Capo di Tutti Capi III [Concluded]

**Moros** · 08-22-2009, 23:56

Originally Posted by Lord Winter

See, See the CIA admits that they want to kill us. On with the lynch

If it wasn't for you youngsters... But how Bulma, how did you see trough my ingenious plot?

**Cultured Drizzt fan** · 08-22-2009, 23:57

Originally Posted by Moros

I am pm'ing with pizza. If you trust him as much as you do, well follow his judgement. Whatever it'll be. wierd that you do not trust someone as Reenk. Someone who has been great at organising protections and the likes. Who has given proof of being a townie and has never been questioned with a reason, not to be. If ATPG is doing such great work, I'm sure AVSM will be guilty and like I told Pizza before, that is when I will trust him more than just giving the benefit of the doubt.
It's just so wierd but especially dangerous that people are so enthousiast about Pizza. Cause if he's not what he says he is, we'll be in big problems. One of my rules playing mafia is to never really trust anyone. And if you have too, still be a critic and at least select the one least likely to be anti town and dangerous. In this case for example lets assume both candidates are mafia. In this case ATPG would be the bigger threat because of his loyal followers and experience. Also he is a guy able to pull of something like that. Probably that's why I don't like to trust him too much.

Either way act and think what you please. But it might just be the historian in me, taking everything with a pretty large chunk of salt. Or just call me careful.

Trust me, I am not Enthusiastic about Having to trust Atpg.....

But the way I see it for now he has done nothing to play his hand. If he is working against the town then he should eventually make a mistake, and after that we pounce on him. Until then he is extremely useful in organizing things, and his intellect and contacts have led to scum being lynched before. Until I get Info otherwise I think I will help him out,

. He has information, I don't (I missed the opening stages of the game, when we are all going out and getting contacts. I am pretty much flying blind).

**slashandburn** · 08-23-2009, 01:55

Vote: Centurion1
Select:Slashandburn

**Askthepizzaguy** · 08-23-2009, 02:11

Courtesy tally, needs a recheck.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

**Seamus Fermanagh** · 08-23-2009, 02:18

Host's Tallies

For the Lynch:

1st Rhyfelwer: 8 (askthepizzaguy, Crazed Rabbit, Diana Abnoba, Double A, Kukrikhan, Ricera10, spL1tp3r50naL1ty, woad&fangs)

2nd Centurion1: 5 (haudegen, slashandburn, SSNeoperestroika, White_eyes:D, YLC)

3rd Moros: 2 (Cultured Drizzt Fan, Tratorix)

4th/5th/6th
askthepizzaguy: 1 (Shinseikhaan)

Proletariat: 1 (Lord Winter)

Sasaki Kojiro: 1 (TinCow)

Other:

Abstain: 3 (Chaotix, DJGingivtis, Moros)

For Director:

1st askthepizzaguy: 10 (askthepizzaguy, Beskar, Cultured Drizzt Fan, Diana Abnoba, DJGingivtis, Double A, gibsonsg91921, haudegen, spL1tp3r50naL1ty, White_eyes:D)

2nd Proletariat: 9 (Beefy187, Crazed Rabbit, Joe Monks, Kukrikhan, Proletariat, shlin28, SSNeoperestroika, TinCow, YLC)

3rd slashandburn: 5 (Chaotix, Moros, Sasaki Kojiro, slashandburn, Shinseikhaan)

4th a completely inoffensive name: 3 (a completely inoffensive name, Tratorix, woad&fangs)

5th Lord Winter: 1 (Lord Winter)

abstention: 1 (ricera10)

**a completely inoffensive name** · 08-23-2009, 03:26

Vote: Moros

**Seamus Fermanagh** · 08-23-2009, 04:27

Far off in sunlit places,
Sad are the Scottish faces,
Yearning to feel the kiss of sweet Scottish rain.
Where tropic skies are beaming,
Love sets the heart a-dreaming,
Longing and dreaming for the homeland again.

-- Cliff Hanley

Evening, Day Seven

The meeting had featured its usual discussion, along with the usual acrimony, and had ended, yet again with the early departure of the Director and the tallying of the votes.

Having announced that he was not seeking the Directorship in order to spend a bit more time with an out of town guest, the selection balloting had been fairly heated. When the final tally was made askthepizzaguy had been selected as Director of the Committee for days 8 and 9.

Votes regarding who should be lynched had been far slower in coming. Finally, after several names had been bruited about, Rhyfelwyr had been chosen to face the vengeance of the Committee. Rhyfelwyr was handed the business card with the Club 30 address – re-used, featuring a slightly singed upper right corner – and was then ushered out of the convention hall for the walk across town to Club 30.

Taking advantage of a momentary lapse in the watchfulness of the guards, Rhyfelwyr cut quickly into an alley and made his way to the safety of his mother’s house.

Mom greeted him warmly, fussing over his suit and confirming he had on clean underwear -- Rhyfelwyr now remembered why he hadn’t visited for some time – while ushering him into his old bedroom upstairs. She started sponging off his suit coat.

“You’ll need to look your best for the Director, Rhyfelwyr.”

“I’m going nowhere near that madman, OR his crazy club!”

“But you promised, dear,” said his mother, smoothing his collar and beginning to adjust his necktie to remove and twists and to insure a perfectly centered knot. “You swore to participate in the Committee honorably.”

“This is insane! You can’t be serious?”

“I know dear, I know. It’s just that…”

Rhyfelwyr’s mother suddenly grasped the necktie and spun it behind him using the quickly tightening knot to strangle him. He gasped and sputtered, too surprised to react. He fell to his knees, vision already fading, strength sapped by the lack of oxygen.

“I’m so sorry, dear,” said his mother. “I know this is hard, but it’s for your own good. We can’t have you not keeping your promises.”

Rhyfelwyr’s mother sobbed a bit as she spoke, sad to be the one to bring things to a close. After a few painful minutes, it was all over. Director Reenk Roink entered the room, resplendent in his cream-colored suit, and moved to comfort the quietly crying woman.

“There, there, dear,” said Reenk soothingly, “I know that was hard, but it was all for the best.”

“I know you’re right,” she said, still crying a little.

“Of course I am,” said Reenk, “now let’s go downstairs and you can make us a nice cup of tea.”

OOC

Night Seven now begins. PM’s are due no later than 2200 Eastern on Sunday (0100 Monday GMT).

Vote and Selection Tallies

For the Lynch:

1st Rhyfelwyr: 8 (askthepizzaguy, Crazed Rabbit, Diana Abnoba, Double A, Kukrikhan, Ricera10, spL1tp3r50naL1ty, woad&fangs)

2nd Centurion1: 5 (haudegen, slashandburn, SSNeoperestroika, White_eyes:D, YLC)

3rd Moros: 3 (a completely inoffensive name, Cultured Drizzt Fan, Tratorix)

4th/5th/6th
askthepizzaguy: 1 (Shinseikhaan)

Proletariat: 1 (Lord Winter)

Sasaki Kojiro: 1 (TinCow)

Other:

Abstain: 3 (Chaotix, DJGingivtis, Moros)

For Director:

1st askthepizzaguy: 10 (askthepizzaguy, Beskar, Cultured Drizzt Fan, Diana Abnoba, DJGingivtis, Double A, gibsonsg91921, haudegen, spL1tp3r50naL1ty, White_eyes:D)

2nd Proletariat: 9 (Beefy187, Crazed Rabbit, Joe Monks, Kukrikhan, Proletariat, shlin28, SSNeoperestroika, TinCow, YLC)

3rd slashandburn: 5 (Chaotix, Moros, Sasaki Kojiro, slashandburn, Shinseikhaan)

4th a completely inoffensive name: 3 (a completely inoffensive name, Tratorix, woad&fangs)

5th Lord Winter: 1 (Lord Winter)

abstention: 1 (ricera10)

**a completely inoffensive name** · 08-23-2009, 04:59

Darn, I should have selected Prole just for the lulz of a tie.

**scotchedpommes** · 08-23-2009, 13:38

Trivial and mildly pedantic point, but if Rhy had to be sacrificed in a wasted lynch, it'd be fitting if we could at least use his name correctly.

**Rhyfelwyr** · 08-23-2009, 17:11

**Beskar** · 08-23-2009, 17:19

It's funny that a Mafia only voted for himself and no one else joined him.

**DisgruntledGoat** · 08-23-2009, 18:16

Originally Posted by Beskar

It's funny that a Mafia only voted for himself and no one else joined him.

Who are you talking about.

**Seamus Fermanagh** · 08-23-2009, 20:25

Originally Posted by SSNeoperestroika

Trivial and mildly pedantic point, but if Rhy had to be sacrificed in a wasted lynch, it'd be fitting if we could at least use his name correctly.

My fault. Spelling corrected.

**Askthepizzaguy** · 08-23-2009, 20:58

Askthepizzaguy progress log and estimated status of Fatlington:

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

Feel free to correct any mistakes or give a better estimate.

**a completely inoffensive name** · 08-23-2009, 22:16

3:2? We are so screwed.

**Moros** · 08-23-2009, 22:18

You know the 3 townies for every 2 mafia part makes me worry...

**Double A** · 08-23-2009, 22:19

Nice knowing you guys...

**Joooray** · 08-23-2009, 23:31

About the only chance we have now is the mafia going after each other.

**Caius** · 08-23-2009, 23:37

I'm pulling out of the game. I've come down with a flu, and I can't check the org as always.

**LittleGrizzly** · 08-24-2009, 01:10

3:2 would indicate your done for unless the mafia go for each other...

Thats if those 3 townies work effectively towards victory... with the unknown element mafia have it would seem unlikely...

**Seamus Fermanagh** · 08-24-2009, 03:53

Take nothing for granted in life
Nothing goes as planned but it all works out in the end
Live each day as if it were your last
We think we understand until everything gets out of hand

There comes a time in all our lives when we must choose
It’s always for the best, sometimes we win even when we lose
Only time will tell if it’s too late to clean this slate
It’s just as well, you’ll have to live with the choice you made

-- Matthew Staley

Summary of Events, Night Seven

Proletariat was walking down the middle of the street – more space to react if something happened – when something did happen. She was walking down the last block to Atlantic when she noticed something odd. All of the cars were the same make and model, and each had a large glass bottle atop it. Prole slowed her pace and came to a stop about halfway down the block.

A figure stepped into the middle of the street right where it joined Atlantic avenue. Hat low and collar of his gleaming black leather trench coat turned up to shade his face. “Two for second place,” he said, cryptically as a pair of kunai flashed one from either hand.

The knives went the length of the block, shattering each bottle in turn and cascading the golden powder inside over the cars themselves and into the street. Prole stood still. The gleaming dark figure tipped his hat…and then the rains lashed down.

Instantly there was a maelstrom of flame. All of the cars were covering in fire which sent tendrils of flame into the street near Prole. Windshields shattered from the sudden contrast of heat and cold and further down the block behind her one gas tank exploded, knocking her to her knees. Before the flames could wash over her, a jet of high pressure water shoved the flames backward – intensifying them but pushing them away from Prole. It was all over in a minute, save for the rain and the one burning car behind her. Still a little stunned, Proletariat got up slowly. She took care to avoid the shards of glass littered everywhere and the little guttering flames as hidden pockets of powder flared up, then made her way quietly to her apartment.

It was only later that the police found the body of Warmaster Horus lying on the curb next to the burnt out car. He’d turned the wrong corner at the wrong time.

Shinseikhaan was the last person in the corner taproom aside from the bartender. It was early, but Fatlington didn’t seem as “festive” as it normally would be. ‘khaan was halfway through his last beer when the 6’ rabbit, blood stained legs and all, walked into the tappy. The rabbit pulled back both hammers on the double shotty.

Shinseikhaan leapt off the stool as the rabbit fired. Some of the shot hit him, but he had an armor vest under his coat, so though he spun along the bar and it hurt like bejeebers, he didn’t go down. The rabbit began to reload when ‘khaan got a burst of energy and leapt across the bar heading for the back.

Much to the rabbit’s surprise, there was nobody waiting for him. Shinseikhaan made good his escape. Shortly thereafter, the bunny did too. He didn’t hop.

As she reached the door of her apartment and gently swung it open, Proletariat paused, instantly noting that something was out of place. Placed throughout the apartment were crystal bowls filled with a golden powder. From her spot just outside the door, she could see all the way to the half-bathroom at the end of the short hallway which bisected her large apartment. The water-pipes below the sink were festooned with some kind of putty to which wires had been attached – a veteran would have told her instantly that she was looking at small blocks of composition c. Crystal decanters of water were scattered about the apartment, also wired to explode. Proletariat began to back away toward the top of the stairs.

“Now, now, after all my hard work, you wouldn’t want to miss the show, would you?”

The dark figure in the gleaming black trench coat was almost at the top of the stairs, a kunai in either hand. Proletariat stopped in her tracks. The two kunai whirled past either ear on a converging course into her apartment.

“See, I only used two,” said the man as the blades thudded into their target…perfectly angled to touch together and make a circuit connection. Instead of a series of explosions shattering water pipes and spraying the powder to generate a flameblast, however, the circuit now connected powerful spotlights that flooded the hallway with light, negating any shadows.

“Twilightblade?” Proletariat said, incredulous. She was stunned, but had a clear view of him.

Twilightblade looked almost sheepish, said “I’m not REALLY here,” and pulled a bottle of powder and a bottle of water out of his coat pockets, backing slowly towards the fire escape. Prole hesitated, but then charged after ‘blade. ‘Blade threw both bottles, missing Prole as she leaned forward, but bouncing them off the open door of her apartment and into her front hall. Whoever had re-wired the charges into a new circuit had not had time to neutralize the powder or remove the explosive. The flash from the quick fire as the bottles Twilightblade had thrown shattered was just “fast” enough, in chemical terms, to ignite the closest of the plastic charges. The quick chain reaction gutted Proletariat’s apartment in the blast Twilightblade had hoped for originally.

Twilightblade and Prole were both knocked sprawling. ‘Blade got to his feet just a little bit faster stepping away from Prole and through the gathering smoke to the fire escape window exit at the end of the hall. Turning, he doffed his fedora and made a sweeping bow like some cavalier from a bygone era and then leapt onto the fire escape.

Proletariat stood and ran after him, screaming his name and inhaling entirely too much smoke in the process. She didn’t catch him since he’d jumped on the escape ladder and ridden it down as it deployed. Having to climb down the ladder herself, she just couldn’t keep up with him as he ran into the dark and the continuing rain – though several people watched him as he ran from the scene, attracted by her repeated shouting of his name. A fire engine crew was already pulling up to the curb.

“Here,” said a firefighter who came up to the coughing Proletariat, “take a blast of this oxygen to clear your lungs.”

Proletariat gratefully drew deep breaths from the mask – and then everything went black.

She awoke quickly after the injection. She’d been gagged and strapped to a bed, her arms and legs handcuffed to the Iron bedposts at each corner. Her eyes, framed by blinders so she could only look forward, widened in horror as she beheld the masked man before her, smiling at her with an evil grin as he lifted the heavy kopis blade. Her scream was too muffled to carry.

“I mixed a paralytic in with the stimulant, Prole. I don’t need you thrashing about but I didn’t want you to miss anything. My last guest didn’t provide enough energy.”

The man proceeded to tighten tourniquets that had been pre-placed high up on her arms and legs. Then he lifted the sword.

He never brought it down for the first strike. At the apex of his swing, a heavy bullet crashed into the kopis, knocking it from his hands. A second heavy slug would have killed the masked butcher, but he was already falling from the impact of the first shot taking the blades from his hand.

Prole’s savior pushed through the bathroom window at the back of the motel room, but not in time to prevent the would-be killer from rolling out of the room’s door and into the parking lot. Closed for the Winter, there was no one around to impede his escape.

Without the added “stimulation” the masked man had intended to provide, the paralytic had put Proletariat out. When she awoke, the tourniquets and restraints had been removed and an extra pillow was neatly fluffed and placed under her head. She never saw her guardian angel.

Morning Meeting, opening of Day Eight

"...so anyway, your new Director askthepizzaguy will take over the administration of today’s Lynch vote..."

Fermanagh paused briefly.

"Well, here are the results of the post-mortem investigations on Craterus, johnhughthom, Leet Erickson, Psychonaut, and atheotes.”

“Craterus was a wiseguy, but had no recent run-ins and nothing incriminating regarding connections to our current problems. There were successes for us this time as well. Leet Erickson was a Made gangster and atheotes was a Mafia Don! That was an excellent lynch choice by the committee and Leet will be no loss. Well done gentlemen.”

Fermanagh paused, then continued.

“Psychonaut was an innocent townie with a clear record, we’re sadder for his loss. And johnhughthom was worse – he was our hidden FBI Agent-in-Charge. Director Hoover has been more than clear in expressing his anger.

Fermanagh began to pack up. The new Director looked up, vaguely surprised.

“Isn’t there something more?”

“Mr. Director?”

“Further information about Yaropolk?”

Fermanagh shook his head no, then he filed out. The committee reviewed the rules and procedures, then filed out to their work before returning that afternoon to vote and to select.

OOC

Voting (Lynch only) will conclude at 2200 Eastern Monday (0200 Tuesday GMT).

The Cost of Life in Fatlington:

Attacked: Beefy187 (n1, n6), DJGingivtis (n2), GSC (n2), Beskar (n3), Double A (n3), Lord Winter (n3, n5), Andres (n4), Diana Abnoba (n4), Reenk Roink (n4), Iskander3.1 (n5), Proletariat (n5, n5, n7, n7), TinCow (n6), Shinseikhaan (n7)

Killed: Quintus.JC (n1), The Stranger (n1), Death is Yonder (n2), pevergreen (n2), Yaropolk (n2), Myrddraal (n3), Jolt (n4), Craterus (n5), johnhughthom (n5), Leet Erickson (n5), Psychonaut (n5), Iskander3.1 (n6), Khazaar (n6), Kommodus (n6), scottishranger (n6),

Lynched: Factionheir (d2), CountArach (d3), GeneralHankerchief (d3), discovery1 (d4), atheotes (d5), A Very Super Market (d6), Kagemusha (d6),

Wogged: Nole4694 (n5), Truepraetorian (n5), Dutch_guy (n6), Warmaster Horus (n7)

**Lord Winter** · 08-24-2009, 03:59

Vote: Twightlightblade

**Beskar** · 08-24-2009, 04:01

ROFL, Atheotes, why are you always the mafia?

**slashandburn** · 08-24-2009, 04:04

Vote:Twilightblade Attacking a protown alone and surviving = mafia!

**a completely inoffensive name** · 08-24-2009, 04:05

Well:
1. Prole has been attacked 4 times, which no offense to the people trying to kill Prole but at this point you guys just need to get one of those Fat Man from Fallout 3, because failing 4 times is making Prole seem more like Rasputin in my opinion.
and
2. Great job on killing the friggen FBI Agent-in-charge, honestly how the heck did we such a huge pro town role die?

Language - Sigurd

**Beskar** · 08-24-2009, 04:08

I don't think Twilightblade is a threat, he obviously sucks at killing anyone and he doesn't wear a mask. I think he will ambush you with a straw and try to suck on you for his next kill, then you brush him away and kick him as he runs off.

Vote: Twilightblade for now anyway, until we try to tie up another.

**Askthepizzaguy** · 08-24-2009, 04:11

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

Now what is all this defeatist rubbish? We might, might, be 3 townies for every 2 mafia combined. But they are all against one another. The town is united. We have intelligence to work off of, we have defenders and detectives and all manner of useful people. We're taking these bleepity bleeps down one by one, or sometimes two at a time. We're defeating them in the day phase, we're trouncing them in the night phase... we have not appeared to have wasted a SINGLE lynch so far. We have suspects to go after and we're in excellent shape.

I won't have it. This is a day of triumph, not worry. And we will prevail. Bring me two of the scummiest among you, and I'll deliver you justice in 30 minutes or less.

**Chaotix** · 08-24-2009, 04:14

Vote: Twilightblade.

For pressure, right now. Once he explains what he's really up to, we'll move on to someone else if he sounds genuine enough.

**a completely inoffensive name** · 08-24-2009, 04:15

Originally Posted by Askthepizzaguy

we're trouncing them in the night phase.

Is that why our FBI Agent-in-charge died?

**woad&fangs** · 08-24-2009, 04:20

Vote: Twilightblade

Thread: Capo di Tutti Capi III [Concluded]

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