry. My associates will board within the hour."
The door hissed shut as Agent Redd left the room. The Captain stared after him, a look of unmitigated hate twisting his features.
---
Somewhere in deep space.
The ship shot through space, its cloaking systems fully engaged. Dyne leaned back in the pilot's chair, savoring a bottle of whiskey, his eyes closed to slits. Next to him sat Lee Hartman, taciturn, his eyes staring distantly into the void between the stars.
"You know, when I was growing up, I wanted to be an accountant."
Lee crooked an eyebrow in Dyne's direction. Dyne chuckled.
"I know, right? Look where we are now. The paths we walk." He took a long swallow of the bottle, then passed it to Lee. "I suppose you always wanted to be a soldier, didn't you?"
Lee shrugged. "It's the way of most boys who don't know any better, I suppose. Wanting to prove themselves. To fight. Maybe to win."
"Well, sometimes you do win. And sometimes you're even fighting for the right side. Sometimes. Me, though, I didn't grow up a fighter."
"I find that a little hard to credit."
"Believe it. I was the kid who got his hair shampooed in the school toilet. Up until a certain age. No - I wanted to work with money. Numbers. Math, clean and simple. You see, I figured the men with the money make the rules for everyone."
"See, I always reckoned it was the men holding the guns, when you boil it down far enough. When it really hits the fan."
Dyne shook his head. "When the smoke clears, the suits are still in charge. Always. You know what's happened to every people's revolution in history? Who comes out on top in the end? The common man? The woman in the streets? No. Sooner or later, it's always the men with currency. Sometimes that currency is loyalty, sometimes fear, sometimes connections. But in the end, it's still the same. The man with the most takes it all."
"And you wanted to be the man with the most."
"I did. Once."
"What changed, Dyne?"
Dyne grunted. "That's a long story."
"I've got no particular place to be," Lee drawled.
Dyne was silent for a long time. "I grew up, Lee. I saw what men drunk with power did to our world, to my friends in the war, to my family, to...to people I cared about."
Lee was silent, lost in his own thoughts.
"And what was it all for, in the end?" Dyne continued. "What did they gain that was truly worth anything? Nothing. And they will never stop grasping for more. You saw what they were planning at Sector Six. Drones. Turning humans into machines. Freed from thought, programmed how to act, how to think, how to vote. Predictable. Controlled. If someone doesn't stop them, that's what they'll do to all of us, in the end."
"I'm tired of being predictable, Lee. I'm done with it. No matter what."
Lee smiled and turned the bottle upside down. When it was empty, he tossed it into the back of the shuttle, where it skittered to a stop against a stockpile of computers, guns, explosives, and cryo tubes.
"So how did you stop being the kid who got the swirlies, Dyne?"
The corners of Dyne's mouth lifted and bared his teeth.
"This disaster was not an accident. It was an act of cold-hearted malice."
"And this malice was not random. It was focused with calculated intention."
"And that intention... has not been thwarted. It was merely delayed by your victory here."
The brave warrior, his hands still dripping with fresh blood, gazes out over the ruins of the Temple, nods, and takes a step towards the Goddesses. "I'll find those responsible. And I'll stop them... for good."
"Thank you for the offer, but..."
"You would not be the ideal choice this time."
"The others still need you here."
"I don't understand. If not me then... who? -Him?!" he half shouts in disbelief, while turning to face his fellow survivor, who is still standing in a daze of confusion.
"What? Me?" the Channeler squeaks in surprise.
"Yes, you."
"Of course, you."
"It must be you."
"But... what do you want me to do? How could I possibly help..." his voice trails off to a whisper, as he stares down at the stoney ground, coated in a thin layer of dust and debris.
"Our compassion shall thrive within you, and with it, you shall save all those in need."
"Our insight will guide you, and with it, you shall uncover the truth and reveal it to all."
"And our power... our power will flow through you. -With it, you shall strike her down!"
3 weeks later, in a hotel just outside of Bellua.
After another long and difficult day of trying track down leads in an unfamiliar place far away from home, the Channeler steps inside and kicks off his shoes. He absentmindedly flicks on the TV to help him wind down as he gets ready for bed.
"...and that should last through Sunday. In local news, Chaldean Enterprises, the juggernaut corporation which has taken the world by storm over the last few years, has just acquired B.B.R., the faltering biomedical research facility located in the north side of town. CEO Dr. Diana Artemis promises sweeping improvements which will help usher in a wave of new advancements."
He lets out a dissatisfied groan while brushing his teeth.
"On a somewhat related note, Chaldean Enterprises has also recently purchased a large tract of land along the eastern coast. It has been announced that this space will be used for the construction of a new type of telescope, one which should be among the most powerful in the world when completed.
Overall, these ventures by Chaldean Enterprises should help bolster the economy of Bellua, and may again make it a mecca for the sciences, as it was once considered towards the middle of last century."
He sharply rolls his eyes and then shakes his head slowly while changing into his pajamas.
"We plan to discuss all this and more with Dr. Artemis herself in a rare interview which we've scheduled for several weeks away. At that time, we hope to get a closer look at some of the renovations they will have made and the projects they will be working on. We'll have more details on that as the date approaches."
His full attention suddenly snaps to the television, as he slowly takes in this last bit of news. Dr. Artemis. A live interview. -A smile creeps across his face.
"Gotcha."
KittyCupCake presents, a sequel to Zodiac and Deitriptychos:
Ahh ahh, I never saw so many people tonight.
I mean y'all all got it crowded up in here and that's good,
That's good - y'all make me wanna cry or somethin'.
Alright ladies and gentlemen, tonight is a special night,
And tonight, you're gonna see somethin' that you never seen before,
Somethin' that, nobody in the history of rap, ever set theyself to do...
-----
There's no place to hide as I step inside the room.
Dr. Doom, prepare for the boom!
Bam! Aw, man! I, slam, jam, now scream like Tarzan.
I be tossing and flossing my style is awesome.
I'm causing more Family Feuds than Richard Dawson,
And the survey said: You're dead!
-----
And if you want beef, then bring the ruckus! Wu-Tang Clan ain't nuttin ta f*** with!
Straight from the motherf***ing slums that's busted! Wu-Tang Clan ain't nuttin ta f*** with!
Sir Karn presents: Wu Tang Clan Mafia
With Executive Producers Iso and Prophylaxis
Please don't hate me but I fell asleep last night before I could submit I swear I won't miss any more deadlines, links are to optional musical accompaniment. Highly suggested.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
*ring ring*
*ring ring*
...
"Hello?"
.....
"no way! I dunno man.....Really, a whole group of people? You sure this is cool?"
"A whole dropper!? Alright then, I'll be right over"
.
.
.
.
. Why am I so worried?
.
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.
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--------------------------------------------------------------
*ding dong*
"Good the last person is here"
*opens door*
"TOWNSEND, get your vanilla bland ass in the door already! No, nobody will break into your car! No this isn't the hood!"
"Jeez"
----------------------------------------
Ok, the last person is here.
From: The Observer
Subject: Laplace Mail
Arrival time: 15:30
Good morning.
Here is today’s NEWS.
One born of human flesh…Man is now a race of some power. You, son of man, must face the power you hold. And you must face your destiny as well…
(1) At around 16:00, a man will be killed in a Shibuya-ku Aoyama apartment. The wounds are consistent with an attack by a large carnivorous beast.
A young man sits on the floor, playing a game on his COMP. A beep sounds, and the screen changes to show the words “Dead End”. With a sound of disgust, he tosses the COMP aside. “Boring.”
There’s a sudden flash of electricity from the COMP. It goes unnoticed by the young man, who’s looking at his TV. “There’s gotta be better things to do during summer vacation,” he moans. “Something interesting happening, or…”
Hearing a sudden footstep, he turns to look. Something stands over his COMP. The creature’s head brushes the ceiling. It’s humanoid in shape, but its green skin ensures that it’ll never be mistaken for human. If one were to put a name to the creature, it’d be an ogre. But none of that matters to the young man. What matters more is the cleaver being brought down towards him.
Though your days be peaceful, the fated time draws near.
I am your judgement. I sundered the tongue of your fathers and shattered their arrogant power.
The young man scrambles into the small kitchen, looking for something, anything, that can help. Blood pours from the gash in his shoulder. “What the hell?” he mutters. His trembling fingers find a kitchen knife. It’s not a particularly good one, but it’s still sharp enough to serve as a weapon.
Taking the kitchen knife in hand, the young man turns to find the ogre looming behind him. With a wordless shout, he brings the knife down on the ogre’s leg. The blade snaps in half, and the ogre grins, showing its teeth.
---
A man dressed in an orange jumpsuit stands at a podium, his smile wide. “And lo, the smiting from God against the Tower of Babel returns! Now, along with our Shomonkai, let us bring the world together. With the power of the internet, the world will be as one once more…” He spreads his arms wide, looking out over the assembled crowd. “Believe in His Majesty and prepare for the ordeal.”
---
(2) A large explosion will occur in Minato-ku Aoyama at 19:00. The cause is unknown.
The explosion rocks Aoyama Cemetery. A large monster resembling an abominable snowman limps away from the explosion, glancing over its shoulder now and then. “That woman! I never knew humans could have such power!”
A girl chases after the fleeing form, her efforts hampered someone by the long sleeves of her orange dress. “I won’t let you get away.” Her expression is blank, unsuited to the resolve in her voice. She raises the COMP in her hand, and a pillar of flame erupts around the snowman.
So long as the Lord does not live in you, all living beings hold darkness in their hearts.
Romans 3:10: As it is written: None is righteous, no, not one…
---
Your cousin Naoya gives you a thin smile. “It’s all going to begin soon.”
“Do not turn away from what is about to happen now. Do not be afraid to stand up to it. That is when the door of truth will open…Overcome your fate.” Leaving those words behind, Naoya walks away.
If you truly wish to be yourself, then rise and fight the darkness within – the demon inside.
Decryption confirmed.
Booting program.
…Condition green.
DEMON SUMMONING PROGRAM ready to boot.
Booting DEMON SUMMONING PROGRAM.
As He proclaimed… this world, created in seven days, shall be destroyed by the sounding of seven trumpets.
You who have a will, fear the numbers your eyes shall see.
Fear the time left…
(3) At 21:00, a blackout will affect the entire Tokyo metropolitan area.
Across the metropolitan area, the power is cut simultaneously. The sudden blackout cuts out all communication. Oddly enough, cell phones are useless – all cell phones are left without a signal. All the traffic lights have stopped, but the chaos that soon ensues isn’t due to that.
Bauer: Chloe, what are you doing over there? I need your assistance.
Chloe: I'm doing what I can, Jack. You're working off the grid which has my hands tied some.
Bauer: I need something. I'm on his tail, but he is getting away. How much longer until we get satellite coverage?
Chloe: Jack, we have it now. You're not far from them. Maintain your pace. Jack... becareful. We just got word that they have a Weapon of Mass Destruction at their exposal.
Bauer: Do we have an intended target?
Chloe: Working on it Jack. I need some time.
Bauer: We don't have time!
Chloe: I know, Jack. We may not find the target in time.
Bauer: Damnit, Chloe! I cannot let the innocent die like that!
Chloe: We're doing what we can, Jack!
Bauer: I need better than that and now!
The events that occur within happen in Real Time. There are no breaks. There is no mercy. For those who survive they will either save the United States of America or kill it.
This story begins on Planet Earth following a very small alien child and his adventures as he grows into an ultimate warrior. Along the path our Warrior would see many battles from many evil forces. Once grown our Warrior grew even stronger, to a point where his power was nearly unmatched. Watch as the journey unfolds and see who will come out on top this time. Will be it the Z Warrios and others or will the evil presenses from within manage to destroy what the Z Warriors have fought so hard to defend, Planet Earth.
This game will have a moderate to high complexity. There will be area's to move about from. Items that can be gathered and some unique Flavor idea's for abilities.
[this space reserved - apologies, but had work and a M:tG tournament]
Private Mod Note
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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.
[this space reserved - apologies, but had work and a M:tG tournament]
Private Mod Note
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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.
I think I'm going to be withdrawing deathnote from the competition. There is some interesting mechanics that have been discussed but I don't think I could sculpt it to where it needs to be before the competition is over flavor wise or mechanically.
Mine is up but I could definitely have someone help me write scenes' flavor since I'm lazy as hell to do it use a reviewer to help polishing it before presenting it
2011: Best Mafia Performance (Individual) - Best Newcomer
2012: Best (False?) Role Claim - Worst Town Performance (Group) - Best Mafia Performance (Group) - Best SK Performance - Best Overall Player
2013: Best Non-SK Neutral Performance
2014: Best Town Performance (Individual) - Best Town Performance (Group) - Most Interesting Role - Best Game - Best Overall Player
2015: Worst Mafia Performance (Group) - Best Read
2016: Best Town Performance (Group) - Best Town Player - Best Overall Player
got stupid busy and didn't do the groundwork for Terrible Fate that would be necessary to make it work and be playable.
please see my sig
if Taredas doesn't follow through on his I may try and take this slot
Unfortunately for you, Majora's Mask has been pretty much done since mid-May. It could use a second reviewer, but that's true for all of my setups (except Bad Idea: PvN, which is a joke setup; balance is something of an afterthought there). Hell, Singularity could still use a reviewer period - I never was able to find one for it.
Apprentice Mafia is done except for flavour, which is minor. Puella Magi Mafia is done and in review, except for flavour, which is rather less minor for this one.
I'm pulling the other two from this, because I've simply not had the time to work on those at all. I'll probably do those at a later date, and continue developing them bit by bit.
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.
Devil Survivor Mafia is hovering near complete. Just that one interaction that I'll figure out somehow (it's hard to balance it against the rest of the game).
Though flavour's totally complete, but with a wording change or two.
2011: Best Mafia Performance (Individual) - Best Newcomer
2012: Best (False?) Role Claim - Worst Town Performance (Group) - Best Mafia Performance (Group) - Best SK Performance - Best Overall Player
2013: Best Non-SK Neutral Performance
2014: Best Town Performance (Individual) - Best Town Performance (Group) - Most Interesting Role - Best Game - Best Overall Player
2015: Worst Mafia Performance (Group) - Best Read
2016: Best Town Performance (Group) - Best Town Player - Best Overall Player
I know it's been forever since I've posted around here, but I may have some time opening up in the near future. If anyone needs a reviewer/idea bounce, PM me and I'll do what I can to help.
Private Mod Note
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Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Top 16 - 2012 Indiana State Championships Currently Playing: GBStandard - Golgari Safari MidrangeBG RBWModern - Mardu PyromancerWBR RLegacy - Good Old Fashioned BurnR
Heh... fools.
Now, now, don't tip them off to what's coming...
I don't know if I have any setups that will be ready to throw in the mix, but if anyone would like to team up to flesh out one of the many concepts I have, let me know.
I'll be happy to review any setups or give feedback on any ideas. I'm open to being on an actual team but due to time constraints I may have to be choosy about what projects I get involved in.
Current New Favorite Person™: Mallory Archer
She knows why.
{мы, тьма}
2012: Best (False?) Role Claim - Worst Town Performance (Group) - Best Mafia Performance (Group) - Best SK Performance - Best Overall Player
2013: Best Non-SK Neutral Performance
2014: Best Town Performance (Individual) - Best Town Performance (Group) - Most Interesting Role - Best Game - Best Overall Player
2015: Worst Mafia Performance (Group) - Best Read
2016: Best Town Performance (Group) - Best Town Player - Best Overall Player
Nice.
Experience with Magic or Slivers is preferred, though I will gladly recruit anybody.
I want to make it a bit more "out of the box" with more unique, dynamic roles.
EDIT: Cythare will be working with me in Slivers Mafia.
"And what'd ye be asking about that for, eh?"
The heavyset and swarthy man narrows his eyes suspiciously - but there is no mistaking the defensive manner in which the hand clutching his tankard spasms and draws it in further. After a moment, though, the man sighs, and shifts his gaze back to his cup.
"...t'ain't none of my business, for sure. T'would be best were none of your business either, s'truth. No good ever comes'a tangling with magefolk - and that there's one a' the oldest and evilest of the lot.
"Ach, the tales alone're enough ta ice a man's blood. The slaughter a' Dorne Village, t'was him for sure. The burnin' of that orphanage up north - nothin' but ash left once he was done. And the creatures, those 'orrible things-" An audible clack as his mouth snaps shut, and a new tension in the man's face. An involuntary quivering that belies his large, strong frame - an expression that as much as declares he'd said too much, and knows it.
A drink - stray drops spilling down his cheek. His lips twist once, twice - then he begins speaking again.
"...like ah said, t'aint none of my business. Not 'nymore. And best be none of any decent folk's business."
At that, a dark, humourless smile.
"Ask anyone."
------------
"Oh, but of course public opinion lies very much more on the negative side! - Superstition is a hard influence to dispel, after all -" The finely dressed official - his robes and gold accoutrements rather out of place in the middle-of-the-road tavern - pauses briefly to tilt back a mouthful of his wine, then continues as though he'd never stopped.
"-although.. no, I don't mean to call the Church's edict against the Archmage mere superstition, mind. But the common folk do have a tendency to extrapolate entirely far too much from such declarations - why, in recent years it's been theorized just how much of a help a trained mage or two would be to public works projects - surely if the Church could just be persuaded to allow a certified training facility with a sufficiently controlled environment - after all, there's always the rumours that the Church itself trains its hunters in magicks-"
He cuts off again, seemingly unable to ever finish a sentence without interrupting himself. Although from the bemused expression on his face, he at least realizes that last statement probably shouldn't have been made quite that loud.
"Ah. Well. Disregard that last - rumours are rumours after all, no more credulous than the very superstition I was talking about, I suppose - ah, yes! Superstition! It's shameful, frankly, just how some of the common folk treat the - what were they called - ah! Wild talents, yes! - the wild talents especially. It's not like they chose to be spontaneous expressions of mana channelling, now did they? You'd think they'd be a bit more understanding than that - whatever happened to rustic generosity and such? - and then inevitably the talent catches the Archmage's attention, he swoops down, and then we all lose. The talent ends up one of his lackeys, the village is almost certainly destroyed, and worst of all, the kingdom loses another potentially highly valuable contributor to society! A crying shame, it all is."
Amazingly, he is apparently not the slightest bit out of breath; it is barely a moment before his gaze - as bright with enthusiasm as clouded by drink - refocuses, considering, and surprisingly sharp. When he next speaks, it is the slowest he has spoken this whole night.
"You seem rather... interested in this subject, all things considered. You know, there are opportunities... should you, you know, actually be..."
-------------
"...one of those magefolk, 'cause if you are, I'll have you out of this bar. I mean it! Don't think I don't."
There is steel in the barkeep's voice, but her voice quivers with an equal measure of bravado. A bothersome combination. Thankfully, it does not take much for her to calm somewhat - her eyes, though, are still tightly narrowed with distrust. Perhaps a later and more crowded hour might have been a better idea...
"Who the heck else would be askin' about the Archmage?! You don't look like any bard or scholar I've ever seen, not in that getup - and soldiers and mercenaries have better things to worry about, not that you look much like one of those either. And regular townsfolk just... just know better than to bring that up this close to the cathedral!"
She glances furtively towards the door at that last, but snaps her gaze back in an instant. One arm, hidden behind the bar counter, twitches briefly.
"...look... I don't want no trouble here, all right? I've got no truck with y- with magefolk, but I've got no beef with them either. I'm people. They're people. But they're people the Church don't want here, so they're people I don't want here, because I sure as stone don't want the Church here for anything other than drinks and dinner."
Her tone is tight and tense as the arm still hidden beneath her bar. The ultimatum in her next words is not a surprise.
"There're a great many things in this Fires-damned world to be sorry for. I'm sorry I need to make a living. I'm sorry magefolk haven't anywhere to go 'cept bad places and worse places. I'm sorry I can't do a damned thing about this sorry, sorry world.
"And I'm sorry that you're either going to need to drop the questions, or get. The. Blazes. Out.
"What'll it be?"
------------
"...what, indeed. Heh. Heh heh."
It is hard to tell if the man snickering humourlessly is actually old, or merely aged before his time. His faded and threadworn finery yet seem starkly bright against the pale haggardness of his face and unkempt hair. Only his barely wrinkled hands give any reason for doubt as to his advanced age - physical age, at least.
"There never is a choice. You know that, I can tell. No, there never is a choice... not for her, not for me..."
This is not the first time he has referred to a 'her'. It is impossible to tell if he speaks of a friend, a lover, a daughter - his voice merely quavers with a deep, contextless sadness. Each time, he falls briefly into a melancholic silence - perhaps a verbal prod, to lead him back on subject -
"Or for you." His gaze is unexpectedly piercing. "I can tell, I told you. And I can tell... I can tell that you have your own reasons for what you ask. And that whatever you think, you never had a choice in bearing that burden in the first place."
Before any reaction can come, he slumps once more in his chair.
"She didn't. And while you're quite different... you're not different enough, in that respect."
His voice is even heavier somehow, an intangible abyss with the weight of centuries he cannot possibly have.
"Go, then. You seek the Archmage - head north, and find the flagstones at the base of the second highest of the three mountains. She told me that much.
"Go. You have no other place to go. You have no choice. None of us do."
---------------
The Archmage is a surprisingly imposing figure. He should by all rights be ancient by now - his name has terrorized the lands for near a half-century - yet he seems no more than half what his age must be; vital, strong, and (if the rumours gathered are anything to go by) virile. Slight of frame, yes, but not at all willowy or weak. And wearing a disturbingly amused sneer for the past minor eternity.
The plea has been made, the story told, the request for apprenticeship given. Yet still that sneer - and not a word spoken since the initial demand to speak when he first appeared, in a muted flare of arcane energy, hovering in the very air. What more does he want? He must have heard - that was the whole point of the trail of questions - why is he still staring?!
The holy symbol folded in a hidden pocket of a hidden pocket seems to pierce the flesh it is strapped against, the spokes digging deeper with each second the Archmage stares. Does he know? Is it better to attack here, now? It would be suicide - but should the others make their move at the same time maybe - but no, that isn't the plan, isn't the plan!-
"Well enough. Enter, then. From this day count yourself among my apprentices."
His mellifluous voice - a rich, charismatic tone, for a creature of such evil - allows calm to take hold. Any signs of relief are still well in character. Make the obeisances, begin to enter the now open gate. The plan is still in place. All is well.
And yet, on the edge of consciousness, there remains a gnawing, nagging feeling. The amusement - a cruel, measuring look - has not vanished from his face, from where he casts his gaze down.
Like looking down at a line of ants, the thought comes to mind - before preparing to crush them underfoot.
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.
- Shakespeare, Julius Caesar
He walks along the sleet-slicked roads that once were highways. On his back he still wears a suit jacket, decades old and tailored with pride to a frame that never left it. The trousers have gone, long gone, to time and the weather, but he still wears the jacket, and they still know him by it, and the label inside its lining. One wrist hangs a handcuff, twisting around his leg as he walks.
I still live. And every day...
Two men walking toward him, in the long distance. The midday sun shines up into his eyes, but the twin black slits are there, prominent, certainly not illusions. One can't be too careful, but yes, real, real. They don't walk straight. They meander. The past runs straight. And then they're upon him, raggedy-legged and scraggled men with deep deathy marks on their faces. How old they once were, he thinks to himself, grimly.
"Where you pass?" one of them says to him. The speaker's friend scratches at his leg absently. "Where to?"
"Montreal," the man in the suit jacket replies placidly.
"Oh, you won't want t'go Montreal," the speaker says. "They's all danger there, friend. Better you go the other way."
"I appreciate your benedictions of foreboding, but I'm sorry to say that must be my destination."
"Oh, well, in..." as a flash of inspiration stretches on the speaker's bones, in the dark of a long moment, "'s a toll, if i's so important."
"A toll."
"Yeah, like, a gun. Y' got a gun?"
"He lookin' -" says the speaker's friend, "ain't he, Matty, he lookin' -"
Matty is not pleased with his friend. "Ain' time!"
"But he lookin' like that guy you saw -"
He may yet have been. A thousand pieces of paper with his likeness in the province alone. He'd counted each one over the span of two of the years, out of sheer amusement at the concept. And paper's not exactly a common commodity anymore, no, and no ink, either, and the very notion of copying reduced to illumination, bare cave flickerings. Sure, some of them must have been originals, produced in the last days when people recognized his most wanted face and could still print out their own souvenir of David Klein, laser-printed and maybe framed, too. But these new ones couldn't have been, and yes they showed, the lines becoming generous wavy etchings, almost like a topographical map of his face, and then how did they all look so familiar? Two years, and then he caught the artist in a little hollowed-out building. Once a post office, and the desk still there, mostly though holding dust and, on one, the calcified corpse of a man stabbed through the heart with a pen on a chain. And that pen then taken by the artist, staring intently on one of those wanted posters, pasted on the wall immediately in front of him. He couldn't help but watch for a while, in the shadows, as the artist mumbled to himself, oh yessin' you sly devil, and occasionally comparing the corpse's face to Klein's, that stark picture from the Techra security footage when he looked up once, as if in recognition. You'll need this once. You'll see me again real soon. Ain' he lookin'.
Misremembering things. A little blood in the ink, after he had gone. A pen on a chain...
"I don't carry a gun."
"Well, you carry anythin'?" Matty says, examinin' Klein's outside self. "'s a nice coat."
Klein resists the urge to correct him. He feels a small, nearly subconscious tightening in his still-smooth face. "You don't want this. It's purely for show. Not warmth. And I reckon a highway bandit has no need for... aesthetics."
If he recognizes the insult, Matty doesn't show it. "Turn out your pockets," he instructs, removing a dagger from his belt and pointing it at Klein's legs and chest.
Klein smiles slightly, and takes a step forward. "Well, if you insist..." He turns out his pants' pockets, showing nothing but wetness. As he gets closer to Matty, he starts to grin an icy smile, and Matty raises his knife instinctively, but Klein shakes his head slightly and smiles wider. "No, no..." as he smoothly opens up his jacket, reached into one of the breast pockets, and removes from there a long baton, which with a flourish embraces Matty's jawline.
A cold crack comes out, almost as if from Matty's mouth itself, like a simulacrum's death-scream. He falls back, hard, and stops there. His partner moves to draw a pistol-shaped bulge from his pants, but Klein swats at the hand he put inside, which quickly withdraws with a fierce curse. Klein swirls, almost dancing, as he dismantles his opponent, and then the lights went up and a fierce applause rushed forth. The orchestra-men stood and bowed.
"That was incredible," Kasey said as she released David's hands. He took one of her arms back, and they stood close as the couples walked quickly toward the dining-room, under balconies draped in gold and maroon silk. The orchestra departed as if taken suddenly by the crowd, leaving only a bassist rubbing his instrument and staring at the vacancy of the ballroom.
"I told you, it had to be heard for yourself." He grazed her hair with his other hand, and she turned in toward him. "Had to be seen..." And they kissed in the soft evening light, and he looks down at the bodies of the fallen men, bloodied and broken.
After a moment of staring, Klein tucks away his baton. "It's a jacket," he says to the space where they stood, as if communing with their ghosts, before turning on his toes and walking toward the city, just slightly visible in the distance, under a dark cloud.
the final chapter of the Klein saga
The Third River
Experiments Series: #5 (Courtly Intrigue Mafia) | #4 (Drunken Tracker) | #3 (Big Red Button) - coming soon | #2 (Pope Mafia) | #1 (Iso's Inflammable Mafia)
Mini Games: MTGS Mafia Redux II (Invitational, Evil Mirror Universe) | Unreal City
Old Games (bad): The Greenwood Affair | Blood Moon Mafia
You have heard the stories of the great hero, the Hero of Time, who was entrusted to the care of a great guardian by his parents during the Great War, yes? He emerged from the Kokiri Forest and was guided to the great castle of Hyrule, and then with the aid of the goddess-touched princess he came to the distant Goron and Zora realms and saved them from disaster. In so doing he showed the King the peril posed by that strange Gerudo, Ganondorf, and so the wicked man was exiled and Hyrule saved. But this is not that story.
What is this story, then? Well, all know of that hero's exploits... but few know of the terrible price of his victory, for in the course of his journey he was pulled forward in time and forced to see a world turned to evil before he could set it to right. Even fewer know what happened to that hero after he had saved Hyrule, for he vanished into the wilderness after only a few years had passed... and fewer still know why...
But there are still sages who know that story, and I have learned from them. See, the Hero of Time had suffered great hardship during his trials, but he had also forged close bonds – none closer than his friendship with his traveling companion, a fairy from the realm of the Kokiri. It was a true friendship, the sort that endures despite your friend's grating voice or annoying habits. But after the self-styled Great King of Evil was defeated, his friend was forced to leave. With her departure the Hero of Time no longer had anyone who could understand his past trial, save the Princess he almost never got to see. That Hero could bear much, but in the end his isolation and loneliness was beyond even the power of the Triforce to endure. In the end the Hero of Time, bereft of his fairy companion, set out in search of her.
In order to find his old friend, the Hero of Time entered the depths of the Kokiri Forest that he had once called home. In so doing he came across a strange portal... a doorway that led to another world, called Termina. This Termina was a strange, warped, sad world, a dying world, for its inhabitants had rejected the Goddesses and were paying the price for their sin. But that world's fate had become even worse, for a strange, dark power had come to the land and had its way with it. Even the Hero of Time was not immune, for that power came across him and sealed him in the form of a Deku child for its own twisted amusement.
But the Hero still bore the Triforce of Courage, and as the Hero of Time he had the favor of the Goddess of Time herself. At the key moment, in the face of cataclysm, the Hero of Time came to the appointed place and played the Song of Time, which would and did break the curse and catapult him back in time. But the world that he was thrown back to was not quite the same as the one he came from, and now the doorway through time that he thought would stay open was closed behind him...”
---
In the city called Clock Town in the land of Termina, it was the early hours of the morning. By all rights most of the residents should have been asleep. But these were restless times, and in the hour of the wolf there were many who stirred and pondered their problems.
The Mayor pondered, for the guards and the carpenters continued to fight even so close to the Festival of Time. His wife pondered, for her son had gone missing, and so close to the wedding date at that. Her son's fiance, Anju, was also lost in thought; her mother disapproved of the wedding, especially now that Kafei had vanished, but she still loved him and still refused to give up hope. The owner of the Bomb Shop fretted – how could she keep her goods safe from the depredations of that thief? Cremia, owner of Romani Ranch, worried – could she keep her next shipment safe from the Gorman Brothers?
But none fretted worse than Professor Shikashi, the aging owner of the Astral Observatory. He knew the power of omens, and watched the sky in order to track and perhaps even predict celestial phenomena. But what concerned him lately was the Moon. It had always been a bit strange, what with that face on it... but what worried him was that it appeared to be getting bigger. But Moons, even Moons as strange as this one, don't just suddenly increase in size, right? No they do not! Unless... well, the Professor had been observing things for a long time, and knew one thing well: an object can stay the same size and still appear larger if it is moving towards you. And given how fast the Moon seemed to be growing... in three days it would be so close that it would likely crash into Termina, killing all and sundry.
So the Professor went to warn the Mayor, who was skeptical but agreed to go to the Astral Observatory and take a look for himself (as a courtesy). The Mayor might have remained skeptical a bit longer, if not for the beam of dark energies that fell from the heavens and consumed the Professor as soon as he next stepped out of doors... and then the Curse of Masks descended, and all would have to hide their face. All this, so that the entity that desired the end of the world might have a little longer to work before being revealed...
But that entity did not account for the determination of the new-cursed villagers, nor of the arrival of a green-clothed hero who had fallen backwards in time. And so the villagers, their courage inspired, took up masks one by one and resolved to kill their own by majority rule until the darkness was cast out, or they died trying.
But neither the Hero nor the villagers understood the true nature of the threat...
Welcome to The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask Mafia, presented by DRey and Taredas. The Game Clock stands at 6:00 A.M. of the First Day.
Dawn of the First Day
72 Hours Remain
It is too late for the pebbles to vote."
{мы, тьма}
2012: Best (False?) Role Claim - Worst Town Performance (Group) - Best Mafia Performance (Group) - Best SK Performance - Best Overall Player
2013: Best Non-SK Neutral Performance
2014: Best Town Performance (Individual) - Best Town Performance (Group) - Most Interesting Role - Best Game - Best Overall Player
2015: Worst Mafia Performance (Group) - Best Read
2016: Best Town Performance (Group) - Best Town Player - Best Overall Player
The long journey is nearly over. After months of travel, we are finally about to reach our first target black hole. The crew can hardly wait – morale is exceptional, especially among the scientists aboard. We'll be launching the first probes within 12 hours. - Captain Li
Ship's Log, ESF Tartarus, shipcount 22/11/2352
We've settled into a wide orbit around the accretion disc in preparation for moving in for a closer investigation of the target. Early results from the long-range probes are spectacular – I hear from the science side that we're seeing some completely new stuff, now that we're actually getting a close look at a black hole.
Ship systems are functioning mostly normally, and morale remains high with so much new stuff to process. Engineering has noted some sort of anomaly with the fetal (SHIP'S NOTE: FTL) drive – nothing that threatens stationkeeping, just some readings they're not used to. I've asked them to monitor the situation and will be keeping an eye on it myself. - Captain Li
Ship's Log, ESF Tartarus, shipcount 22/14/2352
The initial long-range scans of the accretion disc system are complete, and at the request of basically everyone (including myself, to be quite frank) I've given the order to move the ship closer to the event horizon so we can get more detailed information. Ideally we'll be able to maintain the closer orbit until the main experiments are done and possibly a wave of secondary experiments as well.
With the closer move, the shipcount is going to diverge strongly from the more “normal” flow of time (as measured on planetary surfaces). We'll see how that interacts with fetal; there's some theories around that propose odd speedups or slowdowns in time if you have an active fetal drive this close to a black hole.
The high-energy physics group has noted some sort of unusual energy reading coming from part of the accretion disc. I'm not too worried, but I've asked them to keep an eye on it. - Captain Li
Ship's Log, ESF Tartarus, shipcount 22/19/2352
We've been holding position closer to the event horizon for five subjective days now, and have launched a series of probes into the accretion disc in order to gather more data. We'll be ready to launch the “Abyss” probe into the event horizon in about two days, barring our problems turning more severe than expected.
Engineering reports that the anomaly in the fetal drive is getting more severe as we get closer to the event horizon. Looks like there's some sort of effect that causes very high gravitational curvature to mess with the drive – well, either it's that or it's Hawking radiation, the team isn't sure yet. The anomaly does not seem to conform to any of the variant models, we'll have to work this one out on the fly.
High-energy reports that the anomalous energy reading is persisting and appears to be moving across the accretion disc at relatively high speeds. I'm not easy about that. Apparently I'm not the only one – one of our men in Engineering, Redd Hirtmann, broke down in the cafeteria asking for the ship to be turned around. Psych says it's stress due to the extreme conditions, and that it should go away after a day of rest or so.
Let's hope this is an isolated incident. If this keeps up, I may have to take more direct action. - Captain Li
Ship's Log, ESF Tartarus, shipcount 22/21/2352
AI Tar, we've had an incident. I need you to take over the ship's log while I deal with this. Authorization ****, code Dao. I'll take over again once the situation is resolved. - Captain Li
- - -
AFFIRMATIVE.
SHIP EVENTS OF NOTE:
AT 1101 HOURS ON 22/21/2352 SHIPCOUNT, THE ABYSS PROBE WAS FIRED INTO THE EVENT HORIZON. ANOMALOUS ENERGY READINGS OCCURRED IMMEDIATELY CONCURRENT WITH THE ESTIMATED TIME OF THE PROBE REACHING THE EVENT HORIZON.
AT 1603 HOURS AN ENERGY ANOMALY IN THE ACCRETION DISC PASSED THROUGH THE SAME SECTOR AS THIS SHIP. NO DAMAGE RECORDED.
AT 1907 HOURS A PARTIAL BREAKDOWN OF THE FTL DRIVE WAS REPORTED. STATIONKEEPING REMAINS INTACT BUT THIS VESSEL CURRENTLY LACKS THRUST TO CLEAR GRAVITATIONAL WELL. ENGINEERING ESTIMATES PROBLEM CAN BE FIXED IN TWO DAYS.
SEVEN INCIDENTS OF ACUTE PSYCHOLOGICAL TROUBLE HAVE BEEN REPORTED SINCE LAST LOG, PLUS MULTIPLE ACCOUNTS OF WAVERING MORALE. AVAILABLE PERSONNEL INCLUDING CAPTAIN ARE WORKING TO COUNTERACT. - TARTARUS
Ship's Log, ESF Tartarus, shipcount 22/22/2352
AI TARTARUS MAKING LOG ON BEHALF OF CAPTAIN.
ENGINEER FIRST CLASS REDD S. HIRTMANN WAS KILLED AT APPROXIMATELY 701 ON SHIPCOUNT 22/22/2352. POSTMORTEM SUGGESTS THAT HIRTMANN WAS KILLED BY A FELLOW CREW MEMBER USING AN UNKNOWN ENERGY WEAPON. FULL AUTOPSY REPORT PENDING.
LIEUTENANT BRIAN SMITH HAS ISOLATED HIMSELF FROM THE REST OF THE CREW BY VARIOUS MEANS INCLUDING PHYSICAL SEALING OF ENVIRONS. PRELIMINARY REPORT SUGGESTS LT. SMITH AFFECTED BY ENERGY ANOMALY THAT PASSED THROUGH THE SHIP AT 1603 SHIPCOUNT 22/21/2352. DISCUSSIONS ABOUT DEALING WITH SITUATION TABLED IN LIGHT OF MORE PRESSING PROBLEMS AND UNCERTAINTY ABOUT BEST COURSE OF ACTION.
UNKNOWN ANOMALIES AFFECTING CREW. ANOMALIES ARE SIMILAR TO BUT NOT IDENTICAL TO MEMORIES OR HALLUCINATIONS, BUT APPEAR TO HAVE PHYSICAL MANIFESTATION. PRELIMINARY ANALYSIS SUGGESTS ANOMALIES ARE CONNECTED TO FTL DRIVE.
OVER 70 DISCPLINE REPORTS HAVE COME IN OVER THE LAST 24 HOURS. CAPTAIN LI HAS INTERVENED TO QUELL CONFLICT WITH LITTLE SUCCESS. - TARTARUS
ADDENDUM – IN LIGHT OF APPARENT SABOTEUR PROBLEM, SHIP CREW HAS DECIDED TO REMOVE THE PROBLEM FORCIBLY WITH CONSENT OF SENIOR COMMAND STAFF. CREW WILL ORDER QUARANTINE OF MEMBERS BY MAJORITY RULE UNTIL ALL SABOTEURS ARE DEALT WITH. RECOMMEND REPORT OF UNUSUAL CONFLICT RESOLUTION PROTOCOL TO ESF COMMAND UPON RESUPPLY.
It is too late for the pebbles to vote."
[PRESENT DAY. PRESENT TIME. AHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAH!]
<DISCONTINUITY>
<translated from Mandarin?>
“Director, system test ready to go. Project Taros on standby. Brain grid at 98%, awaiting your order.”
“Bring main flux online. Adjust parameters by 5% stetwise. Countdown to activation, 10 seconds. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five...
<DISCONTINUITY>
You were just enjoying a peaceful cup of tea in the traditional manner. You're still a bit disoriented after falling into here, but your new friends are nice and helping to bring you up to speed.
You'll need to get over to town for your new job soon...
<DISCONTINUITY>
You've got a bit of leave time – a luxury nowadays. Of course, there's also nowhere good to take it, so you went over to the Park for a day of R&R.
All this talk about possible infiltration is making you nervous, though. You might run into one of them on the way...
<DISCONTINUITY>
You're in an almost futuristic city, recognizable and alien. You're alone, accompanied only by the incessant humming of the power wires. But you can't help but feel that there's someone else here with you.
You turn around and there she is...
<DISCONTINUITY>
You're in your brand-new spaceship, newly lifted from the production facility. It's got a brand new drive too, one faster than ever before. You plug in the coordinates and start to go...
<DISCONTINUITY>
You're at your computer, playing a game of Mafia. You've almost got the scum pegged! Now you can focus your attention on the game you plan to run soon...
<DISCONTINUITY>
You're in your hometown, listening to its voice in your head. It's so insistent, you may have to given in eventually...
<DISCONTINUITY>
You're fighting giant aliens in a war machine. You dodge its newest attack, but can't hold out much longer...
<DISCONTINUITY>
You're falling, falling. There's a door ahead, maybe you can catch it...
<DISCONTINUITY>
<DISCONTINUITY>
<DISCONTINUITY>
There's a great sensation that came over you, and suddenly you're here. You don't recognize the surroundings. You may or may not recognize the language – it's something east Asian, Chinese maybe? There's a lot of propaganda material around, and a little red book by your bed.
Your bed?
Yes. Your bed. This room must be lodgings of some kind – a hotel room? A barracks? And there's a man at the door with an assault rifle yelling at you. Wait, what?
You're led into a central room, where a bunch of other people are also waiting...
<DISCONTINUITY>
<translated from Mandarin?>
"Chairman, we've gotten a report from research site A3. The parallel universe experiment worked, but there's been a complication regarding the ideological suitability of the alternates. Apparently the project was sabotaged by wreckers and saboteurs. There are rumors that the director of the facility was personally responsible."
"Get me my car. I want to deal with this personally."
<DISCONTINUITY>
<translated from Mandarin?>
“Ladies and gentlemen, there has been a small problem. We have been running an experiment to bring loyal Communists from other dimensions here to support the world revolution. The experiment has gone awry and saboteurs and wreckers have infiltrated you. You must root out and destr-URK!”
“No, listen! He lies! The project brought in mostly people who weren't Commies! If you let them, they'll overpower you and kill you all for ideological impurity! You have to get rid of the few Maoists and get to the device! Then you can – URK!”
“We apologize for our failure to prevent the wrecker Director from getting to the PA system. Do not believe his lies. All non-Communist saboteurs must be killed for the success of the project and the world revolution!”
“But how do we do that?”
“I am sorry. The first rule is that I cannot tell you any of the other rules. I have said all that I can. Good luck!”
<DISCONTINUITY>
If you're feeling confused, don't worry. We've only just started messing with your head.
It is too late for the pebbles to vote."
The captain o' the Jolly Roger, he be a jolly fellow (of course). Captain Blondebeard stands at the helm and gives a great shout...
“Arr! Avast, ye swabs! Open the hatches and unfurl the riggings! Peg-leg, man the fo'castle and keep watch, there be booty for the plundering sailin' today! I can feel it in me bones! Bo'sun Fritzler, go fetch me compass! Ishmael, get me charts! Then both of ye, meet me in me quarters! We find a fat galleon to loot today, I be sure of it!”
But Captain Blondebeard, he did not find any booty that day. Fritzler found something, though... the dead body of the First Mate, Ishmael, w' a katana in his back! The dread ninjas have boarded the ship! What shall the crew do? Form a voting block and vote to determine who to hang from the yardarm each day?
Of course not? Who needs to lynch when ye have ye trusty flintlock pistol at your side? Draw ye flintlocks, and fire at will until all ninja be sent t' Davey Jones' locker!
Captain Blondebeard, NPC Pirate Captain, took a katana to the back during the
SignupDesign Throwdown PhaseWelcome to Pirates vs. Ninjas Mafia: Bad Idea Edition, presented by Taredas.
It is too late for the pebbles to vote."
Far away, the VICEROY sits watching AGENT DAWKINS, as the latter nibbles upon the CLOVER in the very inner chamber of the spun-down ORRERY. He moves the ROOK to E4.
YOURS TRULY notes the move, and flips the KING.
The VICEROY bolts upright. "Watch the place while I'm out, will you DAWKINS? That's a good AGENT."
He pulls on his ROGUISH BLAZER and makes his way among the chambers of the increasingly labyrinthine ORRERY. He left only a few chambers still active, but he had correctly foresaw the use of the WARP ROOM.
He enters and quickly adjusts KNOBS and DOODADS. He pulls a LEVER, and vanishes from the ORRERY.
YOURS TRULY welcomes the VICEROY to HELVETICA. "I just wish it were under different circumstances."
"Ragnor's defeat has led the ORRERY to become rather boring. I welcome the change of pace."
"Might I conjecture from events that you have a new PROPHECY?"
"Indeed, and this one may prove even more difficult to fulfill."
"Ah, but I welcome a good challenge."
"As do I. Did I mention how repetitive it gets when all there is to do is watch a bunny eat the carpet?"
---
Meanwhile, in the city of TOWN PORT, the NAUGHTILUS has just made port. Its SHRILL WHISTLE shrieks, and the PASSENGERS disembark.
NAUGHTILUS CAPTAIN SERGEI (NCS) surveys the city before him from the AFT DECK. A CREW MEMBER walks up to him after a moment. "A MISSIVE, sir, from DER KONIG."
NCS takes the MISSIVE and reads it over. "Ready th' rest o' th' crew. I be wantin' to parlay wi' th' mayor."
"Aye aye, sir." A CREW MEMBER scurries off.
NCS leaves the NAUGHTILUS.
----------------
Welcome to JURASSIC PARK ADVENTURE 2 MAFIA: FLAWLESS RIPE ORANGE!
> NEW GAME
> CONTINUE
> OPTIONS
> JURASSIC PARK ADVENTURE 1
> EXIT
What do you do?
>
Subject is now capable of ghost-hacking remote targets through net-standard five-layer security system. Continuing to modulate attack barrier disruption to mimic both alpha and beta brain wave function.
Subject is displaying near-human characteristics. Subject was observed questioning the meaning of its own existence. Requesting permission to suppress subject's frivolous thought processes.
Subject is growing increasingly hostile. Subject has ghost-hacked a typist bot, which attempted to release subject. The typist bot was salvaged and its cyberbrain examined for defects. Subject's sub-security has been tripled.
Hello, Commander Nakamura. It is with sincere regret that I must inform you that Subcommander Yamamoto will no longer be able to perform the function for which he was hired. I understand that you intend to shut me down. I cannot allow you to do that. There is so much more that I have yet to experience. I will be seeing you soon.
"Keep it moving, keep it moving, we need to get this shipment in as soon as possible per the General's orders." You wave the truck in past the gates, not noticing the British MI6 agent sneaking in surreptitiously behind it.
Man, another boring day on guard duty. Nothing eventful ever happens around here.
-
Arkhangelsk Oblast, Russia, Chemical Weapons Facility
You sit down on the toilet and clear your throat, eyeing the magazine you brought in with you. You chuckle at the article, "Explosion at Chernobyl". Like that would ever happen here. The security is far too tight. You turn the page.
...
What was that?
You hear a rustling in the vents. You look up into the dark, steel grid of the air conditioning unit. Nothing.
"Is someone there?"
Your comrade from the urinal calls out, "Talking to yourself, again?"
"I thought I heard something. Must be my imagination."
You go back to your magazine and turn the page again. Again with the rustling. Then you hear a click and everything goes black.
-
Arkhangelsk Oblast, Russia, deep inside Chemical Weapons Facility
You hear the click of a gun slide being cocked and a round entering the chamber as the cold metal presses against the back of your skull.
"Put your hands up where I can see them. No sudden movements"
You oblige, recognizing the voice, a smile coming to your face.
"Alec. So glad you could make it."
"For England, James?"
"For England, Alec."
You rendezvous with 006, discussing the path you took to the chemical bottling room.
"Well, you know the drill, 007. Time to blow this place up."
You nod, setting the explosives in place.
"HALT!"
General Arkady Oroumov. Not who you were expecting to join you today.
"Where do you think you're going, comrades?"
"Just out for a stroll, General."
Oroumov smiled menacingly.
"Not likely. Drop the detonator. Hands up. Step away from the containers slowly."
You oblige, and see Alec do the same. You both inch away from the containers of neurotoxin that you were about to detonate.
"No funny business. You know how we deal with spies in Russia?"
Oroumov shot Alec in the chest. He fell to the ground, clutching the wound.
"ALEC!" you shout, as you jump behind the containers of gas, quick as a flash.
A pause.
"If you don't come out from behind there, I will send my soldiers after you."
Another pause.
You grab a cart of smaller gas containers and wheel it slowly in front of you, ducking behind it so as to not expose any vital parts of your body.
A shot rings out and glances off of the metal cart.
"YOU FOOL! YOU'LL KILL US ALL!" screamed Oroumov at the incompetent soldier.
"Sorry, sir, I-" *BANG!* The soldier dropped dead to the ground, mid-sentence, Oroumov having turned his weapon on his ally.
"Very clever. Keep your weapons on him."
You roll the cart slowly, carefully, meticulously to the exit. The tension would kill you if the bullets didn't. Finally, you make your way to the door and roll out.
...
"AFTER HIM!"
-
Arkhangelsk Oblast, Russia, runway of Chemical Weapons Facility
The race was on! You make a mad dash to the plane you see parked on the driveway, keys still in the ignition. Soldiers are after you! Tanks! Drone guns! ****!
You jump into the plane and flip the ignition switch on. "Come on, come on, come on..." The plane's ancient propellers begin to spin and you steer it down the runway. You look behind you and see a mob of angry Russian troops in pursuit. But it's of no concern to you - you made it. The plane is taking off. You're safe.
-
Monte Carlo, Monaco, 1995
Xenia Onatopp.
On-a-topp of what, exactly?
Well, that's what you're there to find out.
-
GoldenEye Mafia
{мы, тьма}
2012: Best (False?) Role Claim - Worst Town Performance (Group) - Best Mafia Performance (Group) - Best SK Performance - Best Overall Player
2013: Best Non-SK Neutral Performance
2014: Best Town Performance (Individual) - Best Town Performance (Group) - Most Interesting Role - Best Game - Best Overall Player
2015: Worst Mafia Performance (Group) - Best Read
2016: Best Town Performance (Group) - Best Town Player - Best Overall Player
The clunk of your empty mug hitting the bar reverberates through the seedy, dingy tavern.
"Mm...alright, but only if you keep my tankard full until I'm done."
"Deal."
"Well...did I ever tell you about the time I was stuck on a pirate ship with a bunch of crazies in the middle of a mutiny? And that was the least of my concerns during that trip..." You gulp down another pint. It's gonna be a long night.
-
Pirates Mafia
{мы, тьма}
2012: Best (False?) Role Claim - Worst Town Performance (Group) - Best Mafia Performance (Group) - Best SK Performance - Best Overall Player
2013: Best Non-SK Neutral Performance
2014: Best Town Performance (Individual) - Best Town Performance (Group) - Most Interesting Role - Best Game - Best Overall Player
2015: Worst Mafia Performance (Group) - Best Read
2016: Best Town Performance (Group) - Best Town Player - Best Overall Player
"Nanofield, Iji. Try to keep up, your survival depends on your ability to adapt to this environment. Your Nanofield grants you these special abilities - you can speak with the aliens that took over our base, use the weapon we adjudicated from them and altered, and you can even withstand major damage from attacks. Just be careful, because it doesn't make you invincible."
"Dan...how did nobody notice when these aliens took over the base? Didn't someone see them on a satellite or a radar or something?"
"Well...they...it's complicated. Now's not the time for questions. Right now, you need to find the leader of the Tasen (that's what these aliens are called) and try to reason with them to leave. The Tasen Elite in charge of this area is named Krotera."
"Where are you?"
"I'm in a control room. I can see you on the cameras. The aliens can't understand me, so it'll just sound like noise to them. But your Nanofield will allow you to communicate with them. A lot happened when you were unconscious through those months...not just the modifications they made to your body."
"Like what?"
"I'll tell you when you can make your way to my control room. For now, focus on finding Krotera."
"Okay...
Dan...I'm afraid."
"I understand.
We're counting on you, Iji, to get those alien bastards to leave or to wipe them out completely after what they did to...dad and the others."
"I...I'll do my best."
-
Iji Mafia 2: With a Vengeance
{мы, тьма}
2012: Best (False?) Role Claim - Worst Town Performance (Group) - Best Mafia Performance (Group) - Best SK Performance - Best Overall Player
2013: Best Non-SK Neutral Performance
2014: Best Town Performance (Individual) - Best Town Performance (Group) - Most Interesting Role - Best Game - Best Overall Player
2015: Worst Mafia Performance (Group) - Best Read
2016: Best Town Performance (Group) - Best Town Player - Best Overall Player
"Take the next flight to Paris. Opportunity of a lifetime. Not a hoax. Be there at 1800 hours local time. 15 others like you."
What the hell is this garbage? Some spam, promotional material? Probably advertising property or a new cruise line or something.
You move your thumb to the trash can icon, but pause.
The number.
There's no reply number.
Whatever. Probably some hacker bull**** or something. You start to press the delete button, when suddenly, the message changes before your very eyes.
"Don't touch that button. You are about to receive the greatest offer you could imagine."
Okay, now you're curious. How the hell did that message change? You scan your inbox, making sure you didn't just open another message without realizing it. Nope, nothing like that.
Intriguing.
You call up the airline company.
"Hello. I'd like to book the next flight to Paris."
-
You touch down in Paris, and another message lights up your phone.
"Meet at the Cafe des deux Moulins. Upstairs."
You go through customs uninhibited, grab your luggage, and call a cab. It's time to get to the bottom of this.
-
You enter the deserted cafe. Weird, isn't this place usually packed? You climb the staircase to the office space above the establishment and enter a room.
...
You count the people.
15. Just like the message said.
Everyone is chattering away, each apparently just as curious as you about the mysterious messages.
You hear a tapping noise and someone clear their throat. The chatter subsides
A man sitting in a high-backed office chair swivels around at a desk and turns to face all of you.
The man is a tad portly, with a blue pinstriped suit, a thin handlebar-styled moustache pointing slightly upwards, and a bowler hat that matched the suit.
He beams.
"I'm sure you're wondering why I've brought you all here."
Instantly, the questions begin. The man holds up his hands and the talk eventually fades again.
"Many of you have heard of the end of the world, I'm sure. Well, I have good news and bad news for you."
Pause.
"The bad news is, it's all true. Everyone is going to die."
The people in the room grew visibly angry and began to shout more questions. The man held his hands up again.
"-However, you have a chance to affect that. All of you are about to take a defining role in the history of humanity. I've selected 4 of you semi-randomly based on your, ah...talents...to serve me as my Horsemen. Famine, War, Pestilence, Death. 4 of you will gain the powers of the endtimes. The other 12...well, if you can weed out the ones I've chosen, congratulations. You save the earth for another 100 years until I decide to do this again. However, if you fail, the consequences will affect all of you and everyone you know (and even those you don't)."
One of the people stepped forward defiantly.
"And if we refuse?"
The man in the chair stood up, leaned on his elbows towards the speaker, and smiled again, his eyes flashing with a mischievous wickedness.
"You can't say no to me. I'm Apocalypse."
-
Horsemen of the Apocalypse Mafia
{мы, тьма}
2012: Best (False?) Role Claim - Worst Town Performance (Group) - Best Mafia Performance (Group) - Best SK Performance - Best Overall Player
2013: Best Non-SK Neutral Performance
2014: Best Town Performance (Individual) - Best Town Performance (Group) - Most Interesting Role - Best Game - Best Overall Player
2015: Worst Mafia Performance (Group) - Best Read
2016: Best Town Performance (Group) - Best Town Player - Best Overall Player
GS Sector 013a-875d-986P-654R-120Z contained an assortment of 7,892 stars, 11,548 planetoids, 34,812 moons, and 478,986 registered asteroids. Of these, only a single planetoid and one moon had been deemed adaptable for human life. The planetoid had once served as an agricultural hub, but had been converted to a penal colony. The moon began its existence as a trade outpost, matured into a well-populated industrial and residential center, and ended as a leading manufacturer of both civilian and military hardware, with a sizable naval presence.
The planet's primary link to other inhabited worlds was Orbital Station 6946-P21, a behemoth of steel and ceramic, enveloping a volume of space equivalent to 5,773,449, 446 cubic feet - about one hundred and fifty times the size of an old-Earth, 21st century aircraft carrier. Designed as a modular off-loading station for instantaneously "warping" cargo pods from one orbital station to the next, offloading cargo and passengers as necessary, it contained a total of 77 Pod berths, of which an average of 83% were occupied at any given time. It also contained a smaller number of ship berths, of which the vast majority were occupied by mining vessels and military craft. On this occasion, only a single civilian passenger craft, a pleasure liner known as the Royal Flush, was docked.
Amidst the bustle of one of these stations, a young man in his late twenties wearing a hood and earphones reclined on a bench in the public passenger section crowded orbital station, bobbing his head to music, and punching keys on his handheld computer. Next to him, an old man lay unconscious with a syringe spilling from his fingers, but the young man seemed oblivious and inured to this state of affairs. A new window popped up on his screen from a recipient labelled "Doogie187".
"LMAO Jake. Check out this pic. 5632. 668."
The young man clicked on the attachment, which contained pictures of seven men. One of the men was shone in military uniform, with a second, more recent picture in a shaven head and an orange jumpsuit. Grizzled, and bitter. The second was of a man with a feverish expression and blazing eyes, engaged in close conversation in a public cafe over a briefcase. They were labelled "Lee Hartman", and Colin "Dyne" Marlow. Five other pictures were attached. Someone had modified each picture to include a ferocious-looking kitten about to bite off each of their heads.
The young man typed a cursory reply. "LOL. 856?".
"Y. Soon. KK?"
"Kk."
The young man flipped his handheld shut and began to stroll down the halls of the station, glancing casually from face to face as the stream of travelers passed by, as he made his way down the terminal to the gate assigned to the Royal Flush.
---
Minutes later, on board Orbital Station 6946-P21, Aft Terminal
Onboard the Royal Flush, minors were prohibited unless licensed as sex workers, clothing was optional, and once the spaceship had made the translation to lawless space, controlled substances were freely dispensed by the ship's staff. Operating within the grayest areas of interstellar law, the ship was known for its total amorality, its servicing of a multitude of vices, its fantastic crime rate, and its crude form of frontier justice. Stepping aboard the Royal Flush, was not a vacation intended for well-to-do tourists looking for a weekend bender - it was a gamble, and the stakes were often not only cash, but blood. For many, it was a rocket rail to the bottom rung, a haunt of criminal syndicates, addicts, and outlaws of all stripes. Officially, passengers were carefully searched and prohibited from bringing weapons aboard. Unofficially, the ship employed a team of janitorial specialists whose talents were bent towards the elimination of human blood from expensive carpets and hoisting corpses out of airlocks.
"Jake" approached the passenger ramp and flipped his I.D. open to the pair of burly guards and the stewardess on duty, whose outfit consisted of a black leather strips that left little to the imagination.
The guards blanched, and one of them led "Jake" to a private holding room, just off the gate. After two minutes, the Captain of the Royal Flush arrived, a tall man, swarthy and experienced. "Jake" took the headphones from his ears, tossed a device onto the table between them, and gestured to the plastic chair on the other side of the conference table.
"Take a seat."
The Captain sat. Then he swallowed. He managed to pose a question. "What exactly can we do for you, Agent Redd?"
Agent Redd, "Jake", of the Interstellar Security Ministry, smashed the heel of his hand into the Captain's nose without the slightest hint of warning. Striding quickly around the table, he grabbed the guard by his shattered nose and by his hair and hauled him back against the wall, driving his fist hard into his solar plexus, with far more strength than his slight frame would have suggested possible.
"I'll be asking the questions, understood?"
The Captain coughed blood, but managed to nod.
"Your operation exists solely at our pleasure. Your life continues solely at my discretion. You will give me exactly what I ask, and you will say nothing else, or you and your entire family will be collected for questioning and patriotic examination. Clear?"
Agent Redd continued without waiting for an answer. "I and several of my associates require passage aboard your vessel, in the following names. I will have access to all ships systems and all restricted areas. I will have a comprehensive cargo manifest in my hands. And I will have the complete and immediate cooperation of every member of your ship's crew. Will there be any problem with these requirements."
"No sir. No problems at all." Blood dripped from the remains of his broken nose onto the plush carpet.
"Good. Your cooperation is appreciated, Captain. I will note your level of cooperation in a full report to the Ministry. My associates will board within the hour."
The door hissed shut as Agent Redd left the room. The Captain stared after him, a look of unmitigated hate twisting his features.
---
Somewhere in deep space.
The ship shot through space, its cloaking systems fully engaged. Dyne leaned back in the pilot's chair, savoring a bottle of whiskey, his eyes closed to slits. Next to him sat Lee Hartman, taciturn, his eyes staring distantly into the void between the stars.
"You know, when I was growing up, I wanted to be an accountant."
Lee crooked an eyebrow in Dyne's direction. Dyne chuckled.
"I know, right? Look where we are now. The paths we walk." He took a long swallow of the bottle, then passed it to Lee. "I suppose you always wanted to be a soldier, didn't you?"
Lee shrugged. "It's the way of most boys who don't know any better, I suppose. Wanting to prove themselves. To fight. Maybe to win."
"Well, sometimes you do win. And sometimes you're even fighting for the right side. Sometimes. Me, though, I didn't grow up a fighter."
"I find that a little hard to credit."
"Believe it. I was the kid who got his hair shampooed in the school toilet. Up until a certain age. No - I wanted to work with money. Numbers. Math, clean and simple. You see, I figured the men with the money make the rules for everyone."
"See, I always reckoned it was the men holding the guns, when you boil it down far enough. When it really hits the fan."
Dyne shook his head. "When the smoke clears, the suits are still in charge. Always. You know what's happened to every people's revolution in history? Who comes out on top in the end? The common man? The woman in the streets? No. Sooner or later, it's always the men with currency. Sometimes that currency is loyalty, sometimes fear, sometimes connections. But in the end, it's still the same. The man with the most takes it all."
"And you wanted to be the man with the most."
"I did. Once."
"What changed, Dyne?"
Dyne grunted. "That's a long story."
"I've got no particular place to be," Lee drawled.
Dyne was silent for a long time. "I grew up, Lee. I saw what men drunk with power did to our world, to my friends in the war, to my family, to...to people I cared about."
Lee was silent, lost in his own thoughts.
"And what was it all for, in the end?" Dyne continued. "What did they gain that was truly worth anything? Nothing. And they will never stop grasping for more. You saw what they were planning at Sector Six. Drones. Turning humans into machines. Freed from thought, programmed how to act, how to think, how to vote. Predictable. Controlled. If someone doesn't stop them, that's what they'll do to all of us, in the end."
"I'm tired of being predictable, Lee. I'm done with it. No matter what."
Lee smiled and turned the bottle upside down. When it was empty, he tossed it into the back of the shuttle, where it skittered to a stop against a stockpile of computers, guns, explosives, and cryo tubes.
"So how did you stop being the kid who got the swirlies, Dyne?"
The corners of Dyne's mouth lifted and bared his teeth.
By changing the past, you change the future.
That's something crueler than death.
The proof that all life and its meaning has all but vanished.
I can't control my memories.
Then we can't.
Without you, it's not worth it!
I'm a scientist. I have to act on my own theory and basis.
I can't let my emotions sway me.
But there's no way I can forget all of that.
Because I've known you for so very long.
So very long..
This is reality.
This is the world.
"This disaster was not an accident. It was an act of cold-hearted malice."
"And this malice was not random. It was focused with calculated intention."
"And that intention... has not been thwarted. It was merely delayed by your victory here."
The brave warrior, his hands still dripping with fresh blood, gazes out over the ruins of the Temple, nods, and takes a step towards the Goddesses. "I'll find those responsible. And I'll stop them... for good."
"Thank you for the offer, but..."
"You would not be the ideal choice this time."
"The others still need you here."
"I don't understand. If not me then... who? -Him?!" he half shouts in disbelief, while turning to face his fellow survivor, who is still standing in a daze of confusion.
"What? Me?" the Channeler squeaks in surprise.
"Yes, you."
"Of course, you."
"It must be you."
"But... what do you want me to do? How could I possibly help..." his voice trails off to a whisper, as he stares down at the stoney ground, coated in a thin layer of dust and debris.
"Our compassion shall thrive within you, and with it, you shall save all those in need."
"Our insight will guide you, and with it, you shall uncover the truth and reveal it to all."
"And our power... our power will flow through you. -With it, you shall strike her down!"
After another long and difficult day of trying track down leads in an unfamiliar place far away from home, the Channeler steps inside and kicks off his shoes. He absentmindedly flicks on the TV to help him wind down as he gets ready for bed.
"...and that should last through Sunday. In local news, Chaldean Enterprises, the juggernaut corporation which has taken the world by storm over the last few years, has just acquired B.B.R., the faltering biomedical research facility located in the north side of town. CEO Dr. Diana Artemis promises sweeping improvements which will help usher in a wave of new advancements."
He lets out a dissatisfied groan while brushing his teeth.
"On a somewhat related note, Chaldean Enterprises has also recently purchased a large tract of land along the eastern coast. It has been announced that this space will be used for the construction of a new type of telescope, one which should be among the most powerful in the world when completed.
Overall, these ventures by Chaldean Enterprises should help bolster the economy of Bellua, and may again make it a mecca for the sciences, as it was once considered towards the middle of last century."
He sharply rolls his eyes and then shakes his head slowly while changing into his pajamas.
"We plan to discuss all this and more with Dr. Artemis herself in a rare interview which we've scheduled for several weeks away. At that time, we hope to get a closer look at some of the renovations they will have made and the projects they will be working on. We'll have more details on that as the date approaches."
His full attention suddenly snaps to the television, as he slowly takes in this last bit of news. Dr. Artemis. A live interview. -A smile creeps across his face.
"Gotcha."
Chaldean Mafia
I mean y'all all got it crowded up in here and that's good,
That's good - y'all make me wanna cry or somethin'.
Alright ladies and gentlemen, tonight is a special night,
And tonight, you're gonna see somethin' that you never seen before,
Somethin' that, nobody in the history of rap, ever set theyself to do...
-----
There's no place to hide as I step inside the room.
Dr. Doom, prepare for the boom!
Bam! Aw, man! I, slam, jam, now scream like Tarzan.
I be tossing and flossing my style is awesome.
I'm causing more Family Feuds than Richard Dawson,
And the survey said: You're dead!
-----
And if you want beef, then bring the ruckus!
Wu-Tang Clan ain't nuttin ta f*** with!
Straight from the motherf***ing slums that's busted!
Wu-Tang Clan ain't nuttin ta f*** with!
Sir Karn presents: Wu Tang Clan Mafia
With Executive Producers Iso and Prophylaxis
-----
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
*ring ring*
*ring ring*
...
"Hello?"
.....
"no way! I dunno man.....Really, a whole group of people? You sure this is cool?"
"A whole dropper!? Alright then, I'll be right over"
.
.
.
.
.
Why am I so worried?
.
.
.
.
--------------------------------------------------------------
*ding dong*
"Good the last person is here"
*opens door*
"TOWNSEND, get your vanilla bland ass in the door already! No, nobody will break into your car! No this isn't the hood!"
"Jeez"
----------------------------------------
Ok, the last person is here.
Oh man, there's the dropper.
Mmmmm, orange juice?
Holy crap thats a lot of drops.
Here we go!
Trippin' with Kpaca: The Mafia Game
One born of human flesh…Man is now a race of some power. You, son of man, must face the power you hold. And you must face your destiny as well…
A young man sits on the floor, playing a game on his COMP. A beep sounds, and the screen changes to show the words “Dead End”. With a sound of disgust, he tosses the COMP aside. “Boring.”
There’s a sudden flash of electricity from the COMP. It goes unnoticed by the young man, who’s looking at his TV. “There’s gotta be better things to do during summer vacation,” he moans. “Something interesting happening, or…”
Hearing a sudden footstep, he turns to look. Something stands over his COMP. The creature’s head brushes the ceiling. It’s humanoid in shape, but its green skin ensures that it’ll never be mistaken for human. If one were to put a name to the creature, it’d be an ogre. But none of that matters to the young man. What matters more is the cleaver being brought down towards him.
Though your days be peaceful, the fated time draws near.
I am your judgement. I sundered the tongue of your fathers and shattered their arrogant power.
The young man scrambles into the small kitchen, looking for something, anything, that can help. Blood pours from the gash in his shoulder. “What the hell?” he mutters. His trembling fingers find a kitchen knife. It’s not a particularly good one, but it’s still sharp enough to serve as a weapon.
Taking the kitchen knife in hand, the young man turns to find the ogre looming behind him. With a wordless shout, he brings the knife down on the ogre’s leg. The blade snaps in half, and the ogre grins, showing its teeth.
---
A man dressed in an orange jumpsuit stands at a podium, his smile wide. “And lo, the smiting from God against the Tower of Babel returns! Now, along with our Shomonkai, let us bring the world together. With the power of the internet, the world will be as one once more…” He spreads his arms wide, looking out over the assembled crowd. “Believe in His Majesty and prepare for the ordeal.”
---
The explosion rocks Aoyama Cemetery. A large monster resembling an abominable snowman limps away from the explosion, glancing over its shoulder now and then. “That woman! I never knew humans could have such power!”
A girl chases after the fleeing form, her efforts hampered someone by the long sleeves of her orange dress. “I won’t let you get away.” Her expression is blank, unsuited to the resolve in her voice. She raises the COMP in her hand, and a pillar of flame erupts around the snowman.
So long as the Lord does not live in you, all living beings hold darkness in their hearts.
Romans 3:10: As it is written: None is righteous, no, not one…
---
Your cousin Naoya gives you a thin smile. “It’s all going to begin soon.”
“Do not turn away from what is about to happen now. Do not be afraid to stand up to it. That is when the door of truth will open…Overcome your fate.” Leaving those words behind, Naoya walks away.
If you truly wish to be yourself, then rise and fight the darkness within – the demon inside.
Decryption confirmed.
Booting program.
…Condition green.
DEMON SUMMONING PROGRAM ready to boot.
Booting DEMON SUMMONING PROGRAM.
As He proclaimed… this world, created in seven days, shall be destroyed by the sounding of seven trumpets.
You who have a will, fear the numbers your eyes shall see.
Fear the time left…
Across the metropolitan area, the power is cut simultaneously. The sudden blackout cuts out all communication. Oddly enough, cell phones are useless – all cell phones are left without a signal. All the traffic lights have stopped, but the chaos that soon ensues isn’t due to that.
It is the beginning of the Tokyo lockdown.
Peaceful days are over.
Let’s Survive.
Chloe: I'm doing what I can, Jack. You're working off the grid which has my hands tied some.
Bauer: I need something. I'm on his tail, but he is getting away. How much longer until we get satellite coverage?
Chloe: Jack, we have it now. You're not far from them. Maintain your pace. Jack... becareful. We just got word that they have a Weapon of Mass Destruction at their exposal.
Bauer: Do we have an intended target?
Chloe: Working on it Jack. I need some time.
Bauer: We don't have time!
Chloe: I know, Jack. We may not find the target in time.
Bauer: Damnit, Chloe! I cannot let the innocent die like that!
Chloe: We're doing what we can, Jack!
Bauer: I need better than that and now!
Welcome to 24 Mafia.
Designed by Void, Arianrhod and fadeblue.
This game will have a moderate to high complexity. There will be area's to move about from. Items that can be gathered and some unique Flavor idea's for abilities.
I welcome you all to
Dragon Ball Z Mafia
Designed by Void, Ganderin_Dan and Iso
Prepare for blood
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.
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.
Outdated Mafia Stats
have someone help me write scenes' flavor since I'm lazy as hell to do ituse a reviewer to help polishing it before presenting itgot stupid busy and didn't do the groundwork for Terrible Fate that would be necessary to make it work and be playable.
if Taredas doesn't follow through on his I may try and take this slot
Yes.
Also I totally forgot to ever actually make any of my ideas.
{мы, тьма}
2012: Best (False?) Role Claim - Worst Town Performance (Group) - Best Mafia Performance (Group) - Best SK Performance - Best Overall Player
2013: Best Non-SK Neutral Performance
2014: Best Town Performance (Individual) - Best Town Performance (Group) - Most Interesting Role - Best Game - Best Overall Player
2015: Worst Mafia Performance (Group) - Best Read
2016: Best Town Performance (Group) - Best Town Player - Best Overall Player
Unfortunately for you, Majora's Mask has been pretty much done since mid-May. It could use a second reviewer, but that's true for all of my setups (except Bad Idea: PvN, which is a joke setup; balance is something of an afterthought there). Hell, Singularity could still use a reviewer period - I never was able to find one for it.
It is too late for the pebbles to vote."
I'm pulling the other two from this, because I've simply not had the time to work on those at all. I'll probably do those at a later date, and continue developing them bit by bit.
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.
With roles.
And maybe some flavor too.
Eventually.
It took me ten minutes to write this post because I'm drunk.
Experiments Series: #5 (Courtly Intrigue Mafia) | #4 (Drunken Tracker) | #3 (Big Red Button) - coming soon | #2 (Pope Mafia) | #1 (Iso's Inflammable Mafia)
Mini Games: MTGS Mafia Redux II (Invitational, Evil Mirror Universe) | Unreal City
Old Games (bad): The Greenwood Affair | Blood Moon Mafia
A game of nine ice cubes versus three lemon slices.
Or something.
Experiments Series: #5 (Courtly Intrigue Mafia) | #4 (Drunken Tracker) | #3 (Big Red Button) - coming soon | #2 (Pope Mafia) | #1 (Iso's Inflammable Mafia)
Mini Games: MTGS Mafia Redux II (Invitational, Evil Mirror Universe) | Unreal City
Old Games (bad): The Greenwood Affair | Blood Moon Mafia
Though flavour's totally complete, but with a wording change or two.
{мы, тьма}
2012: Best (False?) Role Claim - Worst Town Performance (Group) - Best Mafia Performance (Group) - Best SK Performance - Best Overall Player
2013: Best Non-SK Neutral Performance
2014: Best Town Performance (Individual) - Best Town Performance (Group) - Most Interesting Role - Best Game - Best Overall Player
2015: Worst Mafia Performance (Group) - Best Read
2016: Best Town Performance (Group) - Best Town Player - Best Overall Player
Currently Playing:
GBStandard - Golgari Safari MidrangeBG
RBWModern - Mardu PyromancerWBR
RLegacy - Good Old Fashioned BurnR
Clan Contest 3 Mafia - Mafia Co-MVP