Discussion in 'Mafia/NOTW' started by Ekolite, Jun 29, 2010.
Claiming one of the last spots.
In the land of the mad, the lunatic is king.
Right that's 15 players.
The game will start soon. Either tonight, or possibly in a few days time.
Put me up for reserve
I'll be a reserve.
All character PM's are now out. It is now day 1, which will continue for 48 hours. The game will continue in this thread, and will start... now. Good Luck!
If anyone has any questions, feel free to contact me by PM or catch me on msn at firstname.lastname@example.org.
Day 1 in the Carnival House
You open your eyes slowly. Your limbs feel heavy and numb from the strong sedative which still courses through your veins. You blink, groggily, and look around. Bright lights burn your eyes, and you wince, shutting them tightly once more. For a while you sleep as the effects of sedation begin to ebb away. Suddenly, a loud voice booms into your room through a loud-speaker. You try to block it out, but the sharp voice bites into you, and it's impossible to ignore.
''Housemates!'' she says, voice artificially enhanced with powerful magic, ''Each of you are criminals!'' In the distant background, wild cheering can be heard, ''You are vile convicts who each deserve death!'' The cheering grows in volume ''And for many of you, death will come! Fortunately for you, our good Lord Perpentach is merciful and has offered each of you a chance to preserve your miserable lives. A game so to speak. For the next ten days you will live here, in Carnival House. On the tenth day, the Door to Freedom will be opened and those of you who still live will be freed without charge. However! There is a twist! Amongst your ranks are Agents of the good Lord himself who are tasked with Murder. If they are able to overwhelm the remaining Housemates by force of arms before the Door to Freedom is unlocked, they will be victorious and will not be charged, instead they will be free and will receive riches beyond their wildest dreams. Should they fail, and they are unable to overwhelm the other Housemates by this time they will remain in the House forever!''
''The rules of the game are as follows. Every night, you must each nominate one person that you suspect to be an Agent of Perpentach. The housemate with the most votes will become 'the Mark'. If you fail to identify the Agents, they will have gathered sufficient strength to overwhelm and then only they shall go free. The rest of you shall be slain.''
''Know that the good Lord will be watching you at all times. Fail to impress at your peril!''
As suddenly as it first arrived, the voice, and the cheering, was cut off and Carnival House was plunged into silence. You ponder the meaning of her words. A game? What game? Your memory is hazy, thoughts spinning around you head. Convicts, did she say?
Slowly you get out of bed, and make your way out through the door. A strange site lies before your eyes, a high-ceilinged chamber dressed rather unconvincingly to look like a house. Furniture and walls painted brightly with the hallucinogenic colours typical of a Balseraph Carnival. Everywhere you look, strange mechanical eyes peer down at you, unblinking. You feel them boring into your very soul, and you feel naked before their harsh gaze. Towering at the far wall lies a huge wooden doorway, handles far too high to reach. The word ''Freedom'' is painted on in thick white lettering. A far smaller door lies adjacent with a sign reading ''Smithy'', it is locked. On a high podium at the other end of the room is a glass box, and inside, what looks like a carnival ticket decorated with butterflies. The box is sealed, and sports a bold figure, 8.
Gradually, the other housemates begin to emerge, each groggy and showing signs of the same treatment you had suffered. Who knew how long you've all laid in the drugged, undreaming sleep of sedation while the world flew past around you? The others start to explore, trying to make sense of the strange scene before them but each bear a look of confusion that matches your own to perfection.
You are anxious, agitated, as if something was screaming at you from deep within, but you mind is foggy with exhaustion and nothing makes any sense...
Did someone say Murder?
Standing on a small table near the centre of the room is a strange plant, bearing a note that reads ''With Love, Perpentach''. Votes for the Pot Plant are in bold dark green.
To clarify in response to a question, you may talk about your suspicions in the thread, but you may not explicitly tell people in public who you are nominating.
The coinsmith looks depressed. He's quiet, remembering the days when he was held at Perpentach's highest regard. He had no 'vote' right now.
The Toymaker is miserable. Not only had he been dragged to a strange house by a mad king. No - it was worse than that! There were no toys here! No toys, no supplies to make any more. A wretched, wretched existance.
I'll take that Pot Plant. It might.... cheer me up. Y'know?
I swear, you paint one portrait that shows the age spots, and you wind up in here. You're vain and cruel AND wouldn't know fine art if it bit you on the mole on your chin, Perpentach! Yes, the really hairy one! You hear me?
The Painter turns from the eyes all over the walls to find the housemates staring at her as well. She blushes prettily; you'd never guess that such a tirade would have come from her mouth just moments before.
No offense to anyone here, of course, if they actually like the smarmy bastard King. Now what do we have here, a pot plant? With love from Perpentach? How thoughtful. I bet it eats your eyeballs in the middle of the night. Maybe it should go to the Princess. (Catharsis) I'm sure she likes pretty things.
The princess, Princess Chardonnay Shaniqéé Kayleigh Tyler-Dinsdale-da Costa Marquez-Tyler-Courvoisier, flounces into the chamber, contorting her face absurdly at the mechanical eyes all the while. Collapsing into a chair, she snaps her fingers three times and addresses no-one in particular.
oh. mah. numerous GAWDS what is we even doin here. dis is like, tot'lly messed up innit. u is all like, i gonna kill you and dat, but i'm like, bruv u don even no nuffink abaht me so shut it yeh.
Having aired her grievances, Princess proceeds to pop the cork on a bottle of red wine she would appear to have procured from somewhere, and chugs it as if it were her last day on Erebus.
Or maybe not.
dat is well out of ordah. i should slap u yeh but u ent werf it so i isnt gonna.
The sculptor awakens. He rubs his eyes, and screams.
"I don't deserve this! My life's work...destroyed."
He spots the plant.
With Love, Perpentach.
"I gave my devotion...my loyalty... do you know how long it takes to sculpt a larger-than-life portrait...made of marble...what kind of horrible man..." He takes a moment to catch his breath, then spots the name on the note again. Perpentach.
"Oh, if I ever see you again, you will die, die I tell you...!" By this point, he is wheezing. He musters enough strength to yell once again, and then he then collapses on the floor.
IC: The coinsmith gets up, eyes the plant sadly, and finally says, "I think the potted plant should either go to the farmer, remake20, or the healer, hell_hound, for it might be medicinal. But for now I'm not going to vote it to either, for I haven't heard from either."
It's not as easy as you think. I should know, thought the cultist. He kicked the dirt on the ground irritably. If only that mimic hadn't spotted him. He's been so close to a worthy sacrifice Agares, just to have it snatched away. Damn that accursed mimic. Damn him.
He felt it was best that he alligned himself with those from his own land. "Perhaps," he said slowly. "The princess (Catharsis) should get this weed."
The Falconer stares at nothing.
"Uh... does the princess even want the potted plant of doom?"
The Falconer resumes staring at nothing.
The Merchant sits calmly. "I'd rather spend my time making some money," he grumbles. Still, the farmer, Remake20, has never let him down, and so Remake 20 should get the Pol Pot.
Is it currently time to vote for nominations? Also, the nominated person dies correct?
well yeh ill take it if u is offrin it but onnissly i ent dat bovverd. plants is like poor people, right? dey needs like, bread or water or summink. i dunno, wat do i care. i got servants what do dis stuff 4 me innit.
Separate names with a comma.