Re: Mafia: The Last Resort [D7: Mixed Result]
11-27-2011, 11:48 AM
Wheat:
Drakenforge:
Pharmacy:
Woffles:
g0m/Sanzh:
Pinary:
Dragon Fogel:
I don't really want to post the temporary lover PMs (and they can be found in the QTs anyway), so I'll just state who was paired and when.
For further reading, peruse the QTs.
Cult
Mafia
Drakenforge
Drakenforge/TimeothyHour Poisoner Chat
Mirdini
ProfessorLizzard
Sanzh
Pinary
Insufficient Fresh/SleepingOrange
Dragon Fogel
Whimbrel/soundlyParanoid
Wheat
TimeothyHour
MrGuy
Solaris
Third Lovers' Chat
Woffles
Drakenforge/Solaris Poisoner Chat
The Star
Second Lovers' Chat
Pick Yer Poison
Ixcaliber
Pharmacy
Sruixan
MalkyTop
g0m
First Lovers' Chat
Schazer
AKillerCuppaTea
Next: the Epilogue.
SpoilerShow
N1
You gaze around the darkened room of this Ixcaliber person. You've rooted through the place more than once, and you haven't found a single incriminating object. Or anything that implies any interests or even an inkling of personality. It's not what is in the room that's unnerving you, but what appears to be lacking.
The search didn't take long. You're about to leave. After all, you didn't find anything. You should leave. Before the sleeping person wakes up and finds you.
You instead turn on the light.
And you find what you were looking for. Immediately the light is switched off, and you exit the room. That's done. No need to think about it any more.
Although, of course, it is mildly intriguing. You know, that the entire room is completely grey. No colour at all. Even the complementary fruit, somehow. But it's hardly important.
Suddenly, you yawn.
Huh. Guess I should drink some more coffee.
And you do. All is well.
N2
By the time you arrive at MalkyTop's room, you are quite irked at how long it took you. For some unfathomable reason the room isn't among the guest rooms, but is burrowed virtually in the basement.
There's a lot of stuff lying around down here: half assembled mechanisms, toolboxes, scrap metal, oil containers, and other similar things which are no doubt useful if boring. The place is a mess, put simply.
Kicking away a rusty strip of something, you walk towards another door and open it quietly.
There's a bedroom inside: it's smaller and more simple than the guest rooms, but it's still pleasant and comfortable. Somebody is asleep in a bed in the corner: MalkyTop, presumably. Poking around the room, you find a hefty ring of keys, a few more overflowing toolboxes and some delicate models of ships and planes on a work bench of some sort. A half assembled miniature Spitfire gleams in the gloom. The wardrobe houses a few overalls as well as the casual clothes you would expect a normal person to wear.
Aside from all that, there's not much else to see. You quickly grow bored and wander away, searching for other things to hold your interest until morning arrives.
N3 â Investigated Sruixan
You open the door of your target's room but go no further.
Behind this seemingly innocent doors a non-euclidean hell twists and turns. Even if you wanted to, you have no idea how you would even begin to set foot within this room. If you focus you think you can make out the major landmarks of a bedroom, such as a bed and various other parts of furniture, but the entire exercise quickly devolves into a headache only a litre of strong coffee could help.
Clutching your head, you shut the door and stagger off in search of just that.
N4
You are enjoying the first espresso of the night when you hear something behind you. The lights are dimmed, so at first when you turn you don't see the source.
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.
âWhy-â
She puts a finger to her lips, and words fail you once more.
âThis is important,â she says. âVery 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.â
âWhat truth?â Your words are hardly your own: you are captivated by her speech, and your entire attention is focused on her.
âThis 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.
âBut 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.â
âSo â we must leave this place?â
âNo. 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, Wheat, 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.â
A sad note had crept into her voice, but suddenly she smiles at you.
âMay a new dawn break over this accursed building.â
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.
Discussions may take place in this QT: <!-- m --><a class="postlink" href="https://www.quicktopic.com/46/H/3yE6F7vuqbd">https://www.quicktopic.com/46/H/3yE6F7vuqbd</a><!-- m -->
You gaze around the darkened room of this Ixcaliber person. You've rooted through the place more than once, and you haven't found a single incriminating object. Or anything that implies any interests or even an inkling of personality. It's not what is in the room that's unnerving you, but what appears to be lacking.
The search didn't take long. You're about to leave. After all, you didn't find anything. You should leave. Before the sleeping person wakes up and finds you.
You instead turn on the light.
And you find what you were looking for. Immediately the light is switched off, and you exit the room. That's done. No need to think about it any more.
Although, of course, it is mildly intriguing. You know, that the entire room is completely grey. No colour at all. Even the complementary fruit, somehow. But it's hardly important.
Suddenly, you yawn.
Huh. Guess I should drink some more coffee.
And you do. All is well.
N2
By the time you arrive at MalkyTop's room, you are quite irked at how long it took you. For some unfathomable reason the room isn't among the guest rooms, but is burrowed virtually in the basement.
There's a lot of stuff lying around down here: half assembled mechanisms, toolboxes, scrap metal, oil containers, and other similar things which are no doubt useful if boring. The place is a mess, put simply.
Kicking away a rusty strip of something, you walk towards another door and open it quietly.
There's a bedroom inside: it's smaller and more simple than the guest rooms, but it's still pleasant and comfortable. Somebody is asleep in a bed in the corner: MalkyTop, presumably. Poking around the room, you find a hefty ring of keys, a few more overflowing toolboxes and some delicate models of ships and planes on a work bench of some sort. A half assembled miniature Spitfire gleams in the gloom. The wardrobe houses a few overalls as well as the casual clothes you would expect a normal person to wear.
Aside from all that, there's not much else to see. You quickly grow bored and wander away, searching for other things to hold your interest until morning arrives.
N3 â Investigated Sruixan
You open the door of your target's room but go no further.
Behind this seemingly innocent doors a non-euclidean hell twists and turns. Even if you wanted to, you have no idea how you would even begin to set foot within this room. If you focus you think you can make out the major landmarks of a bedroom, such as a bed and various other parts of furniture, but the entire exercise quickly devolves into a headache only a litre of strong coffee could help.
Clutching your head, you shut the door and stagger off in search of just that.
N4
You are enjoying the first espresso of the night when you hear something behind you. The lights are dimmed, so at first when you turn you don't see the source.
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.
âWhy-â
She puts a finger to her lips, and words fail you once more.
âThis is important,â she says. âVery 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.â
âWhat truth?â Your words are hardly your own: you are captivated by her speech, and your entire attention is focused on her.
âThis 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.
âBut 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.â
âSo â we must leave this place?â
âNo. 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, Wheat, 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.â
A sad note had crept into her voice, but suddenly she smiles at you.
âMay a new dawn break over this accursed building.â
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.
Discussions may take place in this QT: <!-- m --><a class="postlink" href="https://www.quicktopic.com/46/H/3yE6F7vuqbd">https://www.quicktopic.com/46/H/3yE6F7vuqbd</a><!-- m -->
Drakenforge:
SpoilerShow
N1
You stand at the window, observing the moonlight city outside while taking a drink to steady your nerves. Your free hand twitches at the thought of the work ahead of you tonight.
Suddenly, you hear a noise at the door. You quickly turn, but the door is still closed. You draw closer, listening intently, but there is only complete silence. Agitated, you lunge forward and attempt to open the door.
It is locked. You rattle at it for a moment, even try to kick it down, but this is a very well made door with a lock of excellent quality. Thwarted, you try using your own key, only to find that the person who locked you in also had the foresight to leave in their key. Your mind briefly strays to thoughts of pushing a newspaper under the door and poking the key out of the lock, but it seems that the doors are completely sealed around the edges to provide improved soundproofing. No newspaper is getting under that.
Resigned to your fate, you pour yourself another drink and wait for the morning.
N2
You prepare your poisons and stalk out into the night in search of Solaris. You can't prevent a smile twisting on lips as you stride through the ubiquitous gloom, these dark hallways your domain while all others sleep. You won't be taking a life just yet, but the anticipation still sends thrills through you. Some long faded morals only serve to add a forbidden taste to the whole affair.
As you turn a corner in the hotel, you see someone crouched outside your destination. His quiet sobs float through the unearthly silence and lend an even deeper level of eeriness to the whole situation. You walk closer, almost expecting him to fade and disappear like a ghost as you approach. In spite of this, he remains corporeal but still fails to notice you.
You walk closer still, until you could reach out and touch his shaking form.
âSolaris.â
He doesn't react to his name. So you inject him with tranquilliser.
You dragged him into his own room, sat him in a chair and tied him up. You're not sure he would have stayed upright if you hadn't done that, but you suppose it made it easier to break the news to him.
It only takes a minute to inject the poison into his arm.
Then you draw up another chair and wait for your victim to wake up.
He twitches suddenly, gasping for breath as he rights himself in the chair.
âMy apologies for inconveniencing you like this,â you say before he can fully react.
âWho are you? What do you want?â The bewilderment is clear, but he also sounds a little... tired. Downtrodden. Not as enthusiastic about his entrapment as he could have been.
âYou may know me as Drakenforge. And again, I must apologise. You have been poisoned with a lethal dose.â
He twitches again at that, straining at his ties instinctively.
âWhy?â The word is bitter, but again not as shocked or angry as you were expecting. It's almost comforting.
âYou're taking this well. I must admit that I'm surprised.â
âWhy?!â You can't help but smirk at the sudden rage of your prisoner, but you banish it quickly. It seems like bad taste to torment people you don't intend to kill.
âYou'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.â You shake the relevant bottle so that he can hear the liquid inside. âThe 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.â
âHow does that help anyone, freak?â You're unsettled slightly by the insult, unsurprising as it should be, but you don't let him see that.
âBecause 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.â
âYou're disgusting.â You're stung once more. Perhaps you just aren't as thick skinned as you hoped.
Your sigh, irritated at his unwillingness to accept the situation.
âI 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,â you reply.
âSo why do you need me?â
âBecause I need someone I can trust. I can't do that by talking â in this place, it is nothing short of insanity to trust someone on their word alone.â
âSo you're using threats?â You smile at that.
âPrecisely. I'm glad you understand.â
With a swift hit Solaris is knocked unconscious once more. You untie him and leave, smiling to yourself.
You have gained a Mentee in the form of Solaris. If you die he will die the night after, but if Solaris dies then the only ill effects you will suffer are having to find another Mentee. While you have a Mentee, you can kill a target of your choice once a night. You may also talk to your Mentee at any point in this QT: <!-- m --><a class="postlink" href="https://www.quicktopic.com/46/H/x4s6mjkL9J5v">https://www.quicktopic.com/46/H/x4s6mjkL9J5v</a><!-- m -->
N4
Tranquillising TimeothyHour is no problem at all. It's a tad more difficult to transport him back to your room, and tying a limp body to a chair is never easy, but soon enough the task is done. You inject the lethal dose of poison, turn the chair to face the wall and wait for your victim to wake up.
It doesn't take long.
âHello? Hello! Kidnapper? Crazy psycho? Wanna talk? Or just tell me why the hell I'm here?â
âCertainly.â
You quickly rise from your chair and smoothly spin the chair around. The furniture and its inhabitant now face your desk. You flash him a slight disapproving look before retaking your seat behind the table. For a moment you look at each other: you with bored disinterest and him with casual terror.
âSo,â he says.
âSo,â you reply. âAny idea why you're here?â
âNot especially. Unless you're especially sadistic, I think you're not going to kill me. It would have been easier to do it while I was out. So that really makes me wonder why the hell I'm strapped to this actually rather uncomfortable chair. Interrogation? I hope it's interrogation. That seems to be the nicest outcome I can think of.â
You look at him, a little uncomfortable at his willingness to monologue.
âYou're... chatty,â you say at last. âThe last guy I had in here wasn't so pleased to see me.â
âInterrogation?â
You sigh and shoot him another dirty look.
âNo, unfortunately,â you say a little more tersely than is probably necessary. âYou've been poisoned. Slow-acting, but a lethal dose.â
âOh.â He tilts his head to the side and makes a show of thinking about that. âAre you going to save me then?â
âWrong again. I was the one who poisoned you.â
âAh. My first idea concerning a sadistic murderer is looking unfortunately likely. Can I be incorrect a third time?â
âSure. I've got an antidote.â
âBut...?â He begins to look quite obviously uneasy.
âI wanted a little life insurance. So I'm going to give it to you, in 24 hours, but I'll also poison you again at the same time. You'll recover enough that you won't die before the next time I administer the antidote, but if I die you won't be getting your hands on the antidote any time soon. Not soon enough, anyway. It's in your best interests to keep me alive, truthfully.â
You pause, but your victim says nothing to plug the gap. You continue.
âWe'll be able to communicate at all times, so I can help you help me stay alive. And while I have my life insurance in place, I can get down to business on the real work here.â
âWhat would that be?â
âKilling those who are killing us.â
He goes quiet again.
âThe last guy got pretty verbal at this point,â you say. You're not sure what you're expecting or hoping for, but saying something seems like a good idea.
âThe last guy. What happened to him?â
âHe got killed.â
âAh.â
Awkwardness and silence. Again.
âI guess you'll be wanting to get back to your room now?â
âUh, yeah.â
You are more than happy to oblige with an injection.
You have gained a Mentee in the form of TimeothyHour. If you die he will die the night after, but if TimeothyHour dies then the only ill effects you will suffer are having to find another Mentee. While you have a Mentee, you can kill a target of your choice once a night. You may also talk to your Mentee at any point in this QT: <!-- m --><a class="postlink" href="https://www.quicktopic.com/46/H/k57XLq7i5RDER">https://www.quicktopic.com/46/H/k57XLq7i5RDER</a><!-- m -->
You stand at the window, observing the moonlight city outside while taking a drink to steady your nerves. Your free hand twitches at the thought of the work ahead of you tonight.
Suddenly, you hear a noise at the door. You quickly turn, but the door is still closed. You draw closer, listening intently, but there is only complete silence. Agitated, you lunge forward and attempt to open the door.
It is locked. You rattle at it for a moment, even try to kick it down, but this is a very well made door with a lock of excellent quality. Thwarted, you try using your own key, only to find that the person who locked you in also had the foresight to leave in their key. Your mind briefly strays to thoughts of pushing a newspaper under the door and poking the key out of the lock, but it seems that the doors are completely sealed around the edges to provide improved soundproofing. No newspaper is getting under that.
Resigned to your fate, you pour yourself another drink and wait for the morning.
N2
You prepare your poisons and stalk out into the night in search of Solaris. You can't prevent a smile twisting on lips as you stride through the ubiquitous gloom, these dark hallways your domain while all others sleep. You won't be taking a life just yet, but the anticipation still sends thrills through you. Some long faded morals only serve to add a forbidden taste to the whole affair.
As you turn a corner in the hotel, you see someone crouched outside your destination. His quiet sobs float through the unearthly silence and lend an even deeper level of eeriness to the whole situation. You walk closer, almost expecting him to fade and disappear like a ghost as you approach. In spite of this, he remains corporeal but still fails to notice you.
You walk closer still, until you could reach out and touch his shaking form.
âSolaris.â
He doesn't react to his name. So you inject him with tranquilliser.
_ _ _
You dragged him into his own room, sat him in a chair and tied him up. You're not sure he would have stayed upright if you hadn't done that, but you suppose it made it easier to break the news to him.
It only takes a minute to inject the poison into his arm.
Then you draw up another chair and wait for your victim to wake up.
_ _ _
He twitches suddenly, gasping for breath as he rights himself in the chair.
âMy apologies for inconveniencing you like this,â you say before he can fully react.
âWho are you? What do you want?â The bewilderment is clear, but he also sounds a little... tired. Downtrodden. Not as enthusiastic about his entrapment as he could have been.
âYou may know me as Drakenforge. And again, I must apologise. You have been poisoned with a lethal dose.â
He twitches again at that, straining at his ties instinctively.
âWhy?â The word is bitter, but again not as shocked or angry as you were expecting. It's almost comforting.
âYou're taking this well. I must admit that I'm surprised.â
âWhy?!â You can't help but smirk at the sudden rage of your prisoner, but you banish it quickly. It seems like bad taste to torment people you don't intend to kill.
âYou'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.â You shake the relevant bottle so that he can hear the liquid inside. âThe 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.â
âHow does that help anyone, freak?â You're unsettled slightly by the insult, unsurprising as it should be, but you don't let him see that.
âBecause 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.â
âYou're disgusting.â You're stung once more. Perhaps you just aren't as thick skinned as you hoped.
Your sigh, irritated at his unwillingness to accept the situation.
âI 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,â you reply.
âSo why do you need me?â
âBecause I need someone I can trust. I can't do that by talking â in this place, it is nothing short of insanity to trust someone on their word alone.â
âSo you're using threats?â You smile at that.
âPrecisely. I'm glad you understand.â
With a swift hit Solaris is knocked unconscious once more. You untie him and leave, smiling to yourself.
You have gained a Mentee in the form of Solaris. If you die he will die the night after, but if Solaris dies then the only ill effects you will suffer are having to find another Mentee. While you have a Mentee, you can kill a target of your choice once a night. You may also talk to your Mentee at any point in this QT: <!-- m --><a class="postlink" href="https://www.quicktopic.com/46/H/x4s6mjkL9J5v">https://www.quicktopic.com/46/H/x4s6mjkL9J5v</a><!-- m -->
N4
Tranquillising TimeothyHour is no problem at all. It's a tad more difficult to transport him back to your room, and tying a limp body to a chair is never easy, but soon enough the task is done. You inject the lethal dose of poison, turn the chair to face the wall and wait for your victim to wake up.
It doesn't take long.
âHello? Hello! Kidnapper? Crazy psycho? Wanna talk? Or just tell me why the hell I'm here?â
âCertainly.â
You quickly rise from your chair and smoothly spin the chair around. The furniture and its inhabitant now face your desk. You flash him a slight disapproving look before retaking your seat behind the table. For a moment you look at each other: you with bored disinterest and him with casual terror.
âSo,â he says.
âSo,â you reply. âAny idea why you're here?â
âNot especially. Unless you're especially sadistic, I think you're not going to kill me. It would have been easier to do it while I was out. So that really makes me wonder why the hell I'm strapped to this actually rather uncomfortable chair. Interrogation? I hope it's interrogation. That seems to be the nicest outcome I can think of.â
You look at him, a little uncomfortable at his willingness to monologue.
âYou're... chatty,â you say at last. âThe last guy I had in here wasn't so pleased to see me.â
âInterrogation?â
You sigh and shoot him another dirty look.
âNo, unfortunately,â you say a little more tersely than is probably necessary. âYou've been poisoned. Slow-acting, but a lethal dose.â
âOh.â He tilts his head to the side and makes a show of thinking about that. âAre you going to save me then?â
âWrong again. I was the one who poisoned you.â
âAh. My first idea concerning a sadistic murderer is looking unfortunately likely. Can I be incorrect a third time?â
âSure. I've got an antidote.â
âBut...?â He begins to look quite obviously uneasy.
âI wanted a little life insurance. So I'm going to give it to you, in 24 hours, but I'll also poison you again at the same time. You'll recover enough that you won't die before the next time I administer the antidote, but if I die you won't be getting your hands on the antidote any time soon. Not soon enough, anyway. It's in your best interests to keep me alive, truthfully.â
You pause, but your victim says nothing to plug the gap. You continue.
âWe'll be able to communicate at all times, so I can help you help me stay alive. And while I have my life insurance in place, I can get down to business on the real work here.â
âWhat would that be?â
âKilling those who are killing us.â
He goes quiet again.
âThe last guy got pretty verbal at this point,â you say. You're not sure what you're expecting or hoping for, but saying something seems like a good idea.
âThe last guy. What happened to him?â
âHe got killed.â
âAh.â
Awkwardness and silence. Again.
âI guess you'll be wanting to get back to your room now?â
âUh, yeah.â
You are more than happy to oblige with an injection.
You have gained a Mentee in the form of TimeothyHour. If you die he will die the night after, but if TimeothyHour dies then the only ill effects you will suffer are having to find another Mentee. While you have a Mentee, you can kill a target of your choice once a night. You may also talk to your Mentee at any point in this QT: <!-- m --><a class="postlink" href="https://www.quicktopic.com/46/H/k57XLq7i5RDER">https://www.quicktopic.com/46/H/k57XLq7i5RDER</a><!-- m -->
Pharmacy:
SpoilerShow
N1
You return to your room without incident, your mind already whirring with the possibilities of how to track down your lost dueling partner. You are halfway through ensuring your pistols are in good shape when the telephone begins to ring.
You don't hesitate in picking it up, and the duellist on the other end equally doesn't hesitate in cutting straight to the point.
"I get a half-win and a new full-win condition if I face the duel and survive. Is this the same for you? I'm willing to give us both a half-win and a chance at full-win if you're okay with rigging the duel if it rolls about."
You stride out into the night as soon as possible, pausing only to leave a response to your partner's message. Although the duel has yet to be rigged, your excitement is palpable. You smile, half jogging through the empty corridors of the hotel as you make your way to your chosen place of waiting. The chances of your duelling partner being there are low, certainly, but you're fully equipped and ready to leap out at them with the first chance you get.
Upon arriving at the room of your target your mood becomes more serious. You don't want to mess this up. You enter, completely silent. For lack of a better hiding place you slide beneath the bed, and wait.
In the darkness, the only thing visible is your grin.
You return to your room without incident, your mind already whirring with the possibilities of how to track down your lost dueling partner. You are halfway through ensuring your pistols are in good shape when the telephone begins to ring.
You don't hesitate in picking it up, and the duellist on the other end equally doesn't hesitate in cutting straight to the point.
"I get a half-win and a new full-win condition if I face the duel and survive. Is this the same for you? I'm willing to give us both a half-win and a chance at full-win if you're okay with rigging the duel if it rolls about."
_ _ _
You stride out into the night as soon as possible, pausing only to leave a response to your partner's message. Although the duel has yet to be rigged, your excitement is palpable. You smile, half jogging through the empty corridors of the hotel as you make your way to your chosen place of waiting. The chances of your duelling partner being there are low, certainly, but you're fully equipped and ready to leap out at them with the first chance you get.
Upon arriving at the room of your target your mood becomes more serious. You don't want to mess this up. You enter, completely silent. For lack of a better hiding place you slide beneath the bed, and wait.
In the darkness, the only thing visible is your grin.
Woffles:
SpoilerShow
N1
You leave your room a little earlier than might be sensible, your mind thriving with paranoid fears. Everywhere you look you expect your duelling partner to leap out at you, fully intent on your demise. Every time you hear a noise you jump, and more often than not you end up wedging yourself into whatever hiding place you can find. For a few long minutes you wait, until you become completely certain that they aren't there.
When you finally arrive at your chosen room, you sigh with relief and slink inside. Slipping into a wardrobe, you spend the night in unobserved terror.
As soon as dawn arrives you stagger back to your own room, sleep deprived but a little less afraid.
That courage soon drains away, however, when you see that the duellist has left you a telephone message. With trembling hands, you pick up the receiver and listen.
âI accept.â
And that is all.
N2
After the duel, you wander back to your room to clean yourself up. You go unnoticed as everyone attempts to deal with the body. Whilst you completely evaded damage yourself, there is still the blood of others to wash away.
And then there is a sink of hot water and soap and time to think. You're free. Completely and utterly. Never again will you fear the sounds of night, thinking that it might be Her. Never again will you have to wield the weapons of duels.
But now you have no purpose. For so long it was to run away and hide. Now... what do you do?
âI may have an idea or two.â
You simultaneously scrabble for your pistol and spin around to face the intruder, but it doesn't seem to be where you left it. You face them empty handed.
A man in a maroon suit stands before you, a fedora placed on his tilted head so that his eyes are in shadow. You know immediately that this is not a guest of the Last Resort. Indeed, as if out of your control your gaze lowers to where his feet should be, and instead two cloven hooves gleam back at you.
You swear, and he laughs. Instead of explaining his appearance, he takes the time to light a cigarette. You watch him in silence.
When he eventually speaks, his tone is suddenly far more silky and appealing than in his opening sentence.
âI know, Ms. Veronesi, that you are wondering why I am here. Considering that you seem to have realised who I am, any scenarios you may be imagining are no doubt somewhat unpleasant.â He looks you straight in the eye, and smiles warmly behind the cigarette smoke. âI ask you not to worry. My proposal is a simple one. While I cannot claim that it involves no bloodshed, I would not say that it requires any more than would have already taken place here.â
âSpit it out.â His manner is charming, but the presence of this man (if you may refer to him as that) aggravates you like nothing else. You'd rather he left as soon as possible.
Instead, he chuckles a little.
âThink of it this way, Ms. Veronesi. Your problem has been solved. You no longer need the Last Resort as a place of healing â indeed, the world is your oyster. This places you in a unique position. Unlike the guests who have incited the killings, you do not fear having to leave. And unlike those who defend against the so-called scum, you do not even need them gone. You walk out of the door right this instant.â
âI â I thought the doors were locked. That's why everyone hasn't just left, right?â
He smiles again, every line on his face traced with glee.
âOf course not. Anyone could have left, at any time they chose. But they didn't, because they depend on this place. They all believe in its magical potential, but I wouldn't be surprised if the entire thing was just a sham, perpetuated by the beliefs forced onto the newcomers by those who are still here.â He shrugs. âBut that's besides the point. What I say to you, Ms. Veronesi, is that you seize control. Create a third party with yourself at the head, and clean out the deluded fools who live here. With them gone, the hotel is yours. This place used to be the choice of lodgings for royalty and celebrity, and there is no reason why it couldn't be so again. You could run this place, Ms. Veronesi. You're more than capable, and all the resources are there, just begging to be used. Wealth and prestige would be yours, and every night you would rub shoulders with the richest and most influential as they flocked to your hotel. And then, Ms. Veronesi, there would be nothing at all to hold you back from doing anything you wanted to do.â
He pauses to exhale smoke. âQuite literally anything at all.â He looks you in the eyes once more, and you know he sees just how badly you want everything he described. You look away, but it's too late: he knows he has you hooked.
âWould I have to kill... everyone?â
âEveryone? No, not at all. You'll need help, my dear. These poor people can't imagine life outside or beyond the Last Resort, but you can help them. I can give you a silver tongue, and make them powerless to your words. However, I must warn you â the 'scum' cannot be persuaded. Your words, wonderful as I may make them, will do nothing but enrage them. If you try and convince one, they will kill you. There is nothing I can do about that.â He shakes his head sorrowfully. You think you might even see a tear glistening in his shadowed eyes.
âIf you do all that for me â what do I have to give you?â You know you want the vision he described to you, but you don't yet know what price you'd pay for it.
âGive me? Nothing. I would not ask anything of you, not when you already have such a difficult task ahead of you. Or, at least, not yet. When I come to receive my payment, you will have reached such dizzying heights that it will be very little to ask of you. You will find it no problem, my dear.â
He smiles at you, yet again, with that gloriously charming smile. In spite of your fear, your lingering distrust, you can't help but believe him on this count. You smile back.
âThen yes,â you reply. âI accept.â
Another smile, a flash of red, a puff of cigarette smoke, and the man is gone. The deal is done.
You have become a Third Party Leader, otherwise known as a Cult Leader. Every night you may visit a person and recruit them to your cause. If they are anti-town, then you will die, but any remaining members of your Party will keep their new alignment and will attempt to achieve victory without you.
As a Party, your goal is to destroy the anti-town and control the vote (that is, make up the majority of the players). You may still win if your Party gains victory but you die in the process. If you die, then no more players may be recruited into the Party. All recruited members will retain the powers they had before their alignment switch. It should be noted that all recruits including yourself will appear as scum to sane investigations. Upon gaining your first recruit, a QT will be set up for discussion. In the meantime, if you have any questions you may use your person QT.
N3
You find Mirdini in his room with the lights dimmed. He sits at a desk, deep in thought, and doesn't notice you as you walk through the gloom towards him. Suddenly, he turns and sees you. Fear flashes over his face.
âWhy-â
You put a finger to your lips, and through your new powers he is silenced.
âThis is important,â you say. âVery 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.â
âWhat truth?â His fear is gone now, and he listens intently to your every word. He is powerless against you.
âThis 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.
âBut 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.â
âSo â we must leave this place?â
âNo. 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.â
A sad note had crept into your voice, but suddenly you smile at him.
âMay a new dawn break over this accursed building.â
You have recruited Mirdini, and he is now a Follower of the Cult. He retains his abilities, but he is now Third Party and aligned with you.
Discussions may take place in this QT: <!-- m --><a class="postlink" href="https://www.quicktopic.com/46/H/3yE6F7vuqbd">https://www.quicktopic.com/46/H/3yE6F7vuqbd</a><!-- m -->
You leave your room a little earlier than might be sensible, your mind thriving with paranoid fears. Everywhere you look you expect your duelling partner to leap out at you, fully intent on your demise. Every time you hear a noise you jump, and more often than not you end up wedging yourself into whatever hiding place you can find. For a few long minutes you wait, until you become completely certain that they aren't there.
When you finally arrive at your chosen room, you sigh with relief and slink inside. Slipping into a wardrobe, you spend the night in unobserved terror.
As soon as dawn arrives you stagger back to your own room, sleep deprived but a little less afraid.
That courage soon drains away, however, when you see that the duellist has left you a telephone message. With trembling hands, you pick up the receiver and listen.
âI accept.â
And that is all.
N2
After the duel, you wander back to your room to clean yourself up. You go unnoticed as everyone attempts to deal with the body. Whilst you completely evaded damage yourself, there is still the blood of others to wash away.
And then there is a sink of hot water and soap and time to think. You're free. Completely and utterly. Never again will you fear the sounds of night, thinking that it might be Her. Never again will you have to wield the weapons of duels.
But now you have no purpose. For so long it was to run away and hide. Now... what do you do?
âI may have an idea or two.â
You simultaneously scrabble for your pistol and spin around to face the intruder, but it doesn't seem to be where you left it. You face them empty handed.
A man in a maroon suit stands before you, a fedora placed on his tilted head so that his eyes are in shadow. You know immediately that this is not a guest of the Last Resort. Indeed, as if out of your control your gaze lowers to where his feet should be, and instead two cloven hooves gleam back at you.
You swear, and he laughs. Instead of explaining his appearance, he takes the time to light a cigarette. You watch him in silence.
When he eventually speaks, his tone is suddenly far more silky and appealing than in his opening sentence.
âI know, Ms. Veronesi, that you are wondering why I am here. Considering that you seem to have realised who I am, any scenarios you may be imagining are no doubt somewhat unpleasant.â He looks you straight in the eye, and smiles warmly behind the cigarette smoke. âI ask you not to worry. My proposal is a simple one. While I cannot claim that it involves no bloodshed, I would not say that it requires any more than would have already taken place here.â
âSpit it out.â His manner is charming, but the presence of this man (if you may refer to him as that) aggravates you like nothing else. You'd rather he left as soon as possible.
Instead, he chuckles a little.
âThink of it this way, Ms. Veronesi. Your problem has been solved. You no longer need the Last Resort as a place of healing â indeed, the world is your oyster. This places you in a unique position. Unlike the guests who have incited the killings, you do not fear having to leave. And unlike those who defend against the so-called scum, you do not even need them gone. You walk out of the door right this instant.â
âI â I thought the doors were locked. That's why everyone hasn't just left, right?â
He smiles again, every line on his face traced with glee.
âOf course not. Anyone could have left, at any time they chose. But they didn't, because they depend on this place. They all believe in its magical potential, but I wouldn't be surprised if the entire thing was just a sham, perpetuated by the beliefs forced onto the newcomers by those who are still here.â He shrugs. âBut that's besides the point. What I say to you, Ms. Veronesi, is that you seize control. Create a third party with yourself at the head, and clean out the deluded fools who live here. With them gone, the hotel is yours. This place used to be the choice of lodgings for royalty and celebrity, and there is no reason why it couldn't be so again. You could run this place, Ms. Veronesi. You're more than capable, and all the resources are there, just begging to be used. Wealth and prestige would be yours, and every night you would rub shoulders with the richest and most influential as they flocked to your hotel. And then, Ms. Veronesi, there would be nothing at all to hold you back from doing anything you wanted to do.â
He pauses to exhale smoke. âQuite literally anything at all.â He looks you in the eyes once more, and you know he sees just how badly you want everything he described. You look away, but it's too late: he knows he has you hooked.
âWould I have to kill... everyone?â
âEveryone? No, not at all. You'll need help, my dear. These poor people can't imagine life outside or beyond the Last Resort, but you can help them. I can give you a silver tongue, and make them powerless to your words. However, I must warn you â the 'scum' cannot be persuaded. Your words, wonderful as I may make them, will do nothing but enrage them. If you try and convince one, they will kill you. There is nothing I can do about that.â He shakes his head sorrowfully. You think you might even see a tear glistening in his shadowed eyes.
âIf you do all that for me â what do I have to give you?â You know you want the vision he described to you, but you don't yet know what price you'd pay for it.
âGive me? Nothing. I would not ask anything of you, not when you already have such a difficult task ahead of you. Or, at least, not yet. When I come to receive my payment, you will have reached such dizzying heights that it will be very little to ask of you. You will find it no problem, my dear.â
He smiles at you, yet again, with that gloriously charming smile. In spite of your fear, your lingering distrust, you can't help but believe him on this count. You smile back.
âThen yes,â you reply. âI accept.â
Another smile, a flash of red, a puff of cigarette smoke, and the man is gone. The deal is done.
You have become a Third Party Leader, otherwise known as a Cult Leader. Every night you may visit a person and recruit them to your cause. If they are anti-town, then you will die, but any remaining members of your Party will keep their new alignment and will attempt to achieve victory without you.
As a Party, your goal is to destroy the anti-town and control the vote (that is, make up the majority of the players). You may still win if your Party gains victory but you die in the process. If you die, then no more players may be recruited into the Party. All recruited members will retain the powers they had before their alignment switch. It should be noted that all recruits including yourself will appear as scum to sane investigations. Upon gaining your first recruit, a QT will be set up for discussion. In the meantime, if you have any questions you may use your person QT.
N3
You find Mirdini in his room with the lights dimmed. He sits at a desk, deep in thought, and doesn't notice you as you walk through the gloom towards him. Suddenly, he turns and sees you. Fear flashes over his face.
âWhy-â
You put a finger to your lips, and through your new powers he is silenced.
âThis is important,â you say. âVery 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.â
âWhat truth?â His fear is gone now, and he listens intently to your every word. He is powerless against you.
âThis 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.
âBut 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.â
âSo â we must leave this place?â
âNo. 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.â
A sad note had crept into your voice, but suddenly you smile at him.
âMay a new dawn break over this accursed building.â
You have recruited Mirdini, and he is now a Follower of the Cult. He retains his abilities, but he is now Third Party and aligned with you.
Discussions may take place in this QT: <!-- m --><a class="postlink" href="https://www.quicktopic.com/46/H/3yE6F7vuqbd">https://www.quicktopic.com/46/H/3yE6F7vuqbd</a><!-- m -->
g0m/Sanzh:
SpoilerShow
D5
While everyone including yourself is distracted by the miracle of a resurrection, a sliver of red fog curls around your shoulders. Only once it's darted inside your skull do you notice anything. In particular: a burning hatred for Dragon Fogel and soundlyParanoid. It seems quite clear and unavoidable that of the three of you, it is imperative that you be the last one alive.
It's obvious, really.
While everyone including yourself is distracted by the miracle of a resurrection, a sliver of red fog curls around your shoulders. Only once it's darted inside your skull do you notice anything. In particular: a burning hatred for Dragon Fogel and soundlyParanoid. It seems quite clear and unavoidable that of the three of you, it is imperative that you be the last one alive.
It's obvious, really.
Pinary:
SpoilerShow
N1
You're sat on your bed in complete darkness, save for the piercing light of the moon that slashes through the gloom. It's not much, but it's enough to see what needs to be seen.
The cards.
You pass them through your trembling hands, savouring the texture of the paper envelopes. Truth be told, you're wasting time. You already know how this will play out. The second you saw the dead woman, dismembered and shoved in a suitcase, you knew. If anything was going to push you to open the envelopes, it would be that. The lynching of that man, too, only nudged you closer to the inevitable.
You're glad it finally arrived.
You immediately pluck out 'The Sun'. This card struck you as the least threatening of all of them. Indeed, the tarot meaning of the card speaks of optimism, youth and health. It can only bring good things.
You free the card from its paper prison and hold it up in the stream of moonlight so as to see it better. The sun dominates the upper half of the card, its ornate rays reaching out to a green land. A laughing cherub rides a horse the colour of sea foam. You allow yourself a smile. Perhaps. Perhaps everything will be alright.
But as you gaze on you notice the ornate sun has grown in brightness. Confused as to how this would be possible, you trace a finger lightly over the delicate lines only to yank it back as searing heat bites at it. The rest of the papery surface is perfectly cool, yet the sun still grows in its luminance. Suddenly childish laughter ricochets around the room (or perhaps your skull?) but you can't look away. The card has you trapped now, and the verdant land in the card blackens and dies under the soaring heat of the sun. You can feel it on your face. You blink, and in a confused moment you suddenly stand on that blackened ground, the acrid scent of fire and death stinging your nostrils.
The horse is gone, its bones already bare and cracked on the ground before you. The cherub, now a seraphim, stands in its ribcage. Your eyes meet. Already the heat is taking its toll on you, and you pant for breath. The angel, however, is perfectly calm and collected. It smiles at you.
It mouths a word.
You struggle to understand for a moment, until you realise that this is not just any word.
It is The Word.
âAnd Then There Was Light,â the angel says, but you can barely hear it over the sound of your own screaming. All that was ever created and all that never was is open to you, the entire work of a creation shoved through a third eye in your mind, an endless barrage of omniscience that no mere human should ever have been subject to. You can't cope. You could never possibly hope to. This is the kind of knowledge that would destroy the greatest of thinkers, the most enlightened of all broken in the blink of an eye.
Outside of your fading mind you are vaguely aware of there only being a searing light.
And then you wake up, the Sun card in your hand and darkness all around. Nothing has changed, but something is different. Perhaps dawn will show what it is.
(The Sun Card supposedly shortened the night, but in practice I rarely managed to stick to the new time frame.)
N2
You open the envelope with a little more caution today, considering the vision you received last time. But open it does, and The Star is liberated.
A silvery star gleams in a blue sky. On the lower half of the card a woman pours two pitchers of water: one into a river, another onto the land. She smiles at you briefly before she is eclipsed by the soft glow of the Star. Soon the card vanishes also, and you look up to see yourself standing among a sea of stars. Staring in wonder, you walk on inky darkness whilst lights like silver fireflies surround you. You feel entirely at peace as you walk.
Soon you encounter a banquet: at the head of a broad table sits a king and a queen, smiling at the guests in spite of the swords hanging by threads above their skulls. Servants greet you and take from you a heavy coat you hadn't realised you had been wearing. You touch your face and find a porcelain mask.
You recognise the other guests, in spite of the masks that they too wear. Each of them is dressed in the finest silks, furs and cloth, but you know them to be the guests of the Last Resort. They smile at you also as you take your place on the table, and for the rest of the night you dine and laugh amongst a sea of stars.
<!-- m --><a class="postlink" href="https://www.quicktopic.com/46/H/cSjrpp6AUdU">https://www.quicktopic.com/46/H/cSjrpp6AUdU</a><!-- m -->
Everyone may talk in this thread during the remainder of the night.
N3
You slit the chosen envelope open without hesitation, but you gaze upon the card for only a moment before a bolt of lightning destroys your sight.
For a moment there is only the sound and pain and the light tearing your senses apart, but it stops as soon as it began.
Only now, you find yourself in somewhere different entirely.
You're high up, far higher than you have ever stood before, above a dusty plain that stretches into a stormy horizon. The land is barren, yet you are on a platform of some gargantuan tower. Craning your neck you attempt to see the top from your position, but it seems to stretch on up forever into those dark clouds. Even so, you can hear the faint sounds of further construction still higher up.
The cold wind biting at your skin, you turn to see another on the platform.
You've never seen a person so entrenched in neglect. Their hair is twisting, long and unkempt, and their sunken eyes gaze only downwards. Sores, filth and scars cover all of their visible bare skin, the rest hidden by rags. Chained manacles sit around their wrists, but the sheer thinness of the man renders them useless; he could slip out of them in an instant. But even if they did, a wall and a reinforced door would prevent escape. The only other place to go is over the edge of the platform, and there is no chance that it could end well. Instead, he accepts the futility of his situation.
As you examine him, neither of you speak or move. This continues until the door slams open, and someone shouts:
âNameless Heretic! Your time has come!â
Two towering men enter and grab the Heretic, but the manpower is far from necessary for someone so emaciated. They also don't react to your presence, and have soon vanished back through the door. With no other purpose, you follow.
You are led through twisting corridors and labyrinthine passageways, all claustrophobic and dimly lit, but the general direction seems to generally upwards. One sharp corner leads the four of you to a pair of gleaming double doors. Six more men, presumably guards, stand on either side.
âNameless Heretic.â
They nod at these two illuminating words, and the doors are swung open.
You immediately flinch at the sudden light, adjusted as you were to the gloom, and you almost get stranded outside as the doors begin to close again.
Staggering into a corner, you begin to drink in your new surroundings.
In stark contrast with the previous settings, this room is awe-inspiring in its spaciousness. Hundreds of candles sit in stands and on the floor, the collective light creating a bright glow with which to view the other decadences of the room. Precious metals and gems cover the walls and floor, and multiple engravings and sculpture lend the room a properly reverential air.
And in the midst of it all sits the High Priestess, on a throne large enough to seat five. There is no doubting the beauty of the woman, and every adoring face of the hooded servants around her confirms it. Finery drips from her every limb, but it is her incredible presence that draws your eyes. She could be in another room entirely, in any clothing at all, and she would still easily dominate the attention of all.
She stands, and everyone's gaze is on her.
âNameless Heretic.â
Silence falls.
âYou have been accused of heresy to the highest degree, and contempt of the court. You have failed to defend yourself, and so you have been found guilty. Your words will be branded on to your back. You will be cast from the tower, and will find your death in the fall.â
She pauses, and glides towards the accused. With one hand she holds his chin and tilts his head towards her.
âBut if you renounce your words, your life will be spared. You may go free. What say you?â
Without hesitation, the Heretic replies in voice as smooth and strong as silk.
âBabel Will Fall.â
[right]( - (7) - Drakenforge, Pinary,
Pinary - (3) - Mirdini, Woffles, Dragon Fogel
Dragon Fogel - (1) â SleepingOrange)[/right]
A gasp ripples through those present.
In an instant, the High Priestess raises her hand and strikes the Nameless. A little blood sprays across the priceless floor, and she sweeps back to her throne. A hooded servant darts forward to wipe away the stain. Her back still turned, she raises a hand.
âBrand him. He has made his choice.â
The two guards holding the Heretic tear the rags off his back and drag him towards a brazier full of burning coals. Another hooded servant holds the brands, already heated upon the fire. Your mind screams for you to do something, but you seem curiously incapable of movement. You must merely watch each word as it settles onto the scabbed skin of the Heretic.
BABEL
[right]( - (7) - Drakenforge, Pinary,)[/right]
WILL
[right](Pinary - (3) - Mirdini, Woffles, Dragon Fogel)[/right]
FALL
[right](Dragon Fogel - (1) â SleepingOrange)[/right]
Once the screams have ended, the High Priestess walks around the back of her throne and casts open the double doors there. Another platform lies beyond them, and lightning can be seen flickering on the horizon. Thunder rumbles ominously, but the High Priestess is unperturbed.
âBring him.â
Out to the edge they go, Priestess and Heretic. The guards dare not follow, releasing the prisoner at the doors. He walks to the edge without prompting.
She glares at him.
âOne last chance, Heretic. You may still have your life, if you beg.â
He turns to her, and smiles. In that moment you glimpse the man from before the beginning of the torture, but it quickly vanishes again.
âBabel Will Fall.â
[right]( - (7) - Drakenforge, Pinary,
Pinary - (3) - Mirdini, Woffles, Dragon Fogel
Dragon Fogel - (1) â SleepingOrange)[/right]
With a frustrated shriek the High Priestess strikes him again, and he falls to the floor of the platform. Without waiting for him to recover, she grabs him by the neck and thrusts him over the edge.
âStill! Still you defy me! And still those three words! I heard you speak, Heretic, and I saw how the people rallied behind you. I saw how they loved you, just as they once loved me! But now you are here, death and dumb and unloved! I give you one more chance, Heretic!â
âI am sorry,â the Heretic says. Even now, in this chokehold, his voice is still unmarred.
âSorry? I-â
âIt is too late to be playing games, Priestess.â
His gaze flicks away from the High Priestess and he stares straight at you.
âBabel will fall,â he says, but in your mind something quite different is imprinted.
There is a blur, and the Heretic falls. The High Priestess screams at him, cursing his existence, but, as he said, it is too late. Rain begins to fall, hard and fast. Lightning strikes and thunder rumbles, but they are no longer at the horizon.
The strikes are hitting the tower.
A huge corner of stone crumbles and falls past you, followed by walls and pillars and whole levels of the tower as they crash and pit the plain below. As you watch the ground begins to heave like water. The crest of the wave rushes towards you and the tower is shaken. Everything falls faster and the floor beneath you begins to tip as the tower leans.
Babel is falling.
You scream out for help but you are invisible to these people, and they can't even help themselves.
The servants and guards are gone, but the Priestess still stands where she did. She is silent, merely looking. Her corona is askew, but she neither knows nor cares. Everything is being destroyed.
Suddenly, someone touches your arm.
âLeave her. We can't help her now.â
You turn and see the Heretic, as the man before the torture. His hair is cut and clean, his skin healed, his clothes not ragged or torn. He smiles, and in that instant the platform falls.
You scream, but suddenly everything freezes. The Heretic, clearly unbound by death or time, walks around to look you in the eye.
âYou have a choice, now. Fulfil the prophecy, or die in Babel. What say you?â
You stare, but he just smiles again as the lightning strikes you once more.
_ _ _
You awake in your room, the card gone.
You stare at your hands, and find the prophecy branded there:
N4
(Pinary did not pull this card, as he was otherwise occupied in the depths of Hell, but the cult were more than happy to do this for him.)
All three of you crowd around as Victor rips free the Death card. For a moment there is only silence as you stare at the card, but then it slips into smoke and slithers away through the air.
In your eyes a new scene is blooming, but it doesn't quite block out reality. It acts more like an overlay, a slightly transparent scene just failing to block out the room around you.
You stand under a small copse of trees, a dirt road twisting past you. It is twilight, but whether it precedes dusk or dawn you cannot tell. Fog lurks and swirls in the halflight.
Then, some distance away, you hear the panicked gallop of a horse. Within in moments it appears and raggedly slows to a canter, then a walk, and finally it collapses in front of you. Dead. A red knight is slumped over it, clearly not far from joining his steed. He gazes up at you through his visor. A trembling arm reaches up towards you.
âJeste li andeli?â
You say nothing, perhaps out of inability or lack of desire to. But it hardly matters. His hand and head drop again, and he begins to weep.
You can hear another horse approaching, and it too appears at the same end of the road that the red knight emerged from. This rider wears white, but his blade is drawn and covered in a far different colour. Without pausing the horse gallops closer with earth-shattering strides, it's teeth bared. The knight raises his sword.
A single slash is all that is required. The red knight is torn from his saddle, broken limbs falling into unnatural positions as he slams into the dirt.
âPobjeda!â The living horse rears and slams its hooves into the dirt, bringing them to a full stop. A twist and a walk brings the steed back to stand before the twisted corpse. The white knight laughs and flips up his visor, but falls suddenly and sharply silent as he notices the three of you. He pales, and the horse, sensing something is wrong, skitters away slightly.
âJeste... jeste li demoni?â
You stare back at him in silence.
Visibly unnerved, he tugs at the reigns and gallops away, continually looking back at you until he vanishes from view. The vision begins to fade and vanish, but not before a black knight gallops down the path after the white knight. A few rays of sunshine fall across the path, but then it is gone.
You have pulled the Death Card. The effects of this are not immediately obvious, but doubtlessly they will become apparent sooner or later...
N5
You are interring the briefcase into a soon to be locked drawer, your heart swelling with pride at shaking the hold of the cards, 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.
âWhy-â
She puts a finger to her lips, and words fail you once more.
âThis is important,â she says. âVery 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.â
âWhat truth?â Your words are hardly your own: you are captivated by her speech, and your entire attention is focused on her.
âThis 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.
âBut 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.â
âSo â we must leave this place?â
âNo. 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, Pinary, 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.â
A sad note had crept into her voice, but suddenly she smiles at you.
âMay a new dawn break over this accursed building.â
You find you couldn't agree more.
You have been recruited as a Follower of the Cult Leader, Woffles. Your alignment is still 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.
However: just as strong as the new hopes that blossom in your heart are the cards. The ensnarement that grips you fades as you think of them, but not entirely. It then occurs to you that you have been given a choice. You can help the cult on to victory, or, should you be the last cult member alive, you can convert to your previous role and win condition.
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N6
No card drawn, as on N5.
You're sat on your bed in complete darkness, save for the piercing light of the moon that slashes through the gloom. It's not much, but it's enough to see what needs to be seen.
The cards.
You pass them through your trembling hands, savouring the texture of the paper envelopes. Truth be told, you're wasting time. You already know how this will play out. The second you saw the dead woman, dismembered and shoved in a suitcase, you knew. If anything was going to push you to open the envelopes, it would be that. The lynching of that man, too, only nudged you closer to the inevitable.
You're glad it finally arrived.
You immediately pluck out 'The Sun'. This card struck you as the least threatening of all of them. Indeed, the tarot meaning of the card speaks of optimism, youth and health. It can only bring good things.
You free the card from its paper prison and hold it up in the stream of moonlight so as to see it better. The sun dominates the upper half of the card, its ornate rays reaching out to a green land. A laughing cherub rides a horse the colour of sea foam. You allow yourself a smile. Perhaps. Perhaps everything will be alright.
But as you gaze on you notice the ornate sun has grown in brightness. Confused as to how this would be possible, you trace a finger lightly over the delicate lines only to yank it back as searing heat bites at it. The rest of the papery surface is perfectly cool, yet the sun still grows in its luminance. Suddenly childish laughter ricochets around the room (or perhaps your skull?) but you can't look away. The card has you trapped now, and the verdant land in the card blackens and dies under the soaring heat of the sun. You can feel it on your face. You blink, and in a confused moment you suddenly stand on that blackened ground, the acrid scent of fire and death stinging your nostrils.
The horse is gone, its bones already bare and cracked on the ground before you. The cherub, now a seraphim, stands in its ribcage. Your eyes meet. Already the heat is taking its toll on you, and you pant for breath. The angel, however, is perfectly calm and collected. It smiles at you.
It mouths a word.
You struggle to understand for a moment, until you realise that this is not just any word.
It is The Word.
âAnd Then There Was Light,â the angel says, but you can barely hear it over the sound of your own screaming. All that was ever created and all that never was is open to you, the entire work of a creation shoved through a third eye in your mind, an endless barrage of omniscience that no mere human should ever have been subject to. You can't cope. You could never possibly hope to. This is the kind of knowledge that would destroy the greatest of thinkers, the most enlightened of all broken in the blink of an eye.
Outside of your fading mind you are vaguely aware of there only being a searing light.
And then you wake up, the Sun card in your hand and darkness all around. Nothing has changed, but something is different. Perhaps dawn will show what it is.
(The Sun Card supposedly shortened the night, but in practice I rarely managed to stick to the new time frame.)
N2
You open the envelope with a little more caution today, considering the vision you received last time. But open it does, and The Star is liberated.
A silvery star gleams in a blue sky. On the lower half of the card a woman pours two pitchers of water: one into a river, another onto the land. She smiles at you briefly before she is eclipsed by the soft glow of the Star. Soon the card vanishes also, and you look up to see yourself standing among a sea of stars. Staring in wonder, you walk on inky darkness whilst lights like silver fireflies surround you. You feel entirely at peace as you walk.
Soon you encounter a banquet: at the head of a broad table sits a king and a queen, smiling at the guests in spite of the swords hanging by threads above their skulls. Servants greet you and take from you a heavy coat you hadn't realised you had been wearing. You touch your face and find a porcelain mask.
You recognise the other guests, in spite of the masks that they too wear. Each of them is dressed in the finest silks, furs and cloth, but you know them to be the guests of the Last Resort. They smile at you also as you take your place on the table, and for the rest of the night you dine and laugh amongst a sea of stars.
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Everyone may talk in this thread during the remainder of the night.
N3
You slit the chosen envelope open without hesitation, but you gaze upon the card for only a moment before a bolt of lightning destroys your sight.
For a moment there is only the sound and pain and the light tearing your senses apart, but it stops as soon as it began.
Only now, you find yourself in somewhere different entirely.
You're high up, far higher than you have ever stood before, above a dusty plain that stretches into a stormy horizon. The land is barren, yet you are on a platform of some gargantuan tower. Craning your neck you attempt to see the top from your position, but it seems to stretch on up forever into those dark clouds. Even so, you can hear the faint sounds of further construction still higher up.
The cold wind biting at your skin, you turn to see another on the platform.
You've never seen a person so entrenched in neglect. Their hair is twisting, long and unkempt, and their sunken eyes gaze only downwards. Sores, filth and scars cover all of their visible bare skin, the rest hidden by rags. Chained manacles sit around their wrists, but the sheer thinness of the man renders them useless; he could slip out of them in an instant. But even if they did, a wall and a reinforced door would prevent escape. The only other place to go is over the edge of the platform, and there is no chance that it could end well. Instead, he accepts the futility of his situation.
As you examine him, neither of you speak or move. This continues until the door slams open, and someone shouts:
âNameless Heretic! Your time has come!â
Two towering men enter and grab the Heretic, but the manpower is far from necessary for someone so emaciated. They also don't react to your presence, and have soon vanished back through the door. With no other purpose, you follow.
You are led through twisting corridors and labyrinthine passageways, all claustrophobic and dimly lit, but the general direction seems to generally upwards. One sharp corner leads the four of you to a pair of gleaming double doors. Six more men, presumably guards, stand on either side.
âNameless Heretic.â
They nod at these two illuminating words, and the doors are swung open.
You immediately flinch at the sudden light, adjusted as you were to the gloom, and you almost get stranded outside as the doors begin to close again.
Staggering into a corner, you begin to drink in your new surroundings.
In stark contrast with the previous settings, this room is awe-inspiring in its spaciousness. Hundreds of candles sit in stands and on the floor, the collective light creating a bright glow with which to view the other decadences of the room. Precious metals and gems cover the walls and floor, and multiple engravings and sculpture lend the room a properly reverential air.
And in the midst of it all sits the High Priestess, on a throne large enough to seat five. There is no doubting the beauty of the woman, and every adoring face of the hooded servants around her confirms it. Finery drips from her every limb, but it is her incredible presence that draws your eyes. She could be in another room entirely, in any clothing at all, and she would still easily dominate the attention of all.
She stands, and everyone's gaze is on her.
âNameless Heretic.â
Silence falls.
âYou have been accused of heresy to the highest degree, and contempt of the court. You have failed to defend yourself, and so you have been found guilty. Your words will be branded on to your back. You will be cast from the tower, and will find your death in the fall.â
She pauses, and glides towards the accused. With one hand she holds his chin and tilts his head towards her.
âBut if you renounce your words, your life will be spared. You may go free. What say you?â
Without hesitation, the Heretic replies in voice as smooth and strong as silk.
âBabel Will Fall.â
[right]( - (7) - Drakenforge, Pinary,
Pinary - (3) - Mirdini, Woffles, Dragon Fogel
Dragon Fogel - (1) â SleepingOrange)[/right]
A gasp ripples through those present.
In an instant, the High Priestess raises her hand and strikes the Nameless. A little blood sprays across the priceless floor, and she sweeps back to her throne. A hooded servant darts forward to wipe away the stain. Her back still turned, she raises a hand.
âBrand him. He has made his choice.â
The two guards holding the Heretic tear the rags off his back and drag him towards a brazier full of burning coals. Another hooded servant holds the brands, already heated upon the fire. Your mind screams for you to do something, but you seem curiously incapable of movement. You must merely watch each word as it settles onto the scabbed skin of the Heretic.
BABEL
[right]( - (7) - Drakenforge, Pinary,)[/right]
WILL
[right](Pinary - (3) - Mirdini, Woffles, Dragon Fogel)[/right]
FALL
[right](Dragon Fogel - (1) â SleepingOrange)[/right]
Once the screams have ended, the High Priestess walks around the back of her throne and casts open the double doors there. Another platform lies beyond them, and lightning can be seen flickering on the horizon. Thunder rumbles ominously, but the High Priestess is unperturbed.
âBring him.â
Out to the edge they go, Priestess and Heretic. The guards dare not follow, releasing the prisoner at the doors. He walks to the edge without prompting.
She glares at him.
âOne last chance, Heretic. You may still have your life, if you beg.â
He turns to her, and smiles. In that moment you glimpse the man from before the beginning of the torture, but it quickly vanishes again.
âBabel Will Fall.â
[right]( - (7) - Drakenforge, Pinary,
Pinary - (3) - Mirdini, Woffles, Dragon Fogel
Dragon Fogel - (1) â SleepingOrange)[/right]
With a frustrated shriek the High Priestess strikes him again, and he falls to the floor of the platform. Without waiting for him to recover, she grabs him by the neck and thrusts him over the edge.
âStill! Still you defy me! And still those three words! I heard you speak, Heretic, and I saw how the people rallied behind you. I saw how they loved you, just as they once loved me! But now you are here, death and dumb and unloved! I give you one more chance, Heretic!â
âI am sorry,â the Heretic says. Even now, in this chokehold, his voice is still unmarred.
âSorry? I-â
âIt is too late to be playing games, Priestess.â
His gaze flicks away from the High Priestess and he stares straight at you.
âBabel will fall,â he says, but in your mind something quite different is imprinted.
- (7) - Drakenforge, Pinary,
Pinary - (3) - Mirdini, Woffles, Dragon Fogel
Dragon Fogel - (1) â SleepingOrange
âI think we are done now.âPinary - (3) - Mirdini, Woffles, Dragon Fogel
Dragon Fogel - (1) â SleepingOrange
There is a blur, and the Heretic falls. The High Priestess screams at him, cursing his existence, but, as he said, it is too late. Rain begins to fall, hard and fast. Lightning strikes and thunder rumbles, but they are no longer at the horizon.
The strikes are hitting the tower.
A huge corner of stone crumbles and falls past you, followed by walls and pillars and whole levels of the tower as they crash and pit the plain below. As you watch the ground begins to heave like water. The crest of the wave rushes towards you and the tower is shaken. Everything falls faster and the floor beneath you begins to tip as the tower leans.
Babel is falling.
You scream out for help but you are invisible to these people, and they can't even help themselves.
The servants and guards are gone, but the Priestess still stands where she did. She is silent, merely looking. Her corona is askew, but she neither knows nor cares. Everything is being destroyed.
Suddenly, someone touches your arm.
âLeave her. We can't help her now.â
You turn and see the Heretic, as the man before the torture. His hair is cut and clean, his skin healed, his clothes not ragged or torn. He smiles, and in that instant the platform falls.
You scream, but suddenly everything freezes. The Heretic, clearly unbound by death or time, walks around to look you in the eye.
âYou have a choice, now. Fulfil the prophecy, or die in Babel. What say you?â
You stare, but he just smiles again as the lightning strikes you once more.
_ _ _
You awake in your room, the card gone.
You stare at your hands, and find the prophecy branded there:
- (7) - Drakenforge, Pinary,
Pinary - (3) - Mirdini, Woffles, Dragon Fogel
Dragon Fogel - (1) â SleepingOrange
It remains for a second, then disappears like the dream.Pinary - (3) - Mirdini, Woffles, Dragon Fogel
Dragon Fogel - (1) â SleepingOrange
N4
(Pinary did not pull this card, as he was otherwise occupied in the depths of Hell, but the cult were more than happy to do this for him.)
All three of you crowd around as Victor rips free the Death card. For a moment there is only silence as you stare at the card, but then it slips into smoke and slithers away through the air.
In your eyes a new scene is blooming, but it doesn't quite block out reality. It acts more like an overlay, a slightly transparent scene just failing to block out the room around you.
You stand under a small copse of trees, a dirt road twisting past you. It is twilight, but whether it precedes dusk or dawn you cannot tell. Fog lurks and swirls in the halflight.
Then, some distance away, you hear the panicked gallop of a horse. Within in moments it appears and raggedly slows to a canter, then a walk, and finally it collapses in front of you. Dead. A red knight is slumped over it, clearly not far from joining his steed. He gazes up at you through his visor. A trembling arm reaches up towards you.
âJeste li andeli?â
You say nothing, perhaps out of inability or lack of desire to. But it hardly matters. His hand and head drop again, and he begins to weep.
You can hear another horse approaching, and it too appears at the same end of the road that the red knight emerged from. This rider wears white, but his blade is drawn and covered in a far different colour. Without pausing the horse gallops closer with earth-shattering strides, it's teeth bared. The knight raises his sword.
A single slash is all that is required. The red knight is torn from his saddle, broken limbs falling into unnatural positions as he slams into the dirt.
âPobjeda!â The living horse rears and slams its hooves into the dirt, bringing them to a full stop. A twist and a walk brings the steed back to stand before the twisted corpse. The white knight laughs and flips up his visor, but falls suddenly and sharply silent as he notices the three of you. He pales, and the horse, sensing something is wrong, skitters away slightly.
âJeste... jeste li demoni?â
You stare back at him in silence.
Visibly unnerved, he tugs at the reigns and gallops away, continually looking back at you until he vanishes from view. The vision begins to fade and vanish, but not before a black knight gallops down the path after the white knight. A few rays of sunshine fall across the path, but then it is gone.
You have pulled the Death Card. The effects of this are not immediately obvious, but doubtlessly they will become apparent sooner or later...
N5
You are interring the briefcase into a soon to be locked drawer, your heart swelling with pride at shaking the hold of the cards, 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.
âWhy-â
She puts a finger to her lips, and words fail you once more.
âThis is important,â she says. âVery 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.â
âWhat truth?â Your words are hardly your own: you are captivated by her speech, and your entire attention is focused on her.
âThis 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.
âBut 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.â
âSo â we must leave this place?â
âNo. 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, Pinary, 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.â
A sad note had crept into her voice, but suddenly she smiles at you.
âMay a new dawn break over this accursed building.â
You find you couldn't agree more.
You have been recruited as a Follower of the Cult Leader, Woffles. Your alignment is still 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.
However: just as strong as the new hopes that blossom in your heart are the cards. The ensnarement that grips you fades as you think of them, but not entirely. It then occurs to you that you have been given a choice. You can help the cult on to victory, or, should you be the last cult member alive, you can convert to your previous role and win condition.
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N6
No card drawn, as on N5.
Dragon Fogel:
SpoilerShow
N1
You walk back to your room, pleasantly aware of the swaying sea of minds surrounding you. You brush each one briefly, noting the agitation and fear with satisfaction. A panicking, trigger-happy crowd has already played once in your favour. You can believe it will do so again.
However, as you approach the part of the hotel containing your chambers you sense a blur of something... someone. Your pace slows but doesn't halt. Cautiously, you round the corner and enter the hallway of your destination.
You stop.
Outside your door (Room 333) a cocktail glass has been left. There's something glinting inside it â a cocktail, presumably. Hesitantly you make your approach and kneel to closer view it.
You first thoughts are to discard it. Poison is all too likely. It's a drastic measure for someone to take, but an innocent man has already had his neck broken.
Although...
With a level of foolhardiness that surprises even you, you pluck the glass from where it stands and take a sip.
A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth.
Death In The Afternoon. It's your favourite drink. Hemingway's too, as far as you recall.
You allow yourself a chuckle. If someone was kind enough to go to all that effort, then you better not disappoint.
Taking the glass inside your room, you settle down to drink it slowly. When you've finished you stare into space, a wide smile plastered on your face. The world is your oyster. You intended to cripple only one person tonight, but you just about think you could manage two.
You have drunk a legendary cocktail. Your powers have been enhanced, and you may roleblock two people tonight as opposed to just one.
(I am deeply ashamed of this particular PM. Nobody drinks Death In The Afternoon from a cocktail glass. Only a champagne flute will do.)
D5
While everyone including yourself is distracted by the miracle of a resurrection, a sliver of red fog curls around your shoulders. Only once it's darted inside your skull do you notice anything. In particular: a burning hatred for Sanzh and soundlyParanoid. It seems quite clear and unavoidable that of the three of you, it is imperative that you be the last one alive.
It's obvious, really.
You walk back to your room, pleasantly aware of the swaying sea of minds surrounding you. You brush each one briefly, noting the agitation and fear with satisfaction. A panicking, trigger-happy crowd has already played once in your favour. You can believe it will do so again.
However, as you approach the part of the hotel containing your chambers you sense a blur of something... someone. Your pace slows but doesn't halt. Cautiously, you round the corner and enter the hallway of your destination.
You stop.
Outside your door (Room 333) a cocktail glass has been left. There's something glinting inside it â a cocktail, presumably. Hesitantly you make your approach and kneel to closer view it.
You first thoughts are to discard it. Poison is all too likely. It's a drastic measure for someone to take, but an innocent man has already had his neck broken.
Although...
With a level of foolhardiness that surprises even you, you pluck the glass from where it stands and take a sip.
A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth.
Death In The Afternoon. It's your favourite drink. Hemingway's too, as far as you recall.
You allow yourself a chuckle. If someone was kind enough to go to all that effort, then you better not disappoint.
Taking the glass inside your room, you settle down to drink it slowly. When you've finished you stare into space, a wide smile plastered on your face. The world is your oyster. You intended to cripple only one person tonight, but you just about think you could manage two.
You have drunk a legendary cocktail. Your powers have been enhanced, and you may roleblock two people tonight as opposed to just one.
(I am deeply ashamed of this particular PM. Nobody drinks Death In The Afternoon from a cocktail glass. Only a champagne flute will do.)
D5
While everyone including yourself is distracted by the miracle of a resurrection, a sliver of red fog curls around your shoulders. Only once it's darted inside your skull do you notice anything. In particular: a burning hatred for Sanzh and soundlyParanoid. It seems quite clear and unavoidable that of the three of you, it is imperative that you be the last one alive.
It's obvious, really.
I don't really want to post the temporary lover PMs (and they can be found in the QTs anyway), so I'll just state who was paired and when.
SpoilerShow
N1 â Wheat and Ixcaliber (There was a fish story.)
N2 â Dragon Fogel and Solaris
N3 â Dragon Fogel and Drakenforge
N2 â Dragon Fogel and Solaris
N3 â Dragon Fogel and Drakenforge
For further reading, peruse the QTs.
Cult
Mafia
Drakenforge
Drakenforge/TimeothyHour Poisoner Chat
Mirdini
ProfessorLizzard
Sanzh
Pinary
Insufficient Fresh/SleepingOrange
Dragon Fogel
Whimbrel/soundlyParanoid
Wheat
TimeothyHour
MrGuy
Solaris
Third Lovers' Chat
Woffles
Drakenforge/Solaris Poisoner Chat
The Star
Second Lovers' Chat
Pick Yer Poison
Ixcaliber
Pharmacy
Sruixan
MalkyTop
g0m
First Lovers' Chat
Schazer
AKillerCuppaTea
Next: the Epilogue.
And the walls kept tumbling down
In the city that we love
Grey clouds roll over the hills
Bringing darkness from above
In the city that we love
Grey clouds roll over the hills
Bringing darkness from above
Avatar by the venerable Pharmacy.