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[Jim Groovester]

Huh, I thought I had voted Solifuge.

Get in here, etc.

[Vector]

The game has soft hammers; if at any point a player has 51% of all available votes, that player will be lynched and the day will end.

Feh.  I'll write up the lynch tomorrow morning.  For now, enjoy the suspense.

[Vector]

VOTE COUNT

Webadict
Leafsnail
Tiruin
Lenglon
Griffinpup
zombieurist
notquitethere
Solifoog - Lenglon, Toaster, NotQuiteThere, Leafsnail, Jim Groovester
Jim Groovestar - Wubadub
Ottofar
Toaster

Not voting: Tiruin, Jim Groovester, zombieurist, Solifuge


Solifuge has been lynched.

Ottofar has been killed by the moderator but pay attention for once you silly people.

TheWetSheep will replace griffinpup.

See next post for flips and writeups.

[Vector]

"One of the girls said that she had followed a woman to my brother's chambers," says the Prince.  "The girls mobilized to search for her.  She was a tall, queer sort.  Quiet.  Easily embarrassed.  I would have never thought her guilty of such a crime--but I would have never thought any of them guilty of such a thing.  I was stunned.  My memories of that day are. . . unclear.  I remember so little.  Bits and pieces, illuminated as though by lightning.

"I remember I hoped that it was a cunning ruse--someone pretending to be my younger brother, pretending to be a prospective bride, a second layer of illusion--but that was absurd.  They would still be dead.  Horatio was still abed, asleep at last (dead to the world), and I did not want to wake him.  He was cross with me later.  But I trudged through the halls, snarling like an animal, blade bare in hand, as though I were dreaming.

"I could not understand.  It all seemed. . . distorted.

"We found the Black Swan first, by accident--we had not even been looking for her.  Her hands were covered in blood and bits of organ.  She was lying face-down over the White Swan's grave, with no marks of injury on her person though her lips were stretched open in a horrifying rictus, eyes dark and wide open.  Her mouth was filled with grave-dirt and on the withering white flesh of her body was written incomprehensible symbols in fresh black ink.  On her forehead the letters 'Q. E. S.' appeared.

"We left her there and surged back to the castle.  We had not thought, you see--that the killer might not have been a fugitive.  No.  We found her in her chamber.  Both door and window were closed.  The room was hazy with sweet woodsmoke.  She sat in the corner opposite the door, dressed in shirt and trousers as always, unmoving.

"'Open the window,' said one of the girls, tugging my sleeve.  'Please.  You must open the window and close the door.  She has lost her way, but open the window and close the door for her, please, before it's too late.'

"I did not heed her.  I was too angry.  The smoke cleared.  Between the woman's outstretched legs was a bronze bowl filled with smoking wood chips and the remnants of some sort of herb--and amidst them, a bloody stiletto.  Her shirt was unlaced and her abdomen slashed open.  Her head lolled back.  Her fingernails had left black bruises on her face, her stomach, her sides.  The pressure had been too much.  I suppose she heard us, the shouts, the screams, the recriminations and threats, and chose her own slow death.

"But she yet breathed.

"She opened her bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes, and pointed at me.  She seemed to have been waiting and saving her strength.

"'I. . . do not worship Death, Friend,' she said slowly.  Blood poured down her chin and spattered the white shirt.  'But you should consider it.  I feel her coming now.'

"'What do you mean by this?' I asked her.  'Did you kill him?  Are you the one responsible?'

"'My death is but the beginning,' she said.

"'What?' said I.

"'We all sacrifice,' she said, and perished."

You are Ottofar, the Black Swan.

Preternaturally strong, intelligent, solemn, delicate, clear-sighted. . . you are a rare beauty.  You came here to offer yourself to the Prince.  It isn't that you're desperate.  It's just that you want to be loved.  Your best qualities aren't easy to see.  That's what you keep telling yourself, anyway--reminding yourself that your good points exist.  Your hope was to woo the Prince with your lively mind and clever conversation.

Unfortunately, one of the girls who showed up was your rival, The White Swan.  Not so long ago you fell in love with the prince of a neighboring kingdom, but she butted in as she always does--well, no, she didn't quite do anything that aggressive, just stood there with a particular suggestion to her posture.  Like she always does.  You fought like cranes and turtles for a good long while, when she finally pretended to commit suicide--just to keep the Prince away from you--and he killed himself.  You were sick for weeks.  Then she returned, in the pink.  You remained in mourning.

You have never forgiven her for that.  Nor will you forgive here for coming here, as well, to simper and steal away what should have been yours.  So you gather some other unhappy girls together and decide that you'll win the Prince with one of your other talents: the blazing intellect of a tactician and spymaster.  You will slowly kill the other girls here to narrow down the odds, thus proving to him that he would do well to choose you.  Very well.

It wouldn't be much of a rivalry, would it, if you just laid down and died?  Or pretended to?  When she is gone, you know you shall mourn her all the same--as is proper when one has lost a sister.

You are a member of The Black Swan's Cohort.  You have a private chat here.  You win when the girls outside the cohort are dead.

Due to your similarity to The White Swan and legitimate love for the Prince (the speciesists apparently can't tell you apart, despite one being black and one being white!), you will appear town upon inspection.

You are Solifuge, AKA Lovelace.

You have followed your Goddess here, she the all-seeing wonder.  You aren't sure what would happen if she were hurt.  Something terrible.  Therefore, for her own good, to protect her in her every sleeping moment, you followed her to this place where the walls are a foot thick and the guards well-armed.

So are you, not only with your Code but also with a stiletto in your boot.  One evening you are practicing with it while the Goddess bestows her smiling countenance upon you.  She has a face like the moon and eyes like the stars.  You think, anyway.  It isn't your job to traffic in beauty and fine words, or judgments; it's your obligation to protect the Goddess with your mortal body, to forget all but her, all the charlatans and all the world's troubles, and all the better if you are fond of her in every way.

You have worked up quite a sweat when the Prince walks in.  The Goddess has fallen asleep, meanwhile, and you run past to protect her--

"I'm... sorry, my liege," you say.  You have realized too late that you cannot fight with the Prince, and if you are not going to fight with him, then you are standing too close.  You also notice, somewhat embarrassed, that you are taller than he is.

"That's all right, Sister," he says.  "I understand that you came here to guard her, even from me.  You cannot be friends with everyone."

"But I should like very much to be friends with you," you say.  The words stumble out of your mouth.  Blasphemy!  You promised yourself to protect one woman, and only one; what if there was a collision of priorities?  How would you adjudicate the conflict?  And what if you decided to protect more people?  You're pretty certain that would be beyond the scope of your Code and you might have to rewrite it, which would be a pain, like that part of baking you always hated, where you have to sift through flour to pick all the bugs out. . .

He has been standing there, looking up at you, smiling a little this whole time.  You are sure you are very red.  You do not have to query him in the least.  It comes from your class, a face that betrays you--

"Let us be friends, then," he says.

You are town.  You win when all threats to the Prince are gone.

You may kill one person every other night.

Night will last until Friday at noon (GMT -8).  Send in your night actions ASAP so I can start writing PMs.

[Vector]

Okay, I'm working on it now.

Thank you for your patience. . . please hold while you are being connected.

[Vector]

"And in the morning," says the Prince, "we found an old man below the castle gates, back broken, with thirty-two punctures on his front.  He seemed to have been, ah, aided in his fall out a window."

Old Vektor is silent.  He does not know what to say.

"I have heard of these things before," he says at last.  "I heard of madness passing through men left in closed conditions, so that they killed each other one at a time--by degrees."

"The Legend of the Bleeding Nine," says the Prince, sounding defeated.

"That's right," says Vektor.

"I have heard that legend myself--it was where my eldest brother passed.  But no one incited these people to fall upon each other like wolves.  No bets were placed.  No supernatural force started it.

"All I did," says the Prince, "was invite them to my castle, and ask them to love me."

You are NotQuiteThere the Gardener-Sage.

The massacre in the cathedral was called "The Legend of the Bleeding Nine."  You survived and traveled on to greener gardens, where the sunlight did your bones well, where the trees did not seem quite so full of bleeding children.  The way took you to a castle which had been home to three princes--one of whom perished in the Legend.  But you are ready to forget.  You are ready to tend a new garden and grow a new crop of good men.  These flowers shall take the places of your children, and you will love them as such.

Unfortunately, you have grown old--so old that no one can tell, anymore, if you are a man or a woman.  So when you spend evenings in the castle, resting before the fire and telling morality tales, the Prince takes an eye to you for "your flourishing goodness" and brings you in as one of his Thirteen.

This is a terrible idea, as you keep trying to tell them, but you lost your wooden teeth a while ago and you don't think they'd listen to you anyway.

You are a Survivor.  You win by being alive when the game ends.

At the moment you can either

ROSES: Protect another party
or
LILIES: Redirect another party

every night.

Day will end on Tuesday at 12:00 Noon (-8GMT).  Three votes required to extend to Thursday at 12:00 Noon (-8 GMT).

[notquitethere]

The NQT Curse continues: 13th consecutive mafia loss (not including Revolution games).

[webadict]

I'm assuming that you had something to do with that, Jim?

[Jim Groovester]

Yes.

[webadict]

I hate you.

[TheWetSheep]

I love this game already, and I haven't really done anything. Thanks, Vector.


OK, first off, everyone:

"It was interesting," said the Prince.  "Seven of them refused, in whole or in part.  Oh, what was it they were picky about... uncovering their hair, or taking off their favorite shoes, or wearing women's garb, or showing a little decolletage--"

I asked Vector if I was one of the seven. I suggest everyone else does the same. I feel like we need more information about this game.

Also, this "Bleeding Nine" legend is showing up everywhere. Might it have some importance? Does anybody have important references to it in their flavour?

Jim, Webadict: Please restate your cases on each other from D1, clearly and concisely.

Jim: How old is your character? Did you know you were hammering?

Lenglon:

"Lady Solifuge, your behavior yesterday was rather suspicious, so I decided to keep watch over what you did last night. Why did you visit GriffonDay the night she, i mean, he, died?"
Solifuge: Why did you visit GriffonDay last night?

Solifuge was very suspicious of Griffionday at D1 end. It made a lot of sense for him to be a vig. Do you think that merited hammering him without him getting a chance to defend himself?

Webadict: I assume you still suspect Jim. Why don't you try to convince people? Why aren't you voting him?

PPE:

I'm assuming that you had something to do with that, Jim?

Yes.

I hate you.

?

[webadict]

Webadict: I assume you still suspect Jim. Why don't you try to convince people? Why aren't you voting him?

Because he isn't scum.

[zombie urist]

Wait NQT's thing was the only "bleeding nine" reference I've seen.

Funny only NK's have been third party.

[webadict]

Wait NQT's thing was the only "bleeding nine" reference I've seen.

Funny only NK's have been third party.

Legend of the Bleeding Nine.

[TheWetSheep]

Webadict: I assume you still suspect Jim. Why don't you try to convince people? Why aren't you voting him?

Because he isn't scum.

OK, you got it too?

Wait NQT's thing was the only "bleeding nine" reference I've seen.

Funny only NK's have been third party.

Legend of the Bleeding Nine.

Oh, I see.