Mafia: The Last Resort [EPILOGUE: THE END]

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SpoilerProfessorLizzard:

Your name is Anzo Dionysus. Curiosity is your particular problem.

Which doesn't sound too bad, put like that. But it also fails to banish the assumption that you have any self-control when the urge grabs you.

You don't.

When a stray 'What is that?' crosses your mind everything else suddenly stops being important. You must answer the 'What is that?', or at least do all within your power to satisfy the insatiable questions. This curiosity has dragged you across the globe, through the dregs of civilisation as well as the peak of it. You may be a slave to your wonderment, but you are a resourceful one.

And rather helpfully, the question of the day is: 'Who is behind this grisly murder?'

There's not much you can do, really, other than find out.

You are the Cop. Your never-ending quest for answers grants you the ability to investigate one person per night, which will return a guilty or innocent response. You are therefore Town aligned.
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_ _ _

Solaris:

You are called Faramund Mlakar. You know too much by default. If you open your eyes for a second all the knowledge of everything inescapably unfurls before your eyes. It's frightening and disorientating, the things you see, so you find it far better to remain seeing nothing at all. Better for the others to believe you simply blind.

Unfortunately, the recent turn of events has complicated this. The dissident guests are set to ruin everything. You can't let that happen. Even if it means opening your eyes and puzzling out what you see, you will stop them.

Even so, you're still going to do this on your terms. First: you'll only do it at night, when your vision is hampered by the lack of the light. Second: you'll only do it in the proximity of one person at a time, the one you want to know more about. Third: you'll open your eyes no more than once per night. To allow any more would be to invite your ruin. With the slight exposure you also stand a better chance of working out the intricacies of your visions.

Even so, you are certain. With these abilities at your disposal, how can you possibly fail?

You are the Cop. Every night you may choose a target to investigate with your powerful visions, and this will return a guilty or innocent result in regards to the person's alignment. You are Town aligned.

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_ _ _

AKillerCuppaTea:

Ink. Ink everywhere. What's your name? It probably doesn't matter. You had one, once, but you mislaid it somewhere. It's hard to keep track of all the words. There are so many of them, and they are so very loud. You have to keep releasing them into the ink, setting the patterns of letters on whatever surfaces will accept it. You used to just write on paper, but you ran out so quickly. All the walls are so blank. The furniture too, but not as often. What's wrong with letting the words out onto them?

People didn't understand the words. You don't either. You don't have the time to read them. Maybe once you stop writing you can look, but not yet. You don't have enough time yet. In any case, people are disgusted by the words. You think the red ink makes them look pretty, but perhaps that's not enough if they don't like the meaning. You wish you knew what it was.

You're aware that something bad has happened. It agitated the words and the ink. You need to resolve whatever it is, if only to slow the words back down to a manageable pace. You can't keep it up as it is.

Whatever the problem is, you can probably solve it by keeping people away from other people. It's always problems, with people. At least the ink is constant. If you write outside the room of someone no one will dare approach, although you still don't know why. Oh well. It'll work, at the very least.

You are the Doctor. You can pick a person each night to protect, and should anyone attempt to get into their room they will be repelled by your presence outside of it. As a doctor you are aligned with the Town.

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_ _ _

Ixcaliber:

You are the Black And White Man. Like newspapers black and white. You lost all your colours some time ago, and then everything around you lost them too. Then other people started noticing and getting scared, but at least then it wasn't a delusion you were burdened with. You'd rather be sane even if you don't sit right within the spectrum of colour.

That's why you're here, anyway. Staying in the Last Resort. Barricaded in by a handful of greedy, murderous idiots.

You intend to do something about that.

See, you found that while you lost your colours, you could take them from other people. You could take their face and their memories, their name and their talents. It doesn't last long before the colours all drain out again, but it'll be long enough. You can smell the blood in the air just as well as anybody else, and you reckon it's not going to be long at all before people start dropping. And once they're dead, nobody's going to mind if you make use of whatever talents they took with them. As long as they don't find out, that is. What they don't know can't hurt them, or so the saying goes.

Apparently some people find it a bit creepy, who you are and what you do. It doesn't matter. You'll take their thanks once you've saved them all.

You are the Absorber. Every night you may choose one of the deceased and gain whatever powers they had for use that night (and following day, if applicable). You will also appear to have the same alignment as your target for this time, and will 'remember' who was targeted on nights previous to the person's death. You may not absorb a person's power twice.

You are Town aligned.

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_ _ _

Schazer:

You are called Sarah Black. You never learned any of the names of the others around here though. Not much of a point, when you can't speak a word. You get a feeling that a few of the others aren't impressed by this. They don't think you should be here, your particular affliction being nothing but muteness.

It just so happens that you don't give a damn, and you're willing to prove yourself worthy of being here. Not that you need to, but the satisfaction of shutting up the talkers is just too tempting.

The long and short of it is that losing your voice made you a much keener listener. And when you have a posse of murderers hanging about, being able to listen well might just prove invaluable.

You are the Interceptor. Your ability is passive, but at daystart you will receive a collection of snippets from any conversations that took place in the night. You are Town aligned.

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_ _ _

Whimbrel/soundlyParanoid:

You're Eveline Faraday. Most people don't know that, though. They don't even see that you're there. Most of the time you have to scream and shout for anyone to so much as notice you. It's tough. 'Specially since you used to be the one everyone loved to talk to. Hell, everyone wanted to be you. So it's tough, no doubt about that. You only ended up in this place after you lost your voice from screeching so much.

But the Last Resort's been good. The people have been friendly, for the most part, and pleasant enough once you get around their quirks. You've been getting better as well.

So when some hyped up crazies start trying to ruin everything the Last Resort stands for, you're sure as hell not going to sit around and let it happen. You're going to help these people, and what's more you're going to do it with the very thing that made you end up in this house of defectives.

After all, who's going to notice somebody like you creeping around?

You are the Tracker. You can pick a person, and should they leave their room in the night you'll be able to follow them without being noticed. If they visit anyone you will be informed of it. You win upon the death of all anti-town players, and as such you are Town aligned.

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Mirdini:

Your name is Jack Brume and for you, the world is brimming with connections. Links. Ties. Neckwear.

In your mind's eye the entire world glows with affiliations and possibilities, but you seem to be the only one who sees all these wonders. And as the vile conspirators that lurk amongst your allies close in with lethal intention, you can't help but find purpose in using your impressive skills to oust these rogues.

The only apparent issue with this arrangement is that, with alarmingly frequency, you become so embroiled in this enlightened manner of thinking that you trip over your words and become heartily confused. Should you manage to shed light on previously unseen connections, there still lies the peril that you should fail to communicate this wisdom. You would be a veritable Cassandra!

You are the Idiot Savant. Every night you may pick two people, living or dead, and if there was any significant interaction between the two then you will be informed of this. There is also a chance that you will see clearly enough to be informed of the nature of this connection. However, the day after you may not mention the names of the two people or allude to them in any way. This is lifted when the night begins, and the use of your power at night does not require you to leave your room. You are Town aligned.

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_ _ _

MalkyTop:

Your name is Elena Clay. You're the handyman around here, so you're not stark raving crazy or weirdly afflicted in any way. Don't get the wrong idea; you've got nothing against the poor blighters in this place, but you couldn't stand being one of them. It seems a bunch of them had a similar idea and have gone slightly crazy, having decided that they'd rather kill than have to leave the Last Resort.

It's unfortunate. You've grown fond of the people who end up in here, and it's going to hurt to have to deal with them. But that's your job: you deal with stuff. This little situation is no exception. You reckon being locked in their rooms will cool them down a bit.

You are the Roleblocker. Each night you may choose a person, and you will lock them in their room so they may not perform any action that requires them to leave. No target may be picked on consecutive nights. You are Town aligned.

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_ _ _

Wheat:

You're Victor Fischer! You're also disappointed! Always disappointed with everyone. Can't they be snappier? Even the ones with the balls to murder in cold blood are being lousily slow, going for one at a time. One! A night! What kind of threat is that? Your grandmother could clean this place out faster, and she's been dead for years!

Still, knowing the others, people aren't going to be quick to react. Or do anything, really. It's a crying shame.

So you'll help them out with this pathetic threat, and you can get back to doing important stuff. That coffee isn't going to drink itself.

You think you'll snoop around the rooms of these people at night. That seems like the most direct approach for figuring out what's going on. Just look, damnit. Who wants to mess around with mind games? Too slow!

That said, there's always the opportunity to throw caution to the wind. Do something even you don't expect. Who knows? It might actually do some good to these sticks in the mud.

You are the Flavour Cop, and once a night you can choose a target to investigate. This will reveal a number of items in the room relevant to the person's role. However, you may also sacrifice this ability at night to fulfil an impulsive (read: randomly chosen by me) action upon a person of your choosing in the day. You are Town aligned.

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_ _ _

MrGuy:

People refer to you as Eddy Marsch, but a more accurate name might be something like Cupid. Not that you would ever call yourself that, for so many good reasons. And what you do is never quite on purpose. You'll just be thinking, ruminating on the people you know, and then suddenly – BAM! You just know you've gone and done it again. Sure enough, you'll find the two of them breathless and stuttering at the sight of each other, completely and utterly infatuated. It's a nightmare. Soppy lovebirds are the worst people to be around. You know all too well from your unfortunately gained wealth of experience.

Luckily it never lasts for long, and afterwards the two victims go about their daily business, dazed and slightly confused.

Normally it's not a skill you'd ever consider to be in any way useful, but with the death and danger you figure a little love could go a long way, even if it just lets people talk to each other at the very least. That's worth it, right?

You are the Cupid. Each night you may pick two targets. They will become masons for that night and will be able to talk freely with each other. However, no one else will be aware of what they talk about, not even you. You are Town aligned.

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_ _ _

Pick Yer Poison:

You are Daniel DiCarlo, hotel bartender and head chef. It's an impressive job description, but the available technology within the Last Resort makes your presence almost redundant. All the same, it still feels satisfying to mix a cocktail or cook a good meal sometimes. Most people would be surprised what a decent drink can do for them, actually. Of course, the effect generally gets negated by the following decent drinks, but it's still something you've noticed over your years of experience.

To be honest, it's given you a bit of an idea. You don't like how these mysterious guests have put the place into lockdown any more than the next person, and you surmise that the good guys are going to need all the help they can get. If you slip them one of your best cocktails, the results of their work can only be improved.

You are the Monolith. At night you may pick a target to receive one of your prize cocktails, which will increase the effects or efficiency of any abilities they use that night. No target may be chosen on consecutive nights. You are Town aligned.

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Drakenforge:

Your name is Bryce Murdoch. Truth be told, this situation with the dissident guests is a bit of a relief. You could never admit to anyone the real reason why you're here, and that's because your bloodlust runs a bit closer to the surface than for most people. It's a temperament that has resulted in a few deaths, all by your hands. It's... addictive. To have the last remnants of life flicker away from the husk at your feet... it's the worst part of you.

But perhaps the best too.

And now you have a chance to do something that the rest of these pleasant people would be too human to do. You're going to kill the rogue guests.

There. You've admitted it. But only one a night, so as not to raise untoward suspicion. After all, you don't know who exactly these people are yet.

And you're not going to be stupid about it. You're going to find yourself an accomplice. Then you're going to poison them. Not to kill them, mind. It's just a bit of life insurance. Every night you'll administer the antidote, and then poison them again. They'll never die, but they'll become completely dependent on you for survival. If you do happen to get killed, then your chosen accomplice will also die from not receiving the antidote. Simple. Sensible. But not too humane.

You are the Mentor. If you do not have a Mentee, then at the first available night you must choose one from the living players. From then on you will be able to communicate with them at all times, and for every night that you have a Mentee you will be able to kill someone of your choosing. If your Mentee dies, you must choose another during the next available night phase. If you die, your Mentee will die also. You are Town aligned.

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_ _ _

Pharmacy:

Your name is Olivia Kay, and you've been trying to find someone for a long time. Fortunately, you think you have them cornered in this hotel. The entire business with the place being in lockdown suits you just fine, as it means your prey can't escape yet again. Yes yes, the murdering does make the situation a little awkward but you quite frankly don't have time for it. You'll play along while everyone else chases around after the suspicious and the stupid by day, but at night you'll go out in search of your fellow duellist. It beats you why they don't want to finish this business once and for all.

At least you still talk on phone. Perhaps you can convince them that it's for the best that one of you dies in this duel?

You are the Hunter Duellist. Every night you must choose a person. You will visit their room and attempt to find the Hunted Duellist. If ever the two of you are in the same room at one time, you will both be forced to duel, resulting in one of you dying. The rules of the duel will be explained upon its occurrence. You receive a half win if you initiate the duel and a full one if you win. Should you win, you will receive a second win condition to fulfil in the remaining game time. As such, you are Third Party.

You will also be able to anonymously communicate with the Hunted Duellist at all times by PMing me or writing a response in your Quick Topic. Any responses will be relayed back to you.

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_ _ _

Woffles:

Your name is Eliza Veronesi. You are running for your life.

Many years ago you agreed to a duel to the death. This bought you enough time to escape your fellow duellist, and you did so. While you suspected they would chase you, you did not bank on the sheer obsession of your enemy that has led to them following you even here, to the Last Resort. With the entire place in lockdown, there is nowhere else for you to go. You will evade your counterpart for as long as you are able, but should you stand face to face you know you will have little choice other than to try and kill them. This has gone on for long enough.

At least, that is what you tell yourself when you work up the bravado.

You are so very scared.

It doesn't help that they still ring you on your phone.

You are the Hunted Duellist. Every night you must pick a person. You will visit their room and attempt to hide from the Hunter Duellist, but if you should ever happen to be in the same room as the Hunter you will be forced to duel. The exact rules of the encounter will be revealed upon its occurrence. You win if you escape the Hunter Duellist until the end of game, when you will be able to escape again. You will gain a half win if you enter the duel but survive. Should such a thing occur you will be given another win condition to fulfil in the remaining game time. As such, you are Third Party.

You will also be able to anonymously communicate with the Hunter Duellist at all times by PMing me or writing a response in your Quick Topic. Any responses will be relayed back to you.

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_ _ _

g0m/Sanzh:

Your name is Aaron Lance, and you're quite partial to a wager. Well, if you're honest you'll take any bet offered to you. And if no one's offering one, then you'll go out of your way to set one up. And normally it's all rather fun.

Unfortunately, people at the Last Resort have become a little distracted since the murdering began, and just about no one is interested in wagering with you any more. It's becoming boring on an insufferable level.

But then you had an idea. Why not wager against the lynchers? Everyone's so eager to get someone in the noose, but there's no good way of knowing who it's going to be. So you'll try and guess the unlucky person.

You reckon you can guess correctly twice before you get properly bored and just walk out of this place.

You are the Predictor. Each night you must choose a person. If the person is lynched the next day, then your prediction was correct. To win you must correctly predict twice, at which point you will be removed from the game.

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_ _ _

Pinary:

Your name is Bernard Grey. And you'll be honest; your stay at the Last Resort hasn't been as helpful as you were led to believe it would be. They won't take the cards off you. You don't know why. The cards caused all your problems, so why won't they just take them from you?

It's not hard. They're just ten tarot cards sealed in long, slim envelopes. One each, with a name of one of the Major Arcana written in neat black ink on the front. They probably wouldn't last long in a fire. In fact, you could theoretically get rid of them right this instant in just such a way. You're even fortunate enough to have a match box on you right now. You could do it, you really could.

But maybe not just yet. No. It's not the right time. You would confess to not knowing when the right time to get rid of them is exactly, but it can't be now. But equally, you can't open the envelopes. Terrible, terrible things would happen. Or perhaps wonderful, sublime things. You're not sure about that either, but it's the stark difference between the two outcomes that terrifies you. The temptation to take out the cards has followed you ever since you found them, neatly stacked in an abandoned briefcase in a train station. The train station was abandoned too, but that's not important.

Only the cards are.

And with the terrible situation that's arisen, you're quickly finding that the temptation to open those stark envelopes a little too much to bear...

You are the Survivor. As the bearer of the Cards you are determined to not die, but you don't care enough about anything else to pick a side in the predicament you find yourself in. As such, you are Third Party. However, you also may choose to open one of the envelopes each night and unleash the consequences. The names written on the ten envelopes are as follows:

The Fool
The High Priestess
The Emperor
Fortitude
The Hanged Man
Death
The Tower
The Star
The Sun
Judgement

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Dragon Fogel:

Your name is James Ericson. You have been blessed with a most wonderful ability, but you would judge by your detainment in this hotel that others would prefer to call it a curse. You can raise and lower the minds of men, granting them divine insight or crippling them completely. It is a most powerful gift.

So why must you remain in this place?

Truth be told, you don't know for certain. But that's not going to matter. Not once you've killed all the people holding you here.

You found some friends in this cesspit, see. They're motivation is slightly different from yours as they seem oddly determined to stay here, but as you see it if the means are the same then you might as well stick with them. You'll both get what you want – it just so happens that these are different things.

So you're going to use your abilities to make sure this thing is a clean sweep.

You are the Encryptor Roleblocker, and a member of the Mafia. Your ability allows your fellow scum to communicate during the day as well as during the night, but should you die this effect will be removed. Every day you use this ability you must retain balance by roleblocking a person of your choice during the night. Your friends go by the names of TimeothyHour, Sruixan and Insufficient Fresh .

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_ _ _

Insufficient Fresh/SleepingOrange:

Your name is Nazario Silver. You are an outcast in this place. You don't understand why. Your affliction is as serious as all of the others here, if not more so. You have every right to be here. Why do they look at you with those fearful, hateful eyes? You never even did anything wrong. Considering what your problem is, you think that makes your achievement all the more impressive. No. Your only crime was to be honest about the ailment gnawing at you, and they responded by making you a pariah.

What does it matter if you can rip away the lives of those close to death? It doesn't mean you've ever done it. It's just a feeling, a knowing so tangible you can almost grasp it in your hands. Before their stares suggested it, the very act was a thing you would never even dream of doing.

But your hand has been forced. Aside from the people, the paradise of the Last Resort was the best thing you've ever encountered. You don't want to have to leave just because it's the Rules. Out in the real world, you're nothing. Here, at least, you are feared.

So you teamed up with some like-minded individuals, and you killed the stupid man who was so thrilled to be leaving the best place on Earth. Not you personally, but it happened. You're going to kill everyone else too.

You are a member of the Mafia, and the Executioner. When a person is on a soft lynch, you may cause them to be lynched there and then. However, you may only do this three times in the entire game. As a member of the Mafia, you will win when you and your fellow dissident guests control the lynch vote. These people are Sruixan, Dragon Fogel and TimeothyHour. You may communicate with them at night. At the start of the game you may also communicate during the day, but this depends on certain factors.

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_ _ _

TimeothyHour:

Your name is Edward Hopkins, and you’ve been around the Last Resort for as long as anyone can remember. You’re practically part of the furniture. Unlike most of those who wander into this place, your particular problem was severe enough that you’ve been required to stay for several years in the Last Resort. Improvement has been slow – very slow – and you fear more than anything that you would simply regress if you left.

You won’t let that happen. You can’t go back to the humiliation of your previous state. In fact, you’re so certain of this that you would be willing to kill.

And you have.

With agreement from your like-minded friends you murdered that insufferable idiot, the one who was so goddamn pleased about leaving.

You think it underlined your aim quite neatly.

You are the Godfather and the Killer of the Mafia. You’ve been around the Last Resort for so long that no one would even think to suspect you, so you will turn up as innocent to all accurate investigations. You also get to decide the method and target of the nightly kill. The method can also involve the inclusion of short notes if you wish, and these will be found with the body in the morning flavour.

As a member of the mafia you also have the ability to talk to your fellow scum by night. They are Dragon Fogel, Sruixan and Insufficient Fresh.

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_ _ _

Sruixan:

Your name is David Roosevelt, and chaos is your so-called affliction. You don't believe that to be the case, obviously, since your 'problem' has been nothing but useful. You might even go so far to say that you don't belong in this place, but aside from the nut jobs hanging around it's quite wonderful. Yes. If you could get rid of those, this place would be just perfect. You would have everything you could ever need.

Fortunately, you have both the desire and the means to enact such an event.

First, you have your talent for twisting the orderly, subtly but powerfully. It’s not escaped your attention that more than a few of the nut jobs in question aren’t going to go down without a fight, but you reason that swapping around the location of certain people’s rooms will be more than enough to sufficiently confuse them.

Second, you have a circle of accomplices. Three others with the same idea, and more than enough drive. You already killed that woman. You know, the one who was actually pleased about leaving. Or one of you killed her, anyway.

All in all, you reckon it’s going to go fairly well.

You are the Bus Driver. Your chaotic influence allows you to pick two people each night; any effects targeting one will instead target the other, and vice versa. You may talk with your ring of accomplices at night, but also in the day (although the latter is subject to certain factors). They go by the names of Insufficient Fresh, TimeothyHour and Dragon Fogel. You are aligned with the Mafia.

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ProfessorLizzard:

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SpoilerN1
You lay in bed a little while after the lynching, but you found it difficult to wait to carry out your investigation. So, a few minutes later, you leapt out of your bedsheets (fully clothed – why get changed when there are investigations to be had?) and slipped out of your room.

It was eerily silent in the corridors. You couldn't remember it being any noisier in normal times, but at least then it didn't sound like suppressed quiet – like the noise of nineteen people trying to not make a noise.

You find the door of your target's room unlocked. (Not that it would have been a problem if it had been – you were curious about lock picking once, and true to form you went to immense lengths trying to sate that curiosity.)

A quick sweep of the room offers nothing of interest. Dissatisfaction gnawing at you, you are compelled to look again, this time tapping everything in search of hollowness or secret compartments where evidence of evil deeds might lie. However, the room still remains extremely innocent.

Irritated, you leave quickly. There is no doubt about it.

Mirdini is Innocent.

N2

As the night fully settles in you pace around your room, burning with curiosity but still too cautious to leave before you're certain everyone will be asleep. You glance out the window at the darkened sky and the rising moon, but it does nothing to ease your restlessness.

Suddenly, a clack of metal causes you to spin around and stare.

It came from the door.

Fearing the worst, you stride over and try the handle. Just as you thought, someone has taken it upon themselves to lock you inside your own room. It seems you won't be able to satisfy your curiosity tonight.

N3

Your curiosity burning away at you, you hardly bother to wait the proper amount of time before sneaking away into the night.

However, just as you stand to leave an incredible pain grips your skull. You fall to the floor, utterly helpless. You can't move, you can't stand and you can't yell for help. There is only pain.

For hours this lasts, each second an eternity, until the first rays of dawn shine through your window and it is far too late to investigate.

N4

Your impatience is the greatest it has ever been. You don't even bother to return to your room. Desperate that nothing will stop you tonight, you step out into the labyrinth of corridors that make twist through the building like veins, lurking in shadows and behind corners until a sufficient degree of sleep-fuelled silence has fallen over the hotel.

Excitement growing, you half stride, half run towards your target's room.

It is only when you swing around a corner and set eyes upon it that the first spasm ripples through you. You slam into the ground, silently begging for it to be merely a symptom of your sleep deprivation. But as you attempt to rise, a second spasm sets in and the incredible pain that tormented you the previous night begins to rise...

Locked in agony til the first touches of dawn, you do not succeed in investigating tonight.

N5

You are nervous, this night, but as the hours of night pass you find no crippling pain comes to haunt you. Barely daring to believe, you slip outside your room and almost run to the chambers of your target.

Slipping through their door into the gloomy interior, you begin your search in earnest. Sure enough, you are quickly rewarded with the exact things you hoped to find. Barely able to contain your glee, you comb through drawers and wardrobes and other hiding spots, grinning each time your suspicions are confirmed.

When you slip away again, your spirits are high and your curiosity is at least partway satisifed.

Dragon Fogel is Guilty.

N6

Investigated, but death on the same night prevented a result being given.
[spoiler]

Solaris:
[spoiler]N1

Silently you pad down the familiar hallways of the Last Resort, your ears perfectly attuned to the goings on of the hotel. Your blindfold remains in place over your cursed eyes, keeping out the world that you alone may see. Even so, you are more than used to walking around as if blind. It strikes you as slightly ironic that this would be the case, seeing that you have at your disposal the ability to see far more than any other mortal.

In due time you arrive without a sound at your destination. You hesitate before the door, suddenly uncertain. Opening your eyes is no easy thing to deal with. Normally, you would never even consider it.

But these are not normal circumstances, are they?

Your mind made up, you open the door. It springs open at your touch, the trusting nature of those within the hotel persisting even now. You walk the last few steps, until you stand before the bed where your target lies.

You allow yourself a particularly loud inhalation, and slip off the blindfold.

At first it is fine. Your quarry is sound asleep on the bed. Some moonlight shines through the window into the room. The usual mess of a lived in room sits around the place.

But then tendrils of vision creep in the edges of your vision. Every object begins to gain the weight of a thousand memories that became interwoven with them over their use. It is still bearable, and you switch your focus solely to the sleeping person.

You flinch at the first memory of a splattering of blood, then a gleam of metal. Darkness appears, a sole person with a sole candle persisting against it. A dog is scratched behind the ears, a scream pierces through a gloomy alleyway, a couple exchanges rings in a white church, a fish twitches and gasps for breath in the mud-

Now the banality of memories runs away, and so does your calmness. Bare thoughts and feelings spring at you, all at once, each one a mere splinter of almost nothing on its own, a barrage of being forming a person when seen together.

You fight against the confusion and bewilderment, piecing together the essence of your target in a frenzy of fear. It is difficult to persist now, but to remain for much longer in this state of knowing would damage you. As the visions begin to appear more quickly and violently you find what you're looking for, and pull the blindfold back on before the more powerful knowledge can bite and tear at your sanity.

Noticing that your breathing has become laboured, you exit the room as quickly and quietly as your shaken demeanour will allow. You stop in the hallway, a chill going up your spine as you dwell on what you have seen.

There is no doubt about it.

Mirdini is Guilty.

N2

For the second time you pad out into the dark, fingertips brushing the walls as you pad over thick carpet. It doesn't take long to find the room you seek, nor does it to slip inside. You inch closer and you can hear your target's soft breathing as they sleep, oblivious to your presence. Untangling your blindfold, you set eyes on them for the first time.

The normal version of your sight vanishes more quickly this time. You hiss with shock as the images rush in, but it is not enough to alert your target and wake them from their slumber. A headache as sharp as the note of a silver bell causes you to clutch your skull. Distracted and disarmed, the memories of the sleeper overwhelm you within moments.

White clouds rushing over mountains, the shattering of a glass and the splash of red wine, a tear running down the cheek of a beautiful woman and your own trembling hand. Emotions overwhelm you as the flashes of life flick by: heartache, joy, bittersweet loss, soft, flickering love. From second to second you're ripped through euphoria and depression, ecstasy and agony. You can barely focus on the all important visions as these borrowed emotions tear your mind apart and, moments before you are certain you would die, the answer comes to you. Instantly your hands fly to your eyes, and everything vanishes.

Fighting back the urge to tear off your skin, to mutilate your eyes, to purge yourself of this hell, you stagger away.

Sruixan is innocent.

You collapse outside your door, weeping softly. You try to not think of the next night. Or the one after. Or even the life that stretches before you, full of opportunities where your visions might torment you.

Fortunately, you spared this by the sudden realisation that someone is standing very, very close to you. This realisation also ends quickly, but is this time cut short by a sharp prick of pain in your neck and complete darkness.

_ _ _

You awake tied to a chair. Your blindfold is still in place, thankfully, but you can hear someone not far from where you are sitting. You sit up properly, having slumped over while unconscious.

“My apologies for inconveniencing you like this.” The speaker is male, deep voiced. Not too young, but probably not old either. It's difficult to properly judge.

“Who are you? What do you want?” They're hardly original questions, but they encapsulate all that you want to know right now.

“You may know me as Drakenforge. And again, I must apologise. You have been poisoned with a lethal dose.”

Panic flares up for a moment, but you're too exhausted to sustain it. Instead, a coldness descends upon you. Maybe it's the poison or maybe it's you giving up, but a numbness settles through your limbs.
“Why?” You're surprised at how bitter you sound – partially because it's more than you expected, but also because it's not as angry as you might have hoped.

“You're taking this well. I must admit that I'm surprised.”

“Why?!” Rage underlines the question this time, and you strain at your ties as you spit it out. A little satisfaction bubbles up in that detached part of you.

“You're not going to die. You're more use to me alive. Don't think of this as murder: think of it as life insurance. I have the antidote right here.” You hear a faint sloshing of liquid. “The poison I gave you will take a day to take full effect. For the majority of that time you will feel fine. It's only in the last few hours that your body will fail, and your mind will be destroyed by the pain of your body decaying. And then you will die.”

“How does that help anyone, freak?”

“Because every night we will meet, and I will give you the antidote. The poison will be halted. But I will also poison you again, and it will restart the journey that ends in your destruction. As long as I live, you will also. But if I should die, then you will meet your end a day later. My advice to you is to stop that from happening in any way you can.”

“You're disgusting.”

Your captor sighs, and you delight in noticing a little frustration in the noise.

“I assume that you want the same thing as I do. You want to kill those who spilled innocent blood, those who torment us with their presence. The idea of the noose is all very well, but it's subject to interference by those who want us all dead. It's a weak system. I will seek them out and kill those I suspect myself, and they will be powerless to stop me.”

“So why do you need me?”

“Because I need someone I can trust. I can't do that by talking – in this place, it is nothing short of insanity to trust someone on their word alone.”

“So you're using threats?”

“Precisely. I'm glad you understand.”

Without warning you feel a sharp pain on the back of your head, and you lose consciousness once more.

When you awake you are in your room, untied. The poisoner is gone, and all is quiet again.

You have been recruited by the Mentor as his Mentee. If the Mentor dies, you will die during the night after his death. Essentially you are a one-way Lover, as the Mentor will be unaffected by your death. The Mentor is Drakenforge. You may also communicate with Drakenforge at any time using this QT: <!-- m --><a class="postlink" href="https://www.quicktopic.com/46/H/x4s6mjkL9J5v">https://www.quicktopic.com/46/H/x4s6mjkL9J5v</a><!-- m -->

N3

Action submitted but death the same night prevented a result being given.

Ixcaliber:

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SpoilerN1

At some point in the night you slip out of your room, through the halls and down the stairs. You walk silently and soullessly through the abandoned chairs and glasses of the bar, the gleaming plates and cutlery of the dining room, onwards into the sterile darkness of the kitchen until you stand in front of the door you seek.

It's old, its shabbiness somewhat incongruous with the modern and sleek surroundings. A lock bars your passage, but it too is ancient and it breaks easily. You continue your descent down wooden stairs that creak and moan as you pass, like long forgotten ghosts of the hotel. The air is cooler down here, and soon the walls give way to stone.

As you step out into the expanse of the old coldroom, you are greeted with the muffled noise of rushing water. A river runs below this room, you were told, and it would keep the contents of the room above cool. Back in the centuries gone by when royalty and nobility almost exclusively would visit this place, before it became a bastion of the sick, this was the closest thing they had to a refrigerator. Today only certain wines and alcohol is kept cool down here... as well as the bodies of the deceased.

There are only two, covered in cloth to preserve what little dignity they might had left. The man who was lynched tonight didn't pose much of a problem – he was largely intact. The woman who had died this morning, however... they had for some reason felt the need to rearrange her before laying the sheet over her. It was odd, but it made your job easier. The bloodstained suitcase lay open in the corner.

You flipped up the covering on one of the bodies, finding your target immediately. You only unveiled her head, but that was all you needed. It had been laid on its side out of ease. You picked it up, looking at her clouded eyes. You absent-mindedly brushed a strand of hair away from her face, and laid a greyscale hand over her visage.

The memories come first. The pain of everyone, held by her always. A desperate, selfish need to help others just so she wouldn't suffer. A name: Angelina. One remaining family member: a crippled sister. The general gave way to the specific, but it was mainly banal things. Nothing you cared about.

Then came the colour. Your hand changed to the colour of a living person, someone with a soul. Something the two of you lacked. She in turn became completely grey, the fiery hair and blue eyes fading into drabness.

As you walked away with your stolen face, you tried to convince yourself that you regretted taking the only thing Angelina had left. In truth, your only hope came from that you'd gone to the effort to try it.

You have gained to abilities of a vanilla town. Which is to say, nothing that you didn't have before.

N2

Submitted an action but death on the same night prevented a result being given.

Whimbrel/soundlyParanoid:

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SpoilerN1 – Tracked Pinary

When night has fully fallen and everyone has had the good sense to at least pretend to be asleep, you glide through the hallways of the hotel and come to a halt outside of your target's door. Although it hardly matters, you still make your best attempts to remain silent and still. It feels more courteous that way; if you're going to spy on someone, you may as well make an effort.

However, it becomes apparent over the course of the night that your attempt has been in vain. Nobody leaves the room that night, so you have no one to follow. As the first rays of dawn creep through the window you sigh and coast back to your room.

After all, you have the appearance of a good night's sleep to keep up.

N2 – Tracked Pinary

After the failure of your previous night's attempt to draw up anything interesting, you settle outside of Pinary's room with slightly dampened enthusiasm. And yet again, unfortunately, you are made to wait outside for the entirety of the night.

Pinary visited no one tonight.

N3 – Tracked MrGuy

This night you go out in search of someone different. Full of hope, you stand and wait outside for hours on end.

Unfortunately, at no point in the night does MrGuy leave his room. Another dead end.

N4 – soundlyParanoid replaces – Tracks SleepingOrange

You spring out into the night with a newfound determination. It seems nothing short of devastatingly cruel luck would cause you to come up short of results for the fourth night in a row, and so you have fallen back to optimism. Through the echoing corridors of the hotel you sometimes pause, thinking you've heard someone or something, but you always shake your head and keep moving. Whatever business others have walking the hallways at night is of no importance to you: right now, your focus is on one SleepingOrange.

This night, as with so many other nights, you stand and wait outside of his door. The first few minutes pass slowly, so excited as you are for a result, but eventually the chunks of time slip away more quickly. Before very long at all the hours of night have peeled away and dawn has arrived.

Thoroughly dejected, you slink back to your room and consider the atrocious condition of your luck.

SleepingOrange visited no one tonight.

Mirdini:

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SpoilerN1

g0m and TimeothyHour:
As midnight approaches, you decree that it is time. You're not sure why then, exactly, but something about the melodramatic reputation of the hour appeals to you. You unfurl a large, thick sheet of paper from the stack you keep just for this sort of thing and uncap your favourite pen. Laying these on the desk, you sit and think.

Eventually you pick up the pen and begin to inscribe a circle of names onto the paper. Twenty of them. The residents of the Last Resort as of today, before the hanging of the man who wrote all the time.

Then, with wonderfully decisive stroke of the pen, you link the names of g0m and TimeothyHour.

Thoughts and notions immediately begin to coalesce in your mind: not all of them, perhaps, belonging to you. Closing your eyes you focus on those two people, reaching for a solid link in the midst of the mental swathes that revolved inside your mind.

Suddenly, your eyes snap open. Along the line you slashed across the paper you find three words written in your neat hand.

In a way.

You frown at those words. This was not what you were expecting at all, but searching your thoughts you do find a faint ringing of connection between these two people. It's not quite right, and it's certainly not a direct link, but it is there all the same.

Sighing, you return the pen to its resting place, cleaned and capped, and fold up the paper. Perhaps tomorrow night will prove more fruitful.

(This puzzled a lot of people, no doubt, but the connection was actually very tenuous indeed. Their only connection is that the scum team happened to roleblock g0m on the same night. However, g0m had no night action so he was never informed of this.)

N2

Woffles and Pharmacy:
You have already prepared your table before midnight strikes. A fresh page, corners slightly curling, lies before you, your pen and ink sat to your right. Just as before, your write the twenty names of those in the hotel, although your hand slows as it shapes the names of the dead. Three of them, all good people. Doubtlessly the dawn will bring light to more shed blood. You shudder, and finish the circle of names.

It is a little easier to focus on your desired connection to night, already voiced and thought about as it had been. A Hunter and a Hunted is a romantic idea, but you doubt the truth of it. Shaking your head, you lay aside the scepticism for a moment and allow your mind to wander.

Some time later (it feels like only a few minutes, but your clock declares it to have been far longer) your pen begins to move. It traces a line between Woffles and Pharmacy, and moves to write a word beside it, but your mind is consumed by thoughts of fiery passion and blood, the sound of crossed rapiers and the smell of smoke from a fired pistol. And there – two individuals, trapped within this hell, doomed to live and doomed to die.

Your eyes snap open. Beside the line connecting Woffles and Pharmacy there lies three letters: YES.

There is no doubt. The two are inextricably linked.

During D3 you may not mention or allude to the names of Woffles and Pharmacy.

N3

You are sat at your desk, paper and ink ready, when you hear something behind you. The lights are dimmed, so at first when you turn you don't see them.

Then, from the darkest shadows, a woman steps forward. Your first instinct is to yell, but her gaze holds you and all noise dies upon your lips.

It is then that you realise it is Woffles who stands before you.

“Why-”

She puts a finger to her lips, and words fail you once more.

“This is important,” she says. “Very important. The truth of the Last Resort has been revealed to me, and it is of vital importance that everyone knows. But there is not much time, and every day someone dies. I will tell you this truth, but you must be prepared to stand by me. I need allies if this is to prevail.”

“What truth?” Your words are hardly your own: you are captivated by her speech, and your entire attention is focused on her.

“This whole thing is a sham. Completely and utterly. The people here... they are not sick. They are gifted. The hotel will not remove that, and has never been capable of such a feat. Think about when you first came here. How did you know that this lifeless building would solve all your ills? Why, the people who were here before you said so. And you were so desperate for reprieve that you believed them, and clung on to every lie you were told, just as those before you had done. But there is no shame in that. Not when we have all suffered.

“But somebody needs to take control. People are dying, and yet it does not even cross the mind of others to leave. All of us could just walk out, right this instant, and yet we stay and die.”

“So – we must leave this place?”

“No. Not yet. There is no healing to be found here, but the Last Resort still has merit. It's a hotel, and a fine one at that. It's history is heaving with the rich and famous who stayed here, yet now it rots. If this building deserves anything, Mirdini, it is to be raised to its former glory. We must convert others, and kill those who will not be convinced. Specifically, those who started the bloodshed. Alas, their minds have gone. It is too late for them.”

A sad note had crept into her voice, but suddenly she smiles at you.

“May a new dawn break over this accursed building.”

You find you couldn't agree more.

You have been recruited as a Follower of the Cult Leader, Woffles. Your alignment is no longer Town, but Third Party. You retain your abilities, but you will win when the anti-town is dead and your cult make up the majority of players. While Woffles lives she may recruit a member into the cult each night. Should she die, the cult will lose this ability but keep their new alignment. They must then achieve victory alone.

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Dragon Fogel and Whimbrel:

A little unsettled after your change of alignment, it takes you longer than usual to focus and clear your mind. Eventually, however, the ink flows and the twenty names write themselves. You sink into faded consciousness and sift through all the memories, words and gestures of your two targets. Like pieces in a puzzle moments slot together and scatter irretrievably, until you have your answer.

Carefully written in the centre of the circle are two letters: No.

A little bemused by your result, you tidy away the papers and go in search of sleep.

N4

Not a little perturbed by the drawing of a card so ominously named as Death, when you take the time to dart back to your room it takes longer than usual to compose yourself. You spill your ink, the tip of your pen snaps and the paper becomes torn and crumpled before long.

Being in a cult doesn't suit you very well, apparently.

Nevertheless, you soon clean up the mess and retrieve fresh stationery, and the thinking begins. Twenty names arrange themselves in a circle. Two are chosen. And, after a great deal of pondering your hand writes a neat 'No' next to the line that joins ProfessorLizzard and Drakenforge. Sighing, you tidy up again and return to witness the drawing of the tarot card.