With Great Sacrifice [Concluded]

[Nauthiz]

Heh pretty cool man. Update pls

[Chaotix]

Heh pretty cool man. Update pls

Err... just who is this guy?

[LazyMcCrow]

Err... just who is this guy?

I think he might be the skull-faced guy

[Yaropolk]

i think that was a troll linking an ad to some diablo 3 website, and one of the mods removed the link now.

[seireikhaan]

Nap's over, night's over. Writeups to be posted asap.

[seireikhaan]

Jarema’s quarters were shared with two other members of the priesthood. With only two mats, Jarema slumped himself against the wall, eventually falling asleep with his head buried in his knees. None of the three heard the slight rustle of the curtain to their room being drawn back. A tall, lean man entered, bearing a curved knife in his right hand. He stalked forward, attempting to carefully maneuver the two sleeping in the middle of the floor. He stepped over the first, peering back to make sure he didn’t accidentally wake him. He turned back to Jarema, and froze when he heard a shifting behind him. The man sleeping behind him had rolled over in his sleep and latched onto the intruder’s rear leg.

With a slight panic, the man tried to gently tug his leg out of the grasp, but the dreaming nuisance was having none of it. He gave a harder tug, but still couldn’t free himself. With a small, exasperated sigh, he shook his head. He finally yanked as hard as he could. Unfortunately, it was at this point that the grip loosened on its own. He rocketed out of the grasp, much faster than he’d anticipated. With a panic, he realized he’d have to be creative to not tumble onto the next sleeping fellow. He instinctively shifted his weight as best he could, sending his top half forward and down. With not a small amount of grace, he touched down with his right hand to the cement floor. Somehow, he managed to cartwheel himself over the snoozing obstacle, his feet touching down just on the other side. The man grinned to himself. He walked up to the slouched Jarema, placing one hand on his mouth while the other pressed the knife to his throat. With a quick, powerful slice, the man ended Jarema’s life in a silent struggle.


Past the quarters themselves, the hallways lead down into a large, dimly lit chamber. In the middle was a large, square hole filled with a small amount of water. Ordinarily, rainwater generously ran down from a chute that collected it near the top of the pyramid. However, the draught lessened the pool’s depth considerably. Only the lack of sunlight and heat kept it from completely drying. High Priest Tlacalael was drying himself after a short cleansing. He adorned himself in a colorful, bright robe. He sat on a stone bench, pondering how long it would take to solve the crisis. If they weren’t successful soon, the entire city would riot. Never mind how many were already starving to death. He closed his eyes, uttering a short prayer once more that rain bless their crops. His utterance stopped when he heard footsteps approach the doorway. He turned to find a stout fellow, armed with a spear.

“My friend,” Tlacalael began. “These chambers are sanctified. Please, leave your weapon behind if you wish to cleanse.” The visitor nodded. He laid the weapon down at the entrance. He abstained, however, from cleansing, instead opting to take a place at the priest’s side.

“Do you believe what we are doing is right?” he asked Tlacalael quietly. Tlacalael was surprised. It was quite a brash question to ask him. He considered how exactly to answer.

“I believe in the emperor. His will is to please the divine. I do not doubt his tale. Do you?”

“Do I believe the gods told him this course of action?” The man responded. “Yes, I do. However, I’ve one small issue with how we’ve approached this.” Tlacalael raised his eyebrows, but kept quiet. “This is entirely unfocused. We need to find the one god who truly cares for us. Do all of the gods truly wish the best of us? No, I think not. But I do believe that there is one who truly wishes for us to thrive, who would not inflict such harsh punishment on us without telling us why. Would this not be preferable?”

Tlacalael was stunned. “Th… this is heresy! The gods each have their proper domains, and only they can determine what! You cannot possibly be serious!” The man turned to the High Priest, staring him straight in the eyes. With unparalleled reflexes, his right hand shot behind his back, grabbing the knife hidden by his cloak. He rammed it through Tlacalael’s chest. He pressed forward, driving Tlacalael onto the bench, pinning him on his back. He ripped deep into the chest, slicing without the precision the High Priest himself held, but carving it open nonetheless. Tlacalael’s final moments were in pure shock as the assassin held his heart in front of his face. “Deathly serious, my dearest Ishmael. Find grace in his caress.”


Chaotix snapped awake. What….? Where….? He was immediately blinded by a shining, golden light. He turned around, to spare himself the trauma, and found himself on a golden floor. He could not see a horizon to this direction- the floor seemed to just go forever. “You failed,” a voice boomed from behind him. Chaotix closed his eyes shut, turning himself around. “You had the greatest of opportunities and squandered it. Death may have come, but your punishment has only begun.”

“But… I did everything I could!” he protested back. “I was nothing but loyal! I did all that was asked of me. It was the foolish priests who sentenced me to death, I did not slay myself!”

“You failed. Swiftly. Yet, still you are accurate. You did die for the greater cause. You will be welcomed in my golden palace. After a time, of course.”

“What do you mean?” Chaotix asked the voice.

“You will serve out your punishment elsewhere. When I have decided you have served justice, you will return here, your eyes able to see through the brilliance. Until then… embrace the darkness.” With that, the floor vanished beneath Chaotix. He fell away from the light, and into the void.




When I arrived the next morning, the emperor was raging at the gathered priests and warriors. Fury blazed in his eyes. I was not sure what was happening, but I found it strange that Tlacalael was not at his side. I cautiously approached the group, sidling into place a few spaces from the Emperor. When he saw me, he pointed a finger in my direction. "Scribe! Here! NOW!" I immediately shuffled up as fast as I could to his side. "Your superior is dead." he hissed. "I don't suppose you would know anything about this, would you?"

My jaw dropped. Tlacalael? Dead? It was... impossible! And I was accused of causing his demise?! "N-no, my Emperor! I had no idea! I..."

"Enough, then! We must continue his work! I will end this draught! I will save my city! I will show the gods my dedication even if it means the death of every single one us! So long as they see our suffering and faith, they will bring us water! Now you all!" he commanded to the rest of the gathered men. "You will find the purest one, or I will slay you all! Get going!"


DAY FOUR BEGINS NOW. YOU HAVE 36 HOURS.


Alive:

Bsmith
Daveshack
Edse
Fluffy
GeneralHankerchief
Ishmael
Jarema
Landlubber
Lazy McCrow
Lewwyn
Montmorency
Visorslash
White eyes
Zack

Lynched:

Atheotes (D1)
SalmonSoil (D2)
Chaotix (D3)

Attacked:

Seon (N2)
Yaropolk (N2)
Csargo (N2)
Jarema (N3)
Ishmael (N3)

[Montmorency]

So much for my triple-kill Mafia...

I think it's quite plain. The gods are killing us. The killers are agents of gods. It makes sense.

“Do I believe the gods told him this course of action?” The man responded. “Yes, I do. However, I’ve one small issue with how we’ve approached this.” Tlacalael raised his eyebrows, but kept quiet. “This is entirely unfocused. We need to find the one god who truly cares for us. Do all of the gods truly wish the best of us? No, I think not. But I do believe that there is one who truly wishes for us to thrive, who would not inflict such harsh punishment on us without telling us why. Would this not be preferable?”

Meanwhile, we get 2 kills instead of 3, and Chaotix is shown being punished by some supernatural force. God of death?

At any rate, Chaotix was clearly a killer. His writeup does show that the killers are not the gods themselves, though.

The gods are having us killed off. This charade, this drought, everything, it's all a game. They're watching the mortals get massacred one by one for sport.

And to top it off we've lost the high priest, though given the circumstances I don't think there's much he could have done for us. :P

The only confusing thing: what were Yaro and Csargo? They couldn't have been gods, because they were killed. Perhaps a better case would be that they were friendly gods, or something.

What can we do about this?

[Ishmael]

Mafia will be pleased.