I've tallied your votes. 16 votes were cast in total. The results below are anonymous. Anyone who wishes to indicate who they voted for Regent is welcome to do so.
aza - 4
athene - 2
divagreen - 2
zigmen - 1
ksen - 1
linus - 1
ut - 2
mantis - 1
bolero - 1
feck - 1
Aza is your Regent. May his rule be as illustrious as that of Lorril Hastur.
I'll leave this thread open for a little while. The Day 1 thread will go up shortly.
Darkover Mafia Game Thread
Moderator: Mafia Mods
Darkover Mafia Game Thread
You ride with head down, braced against the wind that rips through your riding cloak. And it feels like flight, as if you flee before a gathering storm. You try to tell yourself “The weather’s getting into my bones, maybe I’m just not as young as I was." but you know it is more than that. It is an unease, something stirring, nagging a your mind, something wrong. Something rotten.
The darkened lands.
“Rubbish”, you say to yourself angrily. There was war there, last year, with the cat-people. Some of your folk were killed and others were driven away, forced to resettle in the Alton country, around the lakes. The cat-people were fierce and cruel, yes, they slaughtered and burned and tormented and left for dead what they could not kill outright. Maybe what you feel is simply the memory of all the suffering there during the war. Your mind is open to the minds of those who suffered...
No, it’s worse than that...the things you have heard about what the cat-people did.
You glance behind you. Your escort -- swordsmen of the guard -- are beginning to draw together and murmur, and you know you should call a halt to breathe the horses. One of them spurs and comes to your side, and reins his mount to look back at the other swordsmen.
“Lord”, the Guardsman says with proper deference -- but he looks angry. “Why do we ride as if foemen ride hard at our heels? I have heard no word of war or ambush.
You force yourself to slacken the pace slightly, but it is an effort. You want to spur your mount hard, to race away for the safety of Armida.
“I think we are pursued.”
The Guardsman warily sweeps his eyes from horizon to horizon -- it is his trained duty to be wary -- but with open skepticism. "Which bush, think you, hides ambush, Lord?”
“That you know no more than I.”
The Guardsman looks stubborn. He says “Well, you are a Comyn Lord and it is your business, and mine to carry out your orders. But there is a limit to what man and horseflesh can do, Lord, and if we are attacked, with wearied horses and saddle sores, then we will fight the less.”
“I suppose you are right”, you sigh. "Call halt if you will then. Here at least there is little danger of attack in open country."
“You are unused to so much riding, Lord, and in such haste. Was there so much need for it, so swiftly?”
“I do not know”, you say. “But, my kinswoman at Armida sent me a message -- a guarded one -- begging me to come with all speed, and she is not of that fearful kind who start at shadows and lie awake night fearing bandits in the courtyard.
The Guardsman nods slowly. “I have heard the lady is brave and resourceful. But none of us have heard rumors and this is not a country any man cares to ride in without need.”
“Not a country to ride in without need -- what do you mean?”
The Guardsman fidgets, “Unchancy, and bad luck. It lies under a shadow. They call it, now, the darkening lands, and no man will ride there or travel there unless he must, and even then unless he carries mighty protections.”
“Nonsense.”
“You may laugh, Lord, you Comyn are protected by the Great Gods.”
You sigh. “I had not thought to find you so superstitious. You have been a Guardsman for a score of years, you were paxman to my father. Do you still think we Comyn are otherwise than other men?”
“You are luckier,” the Guardsman says, his teeth clenched, “but now, when men ride into the darkening lands, they return no more, or return with their wits astray. No, Lord, do not laugh at me. It befell my mother’s brother two moons ago. He rode into the darkening lands to visit a maid. He came not when expected. Then one night, Lord, after overstaying his leave a full ten days, he rode into the Guardroom at Serre’ late on night. His face -- his face-- He looked as if he’d been looking straight down into Zandru’s seventh hell. He raved of great fires and death in the winds, and withered gardens, and witch-food that took a man’s wits, and of girls who clawed at his soul like cat-hags. And he sank and died raving before me.”
You top the summit of the hill, and look down into the valley, alert for any sign of ambush. Your sense of being watched, pursued, has grown into an obsession. But, the road and the valley lie bare before you, and you frown, trying to loosen your tense muscles by an act of will. Your gloved hand goes to the chain about your neck; there, wrapped in silk inside a small pouch of leather, you can feel the hard shape, the curious warmth of the matrix you carry. Given to you when you had mastered its use, the starstone is keyed into your mind in a way that no one but a Darkovan -- and a Comyn-telepath could ever understand. Long training has taught you to amplify the magnetic forces of your brain with the curious crystalline structure of the stone: and now the very touch of it quiets your mind to calm; the long discipline of the highly trained telepath.
A wild shout rips into your mind, crashing your artificial calm like a stone flung through a glass window. You cry aloud with the impact of fear and agony on your mind, half a moment before you hear a hoarse male scream, a fearful scream, a scream which comes only from dying lips. Your horse plunges and rears beneath you. You haul desperately at the reins, trying to get control of your pitching mount. The animal stops short under you, standing stiff-legged and trembling as you stare in amazement, watching the Guardsman slide slowly to the ground, limp and unmistakeably dead, his throat a single long gash, from which blood still spouts in a crimson fountain.
And no one was near him! A sword from nowhere, an invisible claw of steel to rip out the throat of a living, breathing man.
“Aldones! Lord of Light deliver us!” you whisper, clutching the hilt of your knife, struggling for self-control. The other Guardsmen are fighting, and falling, their swords sweeping in great gleaming arcs around them.
You clutch the crystal in your fingers, fighting a silent battle for mastery of this illusion -- for illusion it must be. Slowly, as through a thick veil in your mind, you see shadowy forms, strange and hardly human. The light seems to shine through them, and your eyes go in and out of focus, trying hard to keep the figures visible before you.
And you are alone with the figures. The Guardsmen are flung across the snowy ground, their crimson blood staining it and pooling in frosted hollows.
You spur your horse desperately and make for the gates of Armida. You started this journey a rescuer.
Now you are a refugee.
Somehow, the cat-people of the high hills have taken Comyn matrix technology and made it their own. They come at you with your own telepathic and telekinetic weapons, but the minds behind them are unfathomably alien.
Find them and destroy their matrix weapons before they destroy you.
Among the living:
1. Ani
2. Feck
3. divagreen
4. Mantisdreamz
5. Adenosine
6. Azathoth
7. Zigmen
8. Athene
9. ksen
10. UselessTwit
11. Bolero
12. CookieJon
13 Charlou
14. DennyB
15. Linus
16. def
17. praying
Dearly Departed:
None, except for those loyal guardsmen who gave their lives to get you here.
The darkened lands.
“Rubbish”, you say to yourself angrily. There was war there, last year, with the cat-people. Some of your folk were killed and others were driven away, forced to resettle in the Alton country, around the lakes. The cat-people were fierce and cruel, yes, they slaughtered and burned and tormented and left for dead what they could not kill outright. Maybe what you feel is simply the memory of all the suffering there during the war. Your mind is open to the minds of those who suffered...
No, it’s worse than that...the things you have heard about what the cat-people did.
You glance behind you. Your escort -- swordsmen of the guard -- are beginning to draw together and murmur, and you know you should call a halt to breathe the horses. One of them spurs and comes to your side, and reins his mount to look back at the other swordsmen.
“Lord”, the Guardsman says with proper deference -- but he looks angry. “Why do we ride as if foemen ride hard at our heels? I have heard no word of war or ambush.
You force yourself to slacken the pace slightly, but it is an effort. You want to spur your mount hard, to race away for the safety of Armida.
“I think we are pursued.”
The Guardsman warily sweeps his eyes from horizon to horizon -- it is his trained duty to be wary -- but with open skepticism. "Which bush, think you, hides ambush, Lord?”
“That you know no more than I.”
The Guardsman looks stubborn. He says “Well, you are a Comyn Lord and it is your business, and mine to carry out your orders. But there is a limit to what man and horseflesh can do, Lord, and if we are attacked, with wearied horses and saddle sores, then we will fight the less.”
“I suppose you are right”, you sigh. "Call halt if you will then. Here at least there is little danger of attack in open country."
“You are unused to so much riding, Lord, and in such haste. Was there so much need for it, so swiftly?”
“I do not know”, you say. “But, my kinswoman at Armida sent me a message -- a guarded one -- begging me to come with all speed, and she is not of that fearful kind who start at shadows and lie awake night fearing bandits in the courtyard.
The Guardsman nods slowly. “I have heard the lady is brave and resourceful. But none of us have heard rumors and this is not a country any man cares to ride in without need.”
“Not a country to ride in without need -- what do you mean?”
The Guardsman fidgets, “Unchancy, and bad luck. It lies under a shadow. They call it, now, the darkening lands, and no man will ride there or travel there unless he must, and even then unless he carries mighty protections.”
“Nonsense.”
“You may laugh, Lord, you Comyn are protected by the Great Gods.”
You sigh. “I had not thought to find you so superstitious. You have been a Guardsman for a score of years, you were paxman to my father. Do you still think we Comyn are otherwise than other men?”
“You are luckier,” the Guardsman says, his teeth clenched, “but now, when men ride into the darkening lands, they return no more, or return with their wits astray. No, Lord, do not laugh at me. It befell my mother’s brother two moons ago. He rode into the darkening lands to visit a maid. He came not when expected. Then one night, Lord, after overstaying his leave a full ten days, he rode into the Guardroom at Serre’ late on night. His face -- his face-- He looked as if he’d been looking straight down into Zandru’s seventh hell. He raved of great fires and death in the winds, and withered gardens, and witch-food that took a man’s wits, and of girls who clawed at his soul like cat-hags. And he sank and died raving before me.”
You top the summit of the hill, and look down into the valley, alert for any sign of ambush. Your sense of being watched, pursued, has grown into an obsession. But, the road and the valley lie bare before you, and you frown, trying to loosen your tense muscles by an act of will. Your gloved hand goes to the chain about your neck; there, wrapped in silk inside a small pouch of leather, you can feel the hard shape, the curious warmth of the matrix you carry. Given to you when you had mastered its use, the starstone is keyed into your mind in a way that no one but a Darkovan -- and a Comyn-telepath could ever understand. Long training has taught you to amplify the magnetic forces of your brain with the curious crystalline structure of the stone: and now the very touch of it quiets your mind to calm; the long discipline of the highly trained telepath.
A wild shout rips into your mind, crashing your artificial calm like a stone flung through a glass window. You cry aloud with the impact of fear and agony on your mind, half a moment before you hear a hoarse male scream, a fearful scream, a scream which comes only from dying lips. Your horse plunges and rears beneath you. You haul desperately at the reins, trying to get control of your pitching mount. The animal stops short under you, standing stiff-legged and trembling as you stare in amazement, watching the Guardsman slide slowly to the ground, limp and unmistakeably dead, his throat a single long gash, from which blood still spouts in a crimson fountain.
And no one was near him! A sword from nowhere, an invisible claw of steel to rip out the throat of a living, breathing man.
“Aldones! Lord of Light deliver us!” you whisper, clutching the hilt of your knife, struggling for self-control. The other Guardsmen are fighting, and falling, their swords sweeping in great gleaming arcs around them.
You clutch the crystal in your fingers, fighting a silent battle for mastery of this illusion -- for illusion it must be. Slowly, as through a thick veil in your mind, you see shadowy forms, strange and hardly human. The light seems to shine through them, and your eyes go in and out of focus, trying hard to keep the figures visible before you.
And you are alone with the figures. The Guardsmen are flung across the snowy ground, their crimson blood staining it and pooling in frosted hollows.
You spur your horse desperately and make for the gates of Armida. You started this journey a rescuer.
Now you are a refugee.
Somehow, the cat-people of the high hills have taken Comyn matrix technology and made it their own. They come at you with your own telepathic and telekinetic weapons, but the minds behind them are unfathomably alien.
Find them and destroy their matrix weapons before they destroy you.
Among the living:
1. Ani
2. Feck
3. divagreen
4. Mantisdreamz
5. Adenosine
6. Azathoth
7. Zigmen
8. Athene
9. ksen
10. UselessTwit
11. Bolero
12. CookieJon
13 Charlou
14. DennyB
15. Linus
16. def
17. praying
Dearly Departed:
None, except for those loyal guardsmen who gave their lives to get you here.
Re: Darkover Mafia - Day 1
Nightfall will be at Midnight GMT/8 PM US ET. Daybreak will be 5 hours later.
Re: Darkover Mafia - Day Zero Results
If your role PM indicates that you can communicate privately, you are now able to do so.
Re: Darkover Mafia - Day 1
Holy crap, what an opening scene!
Kudos Ob, that was awesome.
Congrats Governor Aza.
Kudos Ob, that was awesome.
Congrats Governor Aza.
Ignore me, I'm just here for the Mafia.
Re: Darkover Mafia - Day 1
Aza got lots of votes , is this because people trust him or because scum voted one of their own ?
Give me the wine , I don't need the bread
Re: Darkover Mafia - Day 1
We should out our votes. It may be of interest later. I voted for athene
Outside the ordered universe is that amorphous blight of nethermost confusion which blasphemes and bubbles at the center of all infinity—the boundless daemon sultan Azathoth, whose name no lips dare speak aloud, and who gnaws hungrily in inconceivable, unlighted chambers beyond time and space amidst the muffled, maddening beating of vile drums and the thin monotonous whine of accursed flutes.
Code: Select all
// Replaces with spaces the braces in cases where braces in places cause stasis
$str = str_replace(array("\{","\}")," ",$str);
Re: Darkover Mafia - Day 1
Nicely done, Ob!
I voted for UselessTwit.
I voted for UselessTwit.
Currently suffers from Cassandra's curse.
-
Uselesstwit
- Posts: 2290
- Joined: Sat Feb 27, 2010 1:32 am
- Contact:
Re: Darkover Mafia - Day 1
I considered this before the game startedm but dismissed it because Scum was not able to chat before D1, and there's nothing to stop Scum from outright lying about their vote.Azathoth wrote:We should out our votes. It may be of interest later. I voted for athene
Am I missing something?
But, since you asked, I voted Aza.
~Three of a Perfect Pair~
Re: Darkover Mafia - Day 1
At the end we tally the votes and if there's a discrepancy we grill those involved.Zigmen wrote:I considered this before the game startedm but dismissed it because Scum was not able to chat before D1, and there's nothing to stop Scum from outright lying about their vote.Azathoth wrote:We should out our votes. It may be of interest later. I voted for athene
Am I missing something?
But, since you asked, I voted Aza.
Ignore me, I'm just here for the Mafia.
Re: Darkover Mafia - Day Zero Results
Hmmm...interesting...
"I wanna exit how I entered: Between two legs."
The Hilltop Hoods.
The Hilltop Hoods.
Who is online
Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 5 guests