For write up posting only. Please do not post in this thread. Use the game thread or PM me with questions.
_________________________________________________ The sun rose slowly over the mountains.
The old fortress seemed to linger in the pre dawn darkness longer than the ground around it, as though the cold of the winter night gripped tightly to the red stonewalls. Centuries ago, it had been said that the sun was drawn to it, and that it shone like a beacon. It had been built as testament to the engineering skill of the king’s army, to dominate a strategic valley.
Now the importance of its location was as outdated as the walls. No armies marshaled around it as they once had; it served as a waypoint for travelers and a minor outpost.
There was a great enemy to the south, undefeated in open battle. But the border was many miles away, and if that empire managed to march this far, it would roll over this fort. The few cannons on the battlements were no deterrent; they would crumble under the assault of newer, larger artillery.
Or perhaps the enemy would simply ignore it. Only a handful of soldiers garrisoned it, and they would be unable to hold the fort or strike at a passing army.
Only one resource was guarded by the fort; information. What had been roads and lands of strategic importance now held information that had traveled from many parts of Europe. The soldiers of the fortress kept track of all the information that passed through on the tongues of the many travelers.
This had not gone unnoticed by the enemy though. Unable to force armies deep into the lands of his opponent, he instead sent a small team of skilled infiltrators to gain control over the fort.
Hidden among the many travelers who passed through, they easily snuck inside. And on this dawn, they looked to the north and saw great storm clouds moving south. Many sets of eyes saw this. Some smiled under gleaming eyes.
Snow was coming to the fort, snow that would bury the entire earth in a mantle of white. The spies knew that everyone at this fort would awaken to a new world tomorrow, one that was transformed as though God himself changed the nature of the land.
One that no one could escape until the snow melted.
_________________________________________________
Greetings and welcome!
This game was born of my desire for a mafia game with multiple factions. I was inspired by the most recent Capo game, where the FBI and CIA were supposed to root out communists, unconnected from the town.
Alas, they joined up with the town and I was one of those on the sharp end of that stick. This game, therefore, has the main townsperson – mafia battle, along with sub factions striving amongst themselves, and not naturally inclined by way of their characters to join one side or the other.
I also wanted to stop the town from deducing their enemies based on detective results and night actions. So if a townsperson and a Mafioso have killed someone, the detective’s results will be the same.
In the tradition of Capo, this game will feature possible night actions by all players. Starting characters can become new characters after a series of successful night actions.
Finally, what is going on in this game will be deliberately ambiguous in terms of the factions battling each other at night and during the day in terms of lynching.
Basic Mafia Game Guidelines:
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
Once the game begins, you will be sent a role PM. This will tell you what role you are, and determine your victory conditions, your abilities, etc.
The game will start in the night phase, with only the mafia being able to attack someone that first night. In the day phase right after that, players will vote to lynch whomever they think is guilty. In all successive nights all players will be free to perform night actions. The town will win when the mafia and any other threats have been eliminated. The mafia will win when they outnumber the townspeople and have destroyed any other threats.
Random Night Action Results:
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
This game also has a new feature, which I hope will greatly enhance the excitement; somewhat random results to night actions. I’ve got a nice spreadsheet full of all possible night actions between different groups. This spreadsheet contains probabilities for the success of night actions.
So, say a group of four people attacks another person. The cell in the spreadsheet will say this for their chances: xx/yy/zz. ‘xx’ is their chance of success, from 0-100, of killing the target. ‘yy’ is the individual chance of being exposed, i.e. named, in the write-up. And finally, ‘zz’ is the individual chance of dying. Random.org will be used to generate numbers to determine the success or failure of all night actions. Yes, even with a full group you can die attacking targets. If a group is very unlucky they can fail to kill the target and all die.
The chances in each of these categories varies depending on who the attacker and who the defender is. The more powerful enemies will be harder to kill and more likely to kill you.
Also, there are cells detailing a group’s chances at defending a target, which say this; xx/yy/zz. ‘xx’ is the chance of successfully defending the target, ‘yy’ is the individual chance of the defenders dying. Generally the chance of defenders dying, even when strong characters attack the one they are defending, is quite low.
Performing Night Actions:
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
Each role can perform an action in the night. This is accomplished by sending me a PM during the night phase detailing what you want to do, who you want to do it to, and who you want to do it with.
Example:
Originally Posted by Crazed Rabbit
Tonight I will kill Seamus with Sasaki Kojiro, General Hankerchief, and Tincow.
It is important you and all your confederates correctly state who you are working with and who you are attacking. Failure to do so will result in the night action failing and an increased chance of death. And while the results are somewhat random, detailing your actions will not affect your chances, though you can add some flavor to the write up by detailing how you kill someone.
Conversion:
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
This game also features conversion, a hybrid between Capo and Pirate Ship mafia. Only certain townspeople are susceptible to conversion. The mafia can investigate people to find out who. They can then give a note (written by them, delivered by me) enticing the townie to join their cause. Doing so will give the townie a chance at a higher victory level. Townies will be unable to betray the mafia, though, as once they have accepted the note the town will need to kill them to win (even if the detective ordered said townie to infiltrate the mafia, by Imperial law in the setting, such people must be killed).
Sub factions can also convert in a similar manner, though the rewards and risks may be different.
Victory Levels:
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
Victory levels; there will be several levels, ranging from Great Victory to Crushing Defeat, so that even in death townies can ‘score’. However, certain sub-groups can extend requests for help to townies. Should the townies accept and be successful, they will be able to reach a higher victory level and thus a higher ‘score’ than townies who didn’t help. For a townie, accepting such an offer will not necessarily mean betraying the town. It may make you a target of the enemies of that sub-group, though.
Examples of victory levels for townies:
Supreme Victory: Not open to townies at start, only through conversion.
Great Victory: Not open to townies at start, only though conversion.
Victory: The town soundly defeats all of its enemies.
Close Victory: The town narrowly defeats all of its enemies.
Close Defeat: The town is defeated, but kills many enemies.
Defeat: The town is soundly defeated.
Voting:
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
Of course, it will also include the daily lynching. Day and night periods will alternate. People will choose someone to lynch during the day (with an instant runoff tiebreaker), and send in night actions during the night period. Write ups will be posted between these periods. The mafia wins when it has eliminated…or converted…all the townspeople and anyone else who oppose them. The townspeople win when they have killed the mafia and everyone else who threatens the town. Note that in this game, the enemy of your enemy may also be your enemy as well.
('Borrowed' from GeneralHankerchief)
Voting is your primary action in the day phases. Every day, you will be voting to lynch the person you think is guilty. Voting will be done in the usual style, like so:
Vote: Crazed Rabbit
Should you wish to change your vote, please do the following IN A NEW POST:
Unvote: Crazed Rabbit
Vote: TosaInu
You may also Vote: Abstain should you have no preference as to who is lynched. You may NOT vote “No Lynch”. All votes must be bolded and votes may not be edited. Should you edit your vote and not change it in a new post, you are faced with a lower victory level and potentially, removal from play. The person with the most votes at the end of the day phase is lynched.
Sustained abstaining may will result in your being kicked out of the fortress to die of exposure in the cold.
Roles:
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
Traveler; Basic townsperson. They were caught in the fort by the snow. They can form groups of four at night to attack or defend targets. Two successes of one type lead to a promotion to Soldier.
Soldier; a more powerful townsperson. They form the garrison. They can form groups of three to attack or defend targets. Three successful attacks leads to a promotion to Warrior, three successful defenses leads to a promotion to Sergeant.
Warrior; A powerful attacker, who can group up with another warrior or attack on his own. For defending people, functions as a soldier.
Sergeant; A powerful defender. Can pick one person to protect by himself each night. For attacking people, functions as a soldier.
Spies; the mafia. They can kill together and also investigate townspeople to find roles and susceptibility to conversion.
Constable; the detective. Can investigate players to learn what they're up to, with subsequent investigations revealing more.
Secret Roles; oh yes, indeed.
Rules on PMs, screenshots, and action after death:
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
Quoting GeneralHankerchief again; I am going to quote from Seamus Fermanagh’s rules from Capo II on this one, with a few edits:
The dead may post, but not vote/select nor carry out any night actions. Dead players may not reveal their roles publicly or privately and may not reveal their faction or role particulars either. Dead players may not quote from a PM unless that PM has been posted in the public thread by a living player. Dead players may not reveal, recount or allude to their previous night actions (or results thereof in the case of investigations) publicly or privately – even to confirm a previously made public or private reveal. Your participation must be circumspect, but your continued participation IS encouraged.
No screenshots may be used, from or to anyone, for ANY purpose – this includes during PMs. Feel free to quote from player's PMs to you or to fabricate as you see fit. You may NOT quote my PMs. Chatlog conversations may be referenced/quoted, but may not be copied via screenshot. Note: it can be difficult to maintain role secrecy during chat conversations.
"Suicide" will not be allowed in this game (it is possible to create an unplayable game with nothing but suicide pact challenges going on. This is not the intended mode of play for this game).
Players who must remove themselves from play for schedule reasons should send me a PM. I will then write them out of play.
Adding some Irish Moss;
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
Most aspects of roles will be revealed on the third morning after a character's death, though certain characters will remain mysterious and actions will not be revealed until after the game is complete. (From Seamus' capo rules)
A final note on ambiguity. All is not as it seems in the Shadow Fort; I may well be, well, "misleading" you on the nature of events in my role PM. This is because the role PM is what your character believes, and this game is set in a time of turbulence of beliefs.
What will not be a lie is the list of those who are dead, for the dead will not return. Victory conditions will be absolute, though, and fulfilling them will grant victory no matter what circumstance.
Sign ups are closed.
Sign Ups so far (42):
Askthepizzaguy
Double A
Centurion1
White_eyes:D
pevergreen
Secura
Thermal Mercury
Diamondeye
Joooray
Sasaki Kojiro
Chaotix
Beskar
Sigurd
Subotan
Myrddraal
GeneralHankerchief
Captain Blackadder
Methos
Psychonaut
Yaropolk
A Very Super Market
Winston Hughes
Jolt
Cultured Drizzt fan
Scienter
Reenk Roink
atheotes
Csargo
Beefy187
TinCow
Yaseikhaan
TheFlax
spL1tp3r50naL1ty
johnhughtom
a completely inoffensive name
Renata
slashandburn
Seamus Fermanagh
Ibn-Khaldun
Seon
Kagemusha
autolycus
Crazed Rabbit
Ja Mata, Tosa.
The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown. It may be frail; its roof may shake; the wind may blow through it; the storm may enter; the rain may enter; but the King of England cannot enter – all his force dares not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement! - William Pitt the Elder
Gerard, the commander of this fort, had seen many winters in these mountains. Most of the days were bitter - cold, short, with heavy snow everywhere. Dirt became mixed into the snow. Uncaring travelers came and went, oblivious to the hardships and labor of his soldiers. Steadfastly he gazed from the small window in his chambers to the vast expanse of mountainside.
In winter he saw the coldness of humanity laid bare. It only took a change in temperature and season for man to stop caring about others, to give an extra shove moving through the market, to look away from the wagon stranded in frozen mud.
"Do you think I am too cynical?" he asked.
"No - at least, not more cynical than most", replied Hans, his trusted lieutenant.
Gerard sighed, lowering his gaze from the new layer of snow to the letter in his hand. Overnight a great snow storm had passed through. What had been a mixture of snow, dirt, muck, and dead plants was now a gentle white. He had once felt joy at such a sight. Now he only became more bitter.
"Perhaps it is this letter," Gerard said, solemnly.
"Ah, the one from the royal court - what's it say?"
"There are Turkish spies in our fort. At least, the generals seem as sure of this as anything else."
"That is troubling. What will you do?"
"We have to eliminate the spies quickly, so I'm going to encourage everyone in this fort to select someone to be executed until we've found them all."
"Why not just have your troops just arrest everyone?"
"I - well, the problem is that the barracks records have been misplaced, or stolen, or never written down in the first place."
"Well that's convenient."
"A list was never needed until now - and with all the new transfers, I hardly recognize anyone. Plus, since all the travelers have swords these days and everyone's wearing heavy coats against the cold, all the people look alike."
"That is really damned convenient."
"Thanks for your magnificent insight, Hans."
"You can't really blame me, remember."
Gerard was motionless for a moment, then nodded and looked back out to the snow. After a long time, he spoke again;
"Well, time to catch some Turks then."
With that, Gerard strode out to the lower court to make the announcement. Hans stayed behind, first watching Gerard leave, then silently turning to look at the snow.
Being told that you are going to make up a mob who will decide to execute people based on suspicion is not something most Austrians were used to hearing. Or, for that matter, any of the other nationalities listening. Even the spies themselves were a bit surprised. Usually no one started hanging people until they had killed someone. They almost felt taken advantage of. It was 1610; four years since the war had ended. Surely paranoia didn't run this deep?
But the commander was adamant, and so the travelers and others began looking around them. They had come to this fort to rest as they traveled. It was a safe haven, where they could sleep in a bed that wasn't freezing and eat somewhat warm food. Many looked up at the stone fort they were in and no longer saw protective fortifications, but stone prison walls. The people assembled were normal men, or women, and expected certain things out of life. One prominent thing that popped to mind was not having an angry mob condemn you to death when you've done nothing worth execution in your life. A couple people felt cheated - they had done good to avoid execution, and now they faced being lynched without being able to reap any ill-got gains from wrongdoing! Perhaps that gypsy - and here we are talking about one traveler in particular - really did make good on her threat to curse him for knocking her soup into the fire for spite.
All realized now that somewhere in that crowd were some spies who wanted to kill them. This filled many with great fear. It is fortunate for those people they did not know the true extent of their situation.
The Game Has Begun.
Vote now to lynch those you believe to be Turkish spies. Remember to bold your votes, and do not edit posts with votes in them. No lynch votes will be possible, and a no lynch result is possible.
The day phase will end 24 hours from now (11 pm PST, March 10). Feel free to PM me with any questions.
Ja Mata, Tosa.
The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown. It may be frail; its roof may shake; the wind may blow through it; the storm may enter; the rain may enter; but the King of England cannot enter – all his force dares not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement! - William Pitt the Elder
Gerard, sitting in a large oaken chair behind a larger table, counted the votes, or rather the voters, who lined up to express their views.
It was late in the evening now. The inner court glowed warm from the fire and candles. The doors were opened and the night sky loomed like a black maw.
Gerard shuddered and glanced back down at the tally he had made. Again he felt a pang of doubt. Was this the best way? To have a mob of scared people decide to kill people?
Perhaps he should take back control, and decide who to execute himself...he put his pen down and gazed at the ceiling.
"You know you can't do that," said Hans, standing behind him.
"You don't know what I mean to do," Gerard shot back. Hans just smiled.
After double checking his tally twice, then twice again, Gerard stood up. The crowd was nervous, and silent. A few faces glanced from Gerard to the space behind him, where armed men stood ready.
"Men - soldiers...and travelers. The tally has been made, and a decision reached. There will be no lynch this night.
"I suppose that," Gerard hesitated, "that this is for the best tonight. We have little information right now. It will be up to you to find the spies and get them lynched.
"One more thing, before you go - I see some people decided not to participate and 'voted' to simply ignore these proceedings," his voice gained a sharp edge, "This will not be tolerated! If you are in this fort, you will help, or you will be thrown out!"
Gerard turned and strode back to his chambers. The crowd murmured and people began talking between themselves.
Tally:
No Lynch; 7 (Seamus, Jolt, Tincow, TheFlax, Scienter, Centurion1, Seon)
Ibn-Khaldun; 3 (Khaan, Kagemusha, Beskar)
Subotan; 3 (ACIN, CDF, AVSM)
Methos; 3 (ATPG, White Eyes, Reenk Roink)
Abstain; 2 (split, Subotan)
Others; (Everyone else but Sigurd)
The Night Phase has begun. Please send in your orders by 11 pm PST March 11th (or 22.5 hours or so from now).
In the next day phase, no abstaining will be allowed. Voting not to lynch will be frowned on (unlike this day phase).
Please refer to the rules to make sure you send in orders correctly. Feel free to ask questions if you need to.
CR
Ja Mata, Tosa.
The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown. It may be frail; its roof may shake; the wind may blow through it; the storm may enter; the rain may enter; but the King of England cannot enter – all his force dares not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement! - William Pitt the Elder
Another storm dumped snow on the fort. The people trapped inside would have to wait longer before it melted.
Anyone looking out during the night might have seen one of many figures moving through the shadows, some more stealthily than others. In the evening some noticed the delicious aroma of a well prepared dinner, with a hint of garlic.
But none of these figures attacked anyone, and everyone who went to sleep woke up alive.
Gerard was somewhat puzzled about this. Still, he insisted that no-lynch and abstain votes were not allowed in voting today.
The day phase has begun.
24 hours for voting! Or until 7:30 am PST March 13!
Some people's orders didn't go in, because the orders were done wrongly or to late. I won't be here to answer questions, as I am going skiing.
CR
Ja Mata, Tosa.
The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown. It may be frail; its roof may shake; the wind may blow through it; the storm may enter; the rain may enter; but the King of England cannot enter – all his force dares not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement! - William Pitt the Elder
Gerard counted the votes. The Shadow Fort, end of day 2
At least this day no one had voted to abstain. Several more had not voted at all. He wondered which was better.
At least today had a vote leader and no tie. Hans had actually remembered some obscure book of laws for Hapsburg officials in regards to settling ties when mobs of people where voting for someone to be executed. He couldn't imagine who would have thought to write official rules on that.
But no tie today, which meant no explaining the rules.
He stood up, "Soldiers and travelers, I have twice counted the votes and Kagemusha is to be lynched today." - the crowd murmured and distanced themselves from Kagemusha - "I've had a couple of my soldiers..."
"Are you sure?" asked Kagemusha, staring straight at Gerard.
"What? Of course I am. Now, the soldiers..."
"You should check again." stated Kagemusha.
"Who do you think...alright, I'll check," agreed Gerard. Hans stood silently as Gerard went back to the tally.
"See, I've got you marked as voting for...oh, wait. It appears you voted for Beskar. I guess that means we're tied right now."
"And you know what that means!" said Hans, overly helpful.
Gerard sighed, "This means we will have an instant runoff. Everyone who voted for Beskar or Kagemusha will have their votes remain. Whichever one of them gets one more vote will be chosen to be lynched. The first person to change their vote from one of them to the other, or the first person who voted for someone else and then votes for Beskar or Kagemusha, will decide who will be lynched.
"I suppose,"he sighed again, "A few minutes more of discussion couldn't hurt, so this will continue until one of them is lynched."
We are now in the Instant Runoff Phase! Beskar and Kagemusha are tied for votes. Whichever one gets one more vote will be lynched. People who already voted for one cannot vote for the same person again. They can switch their vote. Everyone who voted for somebody else can also vote.
Kagemusha was appalled at this turn of events, and turned to stare at Beskar.
"I am to be hung because this pathetic sack of flesh and bones wanted to play some trivial game? I have traveled Europe only to be done in because of some insect's tricks?" Kage started to advance to Beskar.
"I will not allow this shallow brained creature to continue breathing!" he roared and leaped at Beskar.
One of the soldiers took hold of Kage's arm, but he was thrown off. More soldiers grabbed Kage and bore him to the ground, then to the gallows.
"You pathetic fools!" Kage screamed as he struggled, and continued to scream and yell as he was dragged up the gallow stairs.
"Hang him already," said Gerard.
As the soldiers bound Kage's hands behind him, he stopped cursing at the crowd. As the noose was placed over his head, he became calm.
With an iron gaze, he seemed to stare at each person in the crowd.
"I will see you all in hell!" Such was his tone and intensity that some men decided to give up on sin altogether right then and there.
And then the door swung open and Kage dropped down. His face strained, but he didn't scream or babble. Soon, his face relaxed and his eyes went dead, and some time after that he was cut down.
The body was placed next to the outer wall, where the cold would keep it from decomposing until it could be buried outside.
The night phase has begun! The night phase will last 36 hours, until 12:30 AM PST Monday, March 15.
Ja Mata, Tosa.
The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown. It may be frail; its roof may shake; the wind may blow through it; the storm may enter; the rain may enter; but the King of England cannot enter – all his force dares not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement! - William Pitt the Elder
The pale orb of the moon, surrounded by stars, illuminated the fort. Last night the people had been fortunate; no one had died. Tonight would be different.
Cultured Drizzt fan was walking from the lynching of Kagemusha back to his room in the tavern. He seemed to be among a crowd of people, but as he made his way among the handful of buildings, he found himself alone going down an alley. The background noise of conversation had gone, and now he was alone, with only the soft crunch of his feet in the snow.
As he neared the end of the alley, he heard movement. He paused, and moved his hand to his sword hilt as two men turned the corner and faced him.
“There he is!” cried one as the other yelled, “Kill him!”
CDF decided not to hang around and make small talk. He turned and ran back the way he came, drawing his sword. As he neared the other end of the alley another man emerged from around that corner, sword held high. CDF skidded to a halt, and turned to a small wall running between two buildings. Spurred on by desperation, he leaped to the top and hauled himself over. Landing in a heap on the other side, he thanked God there was no one waiting to stab him as he got up.
The three attackers quickly clambered over the wall, but CDF was already too far to catch up with and running fast. They muttered to each other for a while before stomping off.
Seamus Fermanagh was walking nearby. He turned to leave, not wanting to be the next target, when he thought he heard someone behind him. He stopped and turned, but could hear nothing more. He peered into the shadows the moonlight could not reach and saw only darkness. After a minute of this, he continued walking.
Not 30 seconds had passed before he thought he heard more footsteps behind him. He turned quickly, reaching for his sword.
From the darkness a figure ran and leaped onto Seamus. He was cloaked and let out a loud hoarse yell as he brought Seamus to the ground. Such was his speed that Seamus had not drawn his sword.
Seamus gave up on the sword and tried to wrestle the foul smelling man off of him. But the man quickly tore his arms free of Seamus’s grasp and began ferociously stabbing him. Bleeding from a dozen spots in a few seconds, Seamus could not struggle anymore.
His body was found covered in his own blood the next morning.
Later, Chaotix was returning to his room from the tavern. Drinks hadn’t been cheap, but he had some coins to spare. He walked across the snow in a pleasant mood. He became decidedly less pleasant as he saw a man holding a large sword step out from around a corner of the nearest building.
Chaotix stopped, and then drew his own sword as the man advanced. He thought about demanding to know who the man was, but figured that man was not likely to answer.
His attacker raised his sword and took precise steps. Chaotix readied his own sword in a defensive stance. The attacked got within several paces, then lunged with a diagonal strike. Chaotix flung his arm up to defend himself, but the attacker had changed the angle of his attack mid swing, and the blade came at Chaotix horizontally and struck him in the shoulder, rendering his left arm useless.
Chaotix cried out in pain and tried to swing at the attacker. But his assailant had already moved and swung again, this time cutting Chaotix diagonally across the chest. The wounded Chaotix dropped his sword and tried to back away, but another swing gashed his neck. He fell to the ground, and his attacked stabbed him in the chest before quickly running off.
In a different part of the fort, another person was making their way back home. Yaropolk had thought he was alone. As he approached the small thatched building with his room, he heard a single metallic clink behind him. Instinctively, he ducked and dove past the corner ahead. A crossbow bolt lodged itself in the wood behind the space formerly occupied by his head.
Yaropolk jumped to his feet, scanning for the other attacker, hoping another bolt would not strike home while he was unable to dodge. Luckily for him, no more bolts flew at him. He drew his long sword and quickly glanced around the corner.
His would be killer had dropped the crossbow and drawn a sword and was presently running towards him. He raised his own sword and stepped around the corner, bringing it down in a powerful cut. The attacked halted and deflected the blow in the nick of time with his sword. Undeterred, Yaropolk quickly attacked again from a different angle. But the attacker parried that as well, and managed a quick thrust at Yaropolk. Though surprised, he deflected that blow and raised his sword to attack again.
By this time the attacker had scanned the area, and seeing no help coming, had decided to retreat. Yaropolk moved to follow, but his attacker was too quick and escaped into the darkness.
With a sigh, Yaropolk lowered his sword, but decided to keep it unsheathed. This was wise. He opened the door, greeted a few people in the common area, and went towards his room, ignoring the stares.
As he opened his door a man leaped out and swung a sword at his face. Yaropolk stumbled backwards, blocking strike after strike. He was being forced back to the end of the hallway; his long sword was less effective indoors.
As his attacker brought his sword around in a blur to attack again, he saw his chance and swung quickly upwards. The blow landed, the attacker grimaced and his sword faltered. Yaropolk piled on the blows now, sensing victory. First he cut quickly from the side, then brought his sword down in a great slicing swing across the attacker’s torso. As his opponent reeled backwards and began to fall, Yaropolk pulled his sword back and thrust it deeply into the attacker’s chest.
The man gasped, then let out a croak and collapsed to the floor. Yaropolk stood panting for a moment, then stepped over the body and went to alert the guards.
A Very Super Market lay dead on the floor behind him.
In a different part of the fortress grounds, Secura was walking towards the door of the building where he slept. As he passed a merchant’s wagon, he heard furtive movement and jumped back. As he did, a man came out of the wagon, sword at the ready. Secura drew her own sword.
“Why hello!” said the attacker, “Care to dance?”
Secura got the idea he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He swung first and caught the smirking attacker off guard. The attacker parried and lunged with his blade. Secura dodged quickly, and the blade barely missed. Secura backed off while swinging to gain distance, but the attacker kept moving in.
With sword held aloft, the attacker quickly closed the distance as Secura attempted to circle backwards around the wagon. The attacker struck, but Secura parried again and lashed out quickly in retaliation, forcing the attacker to take a step back. Secura kicked a wooden box over and ran to the nearest building, yelling for assistance. The attacker jumped over the box, then hesitated. He could hear people stirring in the building, and decided caution was sometimes the better part of valor.
Gerard entered a fit of melancholy when he heard the news. So many attacks was dire news.
He gestured for Hans to make today’s announcement. Hans just stood silently, an empathetic expression on his face. Finally Gerard turned in his seat and demanded, “Well?”
“You know you have to give the orders and announcements around here, sir.”
Gerard didn’t move. It was several minutes before he sighed deeply and got up.
In the court below he addressed the crowd, “Greetings. We had a rough night last night, and that means we have to catch the people doing this. Anyone looking for motivation should remember there’s a place for them on the killer’s list.”
He had a guard post a list of the dead.
It is now the day phase, which will last for 28 hours, until 9 am PST (GMT -7) March 16.
Killed:
Night 2: Chaotix
Seamus Fermanagh
A Very Super Market
Ja Mata, Tosa.
The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown. It may be frail; its roof may shake; the wind may blow through it; the storm may enter; the rain may enter; but the King of England cannot enter – all his force dares not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement! - William Pitt the Elder
Various soldiers and guards had been moving closer to Secura ever since she announced she was the Turkish spymaster.
Once Gerard, standing at the top of the stairs at the keep entrance, gave the signal that voting was over, they all moved in.
"It seems we have caught one a powerful spy," beamed Gerard as Secura was led to the gallows.
She* just smiled.
"This is rather interesting, isn't it?" asked Hans, "Secura just gave herself up. Why would she do that?"
Gerard just continued to smile, "I guess the Turk has found this fort more difficult to infiltrate than he expected!"
"Could it be that she is protecting someone? Are we playing into her hands?"
Gerard's face flickered in annoyance, "So difficult that they could not bear to continue and wish for a quick death!"
Secura was undaunted, "Once you strike me down, my followers shall destroy you all. Their influence grows around you even as we speak. Convert and submit or you will be consumed."
Gerard boomed back, "Your followers are idle! What damage have they wrought? A single death, perhaps, before we caught their leader!"
Secura just smiled back at him as the noose was placed around her neck.
"Perhaps she is right - that killing her will only make her fellow spies more powerful. Perhaps she serves to catch our eye while men with long knives circle behind us," said Hans, worried.
"Enough!," whispered Gerard, keeping his face staring straight at Secura.
The trapdoor was released and she fell. After several minutes her body was placed next to Kagemusha's.
The crowd remained eerily calm during the hanging.
"Congratulations, soldiers and citizens of Austria! We have quickly found and killed our greatest enemy! Her self assurance is but a mask to confuse us - her fellows are surely doomed now. So sleep well tonight, and tomorrow we shall kill another Turk!" proclaimed Gerard boisterously.
The crowd broke up and Gerard returned to the keep.
"I went past her room briefly," said Hans, "far from the luxury of the sultans. I guess the Turkish spymasters are more frugal."
"She may find her new home more frugal yet," smirked Gerard.
The night phase will last 32 hours! The night phase ends at 7:30 PM PST March 17th!
not voting: 6 (CDF, johnhugh, Joooray, Secura, slashandburn, spL1t)
Ja Mata, Tosa.
The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown. It may be frail; its roof may shake; the wind may blow through it; the storm may enter; the rain may enter; but the King of England cannot enter – all his force dares not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement! - William Pitt the Elder
Four men tramped through the snow. One held a length a rope. Another held a flask of ale. A third led a donkey. The fourth man walked ahead, looking for their target.
Jolt was walking from the tavern to his room, cautiously scanning around him. A figure ducked behind a building ahead of him. Jolt saw him, but kept moving.
As he walked past the spot the figure had been standing, the path narrowed. On each side there was a wall, and now Jolt could only go forwards or backwards.
It was then that he began to hear the chanting. From in front and behind came the words “sasaki kojiro” slowly repeated. Jolt stopped.
Two men appeared at each end of the path, weapons drawn.
“You cannot escape, Jolt. It is commanded that you die,” one intoned.
“Who said anything about escaping?” asked Jolt as he readied his halberd, smiling.
The four men rushed him. Jolt swung the pole arm to the left to strike the men in front of him. The man on Jolt’s right brought up his club to stop the halberd, but the momentum was too great. The axe end swept past his guard and went through his collarbone. He collapsed and screamed, grasping at the blood pouring out. The other man approaching Jolt from the front stumbled and fell in order to avoid the halberd.
Jolt turned quickly to deal with the men behind him. A mace swung down at him. The halberd seemed to move effortlessly as that attack was deflected. The halberd continued to swing, and the base swept the feet of the other attacker off the ground. Jolt stopped swinging, adjusted his grip, pivoted the halberd again and bore the mace swinging man onto the ground.
Again Jolt turned and raised his halberd. The man who had fallen next to his bloody comrade was almost up. There was a soft, gentle whoosh as the halberd swung again, bearing down on the cloaked man, who threw himself backward, yelling in terror. A loud clanging noise rent the night air as the halberd hit the ground and split a cobblestone. Jolt stepped forward and raised the halberd again. The man on the ground threw his club at Jolt, then got to his feet and ran. The club went wide and struck the arm of his comrade behind Jolt, who was getting up.
Jolt turned and swung the halberd again. Jolt’s target flung his sword up and sidestepped to avoid the axe head. The other cloaked man, seeing the fleeing man, decided it was a good idea and fled too. Only one man remained now. He jumped backwards to avoid the halberd. Jolt, seeing his enemies scattered, drew the axe head back again and began to step forward quickly.
The last cloaked man, seeing this, fled as well. Jolt ran after him for a couple steps, then decided to let them run. He went back over the man he had killed and nudged his head with his foot.
The lifeless face of Winston Hughes stared back at him.
In a different part of the fort, Sigurd was making his way through a snow-covered alley. As he came out, he saw a single man step forward from the darkness and draw a sword.
“Prepare to…” began the man, as he looked around him and saw no one else, “well, that is…”
He trailed off, but still had his sword out. After a pause he advanced on Sigurd. As he did, four masked figures emerged from the shadows around Sigurd and placed themselves in front of him. All four had swords drawn.
The attacker cursed and turned to run.
“Wait, is that you Csargo?” asked one of the defenders.
Csargo looked back and cursed again, “No it isn’t!” and took off running.
Outside the doors of the keep, a man waited in the darkness, crossbow held ready. He had stood here steadily for over an hour, unmoving. Occasionally a little snow would fall. The man blinked only rarely, and never moved his eyes from the door.
Finally Subotan stepped out. The man with the crossbow immediately adjusted his aim and fired.
Subotan was standing on the top of the stone stairs when he heard the faint click of the crossbow firing. He reacted from instinct and ducked. The bolt missed by inches. Even before it passed overhead Subotan was drawing his sword.
Out of the darkness a man roared and ran, sword ready to strike. Subotan barely got his sword out fast enough to deflect the blow as he side stepped.
“Guards!,” Subotan yelled. The attacker did not hesitate, and rained a flurry of blows upon Subotan. Subotan could not keep up. He blocked the heaviest swings, but other strikes grazed him.
The guards were coming now, but the attacker continued. He pressed the attack, forcing Subotan backwards, away from the door, away from the guards. His sword was a blur in the night. With a small stutter step to the side, he feinted and then struck. Subotan, backpedaling quickly, fell for the feint and could only watch in terror as the sword swung towards his unprotected neck. Just then, one of his feet slipped on some ice and he fell down fast. The sword cut through his hair.
The guards had made it outside and yelled for the attacker to halt. He looked back quickly even as he brought his sword up to finish off Subotan. Even now Subotan had not given up, though. As soon as he hit the ground his foot lashed out and caught his attacker in the knee, throwing him off balance.
The attacker saw that the guards were almost on him, so he turned and ran into the darkness. Subotan would not be able to sleep soundly that night.
Centurion1 had just finished his drink in the tavern. He bid farewell to his drinking companions and set off to his room. He was only twenty paces from the tavern exit when three crossbows fired at him. Two missed, but one struck him beneath the ribs. Centurion cried out in pain, clasping one hand to his side as the other drew his sword. Three men ran out from the shadows and blocked the path back to the tavern.
Sword drawn, Centurion cursed his attackers, “Come and fight me with steel, cowards!”
The three men drew their swords and obliged. The fight was over quickly. Centurion blocked one strike and swung out, but his sword was deflected and two other strikes landed. Centurion lashed out again in a wide sweep, but the men dodged back. One moved in quickly, plunging his sword into Centurion’s stomach. Centurion’s stance slackened and he dropped his sword.
He looked up at his smiling attacker, and recognized the smile.
“Methos?”
The attacker stopped smiling, and drew back, pulling his hood down.
“Methos!” yelled Centurion as he fell to the ground, using the last of his strength. The cry went up into the dark night, and even the boisterous drinkers in the tavern heard.
Methos ran off into the night. One of the others stayed and put tea leaves over Centurion’s eyes.
In the morning the people gathered inside the keep. Gerard was cursing at a guard who had let Subotan’s get away.
After a while he stopped and then glared out at the crowd, “The attacks and murders have not stopped. Find the people who are doing this!” he yelled.
With that he stomped back to his chair and stewed, looking out over the crowd angrily.
Hans stood silently nearby for a few minutes, and then said softly, “I thought you liked fresh snowfalls. The ground outside is glistening in the sun.”
“I loved what came with the snow. Now all that comes is death,” Gerard snapped.
Begin voting! The day phase will last for 24 hours, until 11 am PST Friday March 19th.
Killed:
Chaotix N2
Seamus Fermanagh N2
A Very Super Market N2
Winston Hughes N3
Centurion1 N3
Ja Mata, Tosa.
The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown. It may be frail; its roof may shake; the wind may blow through it; the storm may enter; the rain may enter; but the King of England cannot enter – all his force dares not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement! - William Pitt the Elder
Gerard gazed out at the snow covered expanses around the fort, losing track of time. It was the only way be allowed himself to be reminded of what he had lost.
"Sir?" asked Hans. Again.
"Huh, what? Ah, right, the voting. Where are the tallies?"
"Well, they were tied, but one fellow cast a vote just a minute after voting ended, so..."
"It's no good! Go down there and tell him it's no good! Make them go through that damned tie vote procedure again!"
"I can't really, and it seems simpler..."
"Simpler?" demanded Gerard, "What right do they have to simplicity? What right do they have to go through life easily when others struggle? Tell me that!"
"Well, being stuck in a fort with assorted killers, murderers, thieves, and possibly even lawyers is hardly simple and easy..."
"Enough! I'm going to go begin the tie vote proceedings!" Gerard strode down to the courtroom.
The vote was quickly untied.
"Ibn Khaldun, you have been selected by your fellow travelers to hung until dead," Gerard said as soldiers moved towards Ibn.
"This is ridiculous!" yelled Ibn Khaldun, "What have I done?"
A guard grabbed him from behind, pinning Ibn's arms to his side. Ibn roared and broke the hold, then threw the man to the ground. Another soldier came up and Ibn shoved him down too, trying to make his way to the gates. But a mob of soldiers jumped on him. With great difficulty five men carried the kicking and yelling Ibn to the gallows. Once there six men had to hold him while the noose was placed around his neck.
Gerard stared coldly at the scene. Finally, and without passion, he ordered, "Do it."
The trapdoor came open and Ibn fell with a roar.
When he jerked to a stop the roar ended, but Ibn continued to jerk and thrash violently in the noose for a good five minutes. After that his kicking slowed.
The executioner decided to wait a long time to make sure he was dead, and cut him down twenty minutes after the hanging had begun.
Gerard had stared over the faces of the crowd as Ibn died, watching them. An assembly of fools with only themselves to care about!
When the body of Ibn was placed next to the others Gerard spoke out,
"Go to your rooms, and pray you survive the night. We will do this again tomorrow."
It is now the night phase! This phase will last for 31 hours, until 8 pm PST Saturday March 20.
Killed: Chaotix N2
Seamus Fermanagh N2
A Very Super Market N2
Winston Hughes N3
Centurion1 N3
Ja Mata, Tosa.
The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown. It may be frail; its roof may shake; the wind may blow through it; the storm may enter; the rain may enter; but the King of England cannot enter – all his force dares not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement! - William Pitt the Elder
White Eyes was not having a good day. His misfortunate was about to extend into the night.
He exited the keep just as more snow began to fall. He had almost made it to his room when two men emerged before him, holding swords.
White Eyes roared and ran at the men, his sword held high. The two attackers hesitated, seeing no one behind White Eyes. Before they could run, White Eyes was upon them, slashing with his sword.
“Almost lynch me, will you? And now you come to attack me in the night?”
The two attackers managed to fend off the blows as they backed up. Still no one came from behind White Eyes. With a glance to each other, the attackers turned and ran.
One slipped on a snow-covered cobblestone, and lost hold of his sword while falling. Frantically he scrambled over the snow to reach it.
But he could not, and the last sight he saw was White Eyes towering over him, plunging a sword at his chest.
Diamondeye bled to death in the snow.
Outside the tavern a group of men waited, snow accumulating on their cloaks. Their target had been inside for quite a while, and they began to get impatient. Just as one was about to move, the door to the tavern opened.
Reenk Roink stepped out, pausing for a second to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Then he scanned the shadows in front of him.
The four men waiting fidgeted uncomfortably. Surely he wouldn’t be able to see them? Reenk did not seem to; he began walking right into the middle of the group.
“Kill him!” yelled an attacker, and the four stepped to attack.
Reenk was quicker. Without hesitation he yelled and ran towards the nearest attacker before he had completely emerged from the shadows. Reenk’s sword was out in a flash, and he swiftly drove it towards the torso of his attacker, knocking aside an attempted deflection.
With a sword driven into his chest, the attacker gasped and fell over, clutching at his clothing. All this happened so quickly the other attackers were not able to get to Reenk and strike him while his back was turned to them.
As his first attacker slumped to the ground Reenk pivoted and faced the remaining three attackers. Two men with swords moved in and swung. Reenk deflected one blow as he moved sideways so the other could not strike at him.
“Well hello gentlemen. Here to lecture me about the evils of liquor?” he teased.
The third attacker had held back, but now lunged with a spear. The spearhead came within of Reenk’s side, who jumped to avoid it. He no longer smiled.
All three attackers turned on Reenk again. He kept moving to the side, trying to isolate and strike at the man on the end of the three as he deflected numerous strikes. But he could not get into a good position, because the other two men would prevent him from fatally striking the third.
He decided it was time to deal with his attackers for good. Reenk stepped towards the spearman in the center of the group, deflecting his spear with his sword. With his other hand he grabbed the spear, then punched the spearman’s face with the pommel of his sword. Stunned and bloodied, the spearman staggered back. The other two attackers struck at Reenk, who lunged at the man to his left. With his free hand he grabbed the attacker’s sword arm. Conscious of the attacker now right behind him, he swung himself and the attacker he held around, placing one attacker in the way of the other.
As he did, he thrust his sword at the man he held, but missed his neck and struck the shoulder in a glancing blow. He quickly elbowed the man in the face than shoved him aside. The final attacker paused. His two standing comrades were bloody and staggering. Reenk waited for the attack, but it didn’t come. The attackers he had injured ran off, as did the final attacker.
Reenk relaxed slightly and went to check on the body of the attacker he had stabbed in the chest.
He found nothing. There was an impression in the snow where the attacker had fallen, but no body nor blood. Reenk Roink decided to make his way home quickly.
He was almost there when another figure leaped from the shadows.
“Prepare to die, Reenk!” he shouted from beneath his hood. Reenk was already looking around for more attackers. There were none.
“I guess it’s just the two of us,” Reenk smiled and advanced. This body would stay down.
“Erm, actually, I think this was all a mistake – I meant ‘prepare for fry’ – you know, fish fried over a fire,” said the attacker, backing up quickly now.
“Wait, is that you Methos?” asked Reenk.
“What, me? No!” denied Methos, silently cursing the poor quality of his hood. He would have words with his tailor when he saw him again. But for now he decided to run.
Reenk decided not to chase, and went to his room, where he stayed awake for the rest of the night, silently staring at the door, sword in hand.
Thermal Mercury was not having a good time in the fort. Before he came here he was often a jovial fellow with his friends at the tavern.
But ever since the first night after the snowstorm, he thought he could see figures watching him. He would be walking along in the dark and hear a noise behind him, with nothing but darkness when he quickly turned around. Or he would come to his room and it would seem ever so slightly different, as though people had been moving things and then trying to return them to their original spots. It was not conducive to a jovial mindset.
So now he scampered along the snow covered grounds of the fort, clutching his sword, looking frantically around him. No Turks or any of the other killers would be able to catch him. As soon as he detected them he’d run so fast they wouldn’t even see him.
Between his nervous glancing in front and behind him, Thermal barely saw the figure emerge from the shadows to his side, holding a long sword. Now his back was to a wall.
His attacker wasted no time, raising his sword and approaching fast. Thermal didn’t wait and ran, but his attacker cut him off with quick movement and a sword strike. Thermal decided to run in the other direction, away from his attacker. But the cloaked figure had already begun striking again as Thermal turned.
The blade struck his side and Thermal yelled in pain, staggering to his right and swinging wildly with his sword. The attacker hung back until the sword passed him, then lunged forward and landed multiple blows on Thermal, who fell to the ground a dead man.
In the tavern pevergreen had been talking with other patrons. After a while the others left and so did pevergreen. He walked quickly through the cold air to his room. He was about halfway there and rounding a corner when he was attacked.
He grunted and fell as the crossbow bolt hit him square in the back. As soon as he hit the ground he tried to get up, cried out in pain, and then fell to the ground and began crawling.
He looked behind him but could see nothing but shadows and the falling snow, which played tricks with his vision. Just as it seemed a shadow was about to take shape as his attacker, the darkness shifted and the outlines of the form vanished.
Pevergreen had been crawling for several moments when he glanced forward and saw the boots of someone. He strained his neck to look up and saw a sword coming at his eyes.
His attacker wiped the blood off his blade and quickly retreated into the darkness.
********************************
Three had died in the night, and Gerard was not happy. They had killed at least one of the Turkish spies, but still men were murdered in the night, in his own fort! And he could do nothing but watch as the crowd talked and talked and got nothing done.
He looked at the reports on the men who had died several days ago, muttering about how bad news always accompanied good news.
The crowd had assembled in the usual spot. There seemed to be a palpable feel of fear among them. What might had seemed like an adventure at first had become much more serious.
“Attention, people,” called out Gerard as he came down the stairs and entered the large room.
“We have good news and bad news. First, the news that is neither. My men have combed the belongings of those who have died. Being the competent investigators they are, they have taken only two full days and access to everything the deceased possessed to find out who they are.
“The man we lynched, Kagemusha, does not appear to be a Turk, nor was he a soldier of this fort. From what we could tell he was just a traveler, since my men could find nothing that unusual in his belongings. He had some normal traveling items, and also a pouch of Hungarian coins,” Gerard shivered, and looked at the doors to the keep, which where closed.
“So…nothing out of the ordinary, really. Then we have another man, Chaotix, who was killed during the night. My men could find nothing to tie him to the Turks, and he wasn’t a soldier. His belongings included some normal traveling items, along with a small bit of mistletoe.
“Now, we have some bad news. Seamus Fermanagh was the military constable of the fort. My men were able to deduce his assignment here, and they found a book containing investigation notes, but they were coded. My men have started to try and decipher them, but considering they took two days to tell me Seamus had been an important officer, I wouldn’t wait for it.”
A couple men in the crowd muttered. Gerard shot them a sharp glare, and they stopped and looked to the floor.
“Right. Now for the good report! A Very Super Market was a Turkish spy! We found some coded instructions in Turkish various unusual weaponry, along with other clues that told us he was a spy.
“So take heart men, and hunt down the last of those Turks!”
It is now the day phase! You will have 29 hours, until 7 am PST Monday March 22.
Killed: Chaotix N2
Seamus Fermanagh N2
A Very Super Market N2
Winston Hughes N3
Centurion1 N3
Diamondeyes N4
Thermal Mercury N4
pevergreen N4
Ja Mata, Tosa.
The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown. It may be frail; its roof may shake; the wind may blow through it; the storm may enter; the rain may enter; but the King of England cannot enter – all his force dares not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement! - William Pitt the Elder
Killed: Chaotix N2
Seamus Fermanagh N2
A Very Super Market N2
Winston Hughes N3
Centurion1 N3
Diamondeye N4
Thermal Mercury N4
pevergreen N4
Last edited by Crazed Rabbit; 03-22-2010 at 20:25.
Ja Mata, Tosa.
The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown. It may be frail; its roof may shake; the wind may blow through it; the storm may enter; the rain may enter; but the King of England cannot enter – all his force dares not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement! - William Pitt the Elder
The sun retreated behind the mountains to the west, and darkness came again to the fort. People left the keep and went about their business inside the fort.
One of those people was Slashandburn. He was almost back to his room when two men stepped out of the building in front of him, weapons drawn.
Slash started to back away quickly and drew his own sword. His attackers advanced.
Slash decided the better part of valor was discretion, and turned to run, but he never got to the running part. Three more attackers were advancing from behind him. He was surrounded.
With a yell, the five attackers advanced, weapons ready to strike. Slashandburn blocked a spear with his sword and tried to move to the side, but a sword cut across his back. Slash stopped his dash and swung out wildly behind him with his sword, almost catching one attacker. A different attacker struck again, hitting Slash with his sword. Slash tried to stab out at the attacker, but the others struck at him and he fell to the ground, quickly bleeding to death.
One of the attackers took a nearby torch and light slash’s clothes on fire and then all his attackers faded into the darkness.
Across town Johnhughtom was just leaving the tavern. He was near the center of the fortress when a figure emerged from the darkness, holding a large sword and advancing swiftly.
John quickly glanced around while he drew his sword. There was no one else approaching, but running now would likely end in getting cut down from behind. He turned and faced his opponent, sword at the ready.
His attacker struck downwards. John flung his sword up and blocked it, before thrusting quickly. The blow was well aimed at his attacker’s neck.
But the attacker pivoted his sword and deflected the blow into empty air. For the briefest of moments John could do nothing but mentally gape at the skill. But then his attacker’s strike, part of the deflection swing, hit his shoulder and he jumped back out of instinct.
John threw his sword into a random guard position as he staggered back. The attacker did not relent, stepping forward and striking hard at his non-injured side. The blow hit home with great force. John gasped in pain, clutching the wound, but managed to keep his sword in his hand. He struck out one last time at his attacker, but the attacker simply stepped back and the sword went through air.
As soon as the sword passed the attacker stepped forward and brought the sword down for a final blow. John died in the middle of snow tinged red with his own blood.
Autolycus was on edge during the night, as he was during most nights. He found it helped in times like this. So when a smiling figure appeared before him, Autolycus quickly put his hand on the hilt of his sword.
The man in front of spread his arms to show he was unarmed, and asked him what he was doing out at this time of night.
“I could ask you the same thing,” Autolycus shot back. He looked back to make sure no one was sneaking up on him.
“I’m just wondering if you’ve seen anything…bizarre around?” the figured questioned.
“What are you talking about?” Autolycus demanded, hand tightening on his sword. He glanced to the shadows at either side.
“There have just been some strange sightings around here. You’d be wise to watch your back.”
“Sure…” a steel warhammer crashing into his skull cut Autolycus off. The attacker behind him raised the weapon again as Autolycus crumpled to the ground.
The figure that had spoken quickly knelt down beside Autolycus, having produced a knife in his hand.
“I told you to watch your back,” the attacker whispered, stabbing Autolycus in the neck. It was unnecessary. The other attacker decided to make sure in his own way, bringing the warhammer down onto Autolycus’ torso several times.
They left his body in the dirty snow.
Seon was hurrying back to his room from the tavern. He had decided to start taking a different route every night, to stop people from ambushing him. He was close to his destination when he heard something behind him.
He was turning and reaching for his sword when the arrow hit him. He looked down in a state of disbelief to see over a foot of wood sticking out of his ribs. After a moment he looked up just in time to see a distant shadow move.
He flung one arm up and turned. The arrow caught him high on his arm. He continued turning and moved behind a nearby shack. The doorway to the building he slept in was close, but he was injured and the archer was a good shot. Though if he just stood here he’d bleed to death. Already the pain was beginning to set in.
Nervously he peeked around the corner. Another attacker had appeared much closer and was running at him. He blinked – it wasn’t another attacker. It was the same man, running very quickly at his hiding spot with a sword out.
Seon moved behind the corned again, sword held ready. He would wait and then strike out as soon as his attacker was close. He could hear the rapidly approaching footsteps. In just a second – Seon lunged around the corner, ignoring the pain, and brought his sword down.
He swung through air. The bowman had ducked down at the last instant and swung at Seon’s stomach. Before Seon could even begin to double over in pain his attacker struck again, slashing at his neck. Seon gurgled as blood flowed from his neck, falling to the ground and bleeding to death.
His attacker ran swiftly into the darkness.
TheFlax was returning to his room late in the night. He kept a watchful eye out, but saw nothing unusual. As he got close to his room, he saw an armed man standing outside the door, and TheFlax paused. He glanced around him. The man he saw had a sword out; was he waiting for him?
A crossbow bolt into his lung interrupted that train of thought. TheFlax cried out in pain, and looked behind him. A cloaked figure was quickly approaching with a sword out. TheFlax weighed his options and decided to run at his attacker with his own sword.
He drew his sword, only to feel another sword thrust into his back. He turned, bleeding, in time to see the man who had been standing by the door draw back back his sword for another blow.
It landed, and TheFlax fell. His two attackers walked off into the darkness.
Gerard was having breakfast when Hans walked in.
“More dead?” he asked, know the answer. Hans nodded.
“At least we don’t have to worry about food running out!” he offered.
“The Turks can’t be doing all of this. I wonder how many good people have been killed by our own soldiers?”
“The reports are in as well. There’s some good news in them.”
“Well, that’s good,” Gerard finished eating and went to the courtroom of the keep.
“Travelers and soldiers! I have some very good news! Secura was indeed a Turkish spy, as she inexplicably claimed. I guess we just need to hope the rest are so forthright, or at least as hapless as AVSM was.
“Unfortunately, my men have found that Centurion1 was a soldier, a good man whose loss hurts us all.
“Finally, it appears that Winston Hughes was an ordinary traveler from what my guards found, though unusually fond of asparagus.”
“These killings must be stopped soon. Find the Turks and any other murderers, and bring them before me that we might hang them!”
The crowd began talking.
It is now the day phase! The day phase will end in 24 hours, or at 6 pm PST March 24.
Last edited by Crazed Rabbit; 03-24-2010 at 21:45.
Ja Mata, Tosa.
The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown. It may be frail; its roof may shake; the wind may blow through it; the storm may enter; the rain may enter; but the King of England cannot enter – all his force dares not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement! - William Pitt the Elder
Dense clouds again covered the sky during the day. The air was heavy with anticipation of snow.
The arguments and voting of the crowd veered wildly. For most of the day two opposing men argued with each other, and the votes piled up on them both.
Near the end of the day, one person cast his vote on a third party. Many of his compatriots soon followed.
"Wait, wait!" urged Psychonaut as the end of the day drew near, "You don't want to vote for me! I'm the constable?"
The others considered this. Who else might they vote for instead?
"Time's up!" said Gerard, "Seize Psychonaut!"
"You're making a mistake!" yelled Psychonaut as he was led to the gallows.
"Could we have a bit more time to vote?" asked someone.
"What? Delay mob justice simply to make sure you've got the right person? I think not! No, you people have made your choice, and now you shall live with it!" Gerard said.
Psychonaut was led to the gallows protesting.
Gerard simply glared out at the assembled crowd. When it was ready, he nodded, and Psychonaut fell.
For a minute he struggled, and then no more.
His body was placed by the others. The pile was getting large.
"Go to sleep, and guard against the dangers of the night! We must stop the killers!" said Gerard, before striding back into the keep.
The crowd was left to themselves.
It is now the night phase, which will end in 33 hours, or at 7 am PST Friday March 26.
The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown. It may be frail; its roof may shake; the wind may blow through it; the storm may enter; the rain may enter; but the King of England cannot enter – all his force dares not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement! - William Pitt the Elder
The night was calm. There were no clouds, and the moon cast soft shadows over the snow.
GeneralHankerchief was moving with purpose through the grounds of the fort. He was cautious, and kept an eye on his surroundings. He did not see the figure crouching on a low roof. Nor did he see the crossbow aimed at him.
He did, however, hear the soft click of the crossbow firing, and looked right at the crouched figure that had shot at him. He began to dodge, but wasn’t quick enough and the bolt embedded itself in his shoulder.
GeneralHankerchief grunted in pain and looked for cover. His attacker dropped the crossbow and leaped down to the ground, drawing a sword on the way, and then ran at him. Another man stepped out of the shadows to intercept him, drawing a large sword.
The attacker and defender clashed. The defender swung fiercely and the attacker had a hard time holding him off, much less getting closer to GeneralHankerchief. While his defender was fighting, GH looked around. He couldn’t see anyone, and it didn’t look like his help was needed. Feeling the pain in his shoulder, he decided to retreat.
He hadn’t made it a dozen paces before another bolt hit him, this time in the center of his back. The second attacker dropped from the roof above GH and landed on him, bearing him to the ground as GH cried out in pain and surprise.
His defender was fairing well against the first attacker, who kept on giving ground before his strikes. The attacker was frustratingly good at blocking and dodging his blows, though. When the defender heard GH’s cry he turned to look. The attacker had led him away from GH. He altered his strike at the attacker into a wide sweep that forced him to jump back, then ran to defend GH.
The second attacker did not hesitate once he landed on GH. His knife was already out as GH struggled to get out from beneath his attacker. The knife flashed, first into GH’s chest into his heart and then across his through, causing blood to spray out.
The attacker did not check to make sure GH was dead; he knew he was. As GH’s defender ran to his defense, the attacker jumped off and then ran into the darkness. The first attacker ran off as well, leaving the defender to kneel by GH’s body and check for signs of life.
In a different part of the fort Myrddraal was making his way through the night. He kept glancing over his shoulder every few minutes. It did him no good.
“Greetings, Myrddraal,” said a dark cloaked man who had stepped in front of him, sword drawn.
Myrddraal hurriedly drew his own sword and backed up. The attacker kept advancing, slowly. Myrddraal decided to get out of there and turned to run.
He saw another man, standing silently. Holding a crossbow. Aimed at his chest. The crossbow fired, and Myrddraal felt its impact. He stood in pain for a moment, seeing his only avenue of escape cut off. He looked around; the first attacker was almost on top of him.
Myrddraal thrust his sword in desperation, but the attacker dodged and then swung and hit him. The second attacker had dropped the crossbow and stabbed him in the back. The two attackers continued their assault as Myrddraal fell to the ground.
As dawn neared, two men waited in the darkness near one of the outer walls. A man approached, and they moved into position.
Subotan was walking between some buildings when a man emerged quickly from the shadows in front of him.
“What do you have against the nobility, Subotan? After all…”
The man continued but Subotan wasn't listening. He had turned as soon as the attacker stepped out and saw a second attacker behind him. This man was holding a wine bottle. Subotan’s brain was perplexed, but his reactions were not.
He solidly punched the man in the nose, causing him to stagger backwards. Subotan tried to keep attacking, but the man swung the wine bottle in self-defense and he had to take a step back to avoid it. He turned to deal with the first attacker, drawing his sword.
This man was pulling a long dress out of a bag slung across his shoulder. Again, Subotan was perplexed. Again, his instincts guided him and he swung.
The attacker had looked up as Subotan advanced on him and realized all he had in his hands was this dress. It would have to do; the attacker held it taught and raised it to block. It saved his life. The sword cut the fabric, but was slowed and only grazed the attacker.
Subotan kept the pressure on, striking again. His attacker dropped the useless fabric and managed to dodge the blow. Subotan brought his sword around and struck again, but the attacker managed to move again, in what had to be a very difficult maneuver but looked effortless.
This time Subotan paused for the briefest of moments and reconsidered his plan of attack. He struck out again with his sword.
A wine bottle crashed into his head, shattering and covering his head with wine. Subotan stumbled to the side, holding his head and turning to see his second attacker approaching with a sword. The first attacker still had backward momentum and was without a sword, so Subotan decided to finish off the bottle thrower.
The attacker began a series of strikes at Subotan, but he deflected the first and thrust out. The attacked barely managed to block it. Subotan struck again.
Halfway through the swing he faltered; the first attacker was behind him and had slit his throat. Blood poured down his clothes. Subotan did not give up. He recovered, clasping one hand to his neck to stem the flow while keeping a firm grip on his sword. He tried to keep up the attacker, but his attackers held back and beat off his strikes.
Finally, he stumbled to his knees, dropped his sword, then fell to the ground. One of the attackers came forward to make sure he was dead. He pried open Subotan’s hand and placed something in it.
The attackers moved off into the shadows, leaving Subotan lying in the tramped snow, clad in clothes covered with the dirt of traveling, and clasping a goblet in his cold hands.
Reenk Roink was making his way home after a drink at the tavern. He was almost home when he heard a grunt in the darkness. He ducked, drawing his sword. He looked quickly, and then spotted the missile flying out of the darkness.
The snowball hit him in the shoulder. The man who had thrown it was on a nearby roof. He quickly ran away, over the crest of the roof. He looked back one final time and his hood fell off.
“Methos!” yelled Reenk, getting up to pursue.
“It’s not me!” replied Methos, cursing his bad fortune as he went down the other side of the roof and ran off.
Reenk ran around the building but Methos had already escaped.
Gerard gathered the crowd into the keep. He had avoided looking at the sunrise over the snow-covered mountains.
“More people have died tonight, so we must keep looking for the Turks among us. Find them and they will be hung like the dogs they are,” said Gerard.
“And in other proclamations for how to administer mob justice from your local fortress commander…” said Hans, adopting a falsely serious tone.
Gerard gave him a sharp look and said, “We have also discovered more information on some people recently killed.
“First, we have Ibn-Khaldun. My men looked into his quarters and could only find normal traveling items. They did manage to find a letter written in Polish, so my great investigators have assumed that’s where he came from.”
–one of the investigators wrinkled his face at the memory of the investigation-
“Next, we have Diamondeye. He also appeared to be a normal traveler. However, we did find some writings speaking of secret rituals. Though when he looked into it all the rituals seemed pretty harmless and had more to do with drinking than anything else.
"We also found out somethings about pevergreen. He was no ordinary traveler; he appeared to be a noble from somewhere in the Holy Roman Empire. Though my men did not find a lot of gold, only some nice clothes and some letters with a a noble seal, so it seems he wasn't that well off.
“Finally we have Thermal Mercury. His loss was a loss to us all; he was an Austrian soldier defending this fort. We must find whoever killed him.
“Dawn has come, so seek out the Turks and killers and bring them to justice!”
The crowd dispersed and began talking.
Gerard watched them for a while, “You know, Hans, sometimes I think even I could run this better than this lot.”
“You may be right,” Hans did not fake his serious tone this time.
It is now the day phase! This phase will last for 30 hours, until 7 pm PST Saturday March 26.
Alive: Beskar
a completely inoffensive name
Csargo
Jolt
atheotes
Sasaki Kojiro
Joooray
TinCow
Askthepizzaguy
White_eyes:D
Reenk Roink
Yaropolk
Sigurd
Yaseikhaan
Double A
Beefy187
Scienter
Renata
spL1tp3r50naL1ty
Captain Blackadder
Methos
The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown. It may be frail; its roof may shake; the wind may blow through it; the storm may enter; the rain may enter; but the King of England cannot enter – all his force dares not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement! - William Pitt the Elder
The votes moved around to various subjects throughout the course of the day, most voters generally following the vote of one man.
When the vote ended, Beefy187 was in the lead.
Gerard summoned his guards and had him led to the gallows. Beefy protested, but to no effect.
The hanging was over quickly.
Gerard summoned a member of the crowd, A Completely Inoffensive Name, to him. Once ACIN stood in front of him, Gerard pulled back and punched him hard in the face.
"Pull your antics again and you'll be kicked out of the fort to die!"
ACIN ran away, clutching his bloody lip.
Then Gerard directed the guards to seize Double A.
"What's happening? I showed up!" exclaimed Double A.
"You didn't even bother to vote, so I don't think we'll be worse off if you're forced to leave the fort. Men, heave him over the wall!"
Double A landed in a snowbank. After a couple minutes he freed himself, and with a sorrowful look back, went to try and walk out of the mountains.
The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown. It may be frail; its roof may shake; the wind may blow through it; the storm may enter; the rain may enter; but the King of England cannot enter – all his force dares not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement! - William Pitt the Elder
It was cold, and the snow had returned. Fierce winds howled through the battlements. The remaining occupants of the fort hurried between buildings, hunched over for protection from the wind.
All save for two figures, who strode across the ground as though unaffected by the wind and snow. They went to the stable and one brought out a man made of straw. The horses were startled and began neighing. The taller of the figures glared at them. They become very silent.
The tall figure, called Screwtape, took the straw man and tied it to a post, then spoke, “Wormwood! Examine carefully as this is important!
“The human body is soft and weak and can be broken easily. Observe how easy it is to kill a man by breaking his neck.”
Screwtape reached and grabbed the neck of the straw man, lifting it into the air. With a sharp jerk he broke the pole that formed the neck.
Wormwood picked up a pitchfork and approached eagerly, then thrust it into the chest of the straw man.
“Like this, Master?” he asked earnestly.
“That can work, but not if the man is wearing armor. Try again.”
Wormwood shoved the tines into the face of the straw man, and then looked to Screwtape with a smile, “Is this better?”
Screwtape was pleased, “Yes, that will do. Now let’s practice with something a little more interesting.”
The two figures left the stable.
Scienter was walking to the tavern, hood pulled tight to ward off the chilling wind. She was almost on top of the four men standing in her way when she first saw them.
“It’s Scienter! Get her!” said one of them.
“Burn the witch!” cried another.
Had not Scienter become very suddenly preoccupied with getting away, she would have seen some confused looks pass between her attackers.
There were small buildings to each side, but the path behind her was clear, save for one figure. Deciding the odds were better that way, she drew her sword and ran.
The lone attacker raised a large sword and adjusted his footing. Scienter was running at him with her sword raised.
They met, and Scienter swung as she tried to run by. In one motion the attacker ducked and swung. The blow connected, and Scienter fell forward, her momentum causing her to slide through the snow.
The attacker looked at her, slightly confused. The blow had not killed her. It had grievously injured her and exposed the maile beneath her cloak, but Scienter yet struggled to regain her footing.
The attacker’s confusion did not cause him to pause long. With two strides he was standing over Scienter with his sword raised. Scienter turned and tried to block the blow.
She failed.
The tavern was crowded tonight due to the weather. Jolt only stopped for a quick drink before leaving again.
He could not see well in the darkness. The clouds covered the moon and stars so there was only torchlight. And the reach of that did not extend far, as the snow flurried and turned the world into a blur.
The howling wind made it hard for Jolt to hear his own footsteps. Fortunately, it also made it hard to aim crossbows.
The first bolt flew so close to his head Jolt could hear the buzz as it passed his ear. As he grabbed hold of his halberd another bolt landed nearby.
Jolt readied himself as two men emerged from the snow swept darkness, each carrying swords. The flickering torchlight played wildly over their blurred shapes.
Jolt knew that he, too, must appear like that, so with a great yell he raised his halberd and lunged at the nearest figure. He could barely make out the body, but he saw the man back away hurriedly before him. Quickly, Jolt turned to look for the other attacker.
He could not see him. Jolt continued to look, but could hardly make out anything in the blizzard. Just then he heard the crunch of snow behind him. Jolt swung blindly.
The attacker used his sword to deflect and sidestep, then lunged in again to attack. Jolt blocked the blow using the halberd’s shaft then brought the axe head down at his attacker, yelling. Again the attacker used his sword to guide the halberd away and dodged.
Jolt brought the halberd around and swiftly adjusted his footing. His attacker again slashed at him. Jolt side stepped and swung up with the base of the shaft to force his attacker out of his stride, then struck with the axe head. The attacker dodged, but Jolt was already swinging the axe head around for another blow, and the attacker was forced back and could not counterattack. The attacker dodged low beneath the next swing, holding his sword in a guard above him, and again struck at Jolt.
Jolt pivoted the shaft and intercepted the sword while bringing the axe head around for another strike. His attacker leapt back and raised his sword.
Just then a large clumped snowflake landed in the attacker’s eye. He blinked, but did not stop, moving out of way of Jolt’s anticipated strike. Jolt was very fast, though, and when his eyes opened again he saw the axe head coming from an unexpected direction. He managed to get his sword in the way, but the halberd crashed through his guard and down onto his shoulder.
The attacker cried out in pain and fell to his knees. Jolt was already raising the halberd and stepping forward. He kicked at the kneeling attacker, sending him backwards onto the ground. The last thing his attacker saw was the armored figure of Jolt standing above him and bringing the axe head of the halberd down upon him.
The axe head cleaved the chest of the attacker in two. Reenk lay dead on the cobblestones.
The second attacker, having finally found the two fighters in the blizzard, saw the fallen Reenk and quickly ran off.
The midnight hour had passed when Renata was returning to her room. She cautiously looked around as she walked, though the snow made it hard to see,
But she did notice the lone figure standing in her way, a long sword held in one hand. She quickly drew her own sword. The attacker smiled and advanced, raising his sword.
Renata nervously raised her own sword. When the attacker was only a few paces away she lunged forward and thrust with her sword. The attacker easily deflected the strike and swung. The blow caught Renata on her arm, and she fell back. The attacker stepped forward and swung again. Renata tried to dodge but the attacker moved as he swung to catch her. The blade hit again, cutting through her cloak and into her side.
In desperation Renata struck out again with her sword. Her attacker pivoted his sword and guided the blade away, then swiftly struck again, this time a powerful blow that hit Renata’s neck. She fell gasping and bleeding to death.
Her attacker stabbed one last time to be sure and then moved off quickly into the darkness.
Splitpersonality had been in the tavern for a while, ordering many drinks. If he was going to die, he might as well die drunk, he thought. After finishing his glass, he ordered another mug. A full one was quickly placed on his table.
Split didn’t see the waiter put it there, but said thanks to the tavern in general and began drinking. He had only taken one gulp when another drunkard, stumbling through the tavern, fell into his back, causing him to spill his drink over the table.
With an angry yell Split got up and tried to grab hold of the offender, who had already fallen to the floor. But his anger did not last; intoxication and the jovial comments of his fellow drinkers got Split back into a cheerful mood soon enough, and he ordered another mug.
An hour later, as he left, his stomach started cramping. Halfway to his room, he doubled over in pain and vomited into the snow. He was sweating profusely when he got to his room, and shivering at the same time. He fell into bed greatly afraid.
But he managed to wake up in the morning, though running a fever.
Yaropolk was moving through the blizzard with a steady determination. He scanned the walls and roofs around him constantly. But he could see nothing.
As he walked he felt something. A presence in the darkness, like rock scraping on metal in his mind. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He gripped his sword
“Ah,” said Screwtape, “Here we go. A suitable subject for practice.” Yaropolk wasn’t sure whether he heard the words or felt them coming from behind him.
Swiftly and silently Yaropolk drew his sword. Long sword in hand, he turned to face the speaker. He could not see the face, but he recognized the presence.
Two cloaked figures stood behind him. Neither had weapons in their hands.
Screwtape, his arms spread before him, bared his teeth and spoke, “Do you think your piece of steel will save you, dog? I’ve killed more men in war than you have seen in all the years of your life.”
Yaropolk stood his ground; sword held forward, “I made you run north like a whipped cur. And now I shall make you run again.”
“Fool! I only move when I will it. I left because it was my desire to leave. And now it is my will that you die. Come, Wormwood. Let us acquaint this man’s blood with the ground,” Screwtape’s face grew cruel.
The cloaked pair moved. They were upon Yaropolk nearly instantly. He swung, and they effortlessly avoided the blade. Yaropolk was not surprised, and pivoted his body to continue the swing.
Screwtape had stopped behind him and was reaching for his neck. Blade crunched into bone and flesh as the swing caught him unawares in his left arm. But the blow was weak from Yaropolk’s over extension.
Nevertheless, Screwtape recoiled in pain. Wormwood had arrived, and grabbed for Yaropolk’s wrists. Yaropolk avoided the grasping hands and punched the crossguard into Wormwood’s face, who screamed in pain and fell back clutching his face.
Again Screwtape advanced. Yaropolk swung a swift diagonal cut at him, but Screwtape moved beneath it and towards Yaropolk, then punched Yaropolk in his metal breastplate.
Yaropolk flew backwards and halfway through a thatched wall. The impact had dented his breastplate. Screwtape slowly stood up to his full height and smiled.
“He is yours, Wormwood.”
But Yaropolk was not done. Groaning, he quickly disentangled himself from the broken wall and raised his sword. Screwtape was upon him again in an instant, reaching for his face. But Yaropolk ducked even before Screwtape had lunged and thrust up with his sword, catching Screwtape in the shoulder.
Screwtape screeched in irritation and grabbed hold of Yaropolks left hand. Yaropolk moved to break the hand away, but Screwtape broke two fingers in an instant. Yaropolk grunted, withdrew his sword from Screwtape and swung again, forcing him to back up.
Wormwood was coming at his side, yelling. Yaropolk grabbed something from around his neck and held it towards Wormwood, who hesitated. Yaropolk brought the pommel of his sword down onto Wormwood’s head, and got grim satisfaction from the crack he heard. Even before the sound ended he swung towards where he knew Screwtape would be coming from. But Screwtape held off until the sword passed and then lunged in. Again he punched at Yaropolks torso. This time he made no dent on the armor and Yaropolk remained standing.
“Find it hard to kill warriors?” taunted Yaropolk as he swung again.
Screwtape was already out of range. He turned and saw the light of dawn approaching the eastern mountains, and knew the fort would soon awake.
“Come Wormwood. We shall let this dog feel the pain of his wounds and wait in fair of his inevitable death,” commanded Screwtape.
The two cloaked figures withdrew swiftly into the darkness. Yaropolk held his ground and did not move until the morning sun shone down on him and the snow subsided. Only then did he cautiously return to his room.
Gerard woke to the news of more men dead. Reading the reports made him angry, not depressed.
When the crowd – though the dwindling group of survivors could hardly be called that – had assembled, he let them have it; “Night after night, people have been killed. And you know what my soldiers tell me? That most have not perished at the hands of the Turk, but at the hands of paranoid Austrians!
“This must not go unpunished! We cannot let people run around and kill blindly! You must – you will! – find whoever is responsible and bring me their heads! I don’t care what they claim or what they use as an excuse. Find me the people killing my men and sentence them to death!”
The crowd was silent out of fear. Hans cleared his throat.
“Right,” said Gerard, “In addition we have some reports. Cultured Drizzt Fan was a traveler, with no unusual items found in his room. TheFlax was as well, and my men found nothing out of the ordinary belonging to him. Slashandburn was also a traveler.
“Seon, Autolycus and Johnhughtom were all soldiers stationed in this fort. These good men are now all dead. Think on it – they couldn’t all have been killed by the Turks.”
The people were left to talk.
It is now the day phase! This phase will last for 40 hours, until 7 pm PST Tuesday March 30.
Alive: Beskar
a completely inoffensive name
Csargo
Jolt
atheotes
Sasaki Kojiro
Joooray
TinCow
Askthepizzaguy
White_eyes:D
Yaropolk
Sigurd
Yaseikhaan
Double A
spL1tp3r50naL1ty
Captain Blackadder
Methos
Killed: Chaotix N2
Seamus Fermanagh N2
A Very Super Market N2
Winston Hughes N3
Centurion1 N3
Diamondeye N4
Thermal Mercury N4
pevergreen N4
Autolycus N5
Seon N5
TheFlax N5
Slashandburn N5
johnhughtom N5
Subotan N6
GeneralHankerchief N6
Myrddraal N6
Scienter N7
Reenk Roink N7
Renata N7
Forced to Wander the Snow: Double A
Ja Mata, Tosa.
The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown. It may be frail; its roof may shake; the wind may blow through it; the storm may enter; the rain may enter; but the King of England cannot enter – all his force dares not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement! - William Pitt the Elder
Killed: Chaotix N2
Seamus Fermanagh N2
A Very Super Market N2
Winston Hughes N3
Centurion1 N3
Diamondeye N4
Thermal Mercury N4
pevergreen N4
Autolycus N5
Seon N5
TheFlax N5
Slashandburn N5
johnhughtom N5
Subotan N6
GeneralHankerchief N6
Myrddraal N6
Scienter N7
Reenk Roink N7
Renata N7
Forced to Wander the Snow: Double A
Ja Mata, Tosa.
The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown. It may be frail; its roof may shake; the wind may blow through it; the storm may enter; the rain may enter; but the King of England cannot enter – all his force dares not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement! - William Pitt the Elder
The clouds had cleared, and so the fort was dimly lit at night by the stars and moon in the sky. Splitpersonality was walking to his room through the snow when he heard footsteps in the snow behind him.
He stopped and turned. Two men were behind him holding swords. Split heard movement in front of him and saw two more armed men approach to block his path.
“So this is how it ends, is it?” asked Split grimly, drawing his own sword. The four men advanced cautiously.
“Your time has come!” exclaimed one of the men, holding something in his off hand. With that signal, the attackers lunged forward to strike.
Split tried to ward off the blows, but was outnumbered and surrounded. The attackers struck repeatedly, and Split only stood for a few seconds. During that time the hood fell off of one of his attackers.
“Beskar!” exclaimed Split, but Beskar paid no heed. Seconds later Split was cut down and fell to the ground, staining the snow red. An attacker stood over him to deliver a final thrust to his heart.
Split recognized the face and cried out, “Khaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnn!!”
The light left his eyes, but his attackers were not finished. They set about their task with a grave determination and left the snow much bloodier still. The head of Split was nowhere to be found in the morning.
The bartender at the tavern was still alive, and that had to count for something, thought A Completely Inoffensive Name. He was sitting with his back to the wall, eating a fried ham sandwich with strawberry jam. There were a half dozen people in the tavern, so he figured no one would burst in to attack him.
He was almost done when he noticed the room had become silent. He looked up and saw the bartender had made a hasty exit from the room. All the customers were now standing and facing him.
ACIN quickly assessed his chances of escape. They were not good.
He looked over the faces, then spoke, “Do you people know why my death is going to be better than yours?” The group stirred uneasily, reaching for their weapons.
“Because I have just finished a delicious meal. I expect the rest of you lot will be killed hungry and cold, cut down in the snow. If none of us can escape, then at least I won’t go to meet God with numbed fingers and frozen skin.”
“Enough of this talk!” exclaimed one of the attackers, “Let’s finish him!”
The attackers all drew swords and moved towards ACIN. For all his serenity, ACIN wasn’t going to go quietly. He picked up the wooden plate and hurled it at the nearest attacker. The plate and remaining food hit him square in the face.
ACIN was close behind, leaping over a table and drawing a knife before jumping at his attacker, who was trying to rub food out of his eyes. His momentum brought them both to the floor, with ACIN on top of the attacker.
The other attackers were only steps away, and running between tables as quickly as possible, but ACIN paid them no mind. He slashed his knife across the throat of his attacker – two times to be sure – before starting to plunge the blade into the chest of his attacker. ACIN managed to stab three times before the closest attacker came and sliced halfway though his neck.
With a gurgle as blood poured down his body, ACIN became limp and tumbled over, dead.
Beneath him Methos was also dead. But the attackers were not done with ACIN; they dragged his body onto a table and pulled out knives and other weaponry. When they were done his head was completely separated from his body.
Elsewhere in the fort, a man had paused between some buildings. Csargo had an eye for observation, and something was not right with the snow in front of him.
As he looked a man came around the corner, wearing robes.
“My child, where are you going at this time of night? Shouldn’t you be praying?”
Csargo drew his sword, “You are no priest, and your ill-conceived costume does not fool me. Also, you have a spear slung over your back.”
With that, Csargo turned and saw another man holding a warhammer. This attacker advanced, ready to strike. Csargo tried to dart past him, but the quick swings of the warhammer prevented him.
The robed attacker had taken out his spear and ran forward. Just as Csargo was close to getting past the second attacker, the first stabbed the back of his leg with his spear. Csargo cried out in pain and fell to one knee, still trying to fend off the warhammer.
The spear carrier struck again, this time piercing his back, and Csargo fell forward into the snow. The man with the warhammer landed a blow onto Csargo’s spine, then turned him over. Producing a knife, he slit Csargo’s throat to make sure he was dead.
The two attackers made their way off into the darkness.
“Wake up sir,” insisted Hans again.
A bleary eyed Gerard rolled over, “And to what point? To learn of more dead men? You give the people the report yourself.”
“Surely you haven’t gone mad,” said Hans.
Gerard grumbled, got up and began putting on his uniform. He did not both securing all the buttons.
Down in the hall he spoke to the group of people, “We have some good news from the investigations. The man you lynched, Psychonaut, was a Turkish spy. My men found objects that confirm his identity, including some communications with Turkish generals.
“Alas, though, Myrddraal was just a simple traveler. The only thing of note my men found was a cello in his room.
“GeneralHankerchief was something else. From his belongings, including various items for long forest journeys, he looked to be some sort of tracker or huntsmen.
“Finally, Subotan appears to be some sort of professional killer. We found a large array of weaponry in his room. It was all kept in good shape; oiled and stored well. It’s not clear what his purpose in the fort was, though we found some notes from a Holy Roman Empire Lord.”
“Our days are drawing to a close. Find the killers or there will be no one left.”
It is now the day phase! This phase will last for 31.5 hours, until 9 PM PST Friday April 2.
Last edited by Crazed Rabbit; 04-03-2010 at 10:33.
Ja Mata, Tosa.
The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown. It may be frail; its roof may shake; the wind may blow through it; the storm may enter; the rain may enter; but the King of England cannot enter – all his force dares not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement! - William Pitt the Elder
Gerard looked up from his seat, "Are they? Very good."
They both went to the main hall of the keep where the survivors were gathered.
"I wonder who shall die at the whim of the crowd today?" mused Hans.
Gerard addressed the assembly, "And who have you marked for death today?"
Everyone pointed to Yasekhaan.
"Almost like a pack of wolves, ganging up on one target," said Hans.
"No disagreement?" asked Gerard, oddly calm, "Are you still trying to find the killers? Or just looking to vote for anyone but yourselves?"
No one answered.
"I suppose if we've committed to this mad course we must see it through," said Hans.
"Very well," said Gerard to the crowd, "Take him to the gallows. If we are doomed we may as well stay on the path chosen. No sense bothering to take some other road to our doom."
Yaseikhaan was taken to the gallows, speaking about his 'beloved'.
Gerard stared as Yasekhaan was hung, while Hans looked on, smiling.
"We must be reaching the end soon," Hans said, excitedly.
Gerard grinned in reply.
"Well now, try not to get killed tonight, or you'll miss the chance to be hung tomorrow!" Gerard exclaimed to the people before retiring to his room.
It is now the night phase! This phase will last for 36 hours, until 11 am PST Sunday April 4th!
Last edited by Crazed Rabbit; 04-03-2010 at 10:33.
Ja Mata, Tosa.
The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown. It may be frail; its roof may shake; the wind may blow through it; the storm may enter; the rain may enter; but the King of England cannot enter – all his force dares not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement! - William Pitt the Elder
There was something unusual about the air that night. It was warm. Or, more accurately, not quite as freezing as the past week and a half. And though it was cloudy, no snow fell.
Much of the night was silent. One man hurried quickly through the fort as the dark hours before dawn approached.
Atheotes kept a cautious eye on his surroundings. He had learned things about surviving he would not have cared to learn during his time in the fort. He kept them in mind nevertheless, and kept his hand close to the hilt of his sword.
The door of the tavern was in sight when the crossbow bolts shot out of the darkness. One missed, but the other hit his stomach. Atheotes grimaced, stifled a cry of pain, and then drew his sword. In the faint torchlight he could make out the shape of a man approaching him from near the tavern.
In fear, he turned his head and saw someone coming at him from behind, much closer. Both men were well armed, with weapons out. Atheotes raised his sword and struck at his attacker. The aim was true; directly at the neck of his enemy, who still had his sword lowered, and only seemed to lazily start raising it as Atheotes’ sword approached his neck.
But then Atheotes’ sword was deflected; his attacker’s sword in place guarding his neck. Then the attacker struck back. Atheotes leaped back and dodged the blow. He raised his sword to strike again, doubly determined.
The second attacker was behind him already; he held a morningstar, and it was plain from the way he held it that he knew how to use it. Atheotes had not heard him approach. The attacker quickly struck at Atheotes with the morningstar.
It hit Atheotes in the center of the back and broke his spine. Atheotes’ resolve faltered as he tumbled forward, crying out in pain, dropping his sword in order to try to cushion his fall with his hands.
The attacker with the morningstar smiled, then looked out into the darkness to make sure no one approached, while the other bent down, sword still in hand, and turned Atheotes onto his back.
Grabbing hold of Atheotes throat, this attacker lifted him into the air with one arm. Atheotes struggled to loosen the grip around his throat, but his attacker did not mean to strangle him. Instead, he moved Atheotes and held him up against a nearby wall; extending his arm so that Atheotes’s head was a foot higher than his attacker’s.
Then he took his sword and placed it under Atheotes’ chin, who was increasingly panicked. The attacker smiled cruelly, then jerked the sword up, cutting the flesh of his neck and causing blood to pour out, down his body and running down the length of the sword. With one last gasp the life slipped from Atheotes.
But the attacker was not done. He let go of Atheotes throat, keeping him against the wall with his sword. Then he drew a dagger and impaled it through the forehead, crunching through the skull.
Only then, putting a hand against the torso of the body, did he withdraw his sword. The body fell with a dull thud into the snow, still bleeding.
The attacker stood a moment, looking at the body. Then he glanced at his sword, dripping with blood. Seemingly filled with trepidation, he raised the sword to his mouth, and licked the warm blood from the length of it. His face shuddered in ecstasy, and he looked up to the black sky with wonder in his eyes.
The other attacker smiled deeply as the first turned to look at him.
They spoke some low words that no one could hear. The expression of the man who had finished off Atheotes changed from wonder to a cruel smile. The two men walked off, disappearing into the darkness.
It was near dawn in another part of the fort. Two men crept from shadow to shadow, swords in hand. They looked behind them, and crept softly through the snow.
Their target was the ever-increasing pile of bodies near a wall of the fort. With swords out, and scanning constantly, they approached on body. It was that of Ibn-Khaldun.
His face was in the same contorted position it was when he was hung, and several nights of snow covered his body. One man reached down to push off the snow while the other kept his sword pointed at the corpse. The first man then took out a hatchet and began hacking through the neck. The flesh had frozen, and it was hard work. The corpse remained unmoving.
But the task was completed soon enough. The men were not done, though; one produced more items from a pack, and they set about doing more things to Ibn-khaldun’s corpse. With more holes in the body than when the night began, the men stepped back to consider their work.
“Well?” asked one.
The other frowned, frustrated, “I don’t think so.”
With a glance about the area, they returned to the darkness.
“A corpse was desecrated? Are you sure you speak the truth?” an incredulous Gerard asked.
“Quite sure – I skipped ahead in the report you’re reading,” replied Hans.
“And only one living man killed? Well that’s good, I suppose. Better to kill someone already dead.”
“And we don’t even have to move the body! How convenient!”
“Indeed. Well, I suppose I’ll address the crowd, or really just the last to die! Ha! I suppose the keep makes a fitting gravestone,” laughed Gerard.
“They shall find us cold men when this is over!” added Hans.
Ten men, including Gerard, had gathered in the hall. The rest kept residence near the fort walls.
“Welcome, my fellows, to the end! Look to your right, then your left. On each side you will find a killer, stained with the blood of others,” Gerard smiled broadly, “But don’t worry to much. The killers we must hang are only those who want to kill us all, not those who simply have killed most of us! All you have to do is discern the two!” He grinned madly.
“Oh, right, we have gathered some information about the dead. Beefy, Scienter and Renata were all travelers. Beefy had a violin, while Scienter was found with a maile shirt. Renata had the crumbled remains of a cake in her clothing.
“But we found a variety of weapons in the room of Reenk Roink. From what we could find, he was some sort of killer for hire. A man with blood on his hands killed by those with blood on their hands!
“How the path of murder circles around! Who here, I wonder, helped kill him? Who here will kill his killers? Is it not exciting?” the mad grin returned.
“One can’t complain about the quality of the last act, or the importance of our part, if we are to die here,” said Hans.
Gerard turned towards him and continued grinning, “Indeed! What a blessing to live these hours!”
Hans stopped smiling, and said nothing more.
It is now the day phase! This phase will last for 30 hours, until 8 pm PST Monday April 5th.
The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown. It may be frail; its roof may shake; the wind may blow through it; the storm may enter; the rain may enter; but the King of England cannot enter – all his force dares not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement! - William Pitt the Elder
Dusk had come, and Gerard finished counting the votes. Arguments had raged back and forth each day, mainly accusing Sigurd, who waited with dread for the results.
"Ah, you got lucky Sigurd!" exclaimed Gerard, "You've escaped!"
"I have?" asked Sigurd, hope filling his face.
"Indeed you have! For while we are condemned to live on, you, my friend, have been chosen to be released from this prison!"
"Wait, what do you speak of..."The dread returned to Sigurd's face.
Gerard got up, smiling, and began walking towards Sigurd, who was looking around frantically, "Aren't you glad? We are doomed to stay here, encased within these walls, while you - you are free? Do you not desire freedom?"
Sigurd was backing away, but strong arms grabbed him and held him in place.
"Soon you will do what none of us can and fly this stone prison! I am happy for you, friend."
Sigurd began protesting, almost babbling as he was dragged to the gallows.
"Do not fear, Sigurd, I'm sure we will all join you soon enough," comforted Gerard.
The noose was tightened, the few left alive watched. Gerard spread his arms and yelled, "Give him release!"
Sigurd fell and died.
"Sir, you must not falter, we are not yet doomed," whispered Hans.
"It is not a question of survival, friends; it is a question of how long we endure this suffering before God grants us mercy. Now go to your rooms and pray fervently!"
The crowd left quickly.
Hans left as well, silently walking to the keep.
Gerard made to follow him, a sly grin still on his face. He stopped as he reached the stairs and looked back at the setting sun, which cast a wondrous hue on the clouds. The smile faded, his expression became sorrowful.
"Let us all make it through this night."
Then he went into the keep.
Night Phase Continues! Until 9 am PST Wednesday April 7
The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown. It may be frail; its roof may shake; the wind may blow through it; the storm may enter; the rain may enter; but the King of England cannot enter – all his force dares not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement! - William Pitt the Elder
The wind had returned this night, though it did not include snow. Mainly it howled through the crenellations.
Beskar was finding it hard to hear over the gusts as he exited the tavern. He had not walked far when there was a lull in the wind. Just at the moment he heard footsteps and a grunt behind him. He turned to see a man flinging something a spear at him.
Beskar dodged sideways out of instinct and the spear barely missed him. The attacker was already drawing a long sword and barreling down on top of him. Beskar drew his own sword and readied himself. He deflected the first blow and moved to strike in return, but his attacker had already pivoted his sword and struck again. Backpedaling, Beskar was forced to defend himself.
It was not going well. The third time the attacker cut with his sword the glancing blow hit Beskar, who winced but kept defending. With another strike the attacker had knocked the tip of Beskar’s sword aside, then quickly brought his sword around in a great overhead strike at Beskar.
Beskar had just backed up into the wall, and could see the blow coming at him, but didn’t have the time to guard himself with his sword. The attacker’s strike was sure to kill him – until it hit the low hanging roof of the hut Beskar had backed into. For a brief moment, the attacker didn’t understand what had happened, and looked up at the roof.
Reacting quickly, Beskar kicked out at his attacker’s knee and connected. The attacked yelled in pain and stumbled backwards. Beskar again reacted quickly, this time to run towards the keep as fast as possible, yelling, “Guards, guards!”
His attacker took a step after him, winced when his injured leg hit the ground, and decided to make his way into the darkness instead.
Later that night, the wind died down, though only after pushing in clouds to cover the moon and sky. Yaropolk was moving with determination through the snow. His path brought him along the impromptu graveyard, where the bodies stretched for a great distance.
Snow covered corpses were lined up alongside his path. Yaropolk paid a cautious eye to the bodies, and noticed one right next to him seemed to have an odd accumulation of snow.
The ground moved and a man burst out of the snow, roaring in an inhuman manner. Yaropolk fell back, startled, his breath caught in his throat. The figure, clad in dark robes, had swung up as though pivoted on its feet, holding a spiked weapon and surrounded by flying snow. Yaropolk began drawing his sword.
Out of the darkness a bolt flew and struck his left arm. Yaropolk grunted and glanced to his side. A figure, clothed in a long dark cloak, had appeared and was charging at him, morningstar held back ready to strike.
The attacker who had burst from the snow was already on top of Yaropolk and swung his own morning star. Yaropolk barely managed to get his sword in place to guard against the blow. The morning star did not appear to be deflected; instead it came swinging at him again with no pause. Yaropolk had moved to strike, but had to stop and defend this blow as well.
The second attacker covered the distance between them and was now swinging his morning star at Yaropolk, who barely saw the blow coming. He struggled to defend himself in time, and failed; the morning star powered through his hasty block and struck his side, severely denting his plate armor. Yaropolk gasped as the concussive shock traveled through his body, but kept hold of his sword.
His first attacker struck again, and Yaropolk stepped back, trying to put distance between his attackers. They closed in on him, both swinging constantly with their morning stars, every attack well aimed. It was all Yaropolk could do to deflect the blows while continuing to fall back.
This lasted for all of three seconds. One of his attackers ceased the assault and became a blur Yaropolk could hardly see. The blur moved to Yaropolk’s back and struck. Yaropolk did not have time to be afraid; he simply turned to block the strike.
He was to late; the morning star struck home on his leg, rending the armor and flesh. Yaropolk cried out in pain, lashing out in desperation with his sword. The attacked had already moved out of range, and the sword passed through air.
The other attacker had paused, watching with glee.
The man who had hit Yaropolk nodded and said, “Finish him.”
The other attacker dropped his morning star and rushed Yaropolk, screaming, “Blood!”
With one hand he took hold of the plate breastplate and kept running, lifting Yaropolk up and keeping him there with momentum.
“Blood for Blood God!” he roared inhumanly, running towards the stonewall, attempting to bash Yaropolk to death against it. The attacker’s face had become frenzied, with spittle flying from his screaming jaws.
Yaropolk was not yet finished. With one hand trying to break the grip, he struck with his sword using the other. Though not a full powered blow, it hit home on the side of the attacker’s torso. He did not seem to notice.
Desperate, knowing his doom approached, Yaropolk dropped the sword and grabbed something from around his neck, then brought it down with all the force he could muster onto the arm of his attacker.
Yaropolk fell hard, landing on top of snow-covered corpses, bouncing and sliding to a rest at the foot of the stonewall, the end of the crossbow bolt breaking off as he did. He glanced up and saw his attacker holding his arm in pain. He glared, face contorted with rage, at Yaropolk.
Yaropolk quickly struggled to his feet, drawing his knife. His attacker drew a sword and began sprinting at him, screaming for blood.
The attacker almost flew across the snow, a blur of rage, sword ready to strike. Yaropolk held his ground until the last moment, then launched himself at his attacker, driving his shoulder forward. His attacker, seemingly mad with rage, reacted instantly to the decreased range, striking Yaropolk’s torso. The blow split his plate armor, but the blade did not penetrate far, and Yaropolk used his momentum to bear his attacker to the ground, then began stabbing and slashing frantically. The numerous blows cut the face and body of his attacker, but nothing struck home at a vital area. The prone attacker yelled in pain, frantically trying to claw Yaropolk off.
It took only seconds for Yaropolk to regain his calm and draw back his arm to slash the attacker’s throat. But the other attacker was behind him, and kicked him off. Yaropolk flew forward, landing headfirst in the snow. The uninjured attacker was coming towards him, morning star raised.
“You Shall Die!”
Yaropolk tried to scramble backwards, but his hands slipped through the fallen snow. He felt his left hand go through the snow, hit some hard frozen object, slide off, then hit metal. Yaropolk did not bother to look; if it wasn’t his sword he had no hope. His fingers closed around the blade, judging by the weight as he lifted it where he held it, pointing the tip away from him – the attacker looming over him had begun to swing – and grabbed the hilt with his right hand, bracing it against his stomach.
His attacker ran into his sword and cried in pain, dropping his morning star and grabbing the blade. For a moment the combatants paused there, Yaropolk braced on the ground, his attacker impaled on the sword, squirming. Then the attacker stopped moving, stared at Yaropolk, and began to pull himself closer, drawing the blade through his body, smiling as he did so.
Yaropolk gasped in fear and turned the blade to the side, dropping the attacker on the ground before yanking the blade free. He looked at the other attacker, who had gotten up and was wiping the blood from his face. Despite the pain in his leg, Yaropolk had never run faster in his life, leaving his attackers in the darkness behind him.
“And that’s not quite all, sir,” said Hans.
“Hmm, what else? Some corpses were hacked at last night?” asked Gerard.
“Actually…”
“Well that seems trivial. I don’t see why the guards bother giving me such details. I’m not going to waste my time telling people about corpse desecrations when people are dying.”
Hans shrugged, and they went down to the hall.
The survivors sat apart from each other, constantly watching out of the corners of their eyes.
“My friends! I bring good tidings! The man you selected, Blackadder, was a Turkish spy!
“Alas, Methos was a good man, a soldier and member of this garrison. And the rest killed the same night as he; ACIN, Splitpersonality, and Csargo, were travelers. ACIN and Csargo, however, did seem to be members of some odd secret society, which was highly regulated in how often they had to drink beer from what my investigators could tell.
“And now all you have to do is choose who will be selected for release from this Hell,” Gerard grinned.
It is now the day phase! This phase will last for 32 hours, until 8 PM PST Thursday April 8.
The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown. It may be frail; its roof may shake; the wind may blow through it; the storm may enter; the rain may enter; but the King of England cannot enter – all his force dares not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement! - William Pitt the Elder
It was a long day of voting. The daylight hours seemed to stretch for over 24 hours.
One man kept switching votes between nearly every person still alive. Naturally, the other survivors decided to vote for his partner.
"White Eyes, come forward. You've been selected for the award tonight, " said Gerard enthusiastically.
"Me? Why? It's not me you want! I haven't killed anyone! Well, last night at least...but I just killed for the good of Austria!" White Eyes yelled frantically.
"Indeed! And now you shall be rewarded by being killed for Austria!"
Some men grabbed White Eyes and hauled him to the gallows, and quickly put the noose around his neck.
"This doesn't make any sense!" yelled White Eyes as the trapdoor opened and he fell.
"Ha! He says that as though it matters!" laughed Gerard, "Now, the rest of you, sleep tight tonight!"
The sun fell below the mountains.
It is now the night phase! This phase will last 34 hours, until 8 am PST Saturday April 10!
The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown. It may be frail; its roof may shake; the wind may blow through it; the storm may enter; the rain may enter; but the King of England cannot enter – all his force dares not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement! - William Pitt the Elder
Wind had shorn the sky of clouds, leaving the stars and moon to light the fort. As midnight approached, the wind died, leaving no sound to mask the crunch of footsteps in the snow.
“Are we all here?” asked one man.
Another look at the huddled group of cloaked men and replied, “We have enough. Let us begin.”
The group had gathered outside the keep, and now headed to a section of wall next to the main gate, where the corpses were piled. The cloaked figures had already drawn their swords when the stacked bodies came into view.
“Are you here?” yelled the leader, “Rise and face me, because I have come for you!”
An armored figure stood in front of them. He was tall, and clad in red plate and mail. Whether it was from dye or blood the attackers could not tell.
“No! I have come for you, Yaropolk!” the armored man proclaimed.
He spread his arms and the men with Yaropolk hesitated. Even the stoutest of them had not expected this.
“Silence, you thing! Prepare for your doom!” Yaropolk yelled, raising his sword.
The armored figure smiled. In a flash, his hands swung down and grabbed a crossbow strapped to his side. Before any of Yaropolks companions could react, the armored man aimed and shot.
The bolt flew straight at the chest of Yaropolk, who knew he would be unable to jump out of the way. But the bolt hit another metal surface; the axe head of a halberd had appeared in front of Yaropolk. Another person had emerged from the darkness, wielding a halberd.
And another armored figured took aim with a crossbow and fired. Again this bolt was blocked, this time embedding itself in the back of the man with the halberd. He grunted in pain, but kept a firm grip on his weapon and turned to face the second man attacking Yaropolk.
He was armored in plate, uncloaked, and like his fellow had blood stained armor. He dropped the crossbow and drew a morning star.
“Ignore my target! Deal with the extra!” said Yaropolk to his halberd carrying protector. The man nodded and advanced towards the second crossbowman. The other men with Yaropolk went with him as he stepped towards his nemesis.
Yaropolk’s enemy dropped the crossbow and drew a long sword, chipped from battles ages ago. He smiled and swung at the man to the right of Yaropolk, who jumped back. Yaropolk swept his sword up, deflecting the attack into the air and striking.
His nemesis had already moved, and swung at another of Yaropolk’s comrades, who moved quickly to block and strike in retaliation. Yaropolk was already swinging again as well. The target did not move quickly enough; Yaropolk’s blow struck home, hitting the arm and sundering mail.
He had blocked the blow of another attacker, but now the target yelled and concentrated on Yaropolk, swinging furiously. Yaropolk was barely able to keep from being overwhelmed. His injured limbs strained to swing his sword; so fast it became a blur. The other attackers did not let up, though, and one man landed a solid blow on the nemesis’ shoulder, splitting one of the straps that held up the breastplate.
Nearly roaring with rage, the nemesis relented from attacking Yaropolk and turned to strike one of his comrades. Yaropolk paused, took a breath, and began his own attack. By now his enemy had swung twice at the one who had injured him, one blow glancing off the armor.
All of the sword craft Yaropolk had learned in his life lead to this moment. For many years he had used a sword in defense of his lord, and this was his magnum opus.
The first blow cleaved through mail and flesh to the bone. Yaropolk’s nemesis screamed in pain and stopped going for the killing blow the other attacker, instead blocking his sword and swiftly kicking him in the stomach before turning to duel Yaropolk. The kicked attacker flew back and fell over a stack of bodies.
Yaropolk swung again, and even the speed of his target did not allow him to block the blow, which hit the side of the torso and dented the plate armor. Yaropolk struck even before his target got his sword in place to block the last blow. He was not going to be fooled again, and the sword seemed to appear in place to block Yaropolk’s next strike.
It was a feint, and Yaropolk’s sword changed direction to hit the leg. His nemesis stumbled briefly and struck out at Yaropolk, who pivoted his sword to catch the blade and strike again in the same motion. His attacker continued to backpedal, and tried to strike again. But Yaropolk had already struck a great blow across the chest, cutting through the plate.
Yaropolk’s nemesis gasped in pain, and the fingers around his sword loosened. Yaropolk moved smoothly and drew back his sword for the final blow, to separate the head from the body.
A stone’s throw distant, two warriors fought and struggled over piles of the dead and snow-covered stones. The defender with the halberd rushed at the morning star holding attacker and swung a great sweeping blow. The attacker stood his ground, leaned back and deflected the axe head as it sped towards his neck. The defender was almost startled; only few men could do such a thing. But he kept swinging; all those men had still died.
Again the axe head split the air, and again it was deflected. The next time, the defender struck out with the staff end of the halberd while bringing the axe head around for another blow, forcing the attacker back. This time he did not deflect the halberd, instead dodging back and then jumping towards the defender with great speed to swing his morning star. Though surprised, the defender managed to block the spiked weapon at the last second.
The attacker swung again, and this time the defender could not block it completely, leaving the metal spikes to tear across his side. He grimaced in pain then pushed the attacker back and brought the halberd down with lightning speed. The attacker barely dove out of the way, leaving the axe to crack down on a cobblestone and rend it in two, sending sparks and dust flying. The attacker grinned and made to strike back quickly while the halberd was embedded in the ground.
He was disappointed; the halberd was already back in the air and swinging at him. He had to jump back and guard himself with his morning star to stop the blow from cleaving him in two. The defender swept the halberd around again, but the attacker had backed up considerably.
Stepping forward, the defender readied for another swing. The attacker lunged forward as well, morning star raised. The halberd swung, screaming through the air. The attacker did not move to block or avoid it; instead he leapt up, parallel to the shaft, and spun over it. The defender could barely make out the blur of movement, and the attacker’s morning star had crashed into his shoulder before he had time to comprehend the movement.
He yelled in pain, but kept firm hold of the halberd. It was no use, for the attacker was already swinging at his opposite arm. The blow tore the flesh open and blow flew onto the ground. The defender yelled again, and again the morning star hit him. This blow struck his head, sending him falling to his knees and covering his face with blood.
His attacker stood over him, smiling broadly in triumph, and raised the bloody morning star for one final blow. It struck the defender’s lower face and crushed his jaw. Blood flowed unceasingly. With one last blood muffled groan, the defender perished and toppled to the ground. Only then did Jolt drop the halberd.
Jolt’s killer stood over him, then looked to Yaropolk’s other attacker. The smile faded; Yaropolk was forcing him back, and would soon strike the killing blow.
Yaropolk began the final swing. His nemesis was battered and about to be destroyed. This was going to be that thing’s last moment of existence.
A morning star flew through the air and hit his arm, causing Yaropolk to wince in pain and the blow to miss and bounce off the shoulder plate of his nemesis. The second attacker was running swiftly behind the morning star he had thrown, and tackled on of Yaropolk’s companions into the snow.
Agony flooded into Yaropolk. All the injuries of the last few nights came back to him. Pain flared in his fingers, his shoulder ached, and his legs felt as though made of lead.
His nemesis cried in exultation and swung. The blow was tremendous; it broke his sword and shattered Yaropolk’s armor, sending him flying back into a pile of bodies. He dropped his broken sword and strode towards the body of Yaropolk. Another of Yaropolk’s companions attacked, but the nemesis was out of the way, leaving the sword to swing through space, then was right in front of the swinger, and sent him sliding back through the snow with a shove.
Yaropolk moved; his whole body seemed to be in pain, but his mind focused. He had dropped his long sword, so he began to draw his short sword. The ground seemed to fall away, and he realized his enemy was picking him up by the cuff of his garment. He looked into the face and saw a thin smile, and eyes that threatened to engulf him in madness. Yaropolk plunged his sword into the man’s gut, then withdrew it and made to strike again. The smile vanished and the man snarled at him, baring his teeth.
With an armored hand, his attacker plunged his hand into Yaropolk’s chest and cracked his sternum. Yaropolk cried out in pain as his flesh was torn and ribs cracked, and blood flowed from his chest. The other armored hand loosened its grip and Yaropolk fell onto his back, limbs askew, gasping.
His attacker stepped back, trying not to show the pain of his wounds, and gloated.
“You are undone,” he spoke condescendingly, and then began to glare around for one of Yaropolk’s helpers.
Yaropolk stirred. His fingers tightened around his sword. With great effort he began to get up.
“Prepare…”
He was on his knees now, and still moving upwards. His nemesis seemed to be frozen, not wanting to approach him.
“…to…”
Blood flowed from his mouth as Yaropolk spoke, finally getting to his feet. The attacker had taken a step back, and no longer gloated.
“…die…”
Yaropolk stared at his enemy’s eyes, then took a step forward, still hunched in pain. And another, and another. Finally his attacker began to take out a knife. Yaropolk lunged the last distance and swung, striking the armor and splitting the last strap holding the breastplate up. With a grunt of exertion Yaropolk pushed the attacker against the high stonewall. The attacker had regained his presence of mind and swung his fist to take off Yaropolk’s head. But his injuries weakened him and Yaropolk saw the blow coming, and interrupted it with a strike to his enemy’s face with the pommel of his sword.
Next he stuck the sword into the right lung and held his nemesis’ body against the wall with his left hand. With his right hand he grabbed a small sharpened object from his pocket and raised it far back. With a great yell he plunged it straight into the attacker’s chest, causing an unearthly wail.
Yaropolk jerked the sword out and stepped back, then let the attacker, still wailing, fall. As he did, Yaropolk gave one last grunt and heaved his sword through the neck, slicing the head from the body. The wail stopped and the body hit the snow with a thud.
Yaropolk stood for only a moment longer, then dropped his sword and collapsed, dead.
The second attacker had been close to overwhelming one of Yaropolk’s companions when he heard the wail and stopped. All the companions, seeing their target’s body separated from its head, decided to vacate the area quickly.
Soon, the second attacker was alone in a field of the dead. Slowly, he walked over to Yaropolk’s body. Seeing the first attacker dead, he let out an unearthly cry of rage that echoed through the fort.
Some time later, he bent down to Yaropolk’s bloody corpse. Drawing a dagger, he methodically cut into his chest and pulled out ribs until he reached the heart. This, too, he cut out.
Askthepizzaguy was walking through the snow when a figure approached ahead of him, sword drawn. ATPG drew his own sword and made ready to defend himself. But his attacker stopped and glanced around. No one else was near, so the attacker decided to run. ATPG gave chase, but lost him in the huddle of buildings.
Near the tavern, Beskar was almost to his room. He had decided to make his way through whatever back ways he could, to avoid attackers. He was now in a cramped alleyway. Just as he saw someone appear before him, he slipped. As he fell an arrow flew so close overhead it ruffled his hair. Beskar bumped the wall as he fell, causing a small snow slide from the roof between him and his attacker. Beskar quickly jumped up and ran back the way he came. His attacker swiftly drew a sword and advanced cautiously through the falling snow, but Beskar was far-gone when he got out through the other side.
“Glorious news, good people,” boomed Gerard a little after dawn broke. The five other people in the room with him did not share his good spirits.
“Khaan was a Turk! Which means we’ve killed four – five? – a number of them. And I know how important defeating the Turks’ plan is to all of you.”
“What, indeed, could be more important than knowing the Turks are being thrashed after what has happened recently?” smirked Hans.
“Indeed!” grinned Gerard, “Alas, Atheotes was not a Turk, but only an innocent traveler. Well, maybe not truly innocent, as he seemed to have killed a couple people. But the only out of the ordinary thing in his possession was a donkey in the stables.
“And that leaves us with the final five! What a mad month we had did we not? Anyway, it’s time to vote, so vote for the Turks, or the killers, or whoever peeved you off this morning! That is the glory of democracy! No wonder Greece fared so well.”
This is the day phase, which will last for 26 hours, or until Midnight PST Sunday April 11 night.
The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown. It may be frail; its roof may shake; the wind may blow through it; the storm may enter; the rain may enter; but the King of England cannot enter – all his force dares not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement! - William Pitt the Elder
"Ah, the time is upon us," he said, going down to the hall.
"Well, everything seems to be in order. Somebody grab Askthe..." Gerard trailed off as he shuffled, unseeing, the votes through his hands and looked at Askthepizzaguy.
A thin smile crept across ATPG's face. In his hand he held his old ballot. Gerard quickly looked at the papers in his hand. For a full minute he did not speak.
"Tincow? You voted for Tincow?" Gerard stared at a single man, then his face contorted, seemingly in rage. But then a grin appeared on his fevered face, gradually taking hold. Finally the mad grin took control, and he could barely contain laughter as he began to walk to Tincow.
Fear crept into Tincow's eyes, and he looked around, but the others were backing away from the approaching commander.
Gerard drew his sword, rage flooded into his face, and with a fierce cry and flash of his blade he cut Tincow's neck open. Tincow could only gurgle as blood poured out, desperate hands seeking to stem the flow as he fell to the ground and died.
Gerard began to laugh, a great crazed guffaw, eventually dropping his sword and bending over, holding his sides. He continued even after all the air in his lungs was gone, and he silently gasped for air. The survivors continued to back away cautiously.
Finally Gerard looked up and spoke, "I so very look forward to seeing who you vote for tomorrow!" his face betraying genuine eagerness, "If you live!"
And then he resumed laughing. The remaining survivors did not hear him stop; they moved out of range of hearing long before the laughter finally ended.
It is now the night phase! This phase will end in 30 hours, at 7 am PST Tuesday April 13!
The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown. It may be frail; its roof may shake; the wind may blow through it; the storm may enter; the rain may enter; but the King of England cannot enter – all his force dares not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement! - William Pitt the Elder
Clouds were scattered across the sky, but the moon was uncovered and illuminated the scene below. Two men stood close together near one of the small buildings inside the fort. One held a bow.
“Are you sure you can hit him from this range?” asked Askthepizzaguy as Joooray took aim.
“I can hit him from any range,” Joooray growled in response, “He just manages to trip at the most opportune times. Shouldn’t you be moving to cut him off?”
“He’s not far away.”
Joooray drew back his bow and shoot. The arrow whistled through the cold night air, then embedded itself in Beskar’s leg, 50 yards away. He yelled in pain and stumbled, holding his leg.
Joooray laughed in triumph.
“You missed his chest,” pointed out Askthepizzaguy.
“Of course! You don’t think I wanted this to end too quickly, did you?”
The two ran quickly through the snow to the limping Beskar.
“Thanks, don’t mind if I do,” replied Joooray, taking the weapon.
Askthepizzaguy had a halberd in hand, and together they walked up to Beskar, who drew his sword and spoke, “Aha! Askthepizzaguy! I’ve come to kill you!” as he limped towards them.
Beskar’s attackers stopped and glanced around in amusement. No one came out of the darkness around them.
“Aw, is unfortunate Beskar once again alone?” taunted Askthepizzaguy.
Beskar just stood gape mouthed for a moment.
“Tell me, do you still think Tincow was the threat?” Askthepizzaguy grinned, revealing his teeth.
“They…they wouldn’t listen to me when I told them to lynch you and not White Eyes,” stammered Beskar.
“And, naturally, refusing the chance to lynch Askthepizzaguy the next night was very logical,” Joooray said, sarcasm nearly dripping from his mouth.
“They deserved to be punished!” yelled Beskar.
“Oh, did the child lose its toy?” laughed Askthepizzaguy.
“Tincow died quickly. You however, will not,” said Joooray, stepping forward and raising his morning star.
Askthepizzaguy heard footsteps behind him and turned to see a sword striking at his neck. With a quick movement he blocked it with his halberd.
“Ah, Sasaki, how nice of you to join us!” Askthepizzaguy smiled.
Sasaki said nothing, but swung again. Askthepizzaguy moved to block it, but Sasaki pivoted the strike and struck Askthepizzaguy’s armored torso. Roaring in anger, Askthepizzaguy shoved with the halberd and Sasaki flew back.
“Do you think you can kill me?” he thundered.
Sasaki got up quickly, “Yaropolk sent your master to a long overdue grave. And now I will do the same for his whelp.”
Askthepizzaguy’s face became clouded with anger, and he lunged forward, swinging the halberd down. Sasaki rolled forward, with the axe head hitting behind him, shattering a cobblestone and breaking the shaft of the halberd. Before Askthepizzaguy had time to realize his weapon was broken, Sasaki struck, his sword slicing deeply in Askthepizzaguy’s leg. Grunting in pain, Askthepizzaguy simply kneed Sasaki in the face, sending him sprawling back, bleeding from his nose.
Beskar had tried to walk forward and attack Askthepizzaguy, but Joooray blocked him.
“Can you run, Beskar? I think not,” Joooray grinned.
Beskar struck out, but Joooray quickly deflected the sword, though he did not move to attack himself. Beskar swung again, and this time Joooray stepped to the side and swung swiftly. The morning star hit hard, and with a sickening crunch, broke Beskar’s arm.
He cried out in pain and dropped his sword, moving backwards. Joooray wasted no time, advancing and swinging again. Beskar tried to shield himself with his arms and his other wrist was shattered. His scream rent the sky as he fell to his knees, cradling two bloody and useless arms.
He looked up at the looming Joooray and stammered, desperate and confused, “But, but – Tincow did not speak to me of his plans for the night beforehand, and I overheard you saying you would attack Askthepizzaguy tonight!”
Joooray stopped, threw back his head, and laughed uproariously. A few moments later, as Beskar tried to stand, he looked back at Beskar,
“I guess you’re learning the difference between words and deeds, Beskar!”
Joooray leaped forward and struck one of Beskar’s knees with the morning star, cracking bones and spewing blood over the snow. Beskar fell to his side, again crying out in pain.
Joooray smiled grimly, but did not speak. He bent over Beskar and delivered one last blow to Beskar’s head, cutting off his cries and leaving the night silent except for the clash of swords.
Sasaki did not relent, but his assaults could find no more holes in Askthepizzaguy’s defense, and he found himself barely able to escape retaliatory strikes. Finally, as one swing forced Askthepizzaguy back, he glanced to Beskar and saw his bloodied corpse on the ground and Joooray advancing towards him. He looked back to Askthepizzaguy, who did not seemed slowed by or even aware of the injury to his leg, decided discretion would be the better part of valor, and ran off into the darkness.
Askthepizzaguy did not follow, and just called after him, “Prepare yourself for the noose tomorrow, Sasaki!”
Joooray watched Sasaki disappear, then went his own way, leaving Askthepizzaguy to approach Beskar’s corpse with a knife out and a hungry gleam in his eye.
In the morning the three survivors, all with hands on their sword hilts, arrived at the hall to find Gerard clad in armor and draped in robes.
“Welcome, warriors, to the end!” he took a deep drought of wine from a gold chalice, “I have decided to have two of you fight for my amusement. First you shall select an unworthy man to be hung, then the two who remain will fight to the death!”
He drank again, “It is not, I know, far removed from what happens every night here, but now I have become emperor, proclaimed by the spirit of Charlemagne himself last night! And so you will entertain me during my inauguration! Whoever triumphs will be crowned champion and receive unheard of wealth!”
The three remaining men stared at each other uneasily.
This is the day phase, which will last for 24 hours, until Noon PST Wednesday April 14. Immediately after that write up, the two survivors will fight, the results calculated, and an end of game write up will be posted.
The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown. It may be frail; its roof may shake; the wind may blow through it; the storm may enter; the rain may enter; but the King of England cannot enter – all his force dares not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement! - William Pitt the Elder
The Shadow Fort Summary Thread
Originally Posted by Crazed Rabbit
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