m-NotWIII: A Game of Thrones--Game Thread
- Thread starter LightFang
- Start date
Zack
99% hot gas
It wouldn't convince me you're innocent, no.
Link
Scarves
- Joined
- Sep 20, 2009
- Messages
- 1,706
I dunno. Confirm yourself as an innocent, and then I'll share my hat. On an unrelated note, if anyone has a quill, i could make good use of it, as I am a novelist. I'd even give you this magnificent hat in exchange.
Zack
99% hot gas
Why would I need to go to such drastic measures to get a useless hat?
Maybe yon hat not be uſeleſs after all.
Zack
99% hot gas
Thinking the ſame here. Uſually, no items without any abilities at all are put into play by the GM unleſs he really wants to cauſe trouble, which would not appear to be the caſe.
Aye ſtill not sure about it, lad, butZack said:
btw Zelda ſucks.
Link
Scarves
- Joined
- Sep 20, 2009
- Messages
- 1,706
PS. Either of you can have the hat.
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Update Fourteen
The saddest part, it seems, of any town that peters out is how it compares to the grand structures built in the shadows of our minds. Even Traum in its heyday, which was every day by the king's decree, probably didn't live up to the memories constructed in the midst of despair. These images and feelings had somehow turned during the past week. It had gone from a sense of hope, a beacon of purpose that would drive the town to eliminate the evil devouring it from the inside, to a lofty mockery of their current situation. In short, Traum was discovering how serious, how precarious their lives hung in the balance between life and death. It was a far cry from the innocence of just a week earlier.
Say the carnage ended now. What was Traum left with? A Hawker, a Novelist, a Bartender, a Miller, and a Blacksmith. Almost half the town would be fairly useless in restarting the town, and more than half if we included the Hawker, who would be a useless middleman in a town that produced approximately nothing.
It was true that nary a smile was to be had in the town. Hard lines slashed across the men's faces as they deliberated over the future. But this day was far different from the last. A crazy glint of determination was in everyone's eyes. Deliberation reached its finest this day. Many fine speeches were had; this paired with some fine wine, whine, and cheese made for a remarkable day.
Analysis of the situation pointed directly at the Miller Takhisis, who looked quite shaken at the accusations.
"There's no way you can lynch me! I'm one of the few that actually does an honest day's work around here!"
This was true. The Hawker had taken to only yelling out goods for sale once every few hours, where "yelling" is taken to mean "weakly moaning, going through the motions", and "goods for sale" meaning "random things he picked off the ground," which granted was true even when business was booming.
Still, it was decided democratically, which was still quite the novel idea.
The Miller stepped up to meet his fate. He looked upwards and stayed silent while waiting for his sentence. It came quickly.
The news came as quite a shock. Everybody was so sure that it was him that they hadn't even bothered electing a mayor or passed around the ornamental sword. A grand commotion ensued, but finally it died down and the few remaining citizens returned home.
--
It is now NIGHT.
Night ends October 15th!
The saddest part, it seems, of any town that peters out is how it compares to the grand structures built in the shadows of our minds. Even Traum in its heyday, which was every day by the king's decree, probably didn't live up to the memories constructed in the midst of despair. These images and feelings had somehow turned during the past week. It had gone from a sense of hope, a beacon of purpose that would drive the town to eliminate the evil devouring it from the inside, to a lofty mockery of their current situation. In short, Traum was discovering how serious, how precarious their lives hung in the balance between life and death. It was a far cry from the innocence of just a week earlier.
Say the carnage ended now. What was Traum left with? A Hawker, a Novelist, a Bartender, a Miller, and a Blacksmith. Almost half the town would be fairly useless in restarting the town, and more than half if we included the Hawker, who would be a useless middleman in a town that produced approximately nothing.
It was true that nary a smile was to be had in the town. Hard lines slashed across the men's faces as they deliberated over the future. But this day was far different from the last. A crazy glint of determination was in everyone's eyes. Deliberation reached its finest this day. Many fine speeches were had; this paired with some fine wine, whine, and cheese made for a remarkable day.
Analysis of the situation pointed directly at the Miller Takhisis, who looked quite shaken at the accusations.
"There's no way you can lynch me! I'm one of the few that actually does an honest day's work around here!"
This was true. The Hawker had taken to only yelling out goods for sale once every few hours, where "yelling" is taken to mean "weakly moaning, going through the motions", and "goods for sale" meaning "random things he picked off the ground," which granted was true even when business was booming.
Still, it was decided democratically, which was still quite the novel idea.
The Miller stepped up to meet his fate. He looked upwards and stayed silent while waiting for his sentence. It came quickly.
Spoiler :
The news came as quite a shock. Everybody was so sure that it was him that they hadn't even bothered electing a mayor or passed around the ornamental sword. A grand commotion ensued, but finally it died down and the few remaining citizens returned home.
--
It is now NIGHT.
Night ends October 15th!
Update Fifteen
Why would you stay here? The voices of the dead and the past whispered through the trees that lined the streets of Traum. They freely mocked the living, for even with the lack of corporeality the dead still had their insouciant attitude (in fact some only achieved this again after death, their last portions of their lives being filled with either being lynched, being murdered, worrying about being lynched and/or murdered, and general worry about the toll that their worrying was taking on their lives.)
And so there were four.
Four souls lost consciousness that night, to flit to the land of the supernatural. Their heads hit their pillows with a vengeance. Sleep was something they all desired. To end their worrying about the direction that the town was headed in. For a chance at peace, because right now their lives were shattered to pieces. For a time when everybody was joyously irreverent, instead of of the mean-spirited irreverence and malaise that was now besotting this town. For a good pint of ale.
The Novelist link16, however, had figured everything out. In his dreams, the pieces were all clear. It was as clear as a Bannor's devotion. The nodes of his graph irreducibly pointed to one suspect.
A door opened. Someone was using an outhouse.
Another door opened, this one in closer proximity to link16. A silhouette could be seen.
"It's you," said link16, judiciously avoiding referencing the would-be assailant by name to increase dramatic tension.
"It's me," said the man whose outline was the aforementioned silhouette. A quick scuffle later, the Novelist's eyes had been jammed with his own quills. He was written out of history right then and there.
And then there were three.
As if on cue, the three congregated at the town square. The graves of the dead lined the sides. The statue that would have been constructed for the king loomed down imaginarily on the survivors.
The Hawker Zack arrived first. He simply sat down on the scaffold and waited. He knew something was going to happen. He had a feeling. He wasn't wrong, either, as he saw Bartender classical hero shuffling up the road, polishing a glass, which glared like his eyes. Oh, and what was there on the other side but the Blacksmith Seon.
The two stragglers placed themselves equidistant from Zack, who had the courtesy to get off the scaffold and stand on equal ground with the other men. It was a Balseraph standoff. None could trust another. Tensions ran high like the Retired Soldier before his timely death (he had been due any day, probably.).
"It was you, Blacksmith!" yelled the Bartender, who had forgotten Seon's name in the heat of passion. Spit flew out of his mouth like maggots erupting out of a barely-alive insect.
"Are you sure?" said Zack uncertainly. "Might have been you for all we know."
The Blacksmith couldn't take the perceived (and real) insult, though. He leapt at the Bartender, who swung around and brought up his glass, which connected with a satisfying-for-classical-hero-and-yet-not-satisfying-to-Seon smack. Blades of glass embedded itself in the Blacksmith's cheek where the blow had struck, yet the man was built like oxen (he was that powerful) and he plowed through to give the Bartender a nice punch.
"Wait! Stop!" yelled Zack, running over to the commotion. No one heard him, which was just as well, because he was going to be as effective at breaking the fight up as a puppy is to draw everyone's affections.
Which is to say, very effective.
It bears mentioning that by this time in the dialogue Seon had leapt on top of the Bartender and started mercilessly inflicting collateral damage on the Bartender's internal organs. With a smooth flick, the Hawker grabbed Seon by his collar and threw him off. Seon was so shocked that he couldn't react in time for Zack's blisteringly fast follow-up stomp to the face, which dazed the Blacksmith so much that he couldn't help but succumb to the flurry of blows that ensued.
classical_hero had somehow witnessed this in his catatonic state of being. Something was not right here. Where had--
"Exactly," said Zack. He squatted down on his knees and cocked his head at the Bartender. He was grinning maniacally. It was the least he could do for a fellow Balseraph.
Thump.
And so there was one.
Zack stood up, nay, hopped up with a spring. His feeling had been totally justified.
--
The game is over! The Grigori Assassins win!
--
Well, that's that. I will post up PMs sometime, if you're all interested in that. Please do tell me about the game. AARs are always welcome. I want to know your thoughts on game balance, any issues that you may have had, etc.
And thanks for playing!
Why would you stay here? The voices of the dead and the past whispered through the trees that lined the streets of Traum. They freely mocked the living, for even with the lack of corporeality the dead still had their insouciant attitude (in fact some only achieved this again after death, their last portions of their lives being filled with either being lynched, being murdered, worrying about being lynched and/or murdered, and general worry about the toll that their worrying was taking on their lives.)
And so there were four.
Four souls lost consciousness that night, to flit to the land of the supernatural. Their heads hit their pillows with a vengeance. Sleep was something they all desired. To end their worrying about the direction that the town was headed in. For a chance at peace, because right now their lives were shattered to pieces. For a time when everybody was joyously irreverent, instead of of the mean-spirited irreverence and malaise that was now besotting this town. For a good pint of ale.
The Novelist link16, however, had figured everything out. In his dreams, the pieces were all clear. It was as clear as a Bannor's devotion. The nodes of his graph irreducibly pointed to one suspect.
A door opened. Someone was using an outhouse.
Another door opened, this one in closer proximity to link16. A silhouette could be seen.
"It's you," said link16, judiciously avoiding referencing the would-be assailant by name to increase dramatic tension.
"It's me," said the man whose outline was the aforementioned silhouette. A quick scuffle later, the Novelist's eyes had been jammed with his own quills. He was written out of history right then and there.
Spoiler :
And then there were three.
As if on cue, the three congregated at the town square. The graves of the dead lined the sides. The statue that would have been constructed for the king loomed down imaginarily on the survivors.
The Hawker Zack arrived first. He simply sat down on the scaffold and waited. He knew something was going to happen. He had a feeling. He wasn't wrong, either, as he saw Bartender classical hero shuffling up the road, polishing a glass, which glared like his eyes. Oh, and what was there on the other side but the Blacksmith Seon.
The two stragglers placed themselves equidistant from Zack, who had the courtesy to get off the scaffold and stand on equal ground with the other men. It was a Balseraph standoff. None could trust another. Tensions ran high like the Retired Soldier before his timely death (he had been due any day, probably.).
"It was you, Blacksmith!" yelled the Bartender, who had forgotten Seon's name in the heat of passion. Spit flew out of his mouth like maggots erupting out of a barely-alive insect.
"Are you sure?" said Zack uncertainly. "Might have been you for all we know."
The Blacksmith couldn't take the perceived (and real) insult, though. He leapt at the Bartender, who swung around and brought up his glass, which connected with a satisfying-for-classical-hero-and-yet-not-satisfying-to-Seon smack. Blades of glass embedded itself in the Blacksmith's cheek where the blow had struck, yet the man was built like oxen (he was that powerful) and he plowed through to give the Bartender a nice punch.
"Wait! Stop!" yelled Zack, running over to the commotion. No one heard him, which was just as well, because he was going to be as effective at breaking the fight up as a puppy is to draw everyone's affections.
Which is to say, very effective.
It bears mentioning that by this time in the dialogue Seon had leapt on top of the Bartender and started mercilessly inflicting collateral damage on the Bartender's internal organs. With a smooth flick, the Hawker grabbed Seon by his collar and threw him off. Seon was so shocked that he couldn't react in time for Zack's blisteringly fast follow-up stomp to the face, which dazed the Blacksmith so much that he couldn't help but succumb to the flurry of blows that ensued.
classical_hero had somehow witnessed this in his catatonic state of being. Something was not right here. Where had--
"Exactly," said Zack. He squatted down on his knees and cocked his head at the Bartender. He was grinning maniacally. It was the least he could do for a fellow Balseraph.
Thump.
And so there was one.
Zack stood up, nay, hopped up with a spring. His feeling had been totally justified.
--
The game is over! The Grigori Assassins win!
--
Well, that's that. I will post up PMs sometime, if you're all interested in that. Please do tell me about the game. AARs are always welcome. I want to know your thoughts on game balance, any issues that you may have had, etc.
And thanks for playing!
Well done, Zack. 
And thanks to Lightfang.
And thanks to Lightfang.
Sprig
めんどくさい
Ha, I freaken knew it was zack! two games in a row i have been killed after i accused the villian (werewolf/mafia)
So who had my staff?
Oh no i read and its my cane i am missing lols
So who had my staff?
LightFang said:
Oh no i read and its my cane i am missing lols
Zack
99% hot gas
I have to say, Takhisis set himself up rather nicely! 
I was lynched with only TWO votes. Needless to say I stopped posting in this thread after I was insulted even though three days passed ebfore the enxt update.I have to say, Takhisis set himself up rather nicely!
Tip for town: next time, don't personally insult other players. All you'll do is get them to leave the game.
My Role PM:
Spoiler :
This is the second MNOTW game in a row where that's happened.
