TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 1)

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N9 Part 4-The Price of the Dawn

Post  Quaetam on Sun Aug 05, 2012 6:09 am

Inside the Bastion, two heroes looked skyward, outward, into the flashing of the storm, the raging of the void, their hopes with their Champion, with Quaetman, the only one who stood in the way of oblivion.

Outside, the storm opened up on the world, the skies dark, the rain continuing to fall upon the earth. The city stood out against the Tempest, its skyline pierced by repeated flashes of green, darkened by the haze that rose from below, the hellish fog that gripped the Kingdom. Looking out over the skyline was akin to looking out over an ocean; the skyscrapers above appearing as mere islands amidst a sea of darkness, punctuated by the repeated, incessant flashes of ominous light.

And, intermittent, reality itself seemed to ripple, space seemed to bend; pockets of air vanishing, revealing the dark of the void, the nonsensical mesh of nothingness that lay beyond the world. Pieces of structure, patches of mist, of air, seemed to vanish as rips in the world opened, consuming them, only to replace them in an instant. It was as if the entirety of the universe stood on the brink of shattering, peppered with holes as it was stretched thin.

Above, the mist seemed as an ocean, rising to consume the world.

Below, the fog was a hell, a dark, smothering shroud that encompassed the all things. The streets were dark, merging with the miasma, with the abyss, until the entirety of the Kingdom seemed nothing more than a theory, the causeways, the boulevards only barely discernible from the dark haze that bore down upon them. The earth, down in the fog, below the tempest, seemed to shift, to rearrange itself, as tears ran through reality, breaking down the fundamental laws of nature, the intrinsic bonds between all things. Down there, in the streets, reality was nothing more than an idea, conceived in a mind of insanity, a soup of chaos that gave way, uncertainly, to the landscape of the Kingdom.

It was the perfect world for a madman, the perfect world for a Mad King.

Far below the towering Bastion, far below the sky, where the hero fought the god of the end, walking through the streets, through the dying world, in the city that had become little more than a void of swirling green and black, the Avalanchian monarch hobbled discordantly onward. His path was a meandering one, nonsensical through the void, for the silver glow of the royal weapon illuminated little, his shortspear’s light nothing against the overwhelming fog; against the darkness brought on by the storm. Green flashes of lightning struck through the fog, occasionally illuminating a landscape as alien as that of another world. The ground rippled with each strike, objects shifting around, no longer in their logical place. Fire hydrants stood in the middle of the street; isolated pits of water, of unknown depth, were found amidst the sidewalks. Cars stood cleanly cleaved in half, pieces of buildings, lumps of dirt, in the places their other side should be.

It was a wild world, a fun world, and it was all his.

The Mad King laughed with glee as he walked through his Kingdom, enjoying the calming sensation of the mist, the dark tingle that rose in his mind as it sank its deathly tendrils into his cranium. He looked toward the heavens, sensing, through the obscuring veil, a sort of flashing lightshow above. It was the people, celebrating his rise to the throne! They loved him, they cherished him!! He would ride a golden car through the streets, bowing to them as they accepted him as their rightful ruler, as they saw his time had come.

Your time here… is a-over!

The Mad King’s joy faded with a snarl as he remembered the worm’s words, the brute’s pathetic ideas. Calling him insane[i], deeming him [i]mad?. He and the elf didn’t understand what he brought to this Kingdom!! He was their savior, he was their champion! He was the righteous one, the man who led them into the light, and they would all bow before him.

Lightning flashed, illuminating a solid wall in front of him. He walked on anyways, and reality shifted before him, the wall giving way to an alley, down which he continued to walk, silver spear barely lighting the way. He held his hand up to his shoulder, feeling a sharp pain as he pressed against it, and realized two arrows still stuck there. Still? When did they get there? Right, the fairy had shot him. With a wrenching sound, a warm sensation, the King pulled them out, and scowled, noting he was bleeding, bleeding his own blood! He tossed the shafts aside. How dare the pathetic commoner, the foreigner, to whom he had extended a gracious hand, sully him so? How dare he spill his invaluable, royal blood!

As he brushed himself off, continually, ignoring the continued flow of the blood, he looked up, and saw a light ahead, a soft blue glow radiating through the gloom, shifting intermittedly as the world continued to ripple. Eyes widening in surprise, he ran towards it, spear brandished. It grew, and grew… surely he must be near its source. Ahead the fog seemed to clear, and in the center of the glow, he could see a silhouette, set against the light.

He was not alone.

A cyan blade, searing with the purging fires of the fallen angels, cut through the blaze, and the Mad King reacted abnormally fast, bringing up the royal spear to block. Whatever power Avalanche had imbued it with resisted the purging light, and the spear held, intact, against the absolute weapon, as the Mad King, eyes widened, stared at his opponent, and Jeremy, vengeance in his gaze, looked back.

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High above the Mad King, where he strode, raving, through the streets, the Champion was dying, the peoples’ hope, fading.

The lightning struck atop the Bastion, and Quaetman appeared, rolling across the ground, bouncing until finally the low wall arrested his momentum. The hero clenched his teeth, his fists, trying, with all his power, to rise to his feet. His body screamed at him, pain and darkness flaring within him. His uniform was in shreds, his cape cut up, burnt, his shirt torn, equally singed. His glasses were nowhere to be found. All around him the storm flared, reaching intensity beyond all logic now, the wind, the lightning, and the torrential rain reaching a breaking point, the ripples in reality shaking the fortress atop which he stood, holes into the void opening, briefly, only to close, consuming whatever existed in their wake, shifting the world about.

As Quaetman gradually rose, he coughed, hacked up blood, before finally standing, shaking himself off, anger and determination still in his eyes, the flames of a true hero in his heart. He turned, looked around, catching his bearings, and there, once more, waiting for him, was the ascendant, the god astride, the monster. Relmitos stood, entirely untouched by the sum of the superhero’s efforts, completely unfazed by Quaetman’s attacks. He was the eye of the storm, the thing at the center of the dissolving world. Reality seemed to flux around him, his image itself weaving in and out of focus as the air vibrated near him.

Darkness fell across the hero’s mind, fear fighting, stronger than ever, even against Quaetman’s implacable determination, against his undying resolve, as the realization came across him that despite his best attempts, he had not reached his foe. It was not a man, not a mortal being, but a god, the avatar of death, that stood against him now, a creature beyond fathom, its wrath unimaginable, its power unbreakable.

The end is nigh,” said the demon, as lightning burned around him, mist swirling in a vortex of darkness, as reality snapped itself into and out of focus, “Even now your world dissolves before your eyes. You cannot fight this… the Kingdom’s end was as inevitable as death itself.

And Quaetman, screaming past the limits of his endurance, charged forward again, light flashing from his eyes, fist lunging for the demon despite his fear.

What you speak of will not come to pass, I will not allow it,” the hero said, teeth gritted, “The people of the Kingdom will be the ones to shape their fate, not you!

The demon spun in a flurry of motion, catching the laser with one hand, again shaping the light into a burning sphere that was sent, flying, towards the Kingdom below. With his other hand he caught Quaetman by the remnants of his cape, and whirled his arm, flinging the superhero off to the side with ungodly strength, the fabric shredding, ripping apart at last.

There was a tearing sound as the universe shifted around him, and Quaetman landed, rolling, not atop the Bastion but on the roof of the damaged Cathedral. The steeple still stood surrounded by scaffolding, its repairs unfinished, forgotten in the violence that had consumed the Kingdom. Again he struggled, forcing himself to his feet, and the demon walked forward amidst the flashing of the lightning, the swirling of the skies, the shaking and tearing of the air.

A rip in the Kingdom opened, consuming a large swath of the scaffold before it closed, leaving nothing in its place. The wooden structure buckled and collapsed, raining pieces down on the roof, knocking Quaetman to his knees again. Once more the hero sought to rise, another rip appearing mere inches to his left, dropping a large chunk of cement that shook the roof, causing Quaetman to stagger. Still the hero maintained his footing, struggling against the storm, as the demon strode forward.

The people of the Kingdom, masters of their fate?” asked Relmitos, walking inevitably forward amidst the Tempest, “This cathedral stands as a testament to those who thought themselves the champions of destiny.

He rose his hand, the mist his weapon, lashing out at Quaetman once more, the hero doing all he could to dodge as the tendrils of miasma reached for him, inexorable, unstoppable, laced with green energy, lightning flaring around them. But the superhero’s agility was at last running short, his ability to fight beginning to fade. He could not hold off the demon for much longer. Quaetam, with a loud cry, blasted forward with his eyebeams. The attack was weaker than before, still cutting through the Miasma, and the walking god flicked it casually aside.

The hero retreated now, before the god astride, before the unnatural might of the being that walked, ever so slowly, towards him, an avatar of unstoppable power.

Look what became of their vision. A Kingdom oppressed, crushed beneath their iron fist. A world consumed by darkness, a people wounded by fear, despair.

The demon turned, gestured toward the damaged cathedral, “This place stands wounded by the duel I waged against one who believed she could fight destiny. And her battle, like yours, was futile. Her vision, like yours, was flawed by its nature.

Yet Quaetman still hung on, rising to his feet, speaking with desperation yet resolve.

That doesn’t matter anymore, this world belongs to the people now!

Relmitos again raised his arms; spheres of green light appearing in each hand. He brought his left hand down, slinging the ball of energy towards the hero. He dodged, and it flew by the Cathedral, out into the storm, exploding against one of the nearby buildings. The world shook as a dome of green light burst outward, ripples and tears in reality shifting the explosion to various parts of the Kingdom, various parts of the sky, and for an instant the storm, the swirling, entropic skies, seemed filled with green stars.

The ascendant threw the second sphere, again peppering the world with light as it erupted, and Quaetman dodged, throwing himself aside. Quaetman lunged low as the demon threw two more forward, stumbling for an instant as the fireballs exploded in the distance. Below him the world opened up, a shred of void lacing through reality, taking a chunk of tile out of the roof of the cathedral, and Quaetman’s foot caught, sending the hero sprawling.

As he came to his feet, Relmitos balled his right hand into a fist, crushing and absorbing the fireball it had held, green energy flaring around his fingertips as he punched straight into Quaetman’s stomach. The Champion was sent spiraling; the force of the demon’s strike threatening to burst straight through his chest, the green energy of the fireball erupting through his being, burning him to his core, as he fell once more through a rip in the universe.

He fell to the ground in a golden-glowing hall, a wide expanse decorated with Avalanchian flags, their splendid mahogany and white colors masking the dark cement below. Now, blanketed in the fog of the abyss, ravaged by the shaking of the storm, its chandeliers in pieces, fallen to the ground, was the underground Royal Court, the hidden lair that had been the home of the revolution in its early days. And even as he rose to his feet, Relmitos was there, grabbing him by the neck, ethereal hatred boring holes in the superhero, dark fire lashing at his neck, as he threw him aside, effortlessly.

Quaetman tumbled through the underground, through the expanse of the makeshift Court, crashing into the table that had been set at its center. Two wooden chairs broke, shattering to bits as he collided with them; the table shook, and the expensive silverware atop the table was scattered. A tear in the world whirled past, ripping the table asunder, depositing half a car in its place. Quaetman struggled, fought against the burning, the encroaching void, to rise, to get to his feet, to continue on!

The Coalition has fallen, yes,” said the Demon, walking towards the hero where he lay “But for what? The Avalanchians, your kind?

Quaetman staggered to a standing position, and Relmitos raised his hand, green energy bursting outward, striking at the ceiling, the walls…. The entire court began to cave in, massive blocks of cement raining down upon them. Quaetman looked above, alarmed, as a giant slab fell towards him, ready to crush him, but the world cracked, and the boulder was gone. He turned back towards his foe, but too slowly, for the demon lunged forward, slamming into his prey, knocking them backwards. The hero across the room; colliding with the far wall, where Quaetman fell to his knees.

And the demon was there, a being of terror, beyond all reason, grabbing the hero by the neck, raising him high into the air. His hands clenched, burning, at Quaetman’s throat. The hero cried out, struggled to summon the fires of his gaze, and for an instant the whites of the lasers flickered before his eyes, before going out. He screamed in pain as the flames of the abyss rose around him, ate at his face, at his eyes, screaming into the void as he struggled to fight against the futility of his efforts, against the foe he could not reach!

One corrupt regime replaced by another; one Usurper dethroned to give rise to a lunatic,” said the demon, as the rocks fell around them, as the world began to cave in atop them, “There is no worth in your aim, for in the end it will all come full circle!

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The lunatic’s eyes widened in shock, as he raised his spear against Jeremy’s banstick. The former executioner looked back, rage in his gaze, vengeance in his heart, and slashed once more. His movements visceral, his stance uncertain as the dissolving world around him, his spear held with a total lack of expertise, the Mad King blocked, overextending himself, and the fallen angel immediately lashed low. The Avalanchian, with shocking, animalistic agility, jumped back and held his spear low, to the side, leaving his stance entirely open as he pointed a shaking finger towards Jeremy.

YOUUUU!” he cried, then turned, shouting aimlessly, mad, into the fog, spit flaring from his mouth as he shook his head, speaking as if preaching to a crowd, “SEEEIZE him! GET him! HEEE is the scourge of our world, the cancer that plaaagues our lives!

Jeremy shook his head, in disgust. This was the one the people had put their faith in, after all this time? This was the one deemed more righteous than the Coalition, than the four who had worked, tirelessly, to achieve a new age? By what madness had he supplanted the Usurper, Fedaykin, the god of the new world, he who wielded the golden blade, who sat atop the great throne? Fedaykin had been a great man, a man of ambition, of power, but this mockery of a King? He stood amidst the storm of Armageddon, drenched beneath an endless rain, as reality fell apart around him, screaming into the mist like some animal, like some lunatic. He did not deserve to wear the crown.

There’s nobody here, madman,” said Jeremy, his words dripping with anger, “Nobody for you to hide behind. Nobody to shelter you from your crimes.

My crimes… CRIMES?!?” screamed the Mad King, “I am the voice of justice for this world, *I* am the voice of reason! You will bow before me, or die!

And even as he screamed his ultimatum, he did not wait for a response. The King launched forward in a frenzy, his attacks wild, unremitting, jabbing towards the arisen moderator with a flurry of metallic slashes, cackling with silver light. The executioner flourished his banstick, blocking up, down, up again, effortlessly fending off the Avalanchian’s barrage. The Mad King spun, spearpoint lashing for the Moderator’s neck, and Jeremy simply stepped backwards, allowing the strike to pass harmlessly before him, before lunging forward, banstick raised, striking for the King’s head.

But the Mad King, bursting forth with a previously unseen burst of strength, raised his spear, blocking the strike just in time, heat flaring at the Avalanchian crown he wore. Cyan energy scorched about the clearing even as the silver light blazed, resisting the influence of the banstick, pushing back the Coalitionist’s flaming sword. The two locked blades for a moment, one a madman, wide-eyed, wild, the other a vengeful renegade, last remnant of a dying order, out for blood, out to avenge his fallen comrades. Lightning flared in the background, the miasma illuminated briefly in its wake, and the world shifted… suddenly the two found themselves standing atop a building, the sidewalk still below their feet, their view cleared. Ahead the skies continued to glow, not only through the lightning that shook the city, but from the void that now encroached upon the universe.

Kneel before you? Submit to you, as if I believed you my better?” snarled the moderator, “You speak to the mist, believe yourself the lord of a dying land. You’re insane, and unfit to live!

Again the moderator stepped forward, inexorable, unremitting, his banstick slashing beyond the King’s guard, as, in his madness, the Avalanchian was unable to mount a proper defense. Step after step, as wild as the lunatic flailed, unable to keep up a proper defense, the Guardian, the executioner of the Coalition, as he slowly, inevitably advanced.

Finally the Mad King turned, finding himself at the edge of the tower, and Jeremy took advantage of his moment of weakness, stabbing low with the banstick, shoving the King over the edge as he blocked.

Yet somehow the lunatic grabbed his free arm, pulling the moderator down with him, just as a tear in the world opened beneath them, and they were dumped back into the street. The two hit, rolled, each dropping their weapons, the King scrambling to recover his spear, the Mod casually standing, banstick already back in hand. Around them the miasma vibrated, the fabric of the universe shaking at the tremors of some deep, intrinsic blow.

Unfit to live? You dare sully my name with such insults?!?” the King yelled, as they turned to face each other again, accentuating each word, madness touching his voice, “I am the hope of this world! Without meee, you will ALLLL perish!

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The demon’s fire burned into Quaetman’s soul, his grip choking the very spirit out of him, drowning him in a sea of terror, of unfathomable despair. The Court, its ceiling slowly caving, swam before his eyes, the flags of Avalanchia falling, torn, either by falling rocks or by cracks in existence, holes bored, endlessly into the void. The destruction built to a breaking point, ravaging his body, consuming his mind…

…and the demon released him. He fell to the ground, holding himself up on all fours in the unknowing darkness, as his head spun, as sickness rose inside him, burning at his innards, and he stared, focused, at a patch of ground beneath him. All around him the world rippled, cracking at the seams now, patches of nonsense, of void, visible amidst the mist, as the miasma burned holes in the world. The air vibrated, shifted, patches of fog rising in and out of focus. The air was stale, as if trapped here for time unknown.

Every step you take leads you backwards, aimless, into the void.

Quaetman fought against the fog, struggling to his feet. His breath came ragged, his vision swam before him. He could barely stand, he could barely see; looking around, all was dark save the patches of nonsensical void, the holes in the world that had begun to spread, shining out amidst the fog. The air shifted around him, uncertain, as the universe broke down around it. And from the mist before him, the demon emerged, his silhouette merging together, dark lines lacing into the ascendant’s form. From the darkness, the demon’s figure stitched itself together, and Relmitos stepped forward.

Lightning cackled about the demon’s hands, and even as Quaetman raised his fists, steadied himself, the demon’s power struck at him, energy burning through his veins, sending him flying backwards into the darkness.

Even if you triumph over your greatest foes, you will never again see the sunlight, for your struggles will only push you closer to the darkness.

Once more Quaetman struggled onto hands and knees, once more his vision swam, and once more he stood. He could not fall, he would not fall! But the demon was there, throwing him back down once more. He rolled this time, allowing his momentum to carry him to a kneeling position, from which he caught his breath, fought to steady his vision, even as green light tickled around the edges. The superhero coughed up blood, his body shaking, and rose to his feet, standing against the darkness, even as he was in tatters, falling apart.

And the demon stood before him, untouched, malevolent, merciless, gazing down at him, a god beholding a mortal, a monster beholding an ant.

Your cycle is one of futility; pain upon pain, misery upon misery, only masked by the lies you place before it,” said Relmitos, “Your hope is nothing but an illusion, a fatal deception.

Slowly, the demon rose his right hand, holding it out to the side.

You may challenge destiny, you may fight for fate, but you will only drive yourself into oblivion.

The mist swirled around them, the entire room, emptying, as from the void itself dark light coalesced in the demon’s hand, shaping, condensing... The power of the Tempest hardened, lengthened, into a glowing blade of dark crystal. Cackling with absolute power, standing Quaetman’s hairs on end, it floated beside Relmitos’ hand, and as he closed his fingers around its hilt, a burst of energy flew outward, a shockwave reverberating through the air. The holes in the universe shook, continuing to shift, buffeting the air in the room around. The demon raised the blade to the sky, and from around the room, a deadly wind began to brew, laced with lightning. The vortex swirled, around itself, and finally rushed into the blade of the void, which crackled with untold energy.

No matter who you follow, a better world will never rise. There is no future for this Kingdom but void.

Quaetman, sensing the danger, sensing the power building, made to move, to dodge, gathering his power around his fists, looking for some way to fight back, to survive, but he was too slow.

Faster than his eyes could register the demon lunged forward, blade carving a swath through reality, plunging deep into Quaetman’s chest!

With a deep, intrinsic roar and a flash of green, the world cracked around them, and the hero fell to his knees in the rain as his vision flashed with all the colors of the void.

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Stranded in the street, the world shifting around them, cracks opening now to reveal something beyond darkness, something intrinsic, irascible, the ruler of the New Kingdom faced the champion of the old. Jeremy’s eyes flashed with anger as he stared his foe down, spinning his banstick in one hand, its glow piercing the fog, its intent undeniable before the miasma, the mist of despair.

You speak lies, deceptions born from madness,” spoke the menace, the fallen angel, “Look around you! Reality dissolves before your eyes, and you laugh and speak of yourself as if you think you have an answer! Our Preacher came to you on a mission of mercy, willing to lend you her hand, and you cast her aside, you killed her in cold blood! Now the skies fall, the world breaks down around us, because you failed to accept the aid of the only one who could save us! This world will die, and it’s all because of you!

And the Mad King laughed, unfazed by the moderator’s dark words. The Ascendant mod, specter of a dying age, cried out, throwing himself forward, banstick raised for a two handed chop. Even as his foe blocked, spear raised, the mod lifted a leg and kicked him in the chest. The Mad King was sent sprawling, backwards into the mist.

You speak in conspiracies, your tounge weaves lies! The world is calm, peaceful; the sky alight with celebration, and you try to scare me with words of demons?” the Mad King hissed from where he hid amidst the miasma. The world reverberated, patches of void slicing their way through reality as the city crumbled above them, as the ground shook below them, and his voice rebounded around the clearing from everywhere and nowhere. Jeremy looked around, calm, banstick held aloft, on alery.

You cannot fool me with your LIAR’S WORDS!!

Again the moderator turned, calm, casually surveying the surroundings, but again he saw nothing through the mist, nothing through the fog of the void, even as lightning lit the clearing, green bolts shining out against his blue light. Around him the world shook again, greater than it had before, and to his left the mist burned a hole in the world, the abyss visible through the ethereal tear. The fog swirled, the world shifted, and he lost his bearings as the buildings, themselves nothing but specters in the fog, seemed to churn around him.

No, this will not DOOO,” the Mad King sang, his voice again rising from everywhere, from nowhere, shaking his head, finishing with a laugh and a snarl, “No, Guardian. YOU are the demons!!!

He dropped inexplicably from above, spear jabbing downward, and Jeremy raised his banstick to turn the point side. Yet the Mad King carried his momentum to the ground, spinning, knocking the cyan blade out of the way, spearpoint lunging again for the moderator, who casually sidestepped, avoiding the strike. As he did so, his foe hit the ground and lunged forward, blade jabbing for the moderator’s core. Jeremy spun, his banstick catching the spear’s shaft with an eruption of silver and cyan energy, turning it aside. And the Mad King threw himself forward still, unafraid of, or perhaps oblivious to, the absolute power of the banstick, spear sweeping up, under Jeremy’s guard…

But the Coalitionist turned it effortlessly aside, the royal’s strike passing harmlessly below him. Jeremy whirled around, bringing his foot down on the spear, wrenching it from the King’s grip, grabbing his foe’s arm with his free hand. The Mad King tried to break free, yet Jeremy’s strength was unbeatable, for he was the fallen executioner, the last of the moderators. He was the one who championed death, a specter of darkness standing out amidst the storm of the void, untouchable, implacable. He was the one who wielded the final banstick, and he would not be stopped in his final quest for vengeance!

For a second the Mad King looked up at him, wild rage in his eyes as he brought the cyan blade back, ready to strike, to erase the madman from the world at last!

You will pay for what you’ve done to our world!

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The demon removed his blade with a sickening squelch.

Quaetman was back outside, adrift, floating in a sea of void.

All about the darkness rose, above the skies flashing their discordant colors, as he kneeled before the ascendant, despair washing over his being. He struggled against the miasma that gripped him, ate at him, at last sensing his weakness, ready to devour him, seeping into the hole in his chest, from which blood poured, unremitting. The energy of the abyss, the demon’s dark power, laced through his wound, into his veins, cutting at him from within, causing him to retch, to fall to hands and knees, his strength fading, barely able to remain conscious, barely able to survive. And Relmitos stood before him, voidblade in his hand, sparkling with power, still dripping with the hero’s blood. He was a specter of the void, the spot from which the world had begun to break down as his being flickered, shifting; his demonic, otherworldly form blent in with the storm around him.

Lightning flashed, the storm roaring against the world, illuminating the surroundings, as the entire ground shook, visibly shifting. Quaetman was on his knees on a platform floating above a sea of darkness. All around, in the distance, shattered buildings rose; beyond them, the skyline of the Kingdom could be seen, drowning beneath the rain, swallowed by the mist of the Tempest, gradually crumbling as cracks ran through the universe, holes opening into the void, gutting the buildings that towered over the sea of mist. And there, before him, directly behind the demon, glistened the golden throne of the Usurper, flaring out against the darkness.

They were back in Ascendancy Square, atop the platform of the Coalition, midst the dying of the world.

This is the final hour,” said the demon, “These are the last moments of this Kingdom.

He stepped onto the golden throne, blade held aloft, and the storm seemed to calm for an instant, the lightning fading, the rain coming to a stop. For an instant the world was quiet.

Then the demon raised his blade to the sky.

There will be no future to champion. Watch, now, as I shatter fate itself, and cast your world into the abyss!

From the tip of the blade, running down its length, a green light began to glisten. The blaze leapt around the sword, around the demon, and all around the mist seemed to swirl, seemed to gather about the demon’s hand. The world at the tip of the sword burned away, and from behind the void shone. Yet from that void, from that abyss, a dark substance flowed, merging with the green light, with the mist of the Tempest, around the god’s blade.

A great beam, a surging force of pure power, burst free of the blade and split the heavens with a thunderous roar.

And the universe, already strained beneath the storm, at last snapped, descending into chaos. The rain resumed, falling from the sky, tearing into the ground below. The lightning struck again, again, flashing as frequent as the rain that accompanied it, endless. The mist rose from below, surrounding the square, drowning the city beneath its shroud. Below, in the streets, the miasma began to give way to the void, holes tearing in the fabric of space-time, buildings crumbling in their wake, the world itself shifting around; bits of cement falling from the sky as they appeared above the city; patches of void blazing through the world, as all began to dissolve.

Then the sky, already flashing with green light, split open from the point of the beam’s impact, great cracks running through reality, widening; the void beyond the world glowing a blaze of entropic colors, bathing the Kingdom in unnatural flashing light despite the storm. And the top of the skyscrapers that dotted the city began to crumble as an unnatural wind swept their rubble skywards, into the gaping maw of the abyss.

The city was collapsing, the world was dying.

And Quaetman kneeled in despair, bleeding out, looking at the vortex above as it began to consume their world, as the Bastion in the background itself finally began to decay atop its upper levels, sucked slowly into the singularity that had formed. The entire structure flickered as if ethereal, as did the Kingdom around them, fading in and out of existence.

He had lost.

He had failed to stop the demon, to save their world, and now he was to bear witness to its end.

Quaetman stared blankly as his vision swam with green and red, the power of the miasma that ate at him now inseparable from his blood. He was fading, consumed by the void at the end of the world. He had not touched the demon, had been humiliated. He was useless, now as ever, for there was no hope against this darkness; there was no chance against this god.

His mind flashed back, away from the end of all things, to the sum of all their struggles, all their efforts. For so long, they had fought, so hard had they struggled, against the Coalition, against the moderators. And they had succeeded, they had driven away the fallen angels. Yet the King had died, and their vision had faded even as it was achieved. There was no hope for their kind, there never had been. The nation they lost would never be reclaimed. And now, now this Kingdom would die with it, would join it, in the abyss. This was a storm that could not be fought. This was an end that could not be escaped.

His thoughts turned to Avalanchia, his world, toward the land he had sworn he would protect. He had fought tirelessly to save it, and yet remembered his terror as he saw it collapsing around him, consumed by the Singularity, by a force they could not stop…. How fitting that the Kingdom seemed to have met the same end, in a way.

He looked to the sky, to the flashing of the abyss, as the city crumbled, its remains soaring upward to be consumed by the hole in the sky, even as that hole widened, as it descended, encroaching upon them. This was the end of all things, then. This was the abyss, the void that would consume the world. The wind in the square began to pick up slightly, and he hung his head. It was over now. All his cards had been spent, all his strength, wasted.

He could not save this Kingdom.

Yet as he bowed his head, his eyes fell upon an orb of glowing color, having fallen from his coat pocket, miraculously intact, Luigi’s final hope, manifested in a sphere of glowing power.

Quaetman gazed upon his final weapon, and something came alive within him.

He reached forward, grabbed it. Even as the sky fell above him, even as the darkness below rose, gradually consuming him, as the lightning struck with apocalyptic frenzy, and the world was pushed to the brink, Quaetman rose his right fist.

The superhero clenched his hand, and crushed the smashball in an iron grip.

The world seemed to drain of all energy. All around him, motes of silver light emerged into being, wisps shining against the miasma, burning it away as they swarmed around the hero, gathering into arcs of light, searing fires that leapt about, surrounding him, enveloping him, before finally collapsing into his being.

And there, in the miasma, in the darkness, set against the dying world, a brilliant flame was lit.

The hero, untold strength in his composure, in his vision, eyes blazing with the fires of a man who had nothing to lose, tightened his fist, and slowly rose to his feet. Around him, light radiated out to either side, blazing behind him like ethereal, arcane wings. His tattered cape whipped about, untouched by the rain, by the void, as his skin glowed a radiant light. The mist could not touch him, the lightning arced away, and the remnants of the square were lit, clear as day against the storm, as the superhero burned with a bright light, a solitary candle against the final darkness!

Crying out, raging against the end of days, the superhero drew his fist back. The storm itself seemed to recoil from his power, the void pausing in its advance as the whole world shook in anticipation of his blow. White flames arced around it, enveloped it… his fist shook as the light at his back gathered into his hand, condensed into one single strike, one last punch!

Relmitos turned, raising his voidblade into a defending stance, eyes narrowed, as the skies continued to crumble, the world dying under the force of his power. But Quaetman dashed forward with a loud cry, fist alight with a heroic blaze, flames of hope, of desperation, shattering the demon’s sword beneath the weight of his blow.

Relmitos’ eyes widened in shock, as the hero, the fallen Champion of the people, rose once more, his might a holy fire, his fist colliding directly with the demon’s chest!

The world stood still for an instant, Quaetman, glowing, light flaring out from his back, his fist pressed against Relmitos, frozen in place, a look of shock and rage across his face. The entirety of the silver aura, the glistening light that surrounded Quaetman, gathered into his fist, into the demon’s chest, and the square faded again into darkness.

Then the clearing exploded in a burst of sheer power, flames radiating outwards from where the superhero stood, gusts of wind flaring away from the golden throne, atop which Relmitos stood, Quaetman’s fist locked into his chest. And the arcs of light surrounded them, whirling, building, before finally collapsing inward, to a single point, where man and god met. From the point of impact, cracks formed in the demon’s features, arcing outward, around his chest, up to his face, across his entire body, and Relmitos screamed in pain, as sheer light, unnatural heat, flared from his form, out into the darkness, striking against the Tempest.

The world roared as the universe warped around them, visibly tearing, circular rips forming in the air behind the throne, itself glistening with golden radiance. The air seemed to twist, to split from the universe, at last ripping, tearing, into an infinite hole that seemed to have no depth at all, a wormhole, beyond which a dark void could be seen.

There was a rush of wind, a noise like a sonic boom, and the demon, the god astride, was knocked backwards, still flaring with a silver, glowing, radiant light as he fell into the swirling vortex, fading from sight.

The light faded from Quaetman, the tear in the world closed behind Relmitos, and he was gone.

Relmitos was banished! He was the Ascendant Demon! Alignment: None!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lightning flashed, incessantly now, as the world began to shake, as the sky above them cracked open, the void shining down through the storm! And throughout the streets, holes opened in the fabric of the world, reality collapsing around them. The surface of the Kingdom began to shift, constantly now, street exchanging itself for grass, pocked holes appearing throughout the buildings, chunks of cement solidifying, raining from the sky. And throughout the miasma, holes appeared and began to widen, paths into the unknowing, unforgiving void; as if the fabric of space was burning.

As the moderator brought the banstick down, delivered his final judgment upon his opponent, existence unraveled before him, the Kingdom shifting again, depositing a bolder in his blade’s path, snapping the shortspear beneath it. The moderator staggered back, surprised, before slashing down in a diagonal arc. The weapon passed clean through the concrete, vaporizing it in a flash of burning blue.

But as the cyan light cleared, the Mad King snarled, leaping for the moderator. Jeremy’s eyes widened in surprise as he fell backwards, the Avalanchian atop him, his banstick spiraling out of reach. They fell, swirling out of the protective circle of the banstick’s light, and into the mist. All was dark around them. Jeremy could see the edge of a sizzling wormhole, mere feet from his head, could feel the endless wind pulling him towards it, hear an irascible, incessant buzz emanating from the void. He pushed the King aside with his unknowable strength, with the force of a fallen angel, seeking vengeance for the grip on heaven he had now irrevocably lost. Yet even as he stood, as he made to move away from the encroaching abyss, the ground rippled below him, and the King grabbed his leg, pulling him back, towards the vortex of nothing…

…and reality shifted, depositing them atop a building. Lightning fell across the rooftop, cracking the cement at each touch. He could feel a dark wind, pulling them inevitably upward, as he looked to the sky, where the cracks had given way to a gaping maw, the void shining out over the world. All around him, buildings had begun to crumble, pulled inevitably upward into the darkness beyond darkness, into the gap in reality.

He kicked off the Mad King’s grip at last as the entire structure shook below them, and he was sent falling, rolling, coming to his feet in a brief pocket of stability, a lone spot of air amidst the shaking, inconsistent world. He looked toward his foe, expecting an attack, but the Mad King stood still, haughty laughter resplendent across his face, and Jeremy’s eyes widened as he realized what was about to happen. He threw himself aside as, with a deafening tear, the world opened behind him, the spot where he had just stood replaced by a patch of void, a hole in reality.

The Coalitionist rose to his feet, looking around, at the hole in the sky that seemed to swallow all things. He turned, and saw the Mad King flying towards him. The monarch tackled him to the ground, and again they rolled, this time ending by the precipice, a crater beside them, a hole eaten into the side of the building by the shifting storm.

The King struck him once across the jaw, pulled back to do so again…

…And Jeremy, with a bellow, shoved him sideways, over the edge. The King fell, screaming and laughing, from the tower, and below him the world opened. The Mad King was cast away, as space closed itself behind him, and his laughter stopped, his madness gone from the world.

King Avalanche vanished! He was Spontaneous Combustion, the Mad King! Alignment: Avalanchia

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The void roared through the sky, the world crumbling beneath it, ruins flaring upward in pieces, chunks of cement, glass, and steel lifting skyward. The colors of the abyss flashed through the Kingdom, lighting the world with an alien, ethereal glow, as lightning continued to rain down from the void, from the Tempest that heralded it. Overhead, the fabric of the world had been torn by the demon’s attack. Below, it had begun to burn apart by the miasma, holes appearing and spreading, the ground rippling under the pressure of the abyss.

And Quaetman stood, breathing heavily, atop the platform of the Coalition. His uniform hung in tatters; the skin below burned, cut, stabbed through by the demon’s might. His hair was disheveled, his face bruised, burn marks on his neck, his eyes bloodshot, green flames tickling around their edges. He was exhausted, his life sustained only by the power that shone within him, standing alone, in the ruins of Ascendancy Square, having triumphed over his greatest foe. The superhero was in a daze, unable to fully comprehend what had just happened, his mind still making sense of what he’d done.

Slowly the light began to fade, silver glow starting to dissipate gradually from his fist, the flames that shot out behind him like angelic wings cracking gradually like glass, as the unnatural strength the smashball had given him started to fade from his body. He looked to the sky, to the great hole in the world, the great tear as it sucked their reality gradually into the abyss, the cracks spreading gradually downward, outward, becoming larger. All around him, in the square, the world had begun to burn away, the abyss surrounding him, closing in from all sides as existence dissolved before it.

So it was over then. The world would die here, despite it all. The demon had truly been right; his triumph had been for nothing.

Quaetman shook his head, bitter smile on his face as he coughed once, twice, spitting blood on the ground before him. He keeled over slightly, bracing himself against the golden throne that stood, unaffected by the fog, by the storm, even by the demon’s apocalyptic strike, by his own final smash, the punch that had banished the ascendant from reality. Fitting, that this symbol, itself standing for a dying era, built by those who believed themselves gods, stood now, even at the end of all things.

He propped himself up, still standing, refusing to sit atop that arrogant seat, and looked out into the void as it continued to burn towards him, consuming the world in its wake. He began to feel a slight upward tug as the hole in the sky continued to widen, as the city continued to crumble, the creations of man nothing before the damnation of a god.

He watched the end of the world. He could feel the mist rising within him, the demon’s energy beginning to arc through his veins again, and he bowed his head, in acceptance of his own mortality, taking solace in the knowledge that he had at least avenged his dying world, he had at least perhaps spared others from the same fate. The cracks accelerated now, running through the sky, toward the ground.

One hole, one tear, ran downward from the hole above, reaching toward the mist below, and the ripples in the world, the shifting of space, the cracking of reality, began to build as the universe threatened to split in two.

But even as the world was dangled over the abyss, even as the universe stood, poised on the edge of total annihilation, something changed.

The advance of the rips, the tears in the world, slowed, gradually, to a stop. The hero, strength still in him, raised his head slightly as the shaking of the ground slowed, the ripples in the surface below him started to calm.

For an instant, all was still, the damaged reality on the brink of oblivion, refusing to push itself over the edge.

Then, impossibly, unbelievably, the void began to retreat.

The crack running down the center of the world began to shrink, reality stitching itself back together along its length with a rumbling sound. The shaking of the world decreased as the universe stabilized itself, as the world began to come together, slowly, but surely. The hole in the sky began to regress, gradually, but inevitably, and as it faded, the sky rushed out to reclaim its proper place. In the square below, the burns in the universe, the overwhelming abyss, began to fade, back, slowly into the miasma.

And the reversion, the healing, accelerated. The flashing of the lightning decreased as the void continued to recede. Reality continued to shift about, its fabric damaged, but the rips slowed, the shaking, kaleidoscopic instability slowly resolving itself. Quaetman saw a final tear appear before him, recognizing the other side, and stepped through it, emerging, once more, on top of the Bastion, standing amidst the jagged, wrecked remains of the roof.

He gazed out upon the city, in wonder, as the damage wrought to the universe by the power of the Tempest began to undo itself. All around, the holes in the mist, the patches of nothingness, burns in the fabric of their world slowly closed, as above, the great gap in the sky continued to seal itself shut, the nothingness, the irascible, swirling abyss resolving back into the flashing colors as a thin layer of matter, of existence, closed over it, and the upward tug, the skyward wind ceased. The chunks of cement, glass, and steel, having been pulled skyward by the power of the abyss, were flung downward as air was expelled from the hole in the world, and the ethereal, unnatural pull stopped. They fell, raining throughout the Kingdom amidst the downpour, the lightning of the Tempest.

Quaetman, pain beginning to build up within him as the light gently faded from his being, looked toward the ground, where the burns invariably sealed themselves shut. The seas of void became lakes, then nothing more than spots, finally winking out, one by one, to be replaced by the miasma once more.
Overhead, the flashing of the skies ceased, the otherworldly, alien colors replaced by the darkness of the sky at last, and nothing remained but the Tempest itself, continuing to rage through the blackness.

For a while, he stood there, amidst the pouring rain, as green lightning continued to flash, unremitting, throughout the Kingdom that stood, perhaps ruined, but alive.

Minutes passed, and, inevitably as the void had left their world, the storm itself began to subside. The wind slowed, the hurricane force diminishing into a lesser gale. The lightning, flashing through the world, cutting paths through existence with each strike, diminished in strength, in repetition, and the thunder, itself fading beside the lightning, shook the world less and less with each blow. Below, the fog, the enshrouding mist of the void, began to dissipate, leaving in its wake a shattered city, peppered with rubble, with ruins. The sea of miasma became little more than a few drifting clouds, and even those began to fade, harmlessly, their ethereal power gone, washed away by the rain as little more than normal haze.

The flashes, the green light, nothing more than a painless display now, diminished as the rain became little more than a drizzle, the wind slowly dying down to a normal pitch. A final verdant bolt struck, the storm in its final throes. And as Quaetman, his vision beginning to swim with green light, looked to the sky, he saw the clouds begin to part, revealing behind them not the scattered light of the abyss, the swirling void beyond the world, but the darkness of the night, punctured by a different light.

The shining, silver light of the stars shone at last through the thunderheads; the Tempest, at last, began to clear once more.

Quaetman stood on the edge of the wrecked rooftop, looking out into the darkness of night, as the storm began to fade around him. Green flames erupted from his knuckles, where his punch had collided with Relmitos’ demonic form, from his wounds, the stab he had received from the blade of the void cackling with green light.

He looked out into the night, which itself began to fade, a glow appearing faintly at the eastern horizon, as his vision flared green, as his body began to burn from the inside out. The storm was gone now, the night leaving them. Below the Kingdom was in ruins, peppered with rubble, many of its buildings shattered, crumbled.

Even as pain wracked his body, as the flames ran up his arm, out from his chest, he stood strong, knowing that despite all odds, he had triumphed. He had paid the price for the sunrise, the price for the dawn.

The flames encircled the superhero, his body catching, and as the light flared around him, the verdant power consuming him completely, he looked to the sky one final time, his gaze sweeping across the horizon, as slowly, but surely, miraculously, the world became lit with beams of golden, radiant light.

And as the fires of darkness, the green shroud, at last fell upon his face, he closed his eyes, and smiled as the sun crossed the azimuth, and dawn broke upon the world.

Hudsonboy111 was erased! He was Quaetman, the Superhero! Alignment: Avalanchia!


Last edited by Quaetam on Thu Aug 16, 2012 11:45 am; edited 5 times in total

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Part 5-Sunrise

Post  Quaetam on Sun Aug 05, 2012 6:14 am

The sun rose on the Mushroom Kingdom.

The city lay in a state of disrepair. Rubble dotted crater-lined streets, buildings stood shattered, dilapidated, their upper levels shredded by the fury of the storm, the pull of the hole in the sky. The streets were drenched, floodwaters lingering in the aftermath of the Tempest. The boulevards had become akin to a maze, the city, damaged as if by warfare. The entire Kingdom was in ruins.

But the storm had cleared.

The doors of the Bastion were thrown open, and the refugees, the freedom fighters, slowly left their halls, carrying the bodies of the wounded… the bodies of the dead. The clones had been defeated, but the price of the brawl was heavy. And they emerged into a city that had paid the price of the dawn, aghast at the sheer turmoil, the ruins that had been their world. Ascendancy Square, already damaged in the overthrowing of the Coalition, had been shredded; tiny shards of rock littered the area, and the ground had been ruptured, fractured, standing jagged. Little remained save the golden throne of the Usurper, standing tall, miraculously unscathed, despite the duel that had taken place around it, atop it. His power had been broken, and in its wake, the Kingdom rendered little more than a wasteland.

Yet as they walked through the streets, the sun shone down upon them with a sort of renewed radiance, a soft, golden glow, as if celebrating the dawn the world thought it would never see.

And all around the Kingdom, doors were thrown open, and the people flooded into the streets. Families, their eyes alight with surprise, and happiness, wandered out into the storm-ravaged city, thankful to see another sunrise. They had survived the storm, against all odds. Many had been lost to the mist, to the void, to the crumbling of the city. But just as many had survived, and they looked to the new day with hope.

The Coalition was overthrown. The Avalanchians, vanquished. The Mad King, nowhere to be found. And the demon, the terror that had haunted them, was gone from their world at last. He had been defeated; the superhero martyring himself to save the Kingdom.

Hours passed, and slowly, as their wounded were transported to any operable medical facilities, the crowd began to take stock of the fatalities, gathering them, solemnly, among Ascendancy Square, where, in their mourning, they stood, looking towards the Bastion.

For above the great entrance, atop a balcony, green cap atop his head, something cloth in his hand, stood Mario. His head was bowed slightly, but his eyes were strong; the hero in them alive once more.

He raised the Avalanchian flag he carried above his head as he stepped towards the ledge. And as all eyes fell upon him he grabbed it by its center and tore it, shredding it cleanly in two.

This is our Kingdom now!” said Mario, and the crowd erupted into cheers below him, for the skies were clear, and at last they could see the dawn.

The storm had ended, and their eyes were alive with hope.

The New Kingdom of Avalanchia has been overthrown, and is once again your enemy!
The Evil League of Evil has taken control of the Kingdom, and are no longer your foes!


Day 10 starts now, and will end Tuesday at 4 PM


Last edited by Quaetam on Thu Aug 09, 2012 9:33 am; edited 2 times in total

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 1)

Post  Doctor Shulk on Sun Aug 05, 2012 6:19 am

Holy shit Q, you're a bloody legend/madman, you know? Holy shit.

vote: theTJ

because I'm lost for words after that post. :U

(well my words are c'mon guys vote with me on this, the town can do this, arf arf)

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 1)

Post  TheTJ on Sun Aug 05, 2012 8:34 am

I'm going to make an appeal here. Yes, I AM coalition, that much is true. But stop and think about it. The Coalition had only been mafia for two nights, and who had been attacked? The first one had been Relmitos who was a demon, and the second was Avalanche, who was the mad king, and Avalanchian to boot. Now, the rest of the game every townie night kill was probably Avalanchia or ELoE. I'm not saying that I'm not mafia right now, I am, but as we've all seen, that can change.

Meanwhile, we have Jhonny. He's not only Avalanchian, but he outed the rest of his team prematurely, which, to be honest, probably cost them the game. Unless they can swing the vote against me today. Now, I'm not asking you guys to try to vote against the ELoE at the moment, I know that right now they're your allies. What I AM asking is that between the two enemies you see before you now, you go against the one who's been killing townies. At least for one phase. If I can't turn things around this night phase and get on the townies side again then I guess you guys could vote against me tommorrow.

So vote with me against the greater of two evils.

Vote: Jhonny

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 1)

Post  SnakeInABox on Sun Aug 05, 2012 8:42 am

The recruiting power is passed down once.

Surge passed it to Avalanche, who is dead. The Avalanchians are no longer a threat.

You obviously can still recruit, therefore you die today.

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 1)

Post  TheTJ on Sun Aug 05, 2012 8:52 am

Two things, One, how exactly do you know this?

Two, so what? Who cares if I can become townie aligned again? It's not like Jhonny can't do a night kill.

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 1)

Post  SnakeInABox on Sun Aug 05, 2012 9:00 am

Of course YOU want to be town aligned.

But in order for you to do that, the town has to be Coalition aligned. And we don't want that.

TheTJ wrote:If I can't turn things around this night phase and get on the townies side again then I guess you guys could vote against me tommorrow.

This means you are a recruiter.

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 1)

Post  JohnnyFarrar on Sun Aug 05, 2012 9:18 am

vote: TheTJ

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 1)

Post  SnakeInABox on Sun Aug 05, 2012 9:28 am

Nothing else to say?

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 1)

Post  TD260 on Sun Aug 05, 2012 9:56 am

I warned you about the ELoE bro.


I told you dog.



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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 1)

Post  SnakeInABox on Sun Aug 05, 2012 10:17 am

A town win is a town win

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 1)

Post  Warchamp7 on Sun Aug 05, 2012 10:36 am

td260 wrote:I warned you about the ELoE bro.

I told you dog.

Quiet corpse.

If TD talks again can we modkill his whole team?

Also incredible posts Q. I can't wait till I get a chance to record them.

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 1)

Post  JohnnyFarrar on Sun Aug 05, 2012 10:39 am

StuckInABox wrote:Nothing else to say?


Didn't think we'd flip again so all my cards are on the table. I was invested in winning as a mason, so TJ is the only acceptable vote. Im not even sure if I have a power anymore.

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 1)

Post  TheTJ on Sun Aug 05, 2012 11:18 am

I want to win as mason too, and I have more reason than Jhonny. Unlike his team we've been playing on the side of the town the whole game.

The way I see it, there should be only two people who have good reason to want me dead over Jhonny. The first is Jhonny himself, obviously. The second would be whoever was chosen by Warchamp to head up the ELoE after he died. I already thought that this person might be Snake, after all, who better than a confirmed townie? And given that his sole reason for picking me over Jhonny seems to be that I'm still able to recruit it's gone further to support this. I'm not 100% confident about it, but he's far and away the most likely.

Now, between the three evident parties, Coalition, Avalanchians, and ELoE, whichever one of us is killed the other will likely try to target the ELoE head. I just plead with the townies to give me a shot. I've been on your side from the beggining. I don't want to win as mafia, I don't even want to PLAY as mafia considering the game so far, I just want to win alongside the town. Just give me that chance.

EDIT: Oh, also the avatar change Snake made where he's wearing an ELoE shirt.

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 1)

Post  SnakeInABox on Sun Aug 05, 2012 12:18 pm

Of course I'm Evil League. As is the majority of the town.

Do you really think I am the leader?

Or maybe a red herring.

Our leader may be so evil that they thought they could ascend the Demon.

You, the coalition, are now an enemy of the town. Saying you want to win with the town would be like saying that you want to take power again. Big whoop. Of course you do, who wouldn't.

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 1)

Post  TheTJ on Sun Aug 05, 2012 12:56 pm

All I'm asking is to be given one more day to TRY to win with the town. Right now there are two confirmed mafians in the game, Jhonny and myself. I'm not asking you guys to lynch a townie. You'll STILL be getting a mafian, just not me.

If I don't align myself with the town over the next two days, I WILL die, I understand that. But as far as the town is concerned it doesn't really matter who is lynched. The town as a whole will win if the town aligned 3rd party wins with them, so all the town has to do is lynch either Jhonny or myself this phase, then the next dayphase if things have switched around vote to lynch Snake, if not they vote to lynch me.

At this point in the game, I think all the wild cards are gone. There are probably no more surprise reveals floating around out there, the town should have this in the bag. Right now it's only a matter of who you want to win with.

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 1)

Post  SnakeInABox on Sun Aug 05, 2012 1:15 pm

Dude you arent in control anymore.

Vote:TheTJ

Stop talking as if things have to swing coalition. They dont. You've lost.

And killing me wont do any good, I'm Mario. I sure as hell haven't recruited a damn soul into anything.

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 1)

Post  TheTJ on Sun Aug 05, 2012 2:05 pm

Don't twist my words. I'm not saying I'm in control. I'm saying I want to win with the town and it's mostly up to them. If I die now that'll suck because, from my perspective, I've done nothing to derserve it.

I understand it's in your best interest to get me killed this dayphase, but that's because I'm the only possible threat To you. The town is going to win bar some bizarre last minute powerplay. The only question at the moment is who should win with them? And why NOT the coalition? After all, it was the coalition who pulled the kingdom together after the events of the last game. Were we perfect rulers? No. But at least while we were in power there was a peace.

I never said things have to go coalition, I'm saying the opposite. Things are up in the air and the town has a right to choose. YOU seem to be implying things have to go ELoE's way, and THAT'S not true.

Look, you know how much it matters that you're ELoE at the moment? Not one whit for you. If you ARE townie that is. There's still SOMEone out there who's been passed the role of Leader of the ELoE and if it's not you it's Eisen (going by Warchamp's list in day 7)... You do know that it doesn't matter for the town WHO they're aligned with, right? If there's ONE townie sided with Coalition and the ELoE wins, that townie wins with them. Your alignment only matters to the third parties.

Look, I know I'm probably dead, if I don't turn townie opinion in my favor that's it for me. But the same is true for Jhonny. If Jhonny dies this phase I still have a shot, If I die this phase, neither of us have a shot. I know Snake probably doesn't care, but I've seen myself as a mason since day one, even after opinion turned agaonst me. If you guys insist on voting against me there's really nothing I can do. Right now I'm just trying to make the best of a bad situation.

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 1)

Post  TheTJ on Sun Aug 05, 2012 2:18 pm

Or... wait. Snake, ARE you an actual member of the ELoE, or are you still a townie sort of allied with them?

Because if it's the latter, you have nothing to really worry about. The town HAS won this game, I have little doubt about that. Like I said it's a toss-up as to who you want to win with. If you flat out don't want me to win, ignoring aligment, you just don't want ME as a person to win, say so. I'll stop trying to convince you because you'd clearly be voting out of spite in that instance.

If, however, you're voting me because you think I pose a threat to the town itself, that's not the case at all. As far as I can tell there's 3 people left, Me, Jhonny, and whoever heads the ELoE. If that's not you then you've got nothing to lose by letting me try for one more night.

...Please. All I can do is ask and appeal to your better nature. And this goes for the whole town too. Right now I'm mafian, but I don't want to be, I want to win and I want to do it on the town's side. All my cards are out on the table.

...I think I'll leave it at that. Unless something changes I don't think I'll post again in this thread. I said what I wanted to say and now it's up to you guys.

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 1)

Post  SnakeInABox on Sun Aug 05, 2012 2:23 pm

Johnny could say the same. Of course he doesnt want to be Mafia, its just the way things panned out.

You had your chance. Both of you did.

Begging for your life isn't going to do anything.

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 1)

Post  TheTJ on Sun Aug 05, 2012 4:32 pm

You know, I said I wouldn't post in here again, but MAN this is starting to piss me off.

Okay, so you have two mafia guys in front of you.

One of them (Me) has actually been trying to work for the town's benefit since the beggining and actually WAS a mason role for the first 7 days. He did nothing terribly wrong and has been trying to reason with the town.

The other one (Jhonny) had been mafia those first 7 days, and OUTED HIS TEAM directly causing them to lose when he really didn't need to. He also doesn't have a recruiting power, so unless he kills everyone this game is over for him.

Between the two, you pick me.

Great job, I see why you're such a super player.


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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 1)

Post  SnakeInABox on Sun Aug 05, 2012 6:13 pm

Between the two of you, you have the greatest chance of having a recruiting ability and taking the town back in the name of your mafia group.

Therefore we kill you first, him second. I don't see whats so complicated about that.

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 1)

Post  TheTJ on Sun Aug 05, 2012 7:36 pm

Because the town has NOTHING to lose either way.

I CEASE to be mafia when the town goes in my favor. As in I will then be a good guy.

So let's go into what will happen respectively.

Scenario 1: I get lynched.

In this case I would die today. Night phase Jhonny would kill somebody. Even if he doesn't have the power now (Which I find dubious) he'll certainly get it after I die and he's the only mafia. He may hit the last ELoE member, but since he doesn't have a recruiter power he can't win unless he kills everyone, and since we know he's mafia now he'd be next on the chopping block. So we have to spend a whole day with a foregone conclussion, waiting for the end. Boring.

Scenario 2: Jhonny is lynched.

In this case I would survive to the night phase. Since I have a recruiting power I stand a chance at turning this game around. That night phase I can choose NOT to kill anyone, and instead go for the recruiting trying to win you guys over to me. That night phase will at least be interesting for the element of uncertainty. The next day if I win the town over we can look for the ELoE member instead of waiting for the end of the game. Or I might not swing the town and get lynched. At least there are different possibilities.

Scenario 3: Neither gets lynched.

In this case, it's not going to happen, who are we kidding?

And WHY is me getting in the town's good graces a bad thing? Can you explain that to me please? As far as the TOWN is concerned it really doesn't matter. The only one who should care would be the ELoE leader who you may or may not be.

And another thing, you keep saying I MUST die, can you even give me a solid reason as to why I should be killed over Jhonny? I've given you like, 5, for why I should at least be given one more chance. All you've said is I might become a good guy. What the hell kind of logic is that "We must kill him before he stops being bad!"

So, you say you're Mario and you haven't recruited anyone. Then WHY are you so concerned with who can recruit. Maybe you're dense. Maybe you just glossed over my posts... I know, I'll make it clear.

THE TOWN WINS REGARDLESS!!!

It doesn't matter who you win with, so it doesn't matter who has the recruiting power. That is, unless, you're ther ELoE. So yeah, what's with the hate towards me?

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 1)

Post  SnakeInABox on Sun Aug 05, 2012 8:05 pm

I came up red when I died. I am a town on the side of the Evil League.

As is the majority of the town.

Face it, Tj, the Evil League has control. We aren't going to abandon what we believe in now, so we can go BACK to the TYRANNY that chocked this nation before.

No, Tj. You're an idiot if you really think we are going to "Give you another chance" to win town favor. We dont WANT the coalition. We REBUKE THEE.

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 1)

Post  TheTJ on Sun Aug 05, 2012 8:15 pm

Okay, just tell me that you know that the townie alignments don't matter in the slightest for the town, right?

...Of course you do. You're just voting on me to be a dick.

Well, unless Camilla shifts her vote, enjoy waiting for day 11 to end, it'll probably be extremely boring.

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 1)

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