D&D Mafia Mini-Game #3!
- Thread starter traius
- Start date
I can sign up twice. 
The sun rose over the city of iron. The great smithies that fueled an imperial war-machine lay in disrepair, after several months of neglect. The city of iron had ground to a stop, like most of the cites and towns of Ivalice. Crime ran rampant, and legitimate business no longer exists. Streets have walled themselves off, paranoia making every intersection its own little town, or as is more often the case, gang. Ferrica was in anarchy.
You all reside in one of the more calm neighbourhoods, but it has recently been divulged that your neighbourhood is only so calm because a great crime-lord keeps the petty criminals away. It is up to the true citizens of the intersection of Hanover and 4th to find this criminal organization and be rid of them forever!
Day 1 has begun. It will last until 11:59 PM EST Dec 14th, 2012.
[TIMER=12/14/2012 11:59 PM EST; Day Phase Over][/TIMER]
On day 1, at least 4/10 votes will be required to send someone to the gallows. A JESTER IS IN PLAY. So be careful if someone is seeming just a little TOO scummy. Or not.
You all reside in one of the more calm neighbourhoods, but it has recently been divulged that your neighbourhood is only so calm because a great crime-lord keeps the petty criminals away. It is up to the true citizens of the intersection of Hanover and 4th to find this criminal organization and be rid of them forever!
Day 1 has begun. It will last until 11:59 PM EST Dec 14th, 2012.
[TIMER=12/14/2012 11:59 PM EST; Day Phase Over][/TIMER]
On day 1, at least 4/10 votes will be required to send someone to the gallows. A JESTER IS IN PLAY. So be careful if someone is seeming just a little TOO scummy. Or not.
vote: No Lynch
I loath jesters. It messes up the lynching procedure.
I loath jesters. It messes up the lynching procedure.
Visorslash
Deity
Vote: Xeno
vote: Camikaze. Welcome back to the fold. 
If a jester succeeds in their Victory Condition, the game is over, just like anyone else.
Gone 3 the Celt
MunchieMobile
vote:mat93
The denizens of the slums of Ferrica could not come to any kind of conclusion. The debate was half-hearted, and several citizens just stood quietly, saying nothing. Day 1 came to a close, with the gallows unfilled.
Night 1 has begun. It will end at 11:59 PM Dec 15th 2012 EST
[/B][TIMER=12/15/2012 11:59 PM EST; Day Phase Over][/TIMER]
Please send in your night orders as soon as possible. On-topic discussion is allowed, but doing so will make you easier to surprise should he be the target of an assassination attempt (you character is spending all/some of the night yelling in the streets, after all).
Night 1 has begun. It will end at 11:59 PM Dec 15th 2012 EST
[/B][TIMER=12/15/2012 11:59 PM EST; Day Phase Over][/TIMER]
Please send in your night orders as soon as possible. On-topic discussion is allowed, but doing so will make you easier to surprise should he be the target of an assassination attempt (you character is spending all/some of the night yelling in the streets, after all).
The people of the slum had returned back to their homes, at least in theory. The truth was that many a citizen actually had spent the night on the streets or in the alleyways. Not many were comfortable to sit, wait, and hope in their shanty-shacks, and they decided to do whatever they could.
The streets would be filled with fresh blood regardless.
The assassin was waiting on a rooftop, which was actually rather difficult. Most of the roofs in the slum could barely support themselves, let alone any extra weight. He had collapsed one on his first attempt, but it turned out the only inhabitants were corpses and rats, so no one would care, or more importantly, make any further noise. He was a tall man, with a broad frame and muscles. Despite this, he was actually not very good-looking. He was ridden with scars, and his face was weathered from years of exposure. His cropped hair exposed a rather misshapen head, a result of both nature and injury.
He had actually chosen his prey before he had arrived. His prey was very unlike himself. He was good-looking, and a fancy-boy. A gentleman, he was sure the prey would call himself. Though the gentleman was tall, and fairly well-built, he would never be able to fight, the killer reasoned. Gentlemen use politics and etiquette because they can't fight. He was certain he had made a good choice; following his instincts as he had so many times before. It was the only way to survive in his chosen profession, or at least that's what he told himself.
He had started as a soldier, so very long ago, and then a mercenary. Fighting for money led him rather naturally to his current profession, and he found that it was actually significantly less risky, and significantly more rewarding, than fighting on a battlefield for the highest bidder. He would probably just stab this poor fool in the back, and leave. Compared to the hell of the battlefield, it would be nothing.
He waited for over an hour. He was certain his prey would simply come to him. Most of the people here were like rats, always scurrying about....
The prey had been intent on determining who the scum truly were. Uniquely armed and capable for the task, he almost relished it. The slums had been so crime ridden for so long, it had seemed that it would be impossible to ever change things here. But knowing within this small group was a mastermind of evil, and said mastermind's death would be a blow to criminals throughout the city, he knew he could not waste his chance. Smiting evil was his in his nature, and if it wasn't considered craven, he would laugh when he sent them to hell. He should just have to investigate each of the citizens one at a time, and keep his guard up.
Despite the killers intentions of being unseen on the rooftop, the truth was he was a six-and-a-half foot tall man standing, in armour, on an eight-foot house. The moon was even working against him, make his armour gleam enough to make him stand out from the background. But somehow, despite all of that and the fact that he kept having to kick away rats with his metal boots on the metal roof, his prey simply did not notice him when he turn the corner of one scummy alley into another.
The killer was taken aback. He had not realized his prey was so close! In his surprise, he almost squandered his opportunity, but when it was almost too late, his sense returned, and he descended for the assault. Jump/falling from the shanty roof, he slashed viciously at his prey, who was significantly better armed then he would have hoped for. The slash was just inches from fatal, but instead it left a ragged wound across the face of his prey. Not so pretty now, eh boy?
To the "Gentleman" prey, the attack seemed to come from nowhere. The truth was, he should have avoided it. On his better days, he would have seen the ambush before he even turned the corner. Would have merely sensed it. But his training didn't completely fail him, for he he didn't even flinch. He stepped back from the attacker, and drew his blade. It shone in the darkness for it was in the presence of evil. It was a smiter of evil, a slayer of demons, a righter of wrongs, and it was as holy as the gentleman himself. And it hated scum. For a moment, it lit up the entire street, blinding the killer, and allowed the prey enough time to remove his shield from his back. Only now, when he was able to breathe, did he realize his face was burning in a way he had never experienced. Though he did not recognize the painful sensation, it was actually a terrible poison, working its way into his system. Most of the posion had been sent flying through the air on the attacker's jumping slice, but enough remained to still do real damage. Lesser men would have succumbed to the poison alone, but he was not a lesser man, for he was a champion of good. He had a god's ever-watchful eye on his every movement, protecting him while he vanquished evil. His god would help guide his blade, and another scum would be removed from this plane.
The two warriors circled one another, half-heartedly attacking and parrying while they judged distances and weaknesses. They fought with opposite hands, meaning sword arm faced sword arm and shield faced shield. The prey launched the first real thrust, which was parried by the assassin, but then the prey swung his hips and attacked with his shield. The assassin defended with his own shield but he wasn't ready for the momentum of the blow. He was knocked back, just a step, but it was enough. The prey re-readied his sword arm and thrust again, striking the killer in the chest. His holy-sword had cut through the armour like it was paper; however, while the sword went in easily, it simply did not find its way back out. Unable to use his sword-arm for a parry, the killer was free to counter. He thrust back, stabbing the gentleman in the torso. Though the prey's armour was magically enchanted, the sheer strength of the killer allowed the blade to strike home anyway.
The prey winced. He had to get his sword free, and his opponent was almost in the same position. He kicked up a leg, and pushed his opponent back, freeing both swords simultaneously. The prey was now seriously injured, but his god gave him power. He focused, just for a second, and a white light began to encircle him. In seconds, the wound on his face began to close, and in only a few seconds more, it was like his pretty face had never been slashed. His chest ws still bleeding though...
The intense light was almost enough to cause the killer to shield his eyes. But there were more important things at hand than his own discomfort. He was certain that he had in fact picked the wrong prey tonight, but there was nothing he could do now but press on. Something about this guy made his skin crawl, even in the heat of battle. It left him off-balance, almost woozy. And he had a feeling the sword had something to do with it. In fact, he had a sinking feeling he knew exactly the type of person he was fighting, and they were famous. Famous for killing bad people. And other goody-two-shoes things. But even if all the legends about them were true, he knew one thing; they still died. Admittedly, usually of old age in the stories, but they still died. While the light of the prey's healing effect began to dim, the killer lunged. The prey dodged back, but was hit on the trailing forearm.His grip remained true, however, which meant the sword was still in between him and his opponent. He quickly stabbed, slicing the side of the killer's neck. The killer's eyes went wide, worrying he had just been slain. He actually had not, but the hesitation left him open for a return slice, and the prey capitalized. His holy sword sliced through his opponents helmet, through one cheek, then the other, and out through the helmet again, giving his opponent a disturbing new smile, as well as dislodging teeth and gum. The killer backed up, putting distance between him and his apparently well-trained opponent. He was worried now, very worried He was losing a lot of blood. The disorientation made it hard to defend himself. The prey lunged, and the killer tried to knock it away with his sword. He succeeded, but the prey pivoted and swung his shield first upwards then downwards straight into he killers head. The killer collapsed, his bell having been thoroughly rung. Despite this, he still swung his sword, madly and wildly defending himself. The prey had alread and moved to deliver a coup-de-grace, and amazingly the the killer wild defense managed to cut through the chain leggings of the prey. The slice wasn't deep, but it went clean through, the gentleman staggered, and his deathblow was diverted to the road. With one last mad-swing the killer struck the exposed neck of the gentleman.
The gentleman was Topsecret!
Topsecret has died!
His role was Paladin
He was Town!
Night 1 has ended. Day 2 has begun. It will end 11:59 PM December 16th 2012.
[/B][TIMER=12/16/2012 11:59 PM EST; Day Phase Over][/TIMER]
Today, whoever has the most votes dies.
1. Visorslash
2. Gone3theCelt
3. Optical
4. Camikaze
5. Mat93
6. BSmith
7. TopSecret
8. Jarrema
9. Xenoneb
10.The Black Knigh
The streets would be filled with fresh blood regardless.
The assassin was waiting on a rooftop, which was actually rather difficult. Most of the roofs in the slum could barely support themselves, let alone any extra weight. He had collapsed one on his first attempt, but it turned out the only inhabitants were corpses and rats, so no one would care, or more importantly, make any further noise. He was a tall man, with a broad frame and muscles. Despite this, he was actually not very good-looking. He was ridden with scars, and his face was weathered from years of exposure. His cropped hair exposed a rather misshapen head, a result of both nature and injury.
He had actually chosen his prey before he had arrived. His prey was very unlike himself. He was good-looking, and a fancy-boy. A gentleman, he was sure the prey would call himself. Though the gentleman was tall, and fairly well-built, he would never be able to fight, the killer reasoned. Gentlemen use politics and etiquette because they can't fight. He was certain he had made a good choice; following his instincts as he had so many times before. It was the only way to survive in his chosen profession, or at least that's what he told himself.
He had started as a soldier, so very long ago, and then a mercenary. Fighting for money led him rather naturally to his current profession, and he found that it was actually significantly less risky, and significantly more rewarding, than fighting on a battlefield for the highest bidder. He would probably just stab this poor fool in the back, and leave. Compared to the hell of the battlefield, it would be nothing.
He waited for over an hour. He was certain his prey would simply come to him. Most of the people here were like rats, always scurrying about....
The prey had been intent on determining who the scum truly were. Uniquely armed and capable for the task, he almost relished it. The slums had been so crime ridden for so long, it had seemed that it would be impossible to ever change things here. But knowing within this small group was a mastermind of evil, and said mastermind's death would be a blow to criminals throughout the city, he knew he could not waste his chance. Smiting evil was his in his nature, and if it wasn't considered craven, he would laugh when he sent them to hell. He should just have to investigate each of the citizens one at a time, and keep his guard up.
Despite the killers intentions of being unseen on the rooftop, the truth was he was a six-and-a-half foot tall man standing, in armour, on an eight-foot house. The moon was even working against him, make his armour gleam enough to make him stand out from the background. But somehow, despite all of that and the fact that he kept having to kick away rats with his metal boots on the metal roof, his prey simply did not notice him when he turn the corner of one scummy alley into another.
The killer was taken aback. He had not realized his prey was so close! In his surprise, he almost squandered his opportunity, but when it was almost too late, his sense returned, and he descended for the assault. Jump/falling from the shanty roof, he slashed viciously at his prey, who was significantly better armed then he would have hoped for. The slash was just inches from fatal, but instead it left a ragged wound across the face of his prey. Not so pretty now, eh boy?
To the "Gentleman" prey, the attack seemed to come from nowhere. The truth was, he should have avoided it. On his better days, he would have seen the ambush before he even turned the corner. Would have merely sensed it. But his training didn't completely fail him, for he he didn't even flinch. He stepped back from the attacker, and drew his blade. It shone in the darkness for it was in the presence of evil. It was a smiter of evil, a slayer of demons, a righter of wrongs, and it was as holy as the gentleman himself. And it hated scum. For a moment, it lit up the entire street, blinding the killer, and allowed the prey enough time to remove his shield from his back. Only now, when he was able to breathe, did he realize his face was burning in a way he had never experienced. Though he did not recognize the painful sensation, it was actually a terrible poison, working its way into his system. Most of the posion had been sent flying through the air on the attacker's jumping slice, but enough remained to still do real damage. Lesser men would have succumbed to the poison alone, but he was not a lesser man, for he was a champion of good. He had a god's ever-watchful eye on his every movement, protecting him while he vanquished evil. His god would help guide his blade, and another scum would be removed from this plane.
The two warriors circled one another, half-heartedly attacking and parrying while they judged distances and weaknesses. They fought with opposite hands, meaning sword arm faced sword arm and shield faced shield. The prey launched the first real thrust, which was parried by the assassin, but then the prey swung his hips and attacked with his shield. The assassin defended with his own shield but he wasn't ready for the momentum of the blow. He was knocked back, just a step, but it was enough. The prey re-readied his sword arm and thrust again, striking the killer in the chest. His holy-sword had cut through the armour like it was paper; however, while the sword went in easily, it simply did not find its way back out. Unable to use his sword-arm for a parry, the killer was free to counter. He thrust back, stabbing the gentleman in the torso. Though the prey's armour was magically enchanted, the sheer strength of the killer allowed the blade to strike home anyway.
The prey winced. He had to get his sword free, and his opponent was almost in the same position. He kicked up a leg, and pushed his opponent back, freeing both swords simultaneously. The prey was now seriously injured, but his god gave him power. He focused, just for a second, and a white light began to encircle him. In seconds, the wound on his face began to close, and in only a few seconds more, it was like his pretty face had never been slashed. His chest ws still bleeding though...
The intense light was almost enough to cause the killer to shield his eyes. But there were more important things at hand than his own discomfort. He was certain that he had in fact picked the wrong prey tonight, but there was nothing he could do now but press on. Something about this guy made his skin crawl, even in the heat of battle. It left him off-balance, almost woozy. And he had a feeling the sword had something to do with it. In fact, he had a sinking feeling he knew exactly the type of person he was fighting, and they were famous. Famous for killing bad people. And other goody-two-shoes things. But even if all the legends about them were true, he knew one thing; they still died. Admittedly, usually of old age in the stories, but they still died. While the light of the prey's healing effect began to dim, the killer lunged. The prey dodged back, but was hit on the trailing forearm.His grip remained true, however, which meant the sword was still in between him and his opponent. He quickly stabbed, slicing the side of the killer's neck. The killer's eyes went wide, worrying he had just been slain. He actually had not, but the hesitation left him open for a return slice, and the prey capitalized. His holy sword sliced through his opponents helmet, through one cheek, then the other, and out through the helmet again, giving his opponent a disturbing new smile, as well as dislodging teeth and gum. The killer backed up, putting distance between him and his apparently well-trained opponent. He was worried now, very worried He was losing a lot of blood. The disorientation made it hard to defend himself. The prey lunged, and the killer tried to knock it away with his sword. He succeeded, but the prey pivoted and swung his shield first upwards then downwards straight into he killers head. The killer collapsed, his bell having been thoroughly rung. Despite this, he still swung his sword, madly and wildly defending himself. The prey had alread and moved to deliver a coup-de-grace, and amazingly the the killer wild defense managed to cut through the chain leggings of the prey. The slice wasn't deep, but it went clean through, the gentleman staggered, and his deathblow was diverted to the road. With one last mad-swing the killer struck the exposed neck of the gentleman.
The gentleman was Topsecret!
Topsecret has died!
His role was Paladin
He was Town!
Night 1 has ended. Day 2 has begun. It will end 11:59 PM December 16th 2012.
[/B][TIMER=12/16/2012 11:59 PM EST; Day Phase Over][/TIMER]
Today, whoever has the most votes dies.
1. Visorslash
2. Gone3theCelt
3. Optical
4. Camikaze
5. Mat93
6. BSmith
7. TopSecret
8. Jarrema
9. Xenoneb
10.The Black Knigh
edse
King
Now, who's ugly? I bet it's Optical vote: Optical
Gone 3 the Celt
MunchieMobile
vote:jarrema
