Help
I mean I need to work out who is who. We got one cultist, who is here in spoiler heaven with us, right? As fener... And the original Fener claims to now be serc. Right?
Mafia 89 (Espers) - The Spectre Thread
#123
Kaschan 
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- Joined: 05-October 08
Posted 05 July 2012 - 11:06 PM
Serc, on 05 July 2012 - 11:04 PM, said:
Kaschan, on 05 July 2012 - 11:01 PM, said:
Remove Vote
Wtf? It's too late. That's a lynch. Thought we were voting Thyrllan?
We were... and you just hammered.... which you said you would I guess. I'm just confused right now. I mean you probably are the original Fener from the timing and your posts make sense, I'm just feeling a little discombobulated atm, and need to get my bearings. And I'm worried we fucked things up.
#125
Kaschan
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Posted 05 July 2012 - 11:09 PM
Serc, on 05 July 2012 - 11:08 PM, said:
Dude I went after Thyrllan because originally Kalse, Fener, and Eloth all voted him.
Then you did so I did.
Then you did so I did.
I know, I know. I'm just trying to figure out who you and Fener are. Give me a sec.
#127
Kalse
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- Joined: 14-April 09
Posted 05 July 2012 - 11:12 PM
Kaschan, on 05 July 2012 - 11:09 PM, said:
Serc, on 05 July 2012 - 11:08 PM, said:
Dude I went after Thyrllan because originally Kalse, Fener, and Eloth all voted him.
Then you did so I did.
Then you did so I did.
I know, I know. I'm just trying to figure out who you and Fener are. Give me a sec.
Keep going with this. We need to catch one of them in a lie and find out who is the real cultist based on what mechanics we know. I have to go out for a bit but I'll be back soon.
Yes. Yes, we are...
#132
Kaschan
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- Joined: 05-October 08
Posted 05 July 2012 - 11:15 PM
For me will edit later:
Current Cast of Characters:
- Grizzled Old Treasure Hunter
- Little Boy
- Muscled Treasure Hunters (x2)
- Jheck Warrior
- Adult Fenn
- The Not-So-Master Assassin, Mekin Zikulka aka Fener [DEAD]
- Poor Theftian Girl, Amee Najayin aka Eloth [DEAD]
- Dark Skinned woman in desert robes under assault from ghosts (one of our ESPARs?)
- Old woman
- Man in White Robes (source of orange light? coroner finder since he proclaimed Kalse dead?)
- Scarred man
- Woman with sailor curses and streaky hair, Luvaya Fiodethel aka Kalse [Dead]
- Sandy-haired woman (wrapped around the barbarian)
- Hairy Barbarian
- Lanky, Purple-haired Woman
- Scholar, Iddil Miratus aka Kaschan
Edit: missed the old woman and overly dark woman in desert robes
#134
Kaschan
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- Group: Game alts
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- Joined: 05-October 08
Posted 05 July 2012 - 11:17 PM
Sekarand's Tower was not even two decades old, but it was widely know to be the most haunted structure in all of Theft. The liches howled wildly every night and could be seen wandering in the tower and the grounds. By the time Sergeant Guld retired from the city watch and had the liches cease their howling, every home and store for ten blocks around the Tower had been abandoned. Rumours that the liches had stopped screaming eventually spread, but the citizens of Moll were too interested in their continued survival to move back into the Tower's neighbourhood. The same quality cannot be applied to the many adventurers, treasure hunters, scholars and other riff raff who came from across Theft and beyond to delve what the High Sorceror had left behind...
Having not been a particularly good sorceror, Sekarand's mysteries were largely disappointing to scholars, fortune seekers and practitioners alike. One by one the travellers departed to seek their fame elsewhere. Only about a dozen were left when the secret barrow was found beneath the tower's lowest sub-basement. Oddly, there was no trap door or other entrance into the barrow, just a crack in the floor that gave away its existence. How then did Sekarand get into it? Leaving that question for later, the remaining adventurers dug their way into the barrow, each expecting to find buried beneath the tower the gold, ancient scrolls, magical artefacts or other treasure they sought. Jumping down through the crack brought the adventurers into what seemed to be an empty storage closet. Torches were lit, warrens were probed and the adventurers set off through the open closet doorway. Beyond, a short hallway soon became a labyrinth of rooms, stairs and passageways, all pitch black and deserted.
Onwards and downwards they went, each Adventurer sure that someone else would remember the way out, until the last torch died and still no treasure had been found. Surrounded now in darkness, they could see light streaming around a corner ahead. Running towards the light in a panicked mob, they rushed into a domed chamber, lit with blue and red light, every wall covered in arcane glyphs. In the chamber's center was a raised shallow basin, or perhaps an altar of sorts. Sitting in the basin, its contours matching the bowl's curvature, sat a crystalline sphere made of red and dark blue translucent crystal. A close inspection of the sphere revealed it to be hollow and filled with a pulsing purple mist which floated and flowed randomly. It was this orb which lit the room, casting the walls in slashes of red and blue which deepened and flared randomly.
The adventurers stared transfixed at the sphere for several minutes, until a grizzled old treasure hunter cleared his throat and said "That's a shiny rock, how much ya think we can sell it for?"
The adventurers had been reluctant at first to get too close to the crystalline ball, but it had not reacted when the young boy from the group ran up and placed his bare hand upon it. After that they had all stepped forward to touch it and agreed they would share its sale, but even with a pair of muscled treasure hunters, a Jheck warrior and a fully-grown Fenn they couldn't move the sphere so much as an inch. For half a bell they tried every trick to dislodge it and then another half a bell trying to break the altar under it, but not a scrap of progress was made. Those who had struggled with the orb sat panting in the center of the room while the rest of the crowd mingled around the domed chamber chatting and examining the wall panels.
Among the adventurers was a man of very dark skin, wrapped in a black cloak, who wore black gloves and black boots. His hair was - you guessed it - black. No one had yet spoken more than a few words to him, since he sneered at anyone who approached. Now his eyes fixated on a young Theftian girl in tattered clothes who was chatting away near the orb. He stepped forward, threw back his cloak (revaling a black shirt and black pants) and shouted a short stream of words too fast to understand. The girl understood enough to take it as a flirtation and immediately rejected the man. Confused, the man babbled incoherently for a few moments before pulling out two long knives from his belt sheaths and lunging forward. The girl was surprised and didn't react for several heartbeats. A master assassin would have used those moments to plant the knives, re-sheath them and disappear before any reaction was possible.
This man was not a master assassin.
He awkwardly swung himself forward so slowly that the girl nearly had enough time to throw herself to the side and out of the killer's reach. The assailant pushed himself far enough forward that his leading knife sliced through the girl's's stomach and then lost his balance and stumbled forward while the girl fell to the ground clutching her gaping chest wound. Arms and knives flailing helplessly, legs tangled in his victim's, the killer stumbled forward for a few frantic steps until he crashed into the crystal sphere. As his body was suddenly halted his arms flew forward, one gripped long-knife swinging around to slice a deep gash across the side of his own neck, the other long-knife jamming itself to the hilt in the pulsing ball of rock.
Fener is dead. He was Mekin Zikulka.
Eloth is dead. She was Amee Najayin.
The onlookers had the time between one heartbeat and the next to stare at the scene in complete silence and then the sphere exploded outward. Shrapnel flew, knocking to the ground those too slow to have ducked. Through the flying shrapnel and through closed eyelids, and even through hands covering faces, the adventurers saw three bright flashes of light - one blue, one red and the last a deep, sickly purple. After the final flare of colour faded away, the adventurers lay wounded and moaning in complete and utter darkness...
Everyone lays on the ground, hands covering their faces, as shards of glass and stone ricochet overhead in a deadly hail. Most are silent, but one member of the group shrieks loudly and audibly.
"GHOST! GHOST! THERE'S A SHADE ATTACKING ME!"
Some concerned adventurers peek around between their fingers, but they don't see any ghosts. Well, that shrieking woman seemed pretty weird anyways - darker skinned than seems possible and dressed in desert robes despite the cold winds that come to Moll from the Stormrider straits? Yup, definitely just a crazy, they thought and went back to huddling in the fetal position.
Darkness all around, and the echos of hammering stones slowly fell to silence. Moans of pain, the rustling of crawling bodies, a woman screaming and cursing like a sailor, then falling silent, and then finally an orange globe of light appeared in the center of the room, illuminating the adventurers. "Not anotha' one!" cried the little boy. "Relax," spoke a man in white robes, "this is just a light source. Is everyone okay?"
Near the empty altar, a large man sporting numerous scars climbed to his feet and kicked at the corpse of the dead assassin. "This guy sure ain't okay. And that sliced up teen lass looks pretty dead, too."
"There's a young woman over here who's cut up to shreds," called an old woman.
The white-robed man went over to examine the injured woman, who's streaked hair was now soaked in blood, and soon pronounced her dead.
Kalse is dead. She was Luvaya Fiodethel
"So what now?" asked one man.
"What do you mean 'what now'? By Dryjhna's dead teats, we get out of here!" This from a sandy-haired woman who had wrapped herself around a hairy barbarian in fear, though her eyes did not seem as shocked as her gesture indicated.
"We are all too exhausted to make the journey back," responded the scarred man. "If we try now, we'll get lost and collapse in some random chamber and spend the rest of our lives wandering around here. Let's find a room and get some rest, first."
Wearily, everyone agreed, so they shuffled off to the nearby side chambers and each collapsed into fitful slumber.
After leaving the altar room, they had shuffled off alone or in small groups to nearby small rooms. Exhaustion defeated fright, so one and all they each fell asleep.
No rays of sunlight reached the tunnels, so they did not all awaken together. A lanky, purple-haired woman thought she was the first to awaken as she padded through the halls, but then saw torchlight flickering from the altar room. Within she found the scholar, his face pressed so close to the glyphs on the walls that he was blocking the light of the torch he held. She tapped a hand against the wall to alert him and he glanced over. Ritual morning greetings were exchanged, then he turned back to the wall.
"You can read these?" asked the woman. Without looking back, the scholar replied "Vaguely. These glyphs are vaguely similar to the script used in Jaghut writings. Not enough to decipher their meaning by that alone, but considering the difference between most Jaghut writings and the known excerpts of Gothos' Folly, it looks to me like these glyphs are an even older Jaghut writing system. So, by extending the differences between Jaghut script and its Folly incarnation even further, I can guess at some of the meaning here."
"What does it say?" the woman interjected, cutting to the point lest the scholar continue blabbering all morning.
A flash of irritation on the man's face, then he continued, pointing to various glyphs. "The overlined symbols are phonetics, for proper terms. This recurring group should sound something like 'ba-ha-mud'. Then these proper nouns here would sound like 'se-kel-in', here 'feen-nis' and here 'boll-ad'."
"Yes, yes, but what does it actually say?!"
"It's a warning."
"A what? A warning? About what?"
"About this 'bahamud'. It says 'bahamud' went out of control and destroyed - or maybe corrupted? - the 'se-kel-in' and 'boll-ad' sent to - or maybe sent after? - it. That it couldn't be... held? contained? by a 'feen-nis'. This part here is easily translated: It says, simply, that releasing 'bahamud' will bring a fate worse than death. It says it over and over and over again."
"I didn't think Sekarand was into dire pronouncements..."
"In ancient Jaghut glyphs? No, I don't think Sekarand had anything to do with this. He probably never even knew these halls existed."
Several pairs of footsteps echoed from the hallway, then a few other adventurers stumbled sleepily into the room.
"Good morning everyone. The scholar here sure has some great news for us all..."
After assembling in the altar room, the adventurers set out to find their way back to the surface. They wandered, argued and gossiped all day, with rumours circulating through the group of a terrible creature stalking them amongst the ruins. Each time they reached the altar room, someone new would take charge of navigating, and each leader's fool-proof method lead them right back to the altar room.
The last person to try leading the group had the mages summon a illusory map, suspended at waist level, which would turn to orient itself in the direction they traveled and grow as they traveled. They found their way back to the altar room several times, but each time it was by a new route and soon they had mapped a large portion of the area around the altar chamber.
Spotting a hall branching out of a less familiar area, the adventurers rushed towards it and there finally found the staircase leading up, and eventually out. Everything looked as it had been the day before, except now a seris of amber beams barred the way, from the steps to the ceiling. The bars shone with the glow of magic, illuminating on the walls glyphs that the adventurers had missed the first time through.
The mages warily approached the shining bars while the group's scholar began working out the glyphs. "I do not sense much power coming from these bars," said one of the mages. "If it is Jaghut work, we may be unable to." replied another. "Despite the many artifical glaciers and ice fields across the world, Omtose Phellack can be subtle when the wielder wants it to be."
Some of the other adventurers had gathered around closely and overheard the mages. "So how do we know if they're dangerous or not?" asked the scholar, who had stepped up beside the mages. Behind him, the giant Fenn woman grinned, shouted something incoherently and kicked the man headfirst into the bars. Every piece of the man which touched the magic barriers disintegrated instantly, leaving nothing behind. The Fenn women had begun to laugh, but also had lost balance from her own kick. She tried to reach out to grab the shoulders of someone to steady herself, but reached at her own shoulder height rather than down. She slipped, tripped and fell, her own head tumbling straight into the magic bars and disintegrating, as well.
Kaschan is dead. He was Iddil Miratus.
Serc the Bahamudite is dead. He was Mekin Zikulka, the Eager Ninja.
Having not been a particularly good sorceror, Sekarand's mysteries were largely disappointing to scholars, fortune seekers and practitioners alike. One by one the travellers departed to seek their fame elsewhere. Only about a dozen were left when the secret barrow was found beneath the tower's lowest sub-basement. Oddly, there was no trap door or other entrance into the barrow, just a crack in the floor that gave away its existence. How then did Sekarand get into it? Leaving that question for later, the remaining adventurers dug their way into the barrow, each expecting to find buried beneath the tower the gold, ancient scrolls, magical artefacts or other treasure they sought. Jumping down through the crack brought the adventurers into what seemed to be an empty storage closet. Torches were lit, warrens were probed and the adventurers set off through the open closet doorway. Beyond, a short hallway soon became a labyrinth of rooms, stairs and passageways, all pitch black and deserted.
Onwards and downwards they went, each Adventurer sure that someone else would remember the way out, until the last torch died and still no treasure had been found. Surrounded now in darkness, they could see light streaming around a corner ahead. Running towards the light in a panicked mob, they rushed into a domed chamber, lit with blue and red light, every wall covered in arcane glyphs. In the chamber's center was a raised shallow basin, or perhaps an altar of sorts. Sitting in the basin, its contours matching the bowl's curvature, sat a crystalline sphere made of red and dark blue translucent crystal. A close inspection of the sphere revealed it to be hollow and filled with a pulsing purple mist which floated and flowed randomly. It was this orb which lit the room, casting the walls in slashes of red and blue which deepened and flared randomly.
The adventurers stared transfixed at the sphere for several minutes, until a grizzled old treasure hunter cleared his throat and said "That's a shiny rock, how much ya think we can sell it for?"
The adventurers had been reluctant at first to get too close to the crystalline ball, but it had not reacted when the young boy from the group ran up and placed his bare hand upon it. After that they had all stepped forward to touch it and agreed they would share its sale, but even with a pair of muscled treasure hunters, a Jheck warrior and a fully-grown Fenn they couldn't move the sphere so much as an inch. For half a bell they tried every trick to dislodge it and then another half a bell trying to break the altar under it, but not a scrap of progress was made. Those who had struggled with the orb sat panting in the center of the room while the rest of the crowd mingled around the domed chamber chatting and examining the wall panels.
Among the adventurers was a man of very dark skin, wrapped in a black cloak, who wore black gloves and black boots. His hair was - you guessed it - black. No one had yet spoken more than a few words to him, since he sneered at anyone who approached. Now his eyes fixated on a young Theftian girl in tattered clothes who was chatting away near the orb. He stepped forward, threw back his cloak (revaling a black shirt and black pants) and shouted a short stream of words too fast to understand. The girl understood enough to take it as a flirtation and immediately rejected the man. Confused, the man babbled incoherently for a few moments before pulling out two long knives from his belt sheaths and lunging forward. The girl was surprised and didn't react for several heartbeats. A master assassin would have used those moments to plant the knives, re-sheath them and disappear before any reaction was possible.
This man was not a master assassin.
He awkwardly swung himself forward so slowly that the girl nearly had enough time to throw herself to the side and out of the killer's reach. The assailant pushed himself far enough forward that his leading knife sliced through the girl's's stomach and then lost his balance and stumbled forward while the girl fell to the ground clutching her gaping chest wound. Arms and knives flailing helplessly, legs tangled in his victim's, the killer stumbled forward for a few frantic steps until he crashed into the crystal sphere. As his body was suddenly halted his arms flew forward, one gripped long-knife swinging around to slice a deep gash across the side of his own neck, the other long-knife jamming itself to the hilt in the pulsing ball of rock.
Fener is dead. He was Mekin Zikulka.
Eloth is dead. She was Amee Najayin.
The onlookers had the time between one heartbeat and the next to stare at the scene in complete silence and then the sphere exploded outward. Shrapnel flew, knocking to the ground those too slow to have ducked. Through the flying shrapnel and through closed eyelids, and even through hands covering faces, the adventurers saw three bright flashes of light - one blue, one red and the last a deep, sickly purple. After the final flare of colour faded away, the adventurers lay wounded and moaning in complete and utter darkness...
Everyone lays on the ground, hands covering their faces, as shards of glass and stone ricochet overhead in a deadly hail. Most are silent, but one member of the group shrieks loudly and audibly.
"GHOST! GHOST! THERE'S A SHADE ATTACKING ME!"
Some concerned adventurers peek around between their fingers, but they don't see any ghosts. Well, that shrieking woman seemed pretty weird anyways - darker skinned than seems possible and dressed in desert robes despite the cold winds that come to Moll from the Stormrider straits? Yup, definitely just a crazy, they thought and went back to huddling in the fetal position.
Darkness all around, and the echos of hammering stones slowly fell to silence. Moans of pain, the rustling of crawling bodies, a woman screaming and cursing like a sailor, then falling silent, and then finally an orange globe of light appeared in the center of the room, illuminating the adventurers. "Not anotha' one!" cried the little boy. "Relax," spoke a man in white robes, "this is just a light source. Is everyone okay?"
Near the empty altar, a large man sporting numerous scars climbed to his feet and kicked at the corpse of the dead assassin. "This guy sure ain't okay. And that sliced up teen lass looks pretty dead, too."
"There's a young woman over here who's cut up to shreds," called an old woman.
The white-robed man went over to examine the injured woman, who's streaked hair was now soaked in blood, and soon pronounced her dead.
Kalse is dead. She was Luvaya Fiodethel
"So what now?" asked one man.
"What do you mean 'what now'? By Dryjhna's dead teats, we get out of here!" This from a sandy-haired woman who had wrapped herself around a hairy barbarian in fear, though her eyes did not seem as shocked as her gesture indicated.
"We are all too exhausted to make the journey back," responded the scarred man. "If we try now, we'll get lost and collapse in some random chamber and spend the rest of our lives wandering around here. Let's find a room and get some rest, first."
Wearily, everyone agreed, so they shuffled off to the nearby side chambers and each collapsed into fitful slumber.
After leaving the altar room, they had shuffled off alone or in small groups to nearby small rooms. Exhaustion defeated fright, so one and all they each fell asleep.
No rays of sunlight reached the tunnels, so they did not all awaken together. A lanky, purple-haired woman thought she was the first to awaken as she padded through the halls, but then saw torchlight flickering from the altar room. Within she found the scholar, his face pressed so close to the glyphs on the walls that he was blocking the light of the torch he held. She tapped a hand against the wall to alert him and he glanced over. Ritual morning greetings were exchanged, then he turned back to the wall.
"You can read these?" asked the woman. Without looking back, the scholar replied "Vaguely. These glyphs are vaguely similar to the script used in Jaghut writings. Not enough to decipher their meaning by that alone, but considering the difference between most Jaghut writings and the known excerpts of Gothos' Folly, it looks to me like these glyphs are an even older Jaghut writing system. So, by extending the differences between Jaghut script and its Folly incarnation even further, I can guess at some of the meaning here."
"What does it say?" the woman interjected, cutting to the point lest the scholar continue blabbering all morning.
A flash of irritation on the man's face, then he continued, pointing to various glyphs. "The overlined symbols are phonetics, for proper terms. This recurring group should sound something like 'ba-ha-mud'. Then these proper nouns here would sound like 'se-kel-in', here 'feen-nis' and here 'boll-ad'."
"Yes, yes, but what does it actually say?!"
"It's a warning."
"A what? A warning? About what?"
"About this 'bahamud'. It says 'bahamud' went out of control and destroyed - or maybe corrupted? - the 'se-kel-in' and 'boll-ad' sent to - or maybe sent after? - it. That it couldn't be... held? contained? by a 'feen-nis'. This part here is easily translated: It says, simply, that releasing 'bahamud' will bring a fate worse than death. It says it over and over and over again."
"I didn't think Sekarand was into dire pronouncements..."
"In ancient Jaghut glyphs? No, I don't think Sekarand had anything to do with this. He probably never even knew these halls existed."
Several pairs of footsteps echoed from the hallway, then a few other adventurers stumbled sleepily into the room.
"Good morning everyone. The scholar here sure has some great news for us all..."
After assembling in the altar room, the adventurers set out to find their way back to the surface. They wandered, argued and gossiped all day, with rumours circulating through the group of a terrible creature stalking them amongst the ruins. Each time they reached the altar room, someone new would take charge of navigating, and each leader's fool-proof method lead them right back to the altar room.
The last person to try leading the group had the mages summon a illusory map, suspended at waist level, which would turn to orient itself in the direction they traveled and grow as they traveled. They found their way back to the altar room several times, but each time it was by a new route and soon they had mapped a large portion of the area around the altar chamber.
Spotting a hall branching out of a less familiar area, the adventurers rushed towards it and there finally found the staircase leading up, and eventually out. Everything looked as it had been the day before, except now a seris of amber beams barred the way, from the steps to the ceiling. The bars shone with the glow of magic, illuminating on the walls glyphs that the adventurers had missed the first time through.
The mages warily approached the shining bars while the group's scholar began working out the glyphs. "I do not sense much power coming from these bars," said one of the mages. "If it is Jaghut work, we may be unable to." replied another. "Despite the many artifical glaciers and ice fields across the world, Omtose Phellack can be subtle when the wielder wants it to be."
Some of the other adventurers had gathered around closely and overheard the mages. "So how do we know if they're dangerous or not?" asked the scholar, who had stepped up beside the mages. Behind him, the giant Fenn woman grinned, shouted something incoherently and kicked the man headfirst into the bars. Every piece of the man which touched the magic barriers disintegrated instantly, leaving nothing behind. The Fenn women had begun to laugh, but also had lost balance from her own kick. She tried to reach out to grab the shoulders of someone to steady herself, but reached at her own shoulder height rather than down. She slipped, tripped and fell, her own head tumbling straight into the magic bars and disintegrating, as well.
Kaschan is dead. He was Iddil Miratus.
Serc the Bahamudite is dead. He was Mekin Zikulka, the Eager Ninja.
