1.1 Days will have a preset deadline. Each day will last X + 7 days, where X is the number of players alive. Once in the game, if multiple people ask for it, I will grant you a three day’s extension. Just once, no more.
1.2 Votes and unvotes must be bolded. If your (un)vote is not bolded, it will not count. An unvote before you vote someone else is appreciated, but not necessary.
1.3 Whenever a majority of the players vote for the same person, that person will be lynched. No amount of unvoting will prevent that player’s lynch. From the moment a majority of votes is reached, the game is considered to be in twilight. Twilight will last until I post the lynch scene, or otherwise end the day.
1.4 Instead of voting for anything else, you are allowed to vote no lynch. If a majority of the players votes no lynch, the day will end without a lynch, and proceed to night. You are not allowed to no lynch two days in a row.
1.5 Day will end after deadline, or when someone is lynched, whichever comes first. If deadline passes, no person will be lynched. This counts as a no lynch.
1.6 Nights, as well as days, will have a preset deadline. If you have a night action, and you don’t submit it in time, you will fail to perform anything that night. If you deliberately choose not to perform an action during the night, a PM to the mod about this is understood and appreciated.
1.7 Any of the technical or gameplay rules are in effect unless a pm from the mod states otherwise.
1.8 The townie pm is as such:
2. Gameplay Rules
2.1 Do not delete or edit any of your posts. If you want to fix something, do so by double-posting. You are not allowed to post url’s to any part of the internet you have control over.
2.2 Do not quote anything that was privately sent to you in the thread. This includes pm, e-mails, aim-conversations or any other form of communication between you and the mod or other people you’re allowed to have off-thread conversation with.
2.3 You are not allowed to talk to anyone except for the mod about this game outside of the thread, unless a pm from the mod explicitly states you are allowed to do so. This rule still applies after death, so no ‘bah’ posts, and no aftermath with anyone other than the mod.
2.4 You are not allowed to give any game-related information in your avatar, custom title, location, signature or any other publicly accessible location. Any such sort of revealing information falls under ‘talking about ongoing games’. That means this rule still applies post-death.
2.5 I expect every player listed in the players’ list to post once every 72 hours. If you’re going to be unable to post for an amount of time longer than that, please inform the mod and/or players beforehand.
2.6 If you think I made a mistake, please inform me. I prefer contacting me over pm if you do so. Any game-related questions you ask in-thread are unlikely to be answered.
2.7 Violation of any of the gameplay rules can be punished by a warning, replacement, modkill or any other punishment I think is appropriate.
2.8 I write flavour scenes solely for the players’ and my own enjoyment. They do not contain any info that could be used to catch scums or clear townies, or be relevant to the game in any other possible way.
2.9 If anything is not covered within these rules, you are allowed to use your common sense, but do so at your own discretion.
Last edited by Cogito Ergo Scum on Wed Apr 16, 2008 5:30 am, edited 1 time in total.
“Have you heard?” the old lady said to her fellow spinner.
“Heard what, lady Shaw?”
“The lord! Our lord is dead!”
“Our lord is dead? I don’t recall him being of that high an age. I even made his baby clothes.
Does that mean the lord’s son will now take his place? What happened to him? From who’ve you heard? Did he die peacefully?”
“Yes, I suppose so.
I got an e-mail from Lady Greene.
What was your third question again?”
“Did he die peacefully?”
“Not in the least, oh lady. The lord was murdered by his very son, the Young lord Gagarine.
“Murdered, you say? By his own son? ”
“Or so I’ve heard. Lady Greene said that …
The spinster ladies were true gossips, but what old lady Shaw said was true. The Young lord Gagarine murdered his father. Not because of power, even though ‘lord of House Gaile’ is quite the title. House Gaile had been the most powerful house of the region, the country even, for ages. The First lord Gaile noone remembered, not even lady Shaw, a woman of respectable age. No, the history of House Gaile went way back, to who knows where and when. Yes, the lord of House Gaile was, and had always been, one of the most powerful persons in the country. The House once was only a castle, but it growed to a community larger than most Houses in the region. Aside from the castle, there were several villages, mansions, and fields of grain as far as the untrained eye could see. But, what I’m trying to say is that Young lord Gagarine didn’t murder the elder lord for power nor might. See, the Young Gagarine fell in love with a beauty, lady Millar, of House Millar. A respectable House. The lady was definitely a right match for the prince, but the elder lord Gagarine refused to wed the two. You see, even though the lords didn’t remember their ancestors, they were convinced that the family was supposed to stay pure-blooded. Most people in the villages, however, weren’t pure-blooded, and they all knew so. The elder lord Gagarine, however, didn’t allow his son to marry anyone but pure-blooded women. Ofcourse, such a way of keeping your bloodline pure comes with many complications, but the elder lord hadn’t forseen this one.
… Indeed, love does strange things to people,” lady Shaw said.
“It’s best to make sure you never fall in love, lady, for it’s the work of the devil.”
“Ah, you must’ve heard about this one before, I suppose.”
The count looked at the elder lord Gagarine.
“Yes, I certainly have,” he mumbled.
The servant continued: “This is a portrait of the elder lord Gagarine, painted by Basil Hallward. The lord died an exact hundred years ago. Murdered, he was, by his own blood, the young lord Gagarine. They had a dispute over lady Christine Millar. The young lord killed his father to be united with his love. Their happiness together didn’t last for long, though. Only a week after their marriage, the lord disappeared, never to be found again. Who knows where he went. The lady later remarried, and her son, lord Calvin, father of our lord Alastair, became the new lord. The remarkable thing is that mister Hallward painted this portrait only after the elder lord’s death. Yet, he looks alive as ever on it. You even get the feeling he’s looking at you, if you know what I mean. Yes, a masterpiece indeed.”
“Now, on to the painting on the opposite side of the room. It’s a portrait by the same artist, a magnificent painter. Depicted here is lady Christine Millar, the lady I just told you about. She has the same eyes as the elder lord’s painting, looking as if she’s always watching you. The elder lord and the lady probably wouldn’t want to have to look at each other day and night, I guess,” the servant smiled, “but as much as I appreciate Basil Hallward as an artist, paintings are merely paintings, aren’t they?”
“Thank you kindly for your guidance, servant,” the count said “I’m really interested in buying this mansion, but I’m afraid I’m tired now. Could you please show me to my rooms? We’ll continue tomorrow.”
“As you wish, count.”
The two passed right through the large, wooden dormitory doors, unaware of the dangerous situation they were in.
… and that night, the moon saw red, as if covered in blood,” her father said, “and all residents of the mansion woke up in horror when they heard an awful scream. A door swung open. It was the count’s room’s door. The count fled out, half-naked, and he had a big scratch over his back. A trail of blood indicated the count’s path. After him, something that could only be identified as a shadow followed him out of the room, chasing the count.”
“And then?” the kids asked.
“Well, then, the count ran to the entrance hall of the mansion, the hall with the two big stairways and the many paintings. As quickly as he could, he closed the massive, wooden doors behind him. He sighed in relief, and stepped away from the door. “Goodnight, count,” he heard. The count looked around, but there was noone to be seen. He walked towards the big windows on the opposite side of the room, then looked at the upper floor. No living person there, either. Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw something move. He quickly looked around, but there still wasn’t anyone beside himself in the room. Then, again, he heard a voice: “It’s me, count. Gagarine.” The count looked up, and saw the painting of the elder lord look at him. “Is this a dream?” the count thought. He looked carefully. The servant said the painting looked as if alive, but this was outright creepy. First, there’s a monster hiding in his bedroom, next there’s a talking portrait? Then the picture moved again. “Do not fear, count, for it’s already too late to change your fate.” The picture started to laugh. No one, and I mean no one, who’s veins aren’t filled with lord Gaile’s blood, may enter this house. The long, velvet curtains of the hall swung open. Out in the night sky, a blood red moon shone over the fields, and through the mansion’s windows. Then, the wooden doors slowly opened, squeaking loudly. The shadow stood in the opening.”
“And that’s the last we heard from the count,” father said. “A few minutes later, the servants came rushing into the hall, finding the count’s dead body. And what exactly happened in those few minutes, I don’t know.”
Rumours of lycanthropy had been spread in the villages for ages, but no person ever truly saw a werewolf, even during full moon nights. Then again, nobody left their house to actually get the chance to see someone on those nights. Rumours may be rumours, but, who knows, they may be true. And if they are, you don’t want to risk your life wandering through the streets at full moon’s nights, do you?
“And you know what the moral of the story is, girls?”
“No, father.”
“The lesson is that you should never, ever, leave your house at night. Is that right?”
“Yes, father.”
The girls went to sleep. Or at least, one of them, the younger of the two girls, did. The other one, Mary, couldn’t sleep. She sat on her bed, looking through the window. It was a full moon’s night, just like in father’s story, although he moon wasn’t red tonight. And as you might’ve guessed, a stout idea overtook the girl’s thoughts: Let’s find out if the rumour is true for once and for all.
Mary jumped off of her bed, and put her All Stars and a jacket on. She opened the window. It squeaked. Luckily, her little sister didn’t hear anything, and slept on, mumbling in her sleep. Mary climbed out of the window, and slowly closed it. She crawled through the shadow, and then ran towards the lord’s mansion. The grotesque, oaken doors were locked, of course. She pulled as hard as she could, but they didn’t move even a bit. As she walked to the windows, to see if one was left open, she heard a sound. She walked back to the path, to see that the doors actually opened. “Lucky me,” Mary thought. Silently, she entered the main hall. Most lights were still on, but the curtains were closed, so everyone was definitely asleep. “See,” she thought “there’s nothing creepy at all.” She turned around, and looked at the old Gagarine’s portrait. The man looked terrifying indeed. “What a lousy painter that was,” Mary thought. Then, Mary heard a squeak. She jumped up in fear, and turned around.
In the corner of the hall was a little grey mouse, trying to find a way to its hole. Mary sighed. “It’s just a mouse. Just a mouse.” She never even thought mice were scary animals at all, but given the situation, this little furry animal really gave her the creeps.
She turned back again, planning to walk back to her house. She could see the moon brightly shining through the windows. She looked at the moon. “Just rumours, she thought.” Then, she heard a sound coming from behind her again. She rapidly turned around, and just saw the moon outside turning from pale white to blood, blood red...
The twelve villagers congregated in the main hall of the mansion. All other villagers fled out of town, to a nearby castle. The bravest wanted to fight the werewolves, and end the curse of this House for once and for all. One hundred years ago, and two hundred years ago, someone was murdered by werewolves in this hall. A few minutes left, and it was midnight. The moon was full tonight. Most of the villagers carried pole-axes or knifes. “Okay, as soon as you see someone turn into a wolf, attack!” someone shouted. Then, suddenly, the big portrait on the other side of the hall began to move. “You fools! You think you can stop the mighty wolves. A few minutes, and the moon will be red as blood once again. This time, the pure-blooded children of our ancestors will reign over this house once again.”
“He’s right.”
The voice came from the other side of the room, but no one was there.
“You can’t beat the werewolves at night. It’s best to run while you can.”
It was the portrait of lady Christine Millar talking this time.
“But, then how do we beat the werewolves?” the crowd muttered.
“Come back during the day, and kill them while they’re human. The forces of good are still in a majority, I can feel.”
“It’ll certainly be hard to tell who’s a werewolf and who’s not, during the day,” one of the villagers said.
“It’s the only way,” the picture answered, “the only way.”
“You mud-blooded scum!” the picture of lord Gagarine shouted. “Prepare for a long period of full, red moons. This won’t be over until all of you are dead and gone. The bloodline of lord Gaile will emerge victorious!”
Outside, the moon started turning red. The villagers ran for their lives, and searched for shelter in their cottages. They planned to come back the following day.
Early in the morning, just after sunrise, the villagers reassembled in the hall.
“You made a wise decision,” Christine said.
“I’ve been thinking, and it would be best to democratically decide who should be killed. Surely, most of you should have pure.. no, let me rephrase that. Most of you should have honest intentions. I believe that, together, you should be able to figure this out, and kill the werewolves amongst you. She grabbed a piece of chalk, and wrote
Vote count
With 12 alive, it’s 7 to lynch!
in the upper right corner of the painting.
It’s now day 1. If for some reason anyone hasn't gotten his role PM yet, please let me know.
"By far the towniest player in the game. Very good scum hunting, doesn't let anyone off the hook. All in all I find Mac's posts insightful and thought-provoking. " - Vel-Rahn Koon
