Stephen King's The Stand Mafia Hosted by Cantripmancer
A Basic Setup for 12 Players
Players Taking a Stand (Alive):
1. Zionite (r. Benjammn) - Judge Farris, Town Vanilla.
2. TheFooFish (r. oldmajenkins) - Joe/Leo Rockway, Town 1-Shot Vigilante.
3. Gigas1 - Francis "Frannie" Goldsmith, Town Doctor.
The town win!!!
Players Taking a Dirt Nap (Dead):
1. Nakamura - Nadine Cross, Mafia Chosen One. Lynched day 1.
2. Zajnet - Lloyd Henreid, Town Vanilla. Stabbed night 1.
3. atlseal - Stuart Redman, Town Cop. Burned from mouth to groin night 1.
4. VibeBox - Glen Bateman, Town Vanilla. Character (not player) modkilled due to lack of replacement during day 2.
5. red_0mega - Larry Underwood, Mafia Power Cop. Lynched day 2.
6. passislisk - Harold Lauder, Town Vanilla. Lynched day 3.
7. Jscolton - Ralph Brentner, Town Vanilla. Chest burned to a crisp night 3.
8. Keifru - Dayna Jurgens, Town Tracker. Lynched day 4.
9. Infinis - Julie Lawry, Mafia Brooding Roleblocker. Lynched day 5.
All flavor provided by the mod, including this spoiler, has no impact on the game other than to enhance your playing enjoyment. You don't have to read this, although it'd be appreciated, as I took some time to write it. If you do read it, again, please don't make assumptions about the game based on the flavor.
“Helllloooo…anybody home?” The sound of a voice, sickly sweet and mockingly sincere, echoes off the concrete walls. You jerk out of a nightmare-filled slumber to realize that you have no idea where you are. The rough grain of a pill-ridden mattress sheet rubs your cheek and you sit up, staring in disbelief at prison bars that form one-fourth of what appears to be your cell. How did you come to be here? Fleeting memories assail your senses…people—your family—dying all around you…warnings of a flu pandemic…conflicting feelings of gratitude at being a survivor and the intense guilt of outliving anyone you cared about…but then memory slams into a wall of darkness and you can recall nothing more until the sound of that voice, pregnant with promise.
“No? Well, then, I’m gone. So many vegetable patches, and I’ve only one hoe to tend them.” The sound of fading boot heels reverberates, and you realize that you’re starving. A voice—dear God, could that desperation-fraught sound belong to you?—weakly calls out, as though from around a tongue thick with dehydration. “Wait…please, wait.”
“Ohooooo, so more than rats reside within these walls. Well, then. Never let it be said that I abandoned the worthy or turned a deaf ear on pleas so earnest. Hold your hosses; let’s bring everything into the light, shall we?” Without ceremony or warning, the cell door clicks and grinds open, metal scraping against metal, and you eagerly rise, anxious to be free. Your body betrays you, and you almost collapse. You realize that you’re incredibly weak with hunger, but still you stagger with every remaining effort available, toward freedom.
As you grasp the bar holding the lockbox, you glance up and realize you’re not alone. Others are gazing around the room with similar looks of confusion, clutching their aching bellies and struggling to remain standing. Young, old, male, female, all very different, but obviously identical in purpose, their behavior producing an unsettling mirroring effect as everyone stumbles from their cells in the direction of the only visible point of egress.
You all reach your destination more or less simultaneously, and the scene you’re greeted with is not the most pleasant you could have hoped for: another barred doorway. You can tell—you’re not sure how, but you’re sure—that it’s closed and locked more firmly than your cell was, if that’s even possible. The fleeting hope you felt just moments before would be crushed but for the man standing just beyond arm’s reach on the other side of the bars.
“Well, will ya look at that? I poked my stick into a pile of rags expecting naught but rats, and look what ragtag army squirmed forth instead.” The man is wearing dusty blue jeans covering the tops of boots, and a grey jean jacket worn familiar and loose. On each of the jacket pockets is a pin—one displays a smiley face, a dead pig and the words HOW’S YOUR PORK are on the other. You glance at his face, but immediately look away, and once you have, you can’t really remember what he looked like. You try it again, only to find yourself staring at the floor, the afterglow of red eyes dancing in the white dust. And the faintest memory of a smile. Fighting it is too exhausting, so you choose to look at his hands, which are, after all, the important parts, the parts that will pull the switch or push the button or release the lock to open this ridiculously uncompromising door. The only thing seemingly that stands between you and eliminating this aching pang in your belly.
A murmur starts almost immediately. “Please…let us out…open the door…if you’re a god-fearing man…please…I have money, I can give you plenty of money…I can give him better than that, sugar…please…soooo hungry…help us…” His hands rise, and your eyes follow them as they form the familiar field goal gesture, except that the palms are turned toward you, as would be the hands of a politician. He wants you to wait. He wants your attention. Without the slightest exception, all voices fall silent.
“My friends, each of you is very dear to me. And as I glance around, I realize that there are many familiar playing pieces on this particular game board, which comes as no surprise to me, for fate is a fickle mistress and giggles in the dark when you want her to sigh. Indeed, I can recite your names in an instant, or list the grievances I hold against several of you.” The sudden buzz of weak protest and glances around the room serve as proof that the others are just as confused as you are. “But,” the man says, and the room falls quiet again, “what has gone before is of no consequence. The battle plays out time and again, same board, same pawns, same repetition of ‘why me, why me,’ and only the strategy changes. Well the strategy has shifted again, and while I know all of you, I know not how strong you are or what you are capable of.
“Last time, I offered a confrontation, fair and square. Last time, I chose to pool my resources, and look what being direct and open did for me. This time we’ll play it a little differently. Tiny battles, confrontation on a smaller scale. I’ll gather my army in twos and threes, and only those proven in strength and resolution will be allowed to take their place at my side.” These words ring out and you can feel the shimmer of truth wash over you. You feel a yearning, a need building within you, to prove to this man that you are worthy to stand next to him and march down the freeways of this world. He is worthy of your adoration. He’s a worm! A lying snake in the grass, a
leader who will get things done, who will see that people get what they deserve, who will open the door to your freedom. Instinctively, you look around, trying to judge who among you might be weak, suddenly quite aware that freedom—at least his variety—has a price on it. And you’re suddenly willing to pay any price as long as it gets you something to eat, a slice of bread, some potatoes…maybe a little steak.
“Look not to temptation for salvation!” The tiniest voice interrupts your reverie from somewhere in the depths of your mind, and you realize with a start that you’ve heard this voice before…perhaps in a dream. You are suddenly awash in images of life on a farm: the sweet smell of hay, running barefoot through rows of corn, a cool breeze on your cheek as you whistle through the air on a tire swing. “Let this place be your oasis against the coming storm.” The voice is cracked, old—ancient, in fact, and you can hear kindness and compassion, but also great sorrow. “But beware: the rats are in the corn!” Conflict runs through you like a current, and you shiver in the cold of the prison. The man on the other side of the bars grins.
“I can see by the sour look on your faces that you’re questioning the wisdom of accepting my companionship, and that’s fine, friends, that’s just fine. I’ve got a patient streak in me about a mile wide. But don’t wait too long to make your decision; believe me when I say no one else is going to come poking around a prison to let you out. That’s not, honey-chil’, not!
the God’s honest truth. Of course, you’ll forgive me if I don’t let you out quite yet, that is, not until I feel safe. There are, after all, twelve of you, and only one of little ol' me.
“Until then, feel free to make full use of the facilities; by the looks of things, I think you might be in Texas. I hear they’re mighty liberal with the death penalty down here.” He gestures over your heads and you turn with dismay to see twelve nooses hanging down the center of the cell block, one dangling in front of each cell. Were those there when you came out? Surely not…you would have noticed them…wouldn’t you?
The man draws up a chair and reclines so that he’s stretched across the hall, feet propped on one side, head and shoulders gracefully parked in a sunbeam so bright you can almost feel its warmth from where you sit, trapped. The knowledge of what you have to do now is self-evident—has been, actually, since you woke up, hasn’t it? The world has dissolved into madness, and insanity has decided that sides will be picked, whether you like it or not. But where will you place your loyalties? In the salvation living and breathing before you, and damned be the consequences? Or in the wisps and snatches of dreams that promise something more pure?
The discussion within the jail began hesitantly, even jokingly. Few of you could really bring yourselves to believe that you endeavored toward the death of another human being. Yet as you conversed, certain opinions began to stand out as unique, as different. Perhaps even devious in nature.
Zajnet was the first to come under scrutiny, as much for his silence as for what was said. Then Zionite found himself in the spotlight; it seemed a poor time to have a name that started with the letter Z.
In the corner, a quiet woman stood biting her nails to the quick. A long shock of white hair ran down the middle of otherwise raven locks, and she shuffled from foot to foot, glancing nervously at times at the man on the other side of the bars. Someone noticed, and suddenly she found herself the center of attention.
A flurry of questions assailed her, and, as elementary teachers are usually unskilled in the arts of subterfuge, her answers were found less than satisfactory. Even the answers to the simplest questions, such as her name, brought about clamors of confused indignation. Just as everyone seemed resolved to the idea of ending her life, she jumped to her feet and rushed to one of the stools posistioned below a noose.
"Yes, fine. 'Simply Sadie' I'm not, but there's more going on than you might suppose. This isn't a simple game you're waging; this is a battle of fate. Was it too much to hope that my fate might change? It could've, you know. I could've succumbed to the caresses of a thousand men; I could've surrendered to love."
The woman shifts her gaze outside the cellblock to the Dark Man, who is gripping the bars with knuckles pale as salmon underbelly. The hallway behind him has gone dark.
"No more iced promises of desire; no more ouija boards pealing my doom." And before any of you can do more, she thrusts her head through the noose and kicks the stool out from beneath her.
In your dreams that night, you're not sure which haunts your nightmares more: her gargling face as it purples and swells with the pressure, or the scream of the Dark Man at the end of the hall. Both seem to go on forever, until finally all sound ceases from both of them.
Still uncertain of what has happened, the rest of you huddle nervously inbetween the corpse swinging from the ceiling and the rage incarnate outside the bars. Finally, the Dark Man leans back in his boots and sighs. You're not looking at him, but you know somehow that he's smiling.
"Ah well. Plenty of whores where she came from, eh?" He laughs uproariously, and it's like you can feel his teeth on your spine. "Not to worry, not to worry. I'm confident that the rest of you will work things out just fine. In fact, a token gesture of my goodwill."
The most incredible smell fills your nostrils, and you glance over at where the Dark Man is now secluded in the shadows of the hall. Eleven McDonalds wrappers are laying on the floor, and in the scramble to grab one, you not only almost grab two, but someone else almost gets your one. A gutteral snarl and the offender jerks his hand back. You tear the wrapper off yours and eat the entire cheeseburger in two bites, feeling your stomach roil at the grease, but somehow managing to keep it down.
"Get some sleep," the Dark Man commands. "You'll think more...clearly in the morning, I'm sure." Dazed and unsated, you stumble back to your cell--careful to avoid the cell behind the dangling woman--and flop down on the thin mattress. The rumble of the cell doors closing on their tracks is only mildly unsettling compared with the horror you just went through. Still, it's obvious by the reaction of the Dark Man that he is not pleased with the day's events. You've certainly got plenty to ponder.
The clanging of your cell doors opening again reawakens you to the nightmare of your predicament. The hunger pangs, dulled ever so slightly by the meager meal last night, have returned with a vengeance, and you venture forth half-heartedly in hopes that breakfast might be served.
The body of Nadine Cross still swings from the rafters in front of her cell, but you notice that two other cells have remained closed.
The first one is Atlseal's. He lies melted to his cot, a swath of charred flesh running from his lips to his groin. The stench is overbearing, and you cover your nose and mouth with your sleeve to keep out the smell.
Staggering away, you notice that Zajnet is lying on the floor of his cell in a pool of blood, a metal bar protruding from his chest. His face is turned out and his eyes stare at you as you shuffle past.
The man on the other side of the bars is whistling a little tune as he gleefully tosses donuts, bagels, and pastries through the bars. Concerned about what it might forebode, you're still in no condition to refuse, and you scramble over to grab what you can, stuffing the food into your mouth.
"A continental breakfast for a night well spent. Yesterday was...a disappointment, it's true, but the night yielded results better than my wildest dreams. If there are two things I can't abide, it's traitors and busybodies, and now we're without one more of each." Gesturing toward Zajnet's cell, the man lets out a scornful chuckle.
"That there sad sack was once my highest lieutenant, but he thought he'd get better treatment on the other side of the battle lines." He raises his voice to yell at the corpse. "The grass is always greener, Lloyd, remember that!
"And the poor sap with the bad case of sunburn fancied himself a detective, poking his nose in where it didn't belong." The man affects a terrible southern drawl. "We stand no truck with that sort in these here parts, pahdner. So, git along little doggie. Rawhide!" Laughing uproariously, the man slaps his hands on his knees until tears run down his cheeks. Finally he settles down and sits in the chair.
"Well, after a night like that, perhaps a few more of you are interested in joining the winning team. After all, it beats the alternative. Let's see how much longer you can hold out, shall we, before it becomes clear that you've reached the end of your rope."
Your second day of incarceration progressed in a much more straightforward manner, with accusations being made, discussed, investigated, discarded, ruminated upon, pondered, reinvestigated, palavered, pushed, dropped, derided, exemplified, brought to a boil, dissected, put on the back burner, and exclaimed. As it seemed that you'd run out of methods of communication, the group fell into a silent simmer of thought.
The day grew long, and several people started discussing turning in for the night. After all, ending a life was serious business, not to be taken lightly. But others railed against the idea. After all, two innocents died the first night; who knew what evil would prevail if action wasn't taken today. The sudden spurt of activity galvanized you and very quickly, it became obvious that either Jscolton and Keifru were to be your choice for the day. But which one was evil? Both? Neither?
Finally, in the heat of the moment, Jscolton voiced his support to kill Keifru. It looked like the end of the road for Keifru, and Keifru voice his support to kill Jscolton! A few minutes later, both of them said, nearly simultaneously, "Why aren't I dead?" A quick headcount confirmed that neither had enough support to be hung, and the discussion began anew.
It didn't take long, however, before a new attack began, this time against red_0mega. Staid and stoic, red_0 maintained his innocence, persistent in the assertion that his actions in the moments of confusion between Jscolton and Keifru were the normal, sane actions of a person devoted to the eradication of darkness. Alas, it was to no avail, as five of you dragged him to the noose in front of his cell, hoisted him onto the stool, wrapped the rope around his neck, and unceremoniously kicked the support out from under him.
Unlike Nakamura, you had the opportunity to set the knot at the side of the neck, and thus the drop breaks red_0mega's neck with a sound that promises to haunt your dreams. You glance around, suddenly fearful, now that it's too late, that you've made a mistake. But one glance at the dark man gives you hope. His head is shrouded in a fog of darkness, yet the grimace of white teeth makes his displeasure obvious.
"He served his purpose. And that you found him out proves him unworthy. Still, I am disappointed; he had such potential." Nervously, you wait, hoping that perhaps another meal might be forthcoming, but the dark man simply turns and ambles off down the hall. You glance at each other. Is he leaving? Have you destroyed the evil in your midst?
Despite the possibility that he may not return, none can bring themselves to call out to him for help. Exhausted and starving, you return to your cells, where the doors suddenly slide shut. Somehow, you gather that this is not yet over.
You awaken to the murmur of people pleading at the far end of the cell block. Your eyes flutter open to disclose the stark grey of the ceiling, cracks and peeling paint creating hellish unsymmetrical Rorschach patterns. Wondering if you might, in fact, be dead, you shift and feel the deep rumble of your stomach as it loudly complains of your lack of nutritional efforts. Only mildly surprised at being disappointed at still being alive, you toss your legs over the side of the cot and struggle to your feet to join the small group begging before the Dark Man. You can see even from where you are that he has no food to offer.
At first, you think that the headcount is because you're not thinking straight, but another count confirms it: you're all still alive.
While you know you'll never get used to the idea of killing others, you're starting to become accustomed to the feeling that this life, filled with starvation, paranoia, suicidal neighbors, people who disappear in the middle of the night, friends who want to kill you, lunatics with McDonald's hamburgers in their jacket pockets, friends who accuse you of being a killer...all this is standard fare. In fact, now that you think about it, it's not all that different from your life before a microscopic microbe invaded your planet and killed off your very way of living.
passislisk didn't strike you as all that different from any other. Young, level-headed, not necessarily attractive or charismatic, but he had a gleam in his eye that reminded you of businessmen, or athletes, maybe. Not that he's athletic; in fact, he seems a touch on the pudgy side. But driven. Ambitious. He looked like he was ready to take on the world and come out ahead. Now, standing on the stool, neck in the noose, he flips his greasy hair away from his face and stares at each of you in turn.
"Once upon a time I would have gone to my death kicking and screaming, and taking as many of you with me as possible. But I will cause no more deaths of others. I can offer nothing more than to wish you good luck." He takes a deep breath, holds it for a count of three, then says "This is Harold Emery Lauder speaking. I do this of my own free will."
And he kicks the stool out from under himself. Again a body falls, and again the sound of vertebrae cracking under sudden stress echoes through the jailblock. But no sooner does the sound fade than you can hear deep, rolling laughter bubbling up behind you, oozing from the man on the other side of the bars like toxic waste finding its way into the town well.
"Ah, well done, Harold. Well done. Even when you set your mind against me, you manage to end up dead...and serving my purpose." You turn slowly, realizing that the dread unthinkable has happened; you've conspired to take the life of one innocent of evil. The dark man gestures, a casual thing, but suddenly the room is filled with the tantalizing scent of home-cooked fried chicken, deep battered in blue cornmeal, and as juicy as it comes.
"As I said, I take care of those who please me. Keep that in mind, and remember that my offer still stands. Destroy those in here who would oppose me, and I will make you part of the greatest force the world has ever known." He turns as he concludes, and you can't help yourself. You fall upon the veritable cornucopia of food, finding not just chicken, but biscuits and gravy, and though you curse its source, you recklessly sate your hunger. The dark man's parting words seem to drip with something thicker than the grease of the food in your hands.
"Just ask Harold Lauder what happens to those who don't follow my plans."
===============================================
Harold Lauder (passislisk), Town Vanilla, has been lynched.
Due to a short leave of absence, night 3 may last a bit longer than 72 hours.
The brief lull last night in death's activities has apparently come to an end, perhaps spurred on by the hanging of an innocent man yesterday. As you awaken for the first time in recent memory without the deep burn of raw hunger in your gut, you smell the distinctive aroma of charred flesh. One by one, you file past Jscolton's cell, noting the distinctive and slightly familiar burn line running down his chest.
===================================
Ralph Brentner (Jscolton), Town Vanilla, has been killed.
It is now Day 4; you may begin posting. All votes have been reset.
A flurry of votes marks your fourth day of confinement, with people going back and forth in opinion and strategy. The man on the other side of the bars contents himself with a gambler's stance and occassionally tossing Powerbars (tm) through to the pack, amused at the frantic scramble that always ensued. More than one finger is stepped on in an attempt to snag another bite of fructose and carbs.
The discussion begins to swing around to a dichotomy. Surely Gigas1 is evil. And if not, surely Keifru is evil. You can feel the starvation and dehydration taking their toll on your sensibilities, and you no longer feel certain of anything. Dismayed, you stare at the drab gray of the floor, wondering if perhaps Home Depot has a color scheme for prisons. "Jailhouse Rock Gray" with "All Hope is Lost" accents. You don't want to die in here, yet that possibility is starting to look more likely than not.
A decision is made. Keifru glances sadly around the room, seeing each head nod in confirmation that this time, she has been the one selected for death.
"I wanted to be a good spy, guys. I thought I could foil the Dark Man's agents and save us all, but all my efforts seem to have been for nothing." She doesn't fight as you lead her to the noose and place it around her neck. A swift kick, a sharp snap, and the Dark Man's laughter rings out, confirming that for the second time, you have chosen to destroy a champion of light.
For the second time since this horrible ordeal began, you stumble from your cell expecting to find another dead body (or two) only to see the same companions staring back at you. The man on the other side of the bars is shrouded in morning shadow; if he is displeased or happy with the lack of further death, you can't tell, and he doesn't seem inclined to share with you.
Glasses of water and stale doughnuts are waiting, though, and as you fall upon the food, you can't help but consider each of your three remaining companions under a stare of paranoia and frantic desire to be able to trust someone. Yet somebody among you must be lying. There doesn't seem to be much option but to resume your deliberations and try to identify those who would kill you.
Only four remained: the pregnant woman, the feral boy, the old black judge, and the teenage girl with 'tude. Back and forth they argued, bickering, shouting, sometimes falling eerily silent. But after a time, the boy and the judge seemed to bond together. They took it as fact that the the guilty party had to be one of the women. But which one?
"It's not me," said Frannie. "How could you even think such a thing? Of all the people here, I have the most reason to preserve life. In fact, I couldn't possibly have been killing anyone; I was too busy taking care of my baby."
"What? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!" Julie Lawry leveled her gaze at the brunette with the slight baby bump. "Just because you can create life means that you can't destroy it? Heck, I can create life! I think you made a deal, to protect your precious, little, disease-ridden corpse-child!"
"You witch!" Frannie flew at Julie, fingernails flying, and the two scuffled on the concrete for several minutes. Judge Farris sighed and heaved his frame up from the chair he was sitting on, then grabbed the chair and unceremoniously smashed it down on Frannie's head. She collapsed to the ground, nearly unconscious.
"You, girl, haven't been making very good choices." The sonorous timbre of his voice carried through the near-empty cellblock, reminding everyone of the power he must have wielded in his heyday. "In fact, I'd say your choices have been strange enough that it really doesn't matter whether you're good or evil. You're just plain dumb. And if I've learned one thing over the years, it's that dumb loses. In fact, I've seen a strong correlation between dumb people and criminals. So prepare to be sentenced."
Joe, normally very quiet, spoke up. "But innocent people can be dumb, too, Judge. In fact, wouldn't you say that your correlation data is somewhat skewed given the majority of people that you've encountered over the years? Think of it: your sample is riddled with criminals and lawyers, both prone to lies and stupidity. So she's made strange choices; so what?"
The judge pondered that, questing for the strand of rationality in his senility-riddled brain. In his prime, his keen perception and intelligence had served him well, but by the time he had retired...well, there had been a few calls that had only been right because he had been lucky. This was one of those times as he reconsidered and, without much remorse, helped Fran to her feet.
The three of them then turned on Julie, and as they grabbed her to take her to the noose, Judge Farris grasped her hand and gasped. "This is the one. This is the one who...came to me last night." Incredibly, a blush rose in his amber cheeks. No doubt remaining, the three of them brought Julie to the noose and pulled the stool out from under her. A quick neck snap, and Julie Lawry was no more.
====================================================
Julie Lawry (Infinis), Mafia Brooding Roleblocker has been lynched.
====================================================
The three of you glanced around at each other, exhilarated in expectation. As one, you turned to the dark man on the other side of the bars...but he is gone. No man, no chair, nothing in the fading light of the day but a dusty hallway. Incredulous, you dash to the bars and yank on the door, hoping that it will open, but it remains, as ever, securely closed.
In shock, the three of you sink to the floor, now beginning once again to suspiciously eye one another. Perhaps there is still an agent of the dark man among you. Perhaps the killing isn't yet done.
And then you hear the singing.
"Lovin' an elevator. Lovin' the up when it's goin' down. Lovin' an elevator. Lovin' the up till it hits the ground."
Odd glances are exchanged, and then you rush back to the gate, reinvigorated.
"Gonna be a henhouse popper, gonna be a millionaire. Gonna be a real fast talker, and have Mia Luffafare."
The singer appears at the end of the hall, singing at the top of his lungs. Cornhusk blond hair atop a Frankenstein monster head, and the body of a linebacker. But he's dressed in flannel and blue jean overalls, and he's smiling to beat the band. He sees the three of you and breaks off singing, but doesn't stop smiling.
"There ya are. Daddy always said that hide and seek wasn't for Tom Cullen, but Tom found you, laws, yes Tom did. Right where ol' Nick said you'd be." He saunters down the hall, and stops at the control panel of the cellblock, peering at it.
"M-O-O-N, that spells 'open'. Just like Nick said, yes." Reaching up, he pushes a button and flips a switch, and the cellblock rachets open. Just like that, you're free.
"Now Tom don't know about you, but Tom Cullen just loves Mother Abigail's cookin', and she sent Tom with a picnic lunch that could feed about a thousand people. Do you folk wanna have a picnic with Tom?"
Still a bit stunned, you start to walk down the hall, then glance over your shoulder. The cellblock is getting dark now in the gathering dusk, but it's bright enough for a glimmer of hope: there are no bodies, now. Just an empty space where a good group of people took a stand.
Congratulations to atlseal, Gigas1, Jscolton, Keifru, passislisk, TheFooFish, VibeBox, Zajnet, and Zionite on a town win.
Setup is attached. Cleanup of first post, night actions/PMs, MVPs, and apologies will have to wait until later, but feel free to converse, question, and condemn in the meantime.
Rules for The Stand Mafia (Cobbled together and modified from recent lists used by Arimnaes, Kraj, Some One, Syrenz, and Zindabad)
1. This is a game. As such, I expect everyone to obey the general rules of sportsmanlike conduct one would expect in any game, which includes following all forum rules and all the rules below. Keep it fun; don't harass me or your fellow players.
2. Breaking any of the following will get you modkilled, recommended for probation, and/or blacklisted from any game I host in the future; I am taking a hard stance on this, even for a basic, because I plan to mod as frequently as I can, and this will set the standard:
Don’t edit or delete your posts. If you really need to add something to a previous post, the general tactic is to double-post. Try to avoid doing so unless it's necessary, however. (This is more of a forum rule than a mafia rule.)
Don’t quote any PM you receive from me or any other player in the game. Paraphrasing and putting the information in your own words is fine, but be cautious not to quote.
Don’t post after you are dead. Not even a “bah” post.
3. Days will last as long as they need to, within reason. A deadline may be imposed at my discretion, in the event that discussion lags severely.
4. Nights will generally last about 72 hours. They may be longer, or occasionally shorter, at my discretion. You will always be informed of exactly when night will end. Since we're playing with kid gloves, if you fail to submit a night choice to me before night ends, I will randomize your choice. If you don’t want to take a night action, please submit that information to me; if all night actions have been submitted early, I will end the night early.
5. Votes must be in bold, in the form "vote: Cantripmancer"; unvotes must also be in bold, but may be in the more general form of “unvote”. Votes made before unvoting will not be counted.
6. Lynching will require a simple majority of votes. If a deadline is imposed, and no majority is reached prior to it, the day will end without a lynch.
7. Once the lynch threshold has been reached, nothing can prevent that lynch. Players may still post during twilight (the period of time after the lynch threshold is achieved but before I have posted the lynch scene).
8. Communication with anyone about this game is restricted solely to posting in this thread, unless your role private message (PM) states otherwise.
This means you cannottalk to anyone about anything that goes on in this game unless you do so within this thread. Even if they’re dead, even if you’re dead, even if you’re both dead, even if they’re not in the game. Period.
9. You may not communicate with anyone (including posting in this thread) during the night unless your role PM states otherwise.
10. The moderator (mod) for this game is Cantripmancer. If you have any questions about anything game related, please PM me and I will give you as comprehensive an answer as possible (without harming the game for you or the other players).
11. If you want to get the mod’s attention, please use bolded text of "Mod:" (i.e. – Mod: Vote count, please, or Mod: What does rule #7 mean?).
12. I understand that real life interferes from time to time, but, just like any game, Mafia requires participation. Players who don’t post at least once every 72 hours will be prodded for activity. Players who don’t respond to a prod within 48 hours will be replaced (or modkilled if no replacement can be found). If you anticipate an away time period longer than 72 hours, please communicate with me in advance.
The town win condition is “You win when all the scum have been killed (even if you die before that point).”
The mafia win condition is “You win when the mafia equal or outnumber the other players (even if you die before that point).”
Roles in my basic games will not involve me (the mod) lying to you (the players). There are no millers, godfathers, insane cops, quack doctors, or any other such roles in this game.
As per forum rules, don't try to be sneaky by using invisitext or cryptoclaiming.
You will do well not to game the mod or flavor (that is, make assumptions about the game based on how you think I would setup the game or what makes sense flavorfully); safeguards against both are employed in every game I create.
When PMing me with actions or questions, please include the name of the game (The Stand) and the time period it pertains to (Night 1, Day 2, etc.); this will assist me in keeping the game organized and as errorless as possible.
If you're frustrated, talk to me. Don't lash out or just stop posting. If you need to be replaced, we’ll make it happen, but that should be the last option to pursue.
All role PMs follow the general format of:
Welcome to The Stand Mafia! The game can be found [link].
Name (Alignment Role) There will be some flavor stuff in here explaining who you are, how you got here, what your basic motivation is, etc. Ability Information: If you have any abilities, they will be explained in one or more paragraphs here. Win Condition: Your win condition will be stated here.
I'll be back Thursday. In the meantime I'd like you all to consider a MassClaim.
Private Mod Note
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"There is no royal road to science, and only those who do not dread the fatiguing climb
of its steep paths have a chance of gaining its luminous summits"
-Karl Heinrich Marx Cube
You know, I've been wondering if SC2 is worth buying. Don't get me wrong, I liked SC1, but I am a terrible player. From playing on a friend's beta, it seemed I would be missing out on 3/4 of the fun in actually playing the game.
Private Mod Note
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MTG: The RPG Character: Zenith RIP Krensae Fluidtail: Sleep well with the fish
My Very First Votecount!!!
In which Cantripmancer screams in excitement like a little girl.
Please note that my style of votecounts does not include order of voting; players voting will be listed in alphabetical order. Per player request, votecounts will include order of voting. Players being voted will be listed in order of most votes to least votes, with any ties being alphabetical.
I strive for perfection, but--alas!--I am human, and therefore prone to err. If I have made a mistake, please let me know.
O! many a shaft, at random sent, Finds mark the archer little meant! And many a word, at random spoken, May soothe or wound a heart that's broken!
- Walter Scott
@Cantrip: Would it be too much to ask you to keep the order of votes on a person? If so, I'll just keep track of that for everyone, because I find that to be helpful.
Private Mod Note
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If you're town and I'm mafia, you've already lost. You just don't know it yet.
@Mod: Would it be too much to ask you to keep the order of votes on a person? If it is, I'll just keep track of that for everyone, because I find that to be helpful.
Private Mod Note
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If you're town and I'm mafia, you've already lost. You just don't know it yet.
Kidding, kidding. I suggest "Mod:" because if I go afk for a bit and want to check in quickly to see if I need to answer any questions, I can search the thread for the string "mod:" much more easily than searching for all of "Cantripmancer:", "Cantrip:", "Ctm:", etc. I won't mandate the "mod" phraseology, but you'll likely get better results more consistently if you use it.
Quote from atsleal »
Would it be too much to ask you to keep the order of votes on a person? If so, I'll just keep track of that for everyone, because I find that to be helpful.
If you want to share your super secret tech with the mod as to how to easily do that, I'd be willing to make some effort. My mentor showed me how he does it, which is in an Excel master document that tracks lots of stuff...but it eliminates the order of votes. I just tried doing it with keeping the order of votes intact, and it took me three attempts. I'd rather give you accurate info than erroneous info in the format desired.
For now, however, I can give you the recent votecount with vote order:
because Cantripmancer said we should definitely double check this
I believe this is a joke, but since it's a basic, and you don't need my fumbles confusing things, be aware that the mod will never intentionally disclose information about the gamestate beyond the obvious (i.e.- votecounts). You should definitely check my votecount results to make sure they accurately reflect your votes, but this was not a comment on whether the votes are on- or off-target.
@Keifru: Very well, it's not immense paranoia. Although, it's interesting that you thought that was the reason. I hadn't read you as paranoid yet. No, it's because during the random voting stage, you were successful in both putting the second vote on one player (passislisk) and the third vote on another player (Gigas1). See, the further someone lays on a random stage wagon, the more likely they are to be scum trying to get a quick wagon started.
@Benjammn: That was an extremely opportunistic vote. IGMEOY
Private Mod Note
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If you're town and I'm mafia, you've already lost. You just don't know it yet.
I'm not. Not really sure why I said the "for now" part. It actually sounds kinda of stupid going back and reading it since I randomly picked you for the fallout sig.
I'm playing the Pokemon TCG pretty competitively right now. Magic is a side thing with with a few friends. They're both really fun. I'm glad I got into them both.
I play just MTG but there is a guy there who won some money at a pokemon thing and he taught me how to play. It's... weird. Feels like every deck is a combo deck, and if you get a starting hand with only 1 pokemon you can't choose to mulligan and you will just lose to turn 1 machamp instagib.
Only if the Machamp player goes second, has the rare candy, and a fighting energy.
But yeah it can be annoying. That's also why the number of basic pokemon in decks are going up. Unfortunately, first turn wins are entirely possible. There are a ton of different decks in the metagame though.
Hosted by Cantripmancer
A Basic Setup for 12 Players
Players Taking a Stand (Alive):
1. Zionite (r. Benjammn) - Judge Farris, Town Vanilla.
2. TheFooFish (r. oldmajenkins) - Joe/Leo Rockway, Town 1-Shot Vigilante.
3. Gigas1 - Francis "Frannie" Goldsmith, Town Doctor.
The town win!!!
Players Taking a Dirt Nap (Dead):
1. Nakamura - Nadine Cross, Mafia Chosen One. Lynched day 1.
2. Zajnet - Lloyd Henreid, Town Vanilla. Stabbed night 1.
3. atlseal - Stuart Redman, Town Cop. Burned from mouth to groin night 1.
4. VibeBox - Glen Bateman, Town Vanilla. Character (not player) modkilled due to lack of replacement during day 2.
5. red_0mega - Larry Underwood, Mafia Power Cop. Lynched day 2.
6. passislisk - Harold Lauder, Town Vanilla. Lynched day 3.
7. Jscolton - Ralph Brentner, Town Vanilla. Chest burned to a crisp night 3.
8. Keifru - Dayna Jurgens, Town Tracker. Lynched day 4.
9. Infinis - Julie Lawry, Mafia Brooding Roleblocker. Lynched day 5.
Game History:
Signups
“Helllloooo…anybody home?” The sound of a voice, sickly sweet and mockingly sincere, echoes off the concrete walls. You jerk out of a nightmare-filled slumber to realize that you have no idea where you are. The rough grain of a pill-ridden mattress sheet rubs your cheek and you sit up, staring in disbelief at prison bars that form one-fourth of what appears to be your cell. How did you come to be here? Fleeting memories assail your senses…people—your family—dying all around you…warnings of a flu pandemic…conflicting feelings of gratitude at being a survivor and the intense guilt of outliving anyone you cared about…but then memory slams into a wall of darkness and you can recall nothing more until the sound of that voice, pregnant with promise.
“No? Well, then, I’m gone. So many vegetable patches, and I’ve only one hoe to tend them.” The sound of fading boot heels reverberates, and you realize that you’re starving. A voice—dear God, could that desperation-fraught sound belong to you?—weakly calls out, as though from around a tongue thick with dehydration. “Wait…please, wait.”
“Ohooooo, so more than rats reside within these walls. Well, then. Never let it be said that I abandoned the worthy or turned a deaf ear on pleas so earnest. Hold your hosses; let’s bring everything into the light, shall we?” Without ceremony or warning, the cell door clicks and grinds open, metal scraping against metal, and you eagerly rise, anxious to be free. Your body betrays you, and you almost collapse. You realize that you’re incredibly weak with hunger, but still you stagger with every remaining effort available, toward freedom.
As you grasp the bar holding the lockbox, you glance up and realize you’re not alone. Others are gazing around the room with similar looks of confusion, clutching their aching bellies and struggling to remain standing. Young, old, male, female, all very different, but obviously identical in purpose, their behavior producing an unsettling mirroring effect as everyone stumbles from their cells in the direction of the only visible point of egress.
You all reach your destination more or less simultaneously, and the scene you’re greeted with is not the most pleasant you could have hoped for: another barred doorway. You can tell—you’re not sure how, but you’re sure—that it’s closed and locked more firmly than your cell was, if that’s even possible. The fleeting hope you felt just moments before would be crushed but for the man standing just beyond arm’s reach on the other side of the bars.
“Well, will ya look at that? I poked my stick into a pile of rags expecting naught but rats, and look what ragtag army squirmed forth instead.” The man is wearing dusty blue jeans covering the tops of boots, and a grey jean jacket worn familiar and loose. On each of the jacket pockets is a pin—one displays a smiley face, a dead pig and the words HOW’S YOUR PORK are on the other. You glance at his face, but immediately look away, and once you have, you can’t really remember what he looked like. You try it again, only to find yourself staring at the floor, the afterglow of red eyes dancing in the white dust. And the faintest memory of a smile. Fighting it is too exhausting, so you choose to look at his hands, which are, after all, the important parts, the parts that will pull the switch or push the button or release the lock to open this ridiculously uncompromising door. The only thing seemingly that stands between you and eliminating this aching pang in your belly.
A murmur starts almost immediately. “Please…let us out…open the door…if you’re a god-fearing man…please…I have money, I can give you plenty of money…I can give him better than that, sugar…please…soooo hungry…help us…” His hands rise, and your eyes follow them as they form the familiar field goal gesture, except that the palms are turned toward you, as would be the hands of a politician. He wants you to wait. He wants your attention. Without the slightest exception, all voices fall silent.
“My friends, each of you is very dear to me. And as I glance around, I realize that there are many familiar playing pieces on this particular game board, which comes as no surprise to me, for fate is a fickle mistress and giggles in the dark when you want her to sigh. Indeed, I can recite your names in an instant, or list the grievances I hold against several of you.” The sudden buzz of weak protest and glances around the room serve as proof that the others are just as confused as you are. “But,” the man says, and the room falls quiet again, “what has gone before is of no consequence. The battle plays out time and again, same board, same pawns, same repetition of ‘why me, why me,’ and only the strategy changes. Well the strategy has shifted again, and while I know all of you, I know not how strong you are or what you are capable of.
“Last time, I offered a confrontation, fair and square. Last time, I chose to pool my resources, and look what being direct and open did for me. This time we’ll play it a little differently. Tiny battles, confrontation on a smaller scale. I’ll gather my army in twos and threes, and only those proven in strength and resolution will be allowed to take their place at my side.” These words ring out and you can feel the shimmer of truth wash over you. You feel a yearning, a need building within you, to prove to this man that you are worthy to stand next to him and march down the freeways of this world. He is worthy of your adoration. He’s a
worm! A lying snake in the grass, a
leader who will get things done, who will see that people get what they deserve, who will open the door to your freedom. Instinctively, you look around, trying to judge who among you might be weak, suddenly quite aware that freedom—at least his variety—has a price on it. And you’re suddenly willing to pay any price as long as it gets you something to eat, a slice of bread, some potatoes…maybe a little steak.
“Look not to temptation for salvation!” The tiniest voice interrupts your reverie from somewhere in the depths of your mind, and you realize with a start that you’ve heard this voice before…perhaps in a dream. You are suddenly awash in images of life on a farm: the sweet smell of hay, running barefoot through rows of corn, a cool breeze on your cheek as you whistle through the air on a tire swing. “Let this place be your oasis against the coming storm.” The voice is cracked, old—ancient, in fact, and you can hear kindness and compassion, but also great sorrow. “But beware: the rats are in the corn!” Conflict runs through you like a current, and you shiver in the cold of the prison. The man on the other side of the bars grins.
“I can see by the sour look on your faces that you’re questioning the wisdom of accepting my companionship, and that’s fine, friends, that’s just fine. I’ve got a patient streak in me about a mile wide. But don’t wait too long to make your decision; believe me when I say no one else is going to come poking around a prison to let you out. That’s
not, honey-chil’, not!
the God’s honest truth. Of course, you’ll forgive me if I don’t let you out quite yet, that is, not until I feel safe. There are, after all, twelve of you, and only one of little ol' me.
“Until then, feel free to make full use of the facilities; by the looks of things, I think you might be in Texas. I hear they’re mighty liberal with the death penalty down here.” He gestures over your heads and you turn with dismay to see twelve nooses hanging down the center of the cell block, one dangling in front of each cell. Were those there when you came out? Surely not…you would have noticed them…wouldn’t you?
The man draws up a chair and reclines so that he’s stretched across the hall, feet propped on one side, head and shoulders gracefully parked in a sunbeam so bright you can almost feel its warmth from where you sit, trapped. The knowledge of what you have to do now is self-evident—has been, actually, since you woke up, hasn’t it? The world has dissolved into madness, and insanity has decided that sides will be picked, whether you like it or not. But where will you place your loyalties? In the salvation living and breathing before you, and damned be the consequences? Or in the wisps and snatches of dreams that promise something more pure?
Where do you stand?
Zajnet was the first to come under scrutiny, as much for his silence as for what was said. Then Zionite found himself in the spotlight; it seemed a poor time to have a name that started with the letter Z.
In the corner, a quiet woman stood biting her nails to the quick. A long shock of white hair ran down the middle of otherwise raven locks, and she shuffled from foot to foot, glancing nervously at times at the man on the other side of the bars. Someone noticed, and suddenly she found herself the center of attention.
A flurry of questions assailed her, and, as elementary teachers are usually unskilled in the arts of subterfuge, her answers were found less than satisfactory. Even the answers to the simplest questions, such as her name, brought about clamors of confused indignation. Just as everyone seemed resolved to the idea of ending her life, she jumped to her feet and rushed to one of the stools posistioned below a noose.
"Yes, fine. 'Simply Sadie' I'm not, but there's more going on than you might suppose. This isn't a simple game you're waging; this is a battle of fate. Was it too much to hope that my fate might change? It could've, you know. I could've succumbed to the caresses of a thousand men; I could've surrendered to love."
The woman shifts her gaze outside the cellblock to the Dark Man, who is gripping the bars with knuckles pale as salmon underbelly. The hallway behind him has gone dark.
"No more iced promises of desire; no more ouija boards pealing my doom." And before any of you can do more, she thrusts her head through the noose and kicks the stool out from beneath her.
In your dreams that night, you're not sure which haunts your nightmares more: her gargling face as it purples and swells with the pressure, or the scream of the Dark Man at the end of the hall. Both seem to go on forever, until finally all sound ceases from both of them.
Still uncertain of what has happened, the rest of you huddle nervously inbetween the corpse swinging from the ceiling and the rage incarnate outside the bars. Finally, the Dark Man leans back in his boots and sighs. You're not looking at him, but you know somehow that he's smiling.
"Ah well. Plenty of whores where she came from, eh?" He laughs uproariously, and it's like you can feel his teeth on your spine. "Not to worry, not to worry. I'm confident that the rest of you will work things out just fine. In fact, a token gesture of my goodwill."
The most incredible smell fills your nostrils, and you glance over at where the Dark Man is now secluded in the shadows of the hall. Eleven McDonalds wrappers are laying on the floor, and in the scramble to grab one, you not only almost grab two, but someone else almost gets your one. A gutteral snarl and the offender jerks his hand back. You tear the wrapper off yours and eat the entire cheeseburger in two bites, feeling your stomach roil at the grease, but somehow managing to keep it down.
"Get some sleep," the Dark Man commands. "You'll think more...clearly in the morning, I'm sure." Dazed and unsated, you stumble back to your cell--careful to avoid the cell behind the dangling woman--and flop down on the thin mattress. The rumble of the cell doors closing on their tracks is only mildly unsettling compared with the horror you just went through. Still, it's obvious by the reaction of the Dark Man that he is not pleased with the day's events. You've certainly got plenty to ponder.
======================================================
Nadine Cross (Nakamura), Mafia Chosen One, has been lynched.
The clanging of your cell doors opening again reawakens you to the nightmare of your predicament. The hunger pangs, dulled ever so slightly by the meager meal last night, have returned with a vengeance, and you venture forth half-heartedly in hopes that breakfast might be served.
The body of Nadine Cross still swings from the rafters in front of her cell, but you notice that two other cells have remained closed.
The first one is Atlseal's. He lies melted to his cot, a swath of charred flesh running from his lips to his groin. The stench is overbearing, and you cover your nose and mouth with your sleeve to keep out the smell.
Staggering away, you notice that Zajnet is lying on the floor of his cell in a pool of blood, a metal bar protruding from his chest. His face is turned out and his eyes stare at you as you shuffle past.
The man on the other side of the bars is whistling a little tune as he gleefully tosses donuts, bagels, and pastries through the bars. Concerned about what it might forebode, you're still in no condition to refuse, and you scramble over to grab what you can, stuffing the food into your mouth.
"A continental breakfast for a night well spent. Yesterday was...a disappointment, it's true, but the night yielded results better than my wildest dreams. If there are two things I can't abide, it's traitors and busybodies, and now we're without one more of each." Gesturing toward Zajnet's cell, the man lets out a scornful chuckle.
"That there sad sack was once my highest lieutenant, but he thought he'd get better treatment on the other side of the battle lines." He raises his voice to yell at the corpse. "The grass is always greener, Lloyd, remember that!
"And the poor sap with the bad case of sunburn fancied himself a detective, poking his nose in where it didn't belong." The man affects a terrible southern drawl. "We stand no truck with that sort in these here parts, pahdner. So, git along little doggie. Rawhide!" Laughing uproariously, the man slaps his hands on his knees until tears run down his cheeks. Finally he settles down and sits in the chair.
"Well, after a night like that, perhaps a few more of you are interested in joining the winning team. After all, it beats the alternative. Let's see how much longer you can hold out, shall we, before it becomes clear that you've reached the end of your rope."
==========================================================
Lloyd Henreid (Zajnet), Town Vanilla and Stuart Redman (atlseal), Town Cop have both been killed.
It is now Day 2, you may begin posting. All votes have been reset.
With 9 alive, it's 5 to lynch.
red_0mega -(5)- TheFooFish, Infinis, Zionite, passislisk, Jscolton
Jscolton -(1)- red_0mega
Infinis -(1)- Gigas1
Not voting: Keifru
======================================================
Your second day of incarceration progressed in a much more straightforward manner, with accusations being made, discussed, investigated, discarded, ruminated upon, pondered, reinvestigated, palavered, pushed, dropped, derided, exemplified, brought to a boil, dissected, put on the back burner, and exclaimed. As it seemed that you'd run out of methods of communication, the group fell into a silent simmer of thought.
The day grew long, and several people started discussing turning in for the night. After all, ending a life was serious business, not to be taken lightly. But others railed against the idea. After all, two innocents died the first night; who knew what evil would prevail if action wasn't taken today. The sudden spurt of activity galvanized you and very quickly, it became obvious that either Jscolton and Keifru were to be your choice for the day. But which one was evil? Both? Neither?
Finally, in the heat of the moment, Jscolton voiced his support to kill Keifru. It looked like the end of the road for Keifru, and Keifru voice his support to kill Jscolton! A few minutes later, both of them said, nearly simultaneously, "Why aren't I dead?" A quick headcount confirmed that neither had enough support to be hung, and the discussion began anew.
It didn't take long, however, before a new attack began, this time against red_0mega. Staid and stoic, red_0 maintained his innocence, persistent in the assertion that his actions in the moments of confusion between Jscolton and Keifru were the normal, sane actions of a person devoted to the eradication of darkness. Alas, it was to no avail, as five of you dragged him to the noose in front of his cell, hoisted him onto the stool, wrapped the rope around his neck, and unceremoniously kicked the support out from under him.
Unlike Nakamura, you had the opportunity to set the knot at the side of the neck, and thus the drop breaks red_0mega's neck with a sound that promises to haunt your dreams. You glance around, suddenly fearful, now that it's too late, that you've made a mistake. But one glance at the dark man gives you hope. His head is shrouded in a fog of darkness, yet the grimace of white teeth makes his displeasure obvious.
"He served his purpose. And that you found him out proves him unworthy. Still, I am disappointed; he had such potential." Nervously, you wait, hoping that perhaps another meal might be forthcoming, but the dark man simply turns and ambles off down the hall. You glance at each other. Is he leaving? Have you destroyed the evil in your midst?
Despite the possibility that he may not return, none can bring themselves to call out to him for help. Exhausted and starving, you return to your cells, where the doors suddenly slide shut. Somehow, you gather that this is not yet over.
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Larry Underwood (red_0mega), Mafia Power Cop, has been lynched.
At first, you think that the headcount is because you're not thinking straight, but another count confirms it: you're all still alive.
passislisk -(4)- Gigas1, Jscolton, Zionite, passislisk
Not voting: Infinis, Keifru, TheFooFish
====================================================
While you know you'll never get used to the idea of killing others, you're starting to become accustomed to the feeling that this life, filled with starvation, paranoia, suicidal neighbors, people who disappear in the middle of the night, friends who want to kill you, lunatics with McDonald's hamburgers in their jacket pockets, friends who accuse you of being a killer...all this is standard fare. In fact, now that you think about it, it's not all that different from your life before a microscopic microbe invaded your planet and killed off your very way of living.
passislisk didn't strike you as all that different from any other. Young, level-headed, not necessarily attractive or charismatic, but he had a gleam in his eye that reminded you of businessmen, or athletes, maybe. Not that he's athletic; in fact, he seems a touch on the pudgy side. But driven. Ambitious. He looked like he was ready to take on the world and come out ahead. Now, standing on the stool, neck in the noose, he flips his greasy hair away from his face and stares at each of you in turn.
"Once upon a time I would have gone to my death kicking and screaming, and taking as many of you with me as possible. But I will cause no more deaths of others. I can offer nothing more than to wish you good luck." He takes a deep breath, holds it for a count of three, then says "This is Harold Emery Lauder speaking. I do this of my own free will."
And he kicks the stool out from under himself. Again a body falls, and again the sound of vertebrae cracking under sudden stress echoes through the jailblock. But no sooner does the sound fade than you can hear deep, rolling laughter bubbling up behind you, oozing from the man on the other side of the bars like toxic waste finding its way into the town well.
"Ah, well done, Harold. Well done. Even when you set your mind against me, you manage to end up dead...and serving my purpose." You turn slowly, realizing that the dread unthinkable has happened; you've conspired to take the life of one innocent of evil. The dark man gestures, a casual thing, but suddenly the room is filled with the tantalizing scent of home-cooked fried chicken, deep battered in blue cornmeal, and as juicy as it comes.
"As I said, I take care of those who please me. Keep that in mind, and remember that my offer still stands. Destroy those in here who would oppose me, and I will make you part of the greatest force the world has ever known." He turns as he concludes, and you can't help yourself. You fall upon the veritable cornucopia of food, finding not just chicken, but biscuits and gravy, and though you curse its source, you recklessly sate your hunger. The dark man's parting words seem to drip with something thicker than the grease of the food in your hands.
"Just ask Harold Lauder what happens to those who don't follow my plans."
===============================================
Harold Lauder (passislisk), Town Vanilla, has been lynched.
Due to a short leave of absence, night 3 may last a bit longer than 72 hours.
===================================
Ralph Brentner (Jscolton), Town Vanilla, has been killed.
It is now Day 4; you may begin posting. All votes have been reset.
With 5 alive, it's 3 to lynch.
Day 4 Final Votecount
Keifru -(3)- TheFooFish, Infinis, Gigas1
Gigas1 -(1)- Zionite
Not Voting: Keifru
======================================================
A flurry of votes marks your fourth day of confinement, with people going back and forth in opinion and strategy. The man on the other side of the bars contents himself with a gambler's stance and occassionally tossing Powerbars (tm) through to the pack, amused at the frantic scramble that always ensued. More than one finger is stepped on in an attempt to snag another bite of fructose and carbs.
The discussion begins to swing around to a dichotomy. Surely Gigas1 is evil. And if not, surely Keifru is evil. You can feel the starvation and dehydration taking their toll on your sensibilities, and you no longer feel certain of anything. Dismayed, you stare at the drab gray of the floor, wondering if perhaps Home Depot has a color scheme for prisons. "Jailhouse Rock Gray" with "All Hope is Lost" accents. You don't want to die in here, yet that possibility is starting to look more likely than not.
A decision is made. Keifru glances sadly around the room, seeing each head nod in confirmation that this time, she has been the one selected for death.
"I wanted to be a good spy, guys. I thought I could foil the Dark Man's agents and save us all, but all my efforts seem to have been for nothing." She doesn't fight as you lead her to the noose and place it around her neck. A swift kick, a sharp snap, and the Dark Man's laughter rings out, confirming that for the second time, you have chosen to destroy a champion of light.
======================================================
Dayna Jurgens (Keifru), Town Tracker, has been lynched.
Glasses of water and stale doughnuts are waiting, though, and as you fall upon the food, you can't help but consider each of your three remaining companions under a stare of paranoia and frantic desire to be able to trust someone. Yet somebody among you must be lying. There doesn't seem to be much option but to resume your deliberations and try to identify those who would kill you.
Infinis -(3)- Gigas1, TheFooFish, Zionite
Gigas1 -(1)- Infinis
=============================================
Only four remained: the pregnant woman, the feral boy, the old black judge, and the teenage girl with 'tude. Back and forth they argued, bickering, shouting, sometimes falling eerily silent. But after a time, the boy and the judge seemed to bond together. They took it as fact that the the guilty party had to be one of the women. But which one?
"It's not me," said Frannie. "How could you even think such a thing? Of all the people here, I have the most reason to preserve life. In fact, I couldn't possibly have been killing anyone; I was too busy taking care of my baby."
"What? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!" Julie Lawry leveled her gaze at the brunette with the slight baby bump. "Just because you can create life means that you can't destroy it? Heck, I can create life! I think you made a deal, to protect your precious, little, disease-ridden corpse-child!"
"You witch!" Frannie flew at Julie, fingernails flying, and the two scuffled on the concrete for several minutes. Judge Farris sighed and heaved his frame up from the chair he was sitting on, then grabbed the chair and unceremoniously smashed it down on Frannie's head. She collapsed to the ground, nearly unconscious.
"You, girl, haven't been making very good choices." The sonorous timbre of his voice carried through the near-empty cellblock, reminding everyone of the power he must have wielded in his heyday. "In fact, I'd say your choices have been strange enough that it really doesn't matter whether you're good or evil. You're just plain dumb. And if I've learned one thing over the years, it's that dumb loses. In fact, I've seen a strong correlation between dumb people and criminals. So prepare to be sentenced."
Joe, normally very quiet, spoke up. "But innocent people can be dumb, too, Judge. In fact, wouldn't you say that your correlation data is somewhat skewed given the majority of people that you've encountered over the years? Think of it: your sample is riddled with criminals and lawyers, both prone to lies and stupidity. So she's made strange choices; so what?"
The judge pondered that, questing for the strand of rationality in his senility-riddled brain. In his prime, his keen perception and intelligence had served him well, but by the time he had retired...well, there had been a few calls that had only been right because he had been lucky. This was one of those times as he reconsidered and, without much remorse, helped Fran to her feet.
The three of them then turned on Julie, and as they grabbed her to take her to the noose, Judge Farris grasped her hand and gasped. "This is the one. This is the one who...came to me last night." Incredibly, a blush rose in his amber cheeks. No doubt remaining, the three of them brought Julie to the noose and pulled the stool out from under her. A quick neck snap, and Julie Lawry was no more.
====================================================
Julie Lawry (Infinis), Mafia Brooding Roleblocker has been lynched.
====================================================
The three of you glanced around at each other, exhilarated in expectation. As one, you turned to the dark man on the other side of the bars...but he is gone. No man, no chair, nothing in the fading light of the day but a dusty hallway. Incredulous, you dash to the bars and yank on the door, hoping that it will open, but it remains, as ever, securely closed.
In shock, the three of you sink to the floor, now beginning once again to suspiciously eye one another. Perhaps there is still an agent of the dark man among you. Perhaps the killing isn't yet done.
And then you hear the singing.
"Lovin' an elevator. Lovin' the up when it's goin' down. Lovin' an elevator. Lovin' the up till it hits the ground."
Odd glances are exchanged, and then you rush back to the gate, reinvigorated.
"Gonna be a henhouse popper, gonna be a millionaire. Gonna be a real fast talker, and have Mia Luffafare."
The singer appears at the end of the hall, singing at the top of his lungs. Cornhusk blond hair atop a Frankenstein monster head, and the body of a linebacker. But he's dressed in flannel and blue jean overalls, and he's smiling to beat the band. He sees the three of you and breaks off singing, but doesn't stop smiling.
"There ya are. Daddy always said that hide and seek wasn't for Tom Cullen, but Tom found you, laws, yes Tom did. Right where ol' Nick said you'd be." He saunters down the hall, and stops at the control panel of the cellblock, peering at it.
"M-O-O-N, that spells 'open'. Just like Nick said, yes." Reaching up, he pushes a button and flips a switch, and the cellblock rachets open. Just like that, you're free.
"Now Tom don't know about you, but Tom Cullen just loves Mother Abigail's cookin', and she sent Tom with a picnic lunch that could feed about a thousand people. Do you folk wanna have a picnic with Tom?"
Still a bit stunned, you start to walk down the hall, then glance over your shoulder. The cellblock is getting dark now in the gathering dusk, but it's bright enough for a glimmer of hope: there are no bodies, now. Just an empty space where a good group of people took a stand.
====================================================
Congratulations to atlseal, Gigas1, Jscolton, Keifru, passislisk, TheFooFish, VibeBox, Zajnet, and Zionite on a town win.
Setup is attached. Cleanup of first post, night actions/PMs, MVPs, and apologies will have to wait until later, but feel free to converse, question, and condemn in the meantime.
Walter Scott VC
Petrarch VC
Lazy Mod VC
Jack Black VC
David Herbert Lawrence VC
Charles M. Schultz VC - Benjammn requests replacement.
Oldmajenkins requests replacement.
Elizabeth Hurley VC
Werner Herzog VC
Friedrich Nietzsche VC
John Allen Paulos VC
Oscar Wilde VC
Albert Einstein VC - BeeHind replaced due to inactivity.
Day 2
Oliver Wendell Holmes VC
Infinis replaces in for BeeHind.
VibeBox requests replacement.
John Dewey VC
Paul Tillich VC
Gordon W. Allport VC - Vibebox's role modkilled (no reflection on VibeBox)
Rita Mae Brown VC
James Joyce VC
Mary Chapin Carpenter VC
Day 3
Barbara Jordan VC
Gen. George S. Patton VC
Day 4
Jimmy Buffet VC
Day 5
Brendan Francis VC
Stephen Vincent Benet VC
Mod Thoughts
(Cobbled together and modified from recent lists used by
Arimnaes, Kraj, Some One, Syrenz, and Zindabad)
1. This is a game. As such, I expect everyone to obey the general rules of sportsmanlike conduct one would expect in any game, which includes following all forum rules and all the rules below. Keep it fun; don't harass me or your fellow players.
2. Breaking any of the following will get you modkilled, recommended for probation, and/or blacklisted from any game I host in the future; I am taking a hard stance on this, even for a basic, because I plan to mod as frequently as I can, and this will set the standard:
4. Nights will generally last about 72 hours. They may be longer, or occasionally shorter, at my discretion. You will always be informed of exactly when night will end. Since we're playing with kid gloves, if you fail to submit a night choice to me before night ends, I will randomize your choice. If you don’t want to take a night action, please submit that information to me; if all night actions have been submitted early, I will end the night early.
5. Votes must be in bold, in the form "vote: Cantripmancer"; unvotes must also be in bold, but may be in the more general form of “unvote”. Votes made before unvoting will not be counted.
6. Lynching will require a simple majority of votes. If a deadline is imposed, and no majority is reached prior to it, the day will end without a lynch.
7. Once the lynch threshold has been reached, nothing can prevent that lynch. Players may still post during twilight (the period of time after the lynch threshold is achieved but before I have posted the lynch scene).
8. Communication with anyone about this game is restricted solely to posting in this thread, unless your role private message (PM) states otherwise.
10. The moderator (mod) for this game is Cantripmancer. If you have any questions about anything game related, please PM me and I will give you as comprehensive an answer as possible (without harming the game for you or the other players).
11. If you want to get the mod’s attention, please use bolded text of "Mod:" (i.e. – Mod: Vote count, please, or Mod: What does rule #7 mean?).
12. I understand that real life interferes from time to time, but, just like any game, Mafia requires participation. Players who don’t post at least once every 72 hours will be prodded for activity. Players who don’t respond to a prod within 48 hours will be replaced (or modkilled if no replacement can be found). If you anticipate an away time period longer than 72 hours, please communicate with me in advance.
Name (Alignment Role)
There will be some flavor stuff in here explaining who you are, how you got here, what your basic motivation is, etc.
Ability Information: If you have any abilities, they will be explained in one or more paragraphs here.
Win Condition: Your win condition will be stated here.
- The Eagles, "Take it Easy"
Day 1 has begun. Good luck to all.
With 12 alive, it takes 7 votes to lynch a player.
random.org decided:
VOTE: Oldmajenkins
who else loves SC2?
You all can thank me later
UNVOTE
VOTE: atlseal
of its steep paths have a chance of gaining its luminous summits"
-Karl Heinrich Marx
Cube
FoS on oldmajenkins, for voting me on a trumped up charge- I have two syllables and three consanents/vowels.
RIP Krensae Fluidtail: Sleep well with the fish
Vote Oldmajenkins: For being stupid
I meant consonants :/ lmfao
Unvote
Vote Gigas1 for having the 13th post
vote Vibebox for not stepping on my vibe
vote: Gigas1 because I replaced you recently.
EDH:
:symb::symb: Marrow-Gnawer :symb::symb: - :symw::symu: Grand Arbiter Augustin IV :symw::symu: - :symb::symb: Toshiro Umezawa :symb::symb: - :symg::symg: Sachi, Daughter of Seshiro :symg::symg:
High Mage of Arcane Babblings of [The Izzet]
MafiaScum Wiki Page
Vote Gigas1 for flipflopping after just one post.
RIP Krensae Fluidtail: Sleep well with the fish
Random.org is just too random to be used for random voting.
RIP Krensae Fluidtail: Sleep well with the fish
Vote: Keifru <-- Serious vote
Keifru, can you tell me why I just seriously voted for you?
As for starcraft 2, I love the game. I'm just annoyed because since the day it came out I've only been home once or twice.
VOTE: Keifru
For fence sitting in regards to SC2.
Town list:
Gigas1
Jscolton
How can you be forming a town list so soon?
RIP Krensae Fluidtail: Sleep well with the fish
In which Cantripmancer screams in excitement like a little girl.
Please note that my style of votecounts does not include order of voting; players voting will be listed in alphabetical order.Per player request, votecounts will include order of voting. Players being voted will be listed in order of most votes to least votes, with any ties being alphabetical.Gigas1 (3) - oldmajenkins, Zajnet, Keifru
Keifru (2) - atlseal, passislisk
atlseal (1) - Jscolton
passislisk (1) - Benjammn
VibeBox (1) - BeeHind
Zajnet (1) - Gigas1
Not voting (3) - Nakamura, red_0mega, VibeBox
With 12 alive, it's 7 to lynch.
I strive for perfection, but--alas!--I am human, and therefore prone to err. If I have made a mistake, please let me know.
O! many a shaft, at random sent, Finds mark the archer little meant! And many a word, at random spoken, May soothe or wound a heart that's broken!
- Walter Scott
Well, now I feel like a moron. Well, at least half of it is right
Wrong. Try again.
@Cantrip: Would it be too much to ask you to keep the order of votes on a person? If so, I'll just keep track of that for everyone, because I find that to be helpful.
A breeze rattled the rusty bars of one of the celldoors, but after a moment's pause, it was determined not to be of any consequence.
Kidding, kidding. I suggest "Mod:" because if I go afk for a bit and want to check in quickly to see if I need to answer any questions, I can search the thread for the string "mod:" much more easily than searching for all of "Cantripmancer:", "Cantrip:", "Ctm:", etc. I won't mandate the "mod" phraseology, but you'll likely get better results more consistently if you use it.
If you want to share your super secret tech with the mod as to how to easily do that, I'd be willing to make some effort. My mentor showed me how he does it, which is in an Excel master document that tracks lots of stuff...but it eliminates the order of votes. I just tried doing it with keeping the order of votes intact, and it took me three attempts. I'd rather give you accurate info than erroneous info in the format desired.
For now, however, I can give you the recent votecount with vote order:
Gigas1: oldmajenkins, Zajnet, Gigas1Keifru: atlseal, passislisk
Atlseal: Jscolton
Passislisk: Benjammn
VibeBox: BeeHind
Zajnet: Gigas1
Or I could still have it wrong. One sec.
Gigas1 (3): oldmajenkins, Zajnet, Keifru
Keifru (2): atlseal, passislisk
atlseal (1): Jscolton
passislisk (1): Benjammn
VibeBox (1): BeeHind
Zajnet (1): Gigas1
With 12 alive, it's 7 to lynch. You should definitely double-check this one...
because Cantripmancer said we should definitely double check this
I believe this is a joke, but since it's a basic, and you don't need my fumbles confusing things, be aware that the mod will never intentionally disclose information about the gamestate beyond the obvious (i.e.- votecounts). You should definitely check my votecount results to make sure they accurately reflect your votes, but this was not a comment on whether the votes are on- or off-target.
Thanks for the heads up though! How many newbies in here? First game for me.
Unvote, because I feel things are starting to get a bit srsbizness
RIP Krensae Fluidtail: Sleep well with the fish
Vote Beehind Because his Avatar is a pokemon.
RIP Krensae Fluidtail: Sleep well with the fish
Ludicolo is an awesome pokemon
This will be my first game as well.
Also, Unvote: atlseal, for now
Why so dissappointed?
@Keifru: Very well, it's not immense paranoia. Although, it's interesting that you thought that was the reason. I hadn't read you as paranoid yet. No, it's because during the random voting stage, you were successful in both putting the second vote on one player (passislisk) and the third vote on another player (Gigas1). See, the further someone lays on a random stage wagon, the more likely they are to be scum trying to get a quick wagon started.
@Benjammn: That was an extremely opportunistic vote. IGMEOY
I'm not. Not really sure why I said the "for now" part. It actually sounds kinda of stupid going back and reading it since I randomly picked you for the fallout sig.
Pokemon was my first xompetetive card game
and I have a bunch of unopened ludicolo promos lol
anyways that's why
because it brought back memories haha
I'm playing the Pokemon TCG pretty competitively right now. Magic is a side thing with with a few friends. They're both really fun. I'm glad I got into them both.
I play just MTG but there is a guy there who won some money at a pokemon thing and he taught me how to play. It's... weird. Feels like every deck is a combo deck, and if you get a starting hand with only 1 pokemon you can't choose to mulligan and you will just lose to turn 1 machamp instagib.
But yeah it can be annoying. That's also why the number of basic pokemon in decks are going up. Unfortunately, first turn wins are entirely possible. There are a ton of different decks in the metagame though.