TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 2)

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 2)

Post  Doctor Shulk on Sun Aug 05, 2012 11:36 pm

Well this got out of control quickly.

TJ please don't be upset, it really is nothing personal. I'm just playing the game in the way that I think will be the best for the town. I'm sorry if I (or anyone else) have upset you in this dayphase, it is seriously not a personal attack or anything like that at all. Okay? Smile

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 2)

Post  SurgePox on Mon Aug 06, 2012 12:20 am

I know I missed the dramu but lot of you guys are being assholes and I'd react the same way if it were me. Stop trying to sway the game via noteriety, and stop necroposting. Not even "one post to be funny." it's affecting the game where you have no right to.

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 2)

Post  Eisenbeißer on Mon Aug 06, 2012 1:29 am

TheTJ wrote:[color=lime]I think it's Eisen. Warchamp laid out a list and he said he'd try to pass on his role to Surge, Relm, Camilla, then Eisen in that order. I don't know why you were skipped over, maybe he miscounted, but next on that list was Eisen, and he was eligible.

But as I say, if I DO miss, you guys are coming down on me like a tidal wave. I'm dead if I don't play perfect and if Eisen is indeed innocent, then I'll lose next phase, simple as that. EXACTLY what will happen to Johnny if he survives this phase.

Hmm... Leader or a bad group?!? Sounds good to me, but I am not ELoE. It is very fine to play with my magic herbs. Wink

TheTJ wrote:That's just it though, even if he WAS Doc it'd have been overwritten by Warchamp's power. Much like Me giving up my role's power to be able to preach, I'm sure he gave up his power to protect.

Okay, here, fair chance.

If you guys leave me alive this dayphase I will nightkill Eisen.

Eisen, if I'm still alive this nightphase, and if you're still the doctor, protect yourself.

Now, if I'm right, he won't be able to protect himself AND will be the leader of the ELoE. He'll die, no townies will be killed, and I'll swing the town back (Hopefully).

If he's still the Doc, then he'll block my kill, the REAL leader of the ELoE will override any preaches I made, and I'll be killed, also with no more townies killed.

Is that Fair? If I'm wrong no townies die, if I'm right I get to win with the town.

WOW! Sad You are talking a lot of nonsense. Only for your information: Warchamp hasn't overwritten my ability. I have protected Camilla the last night. So your argument doesn't match with my night action.

The last dayphases showed me that the control of the Kingdom is switching very fast. I vote TJ, because the town has the possibility to erase one fraction. Thanks for the information that I could protect myself. Smile

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 2)

Post  Ansem on Mon Aug 06, 2012 5:24 am

O hey this is still going on

Vote:TheTJ

town wins yay.

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 2)

Post  TheTJ on Mon Aug 06, 2012 1:55 pm

You know what? I've seen the light. Clearly between the two openly mafian players, we should lynch the one who's trying his absolute best, instead of outing his team and making... what? a two word post this whole phase? Dude's talkative is what I'm saying.

Anyway, yeah, between the two mafians, the one who has the most reason to keep the town alive CLEARLY is the most threatening to the town. We might as well adopt the one who wants to kill the town as a mascot or something.

So yeah, let's get on the winning team here.

Unvote: Johnny
Vote: The TJ


Because, seriously. Making impassioned speeches with actual logic behind them makes you seem dumb. Go figure.

[/bitter]

Anyway, yeah, good game. Don't know why ALL of you went after me over Johnny, I figured at least one of you'd show some sense and give me a shot.

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 2)

Post  SnakeInABox on Mon Aug 06, 2012 1:59 pm

It's simple.

Johnny proved to us with his claiming for other teammates that he is incompetent, and not a threat.

If you really insist we stop worrying about you as a threat, whatever. I'm sorry I thought you were ever a threat, TheTJ. I'll try my hardest in the future to try and regard you as a weak pitiful player, who should be ignored. Will that make you feel better?

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 2)

Post  TheTJ on Mon Aug 06, 2012 2:11 pm

If it means I win, sure!

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 2)

Post  Eisenbeißer on Mon Aug 06, 2012 3:32 pm

StuckInABox wrote:Johnny proved to us with his claiming for other teammates that he is incompetent, and not a threat.

I think that you can't say so easy that Johnny is incompetent. During the previous dayphase he was aligned with the town. In my view he put all one's eggs in one basket to win the game for the avalanchians. Therefore I believe that there isn't nothing wrong about that. He showed us very clear that TJ is coalition. Johnny's claim and Minby's death helped us to identify the last coaliation member.

Please TJ, don't take it personally. Snake is a hard enemy and I am glad that I was on his scum list. Smile I can only guess what you might think, but it is hard to confince someone against Snake's influence.

TheTJ wrote:
Pineapple wrote:TJ, this isn't anything personal. You're one of the people against the town (who is currently aligned with the ELoE, who I therefore support).
That's all.

And so Is Johnny. We're not both simply "Against the town" either. I have the ability to join the town again. That's my way to victory. Johnny can only kill and hope he's the last one left.

In my best case scenario, I win and the town wins.

In Johnny's best case scenario, he wins and the town loses.

If it were simply a matter of voting off the enemy of the town we'd be voting him.

How can you join the town again? I don't think that it would work that Johnny could kill and hope that he's the last one left, because he can only kill one of the townies by night. So there would be enough townies left to lynch him.

So I don't know if the next dayphase the ELoE could be overthrown and they maybe are again our enemies. I hope not, because this is Q's game and he surprised me with the different twists. Smile


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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 2)

Post  SnakeInABox on Mon Aug 06, 2012 3:41 pm

No, after TheTJ dies there should be no way for the Evil League to be overthrown.

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 2)

Post  Warchamp7 on Mon Aug 06, 2012 3:42 pm

TheTJ wrote:Because, seriously. Making impassioned speeches with actual logic behind them makes you seem dumb. Go figure.

It's a pretty shitty feeling isn't it?

[/td260]

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 2)

Post  TheTJ on Mon Aug 06, 2012 3:47 pm

Okay, here's the number one reason I think I lost. The town alignment thing wasn't explained well at all.

From what I understand, this is how it works. Each townie has an alignment that is hidden. This will correspond to one of the groups. At the start of the game most of you were aligned with the coalition. Once per Dayphase, and once per nightphase the preacher from each group would choose someone and try to flip their alignment. If they tried to flip a townie they would, but if they picked... say Relm, or Johnny, or any non-townie, it would have no effect.

The way the town swapping alignments works is by (majority +n) , where "n" is the number of times the town has swapped sides. Or something like that at least. I know I would have needed every townie to flip this, and even then it might not have been enough. Anyway, once a group reaches that who ins't already sided with the town, the town joins them and the other group(s) become either mafian or survivor or something. I'll be honest, I had a better grasp on this when I thought it was 2 groups. Doesn't matter now though, since when I die Mafia will likely go to Avalanchians.

The preacher role can be passed on once if the player dies. In my case I had to give up my unblockable kill ability to get this. Once the second player dies though, I think that's it for preaching.

Now, this bit is important, because I think this is where some of you were confused. The town is in NO WAY tied to the 3rd party "Aligned" with them. In this case, if the ELoE died out, the town would go right on and win on it's own. If the ELoE were ousted then the town would win with whoever took their place. Being a threat to the person currently winning alongside the town, and bein a threat to the town itself are two VERY different things.

If this had been spelled out sooner or something I might have made it through the day. As it was I tried to tell you guys without spelling it right out. It would actually be impossible for the town to lose this game without intentionall self-sabotage, so it didn't really matter if I died today or Johnny did. The Town has pretty much officially won. Q could call it now and we woudn't miss much.

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 2)

Post  Quaetam on Mon Aug 06, 2012 3:54 pm

Flavorpost at the start of the dayphase updated finally, sorry for the wait, I think you can understand why I'm a bit burnt out atm Razz

HERE is the link.

Vote Tally:
TheTJ(6): Camilla, Johnny, Snake, Eisen, Ansem, TheTJ

6/30 hours and 6 minutes left in the dayphase

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 2)

Post  SnakeInABox on Mon Aug 06, 2012 8:41 pm

TheTJ wrote:
If this had been spelled out sooner or something I might have made it through the day.

That was spelled out from the get go.

We understand everything as well as you do, TheTJ.

I don't think you understand US, though.

WE DON'T WANT THE COALITION TO WIN. Your logic is that if the town can win with either the League or the Coalition, why not give you a chance to take majority?

Because we DON'T WANT you to take majority. We DON'T WANT things to flip back to the way they were. The coalition killed Peach, and ruled with the kind of iron fist you shove up a sailors asshole.

TheTJ, you were doomed from the start of this dayphase, nothing you could have said would have gotten you out of this.

The ELoE never killed anyone. We weren't even given that option. Unlike your one man mafia now, we were NEVER a threat to the town. Meanwhile you hide behind the so called "Mason" title while you push people around, and kill-a my girl.

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 2)

Post  Quaetam on Mon Aug 06, 2012 10:05 pm

The Dayphase is over! Lynchpost coming soon!

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 2)

Post  Quaetam on Thu Aug 09, 2012 1:51 am

I've had a busy last couple days, so I'll say it here: I'm posting the lynchpost, and the night 10 killpost, one after the other tomorrow, as I have most night actions. If you haven't submitted anything, send it in asap. The endgame is winding near!

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Day 10-The Blade that Scarred the World

Post  Quaetam on Sat Aug 11, 2012 2:42 am

The day trudged on in the ruined, storm-drenched Kingdom, as the survivors of the Tempest spread out through a desolate world. They looked upon the ruins, the shattered streets, the destroyed subways and shaking, unstable skyscrapers, with shock, dismay, but overwhelming hope, for the world stood untouched now by rain, by the seeping miasma that was the fog of the abyss. Their hero had lived up to his word: He had, through his efforts, ensured the permanence of the dawn, and allow the Kingdom to survive the storm.

For the first time in days, the Kingdom knew sunrise. For the first time in days, it knew hope.

This is-a our Kingdom now…

The city was wrecked; the shattered remains of the square were filled with the bodies of the lost, but the buildings, the streets, they could be rebuilt, and the fallen were celebrated now as war heroes, liberators of the Kingdom. The tears of their families were eased by the knowledge of their sacrifice. The streets were calm, quiet; there was no warfare, for the Kingdom was theirs, the future was theirs. Their struggle, against the Coalition, against the madman who had, however briefly, taken their place, had borne its fruit, and they knew freedom once more.

Yet they could not rest; they could not truly celebrate. For the Coalition was out there, the Avalanchians not forgotten. The world was not safe yet.

Through the bittersweet morning, Camilla walked down the ruined boulevards, skirting around the fallen rubble, the destroyed pieces of buildings, pokeballs at her belt. The young trainer, upholder of justice, patrolled the streets, faithful Growlithe at her side. Camilla, like the others, saw solace in the sunrise, saw hope in the clear skies ahead. She, like the rest of the Kingdom, was invigorated by the newfound freedom. But she knew they were not yet safe, and would not rest until that changed. She had joined with Link, with the Kingdom’s finest, under the Coalition, despite knowing their tyranny, understanding their wrath, knowing she could protect the people, as had always been her aspiration, and seek out those who would bring them chaos, and violence.

Now, she knew she had been wrong, to follow them, to uphold their justice. Now, she, like the others, had fought to overthrow them. And now, they had succeeded.

Camilla heard the sound of people shouting, glanced in the direction of the noise… Two of the refugees, their clothes battered, their expressions weary, stood outside an apartment building. An elderly woman had run up to them, throwing her arms around them, sobbing tears of joy. Yes, the Coalition had fallen; their brutal reign had been ended. But her mission, to keep the people safe, to sniff out all threats to the peace, was more important than ever. Even after the storm, she understood how carefully balanced the peace was; she knew how precariously it was maintained. It was more important now than ever before that she protect it.

As she walked she looked towards her partner. It had found its true master, its true friend, in Camilla, and it believed strongly in her virtue. There had been one bright spot to the Avalanchians’ ephemeral reign: Only two days ago had Growlithe been dead… now, the pokemon was back with her, among the living. The pokemon was strong on its feet despite having only returned to this world a day ago.

Camilla turned down a side alley, skirting around a tree that rose uncertainly out of the pavement, displaced by the Tempest. How strange it was to be able to set out upon such venues without fear, without hesitation. A mere day ago the alleyways had been the most dangerous part of the Kingdom, known for the killings, the casualties of war. Those who ventured there were unlikely to ever return. Even she, an officer of the Kingdom, had steadfastly avoided the alleys, the side-streets since the war’s beginning. The alleys had been the most dangerous part of the Kingdom since time immemorial, and just as the mafia of old had often used them to claim its victims, the revolutionaries had done the same.

Yet now, they were quiet, peaceful. Now she proceeded down their lengths, their meandering turns, alert, but calm, confident. The trainer looked to her left at a slight noise, tensed, but it was nothing more than a Ratatta, scrounging for scraps in the garbage, a scared animal in a strange, uncertain world. She smiled as she saw, scribbled on the wall, an old piece of graffiti; “who watches the Game’N’Watch?,” faded now, supplanted six months ago now by another, “who Mods the Moderators?”

It was a good bit of irony, now, given all that had occurred… even before their rise, the author of this message had known the danger that lay in the Coalition. Even before the moderators had seized the throne, he had tried to warn the people of their tyranny. The people had known the danger, had seen the perils laid out before them, so why had they not listened?

She shook her head. It didn’t matter now, after all that they’d been through. The only thing they could do now is stop this from ever happening again. Perhaps next time, when cries of oppression and fear rang through the Kingdom, she, and the others, could pay them heed.

Camilla left the alley, headed into the street, and swiftly found herself amidst a crowd of people. She tensed; her instincts telling her to be wary, to avoid such gatherings; in days past they had been the precursors to riots, to warfare, and a woman of the law would find few friends there. Today, however, the crowd was calm, milling about, paying her no more heed than anyone else. A change had come across them all, a peaceful countenance dominating the masses…

Perhaps the war was truly at an end.

Growlithe growled, and the hostile noise seemed to snap Camilla back to attention. The trainer frowned, troubled, for while the revolution had ended, the fighting wasn’t over—The Kingdom wasn’t safe, not yet. As long as the final moderator still sought to reclaim that golden throne, as long as the Avalanchians, in their quest for justice, still believed themselves the true rulers of the Kingdom, they could not afford to rest. She glanced down at her faithful companion. The pokemon nodded to her, proceeded to weave its way through the crowd, barking, scurrying ahead. Camilla herself pushed forward, apologizing as she clumsily knocked a few of the citizens aside, following her partner.

Growlithe had picked up a trail, a scent of some kind.

She continued to move her way up the causeway, registering the slope of the hill beneath her. All around, people moved through the streets, exchanging greetings, hugs; giving signs of empathy, of solidarity. And yet she forged onward, something still unseen, dawning on her, the specter of an age past haunting her. The trainer pushed through the crowd, a sole troubled mind amidst a peaceful dawn. The illusion of the perfect peace had been briefly shattered now, and with it her mood had dropped. What had the pokemon found?

For the first time that day, she felt darkness lurking despite the light of the sun, despite the plentiful hope that shone down on the Kingdom. Upward she pushed, and as she continued, the crowd grew sparse. The city here was utterly destroyed, reduced far too often to nothing more than smouldering craters, completely decimated by the demon’s wrath. The sparse, scattered buildings that still remained were mere skeletons, their insides shattered, their upper levels swallowed by the storm.

Little remained here, above the Kingdom.

Her sense of foreboding increased as, following her partner, she rounded the crest of the hill, and stopped, surprised, suddenly recognizing the locale despite the devastation, despite the utter destruction that surrounded her. Growlithe, ahead, also stopped, turning around, teeth bared in a canine grin, looking thoroughly pleased with itself.

And there, at the center of the devastation, stood the great Cathedral.

Its arcing forms were broken, its ancient architecture was damaged, shattered by the fury of the storm. The scaffolding that had been erected around its steeple was in pieces, the roof littered with holes, with detritus, deposited by the storm, by the shifting of the world. The stained glass windows were shattered, destroyed from the hero’s clash with the ascendant, their former beauty gone. The entire building was in a state of disrepair and neglect.

This place had once been the site of the peoples’ hope, a beacon of faith amidst a burning Kingdom. Yet in the past six months it had come to mean so much more, it had come to symbolize the fall of that hope, the blackening of that faith. This place, this great hall, had stood through the Rising War, just like the Coalition it had harbored. From here, the Usurper had heralded his coveted era, his new dawn. This was the great house from which the old world had been shattered; the new, ushered in. This place of worship stood as if a tribute to the fallen angels, a symbol of their quest toward heaven.

It was only fitting that it now stood in ruins. All beauty, all majesty the Cathedral had once held, was little more than a shadow now, just like the regime it stood for.

A chill ran up Camilla’s spine as she walked up to the great doors, imposing, still standing, set into the ruined building. Growlithe, still sitting by the entryway, turned towards her, growled affectionately, and then looked back toward the Cathedral. The trainer’s eyes followed, tracing her pokemon’s gaze to the damp, cracked stone. There, below the great doors, a light was clearly lit. Camilla’s eyes widened in surprise.

Growlithe had been onto something. Someone was already here. She gulped, turned to face her pokemon. Both nodded.

This was the place the Coalition’s time had begun.

Perhaps here was where it would end.

She walked forward, Growlithe at her side, and gently pushed open the stone door.

The inside was dark, decayed; the pews dusty and neglected. The air was damp, musky, stained by the rainwater that had drowned the Kingdom mere hours ago, but humid, warm. Above her, the ceiling was pocked, speckled with holes, through which sunlight filtered, casting itself down into the desecrated Cathedral sanctuary. The glass windows, lining the walls, had largely been shattered; only one stood, intact, on the eastern side of the altar pit. Through the gap in the walls, radiance streamed into the room, itself puncturing the darkness that enshrouded most of the Cathedral. Up ahead, in the darkness, the rows ended; the circular altar pit yawning up into the central chamber. And, from within, a sinister, flickering glow lit the encumbering darkness.

She walked forward, looking around for any sign of movement, and as she approached the altar pit, the source of the glow quickly became apparent.

There, atop the raised platform, in an open coffin, a body lay in flames. The coffin had been draped with blue and black, with elaborate azure cloth, itself mostly engulfed in conflagration. The musk of incense lay heavily in the air, soothing, in reverence of the life it mourned.

And there, standing across the altar pit, a dark figure gazed away, head turned upwards towards the stained glass window. His figure was dark… his silhouette, illuminated ahead by the soft glow of filtered sunlight… behind, by the cackling warmth of the cremating flames.

There stood a menace in mourning.

There stood a fallen angel enraptured in the bitter vengeance that was all he knew.

There stood Jeremy, the final Guardian, last of the Coalition.

Here he stood: The last of the moderators, the final of the old order, the last of the gods, still holding on to a dying dream, still clinging to the forgotten promise of a new world. The last of the hypocrites, the final of the tyrants, those who had brought the world into chaos to fulfill their own petty desire, still believing in the great deception of the Usurper, who believed himself the harbinger of justice. He was the one who had started it all, through the fire of his blade, the purging light that had brought the Kingdom to its knees. He was, in a way, who had been the Usurper’s blade, the weapon by which the world had been purged, by which the path to the new world had been paved.

Her hands clenched into fists. He was the personification of death, of finality. It was to him, the great cutioner, that so many innocents had fallen—so many good men and women sent to die by the touch of his banstick, deemed unfit to exist in the new world. He was the face of the Purges, the shadow that hung over their world, and the one who now stood in the way of their freedom.

Camilla, breathing heavily, walked forward, Growlithe still at her heels.

As she stepped forward, into the firelight, the fallen angel spoke, his words dripping with menace, with vengeful regret.

So, you’ve come,” said the Guardian, “at long last, after all this time.

Even as he spoke, he continued to gaze solemnly towards Camilla shook slightly, forcing herself to maintained her composure before the menace she now faced.

Yes,” she said, “Your reign has tainted our Kingdom for too long. I’m here to end this.

The moderator smiled, still looking into the darkness, and stepped away from the fire. As its flickering glow faded from him, he emerged into another patch of luminance: The array of sunlit colors, cast by the stained glass, shone down upon him, casting him in a kaleidoscopic, royal splendor. Jeremy, still looking away from the trainer, spread his arms, as it catching the filtered sunlight in his hands, basking in the nobility of the daylight, the regality of the dawn.

To end this?” he sneered, “How fitting that you’ve come here, now. Do you know where we are, where I stand?

The moderator whirled around, and Camilla tensed, as she gazed, on even terms, at the face of an angel, of he who had for so long stood above her. For the past several days, no, for months before that, she had worked under him, looked up to him as something more than man, something more than mortals. The four of the Coalition had been all but angelic; the Usurper himself an untouchable deity atop his throne. And Jeremy, this executioner, from where had stood atop the great platform, had looked over the people with contempt, with sage, aloof, overbearing condescension. Now, she looked to his eyes, and saw not a god, not an immortal, but a mere man. The angel had fallen from grace; the deity had lost all favor. Jeremy’s eyes had lost their faith, their unwavering belief in whatever vision he had once held. Now all that remained was little more than rage, than vengeance.

This Cathedral stands as a monument to our power, to our greatness, our righteousness. We now reside in the very room that saw the birth of our world,” said Jeremy, “Not meters from here the Usurper struck down his final foe, and ascended to his lofty throne.

As he spoke, he raised his hand high, as if preaching to some follower, and looked upward.

Do you understand what we’ve done for this world?” Jeremy spoke, self-righteous fury, anger, in his gaze, “We cleansed this land of the corrupt, of the malignancy that poisoned it. We saved this Kingdom from oblivion, and by our hands shaped the encroaching dawn. We are the reason you now have sunlight. Our struggle has been a righteous one, from the beginning.

The executioner clenched his fist as he spoke, lowering his hand as he continued.

We preached words of gods, words of righteousness, of hope,” snarled the moderator, “But you rejected them. You turned them aside and, in your foolish naivette, you rejected all we have fought to build. This world crumbles, now because of what you’ve done; because you cast aside the only truly great man who walked these streets, abandoned the only one who could have held this place together.

Jeremy gestured down, now, to the altar, where the body continued to smoulder, alight with crematory flames. Camilla’s eyes widened with shock as she realized the identity of the corpse… There, burning upon the altar below, was Queen Snake, having died less than twenty four hours ago. The executioner was here for a private funeral.

And when she came forward, when she beseeched we all work together, for a new peace, to fight for the dawn, your… savior struck her down like it was nothing,” Jeremy sneered, “Your King was nothing but a madman, a lunatic; the world he promised would have burned at the seams. And by killing the Preacher you extinguished the last great voice of sanity, standing against total darkness, and in the process doomed the one hero this Kingdom truly deserved; the one hero this city truly needed. This is a forsaken land, a jaded world.

But Camilla shook her head,

NO!” she cried, “The Mad King is gone now. Whether he is dead or not is irrelevant. In a matter of days, the Avalanchians will be exterminated, and the Kingdom will belong to the people who truly deserve it!

And the moderator, walking slowly around the altar pit, flames tickling at his features, setting his face alight with a malignant glow, laughed as he responded,

The Mad King is dead, by MY hand!” he cried, “Any reprieve you have met from his tyranny is my doing! Any respite against the storm, the work of the Coalitions, of the Guardians of the Kngdom. It is our efforts, not yours, that has given this Kingdom its hope, now, just as always!

The two stood ten feet apart; the Guardian, hand at his sword, and Camilla, helpless save the loyal pokemon at her side.

Don’t you see?” implored the Guardian, “We are the ones who have held this Kingdom together from the beginning. It is to us you must hold fast if you are to survive. And without us, you have nothing.

And the officer, the trainer, her face turned towards the floor, raised her gaze slowly, shaking her head.

The Coalition has done nothing but oppress us, nothing but destroy us, slowly, from within. You’re the ones who killed Peach, you’re the ones who brought the Kingdom to its knees. Any virtue in what you’ve been trying to accomplish is completely outmatched by the terrible things you’ve done,” Camilla said, and as she spoke her voice gained in confidence, in strength, “I trusted you, I followed you, when you’ve done nothing but oppress our people, nothing but bring war and chaos upon us. Open your eyes! You aren’t the only thing holding the Kingdom together! This world was better off without you!

SILENCE!” cried the Guardian, “You are a child, nothing more. You cannot comprehend our aim, our vision! We have struggled for a higher purpose, one far beyond your reach. It is you who killed the Usurper, you who damned the Preacher in her mission of mercy. You are the scourge of this world!

And Jeremy, his eyes flashing with rage, drew from his waist his cyan blade. The banstick’s light flashed through the darkened interior of the ruined Cathedral, and Camilla backed away, pulse pounding. She looked at the golden weapon with long-held fear in her eyes for the promise it held, respect for its power. Seeing it there, before her, the absolute power leveled, intent on her destruction, at last brought the gravity of her intent, the magnitude of this task, down upon her. She struggled against not merely a man but an idea, a symbol of power, of infinite terror. One hit, and it would be over for her. One hit, and her proud little quest for personal redemption would mean nothing.

But she remembered her training; she remembered what she had learned, long ago. The very basic concept of battling still held true, even here, against this insurmountable foe.

If you struggle against a greater foe, don’t get hit, and make sure every strike counts.

The moderator lunged forward, and Camilla cried out,

Growlithe, Protect!

The Pokemon growled, and with a flash of yellow light the Coalitionist was thrown backwards by a wall of energy.

Now double-team!

As Jeremy got to his feet, the beast shifted, encircling him with countless illusions, formless figures that flowed together, shifting into one another; Growlithe’s form impossible to track amidst the darkness of the Cathedral. Jeremy stood, banstick drawn, calm, waiting, biding his time as the Pokemon continued to shift around him, its illusory technique honed to perfection, staving off his foe by the threat of attack.

And the trainer turned back towards the moderator. “Growlithe, GET HIM!

The illusions at last took form, seven Growlithes standing evenly spaced around their foe, and lunged for him, each striking for a different area. But the fallen angel stood unperturbed; the moderator slashed with his banstick, vaporizing several, before turning and kicking the real Pokemon as it leapt at his neck, striking from behind. Growlithe was sent sprawling, down into the altar pit, with a yelp, and Jeremy walked forward, stepping inexorably towards Camilla.

You really think me so low?” the mod snarled, “I am above such trickery. The Coalition will not bow to a mere beast.

Camilla backed up, step by step, out of options, as the fallen angel encroached upon her, his weapon raised, his intentions black. She retreated, slowly, around the pit, but his stride was too long, his confidence, too great; he was gaining ground with each step, drawing closer, closer. The trainer turned to catch her bearings, examine her surroundings, look for a way out, and tripped, falling in a heap amidst the wrecked, shattered pews. Panicked now, she scrambled to her feet, only to find his banstick at her throat.

He pushed forward, and she took a step back, and another, desperate for some salvation, knowing she would find none.

A fireball flew skyward, hitting and igniting the arching ceiling above the two combatants. Several rafters, bits of roofing from above, and various detritus rained down upon them, and the two jumped back to avoid the burning debris, turning to face the source of the attack.

There, atop the altar pit stairs, facing the Coalitionist, stood Growlithe. But he wasn’t Growlithe anymore.

The pokemon stood over six feet tall, its bearing proud, regal. The former puppy held itself now with the bearing of a lion, mane long and flowing, head up high. Its body was engulfed in eternal fire; its poise, in a conflagration of power. Arcanine’s fangs were bared in a bestial scowl, flames tickling around them as the legendary dog gazed upon its prey.

The moderator took a step back, banstick tight in hand, and Arcanine leapt forward, fearless, flames blazing from the gap in his teeth, fire tickling at the Coalitionist, burning at him, the pokemon’s flamethrower attack seeking to consume him. Jeremy leapt aside as the blazing conflagration scorched the ground at his feet, landing a good five feet away.

The flames licked about the floor, encapsulating a nearby pew, which was immediately ignited; the dusty, dry wood catching fire, burning into the darkness. The interior of the Cathedral, bathed in darkness save the rays of sunlight that shone down through the broken ceiling, grew alight with a writhing orange glow. Fire began to spread through the room, up the walls, towards the rafters overhead, as the great beast, once thought a legend, faced off against the final Guardian, the last of the fallen angels, its trainer watching on.

The cyan glow flared out amidst the gloom, through the rising inferno, as Jeremy held his banstick aloft, still concentrating, without waver, upon his foe. The hems of his cloak were singed; a deep burn could be seen across much of his right leg, even as he stood, as if unperturbed, against the pain his wound so clearly brought him. Arcanine snarled, flames playing at the corners of his mouth, and the moderator dove forward, catching the pokemon by surprise. His banstick raked out again, and again, in cyan arcs, each swipe threatening to erase Arcanine from existence.

But the Pokemon, with reflexes honed by years of battle, once more activated Protect at the last second, knocking the advancing Guardian back. The moderator staggered, lost grip on his blade briefly… The cyan banstick was knocked out of his hand, spiraling away into the distant corners of the chamber.

This is the end of your era. We knew nothing but pain under you; the world will never go back to how it was beneath your grasp,” Camilla shouted, “We reject you, utterly and completely!

She raised her hand, pointing towards her foe. The moderator staggered, recovering, and in his pause, the beast lunged at him, jaws open in a feral biting attack. But something was wrong. Camilla saw the moderator reach to its back, and, suddenly fearful for her pokemon’s life, she stepped forward, shouting for Arcanine to protect itself.

The orange banstick of the Preacher, still held by the executioner it had been entrusted to, lashed out through the rising fire, cutting at the pokemon. Arcanine had nowhere to run, nowhere to dodge!

The banstick cut through the gap between them, piercing the air with a blazing, eternal heat, slashing straight through the air, shattering the Double Team illusion. Jeremy’s eyes widened in shock, and the real Arcanine leapt out from behind him, tackling him to the ground. He struggled briefly to fend off the massive, snarling beast, shaking back and forth beneath the pokemon’s weight, before his hands closed on the banstick that had fallen at his side, and he brought it up, swinging towards the pokemon’s neck.

Arcanine jumped backwards, and the moderator rose to his feet before it, immediately pressing his attack, trying to prevent from unleashing any more flames. The dog, in turn, took any chance it had to spit fire at the Guardian. Camilla stood to the side, watching with bated breath, wanting little more than to help, yet knowing she could do nothing. Finally, Jeremy dodged a fireball, falling to the ground, and as he came up he lashed overhead with the orange blade, catching the dog’s eyes, before jabbing straight for the creature’s noble chest with his own weapon, the banstick of cyan.

Arcanine, protect again!Camilla cried. But the pokemon had something else in mind. Arcanine’s body glowed with a malignant flare as the moderator slashed, and he opened his mouth, wide, with a great roar. Flames exploded outward, filling the room, knocking both Camilla and Jeremy backwards.

The mod fell sideways, thrown into the altar pit, where his crematory flame still roared, even against the blaze now encompassing much of the building. The officer and the beast looked down into the pit, ready, expecting another strike, but with a loud cracking sound, a great roar and surge of flames, a large section of the ceiling caved in, depositing a flaming mass to their left. She looked skyward. The ceiling had been largely obfuscated by flames, the smoke rising out into the sky beyond. All around, the entire sanctuary was in flames. And it was collapsing on their heads.

Come on,” said Camilla, “Let’s get out of here!

the two partners, the trainer and her faithful Arcanine, exchanged a glance and turned, bolting frantically towards the door.

All around them flames fell, smoke rose. Bits of ceiling began to cave in, smoking rafters falling. Sparks flew into Camilla’s face as a massive support beam fell before her, and she could hear, over the roaring of the fire, a deep groan of the ceiling above, itself swaying under the strain of the towering conflagration that consumed it, the source of heat, of light, that obliderated the darkness of the great Cathedral. Flames lashed out at her legs, smoke choked her vision, her lungs... She had to get out!

She turned to her left, but found a solid, incendiary wall before her. Panicked now, choking on the rising smoke, the trainer turned once more to her side. Already the ceiling in that area had collapsed, already her way was shut, obscured by the dying vestiges of a failed dynasty. Camilla looked backward, towards the altar pit, desperate for any escape, but there was none.

Arcanine lept forward with a yelp, motioning for Camilla to mount. She hoisted herself on his back, and with a great leap, Arcanine cleared the debris, landing on the other side, bounding forward, knocking open the stone door with his head, and running out into the street, as behind him, the Cathedral was engulfed in a sea of total flames.

Camilla slid off Arcanine, and fell to one knee, coughing from the smog, before at last rising and examining her surroundings.

She had emerged from the falling edifice to gasps and cries, the people outside astonished to have seen anyone escape the maw of the fire. For the burning of the Cathedral had attracted a large crowd; many of the Kingdomites who she’d caught wandering the streets before now stood, watching as the symbol of the Coalition went up in smoke. Hundreds of hopefuls ringed the devastated sacred ground, the building that had once been their greatest symbol of hope, and watched as it slowly burnt to the ground. For the Cathedral was dying, the Coalition, fading. This was the end of an era, this was a final word in a dark chapter of their history, and they had gathered to witness it. This was the turning of the page, and they would be there to see it transpire.

Voices rang out in shock, clearly audible above the roar of the flames. Fingers pointed upward, towards the roof of the Cathedral, the shattered steeple, standing yet untouched by the ravaging blaze.

For there, atop the broken spire, he stood. There, cyan banstick in hand, burns across the left side of his body, rage resplendent upon his visage, stood Jeremy.

The moderator had survived.

Jeremy looked out through the flames, glancing over the crowd, over the Kingdom.

Overhead the weather was clear, sunny. The sky had not known such splendor since a time long past; only now, in the wake of the storm at the end, had the world seen such light. Below the radiant skies, across the entire hilltop and beyond, he could see hundreds, no, thousands gathered, arrayed around the dying Cathedral, just as they had so often come to witness as he carried out the will of the Usurper. A great crowd had assembled below, stretching out past even the hilltop, down into the rest of the city. It was a gathering worthy of a Purge.

Only now, those people wished to see his end. Those people stood, watched, as the great symbol of hope in their lives burned before their eyes. And he, who had struggled without end to save them, who had worked tirelessly for the new dawn, was cast so errantly, so callously aside. None would lend him aid; they would watch as he perished in the flames of his dying dreams. They had come not to follow him, not to walk with him into the new dawn, but to watch as he perished, to watch as the fallen angels fell further.

They had come not to hear his words, not to follow his voice, but to view the death of the Coalition.

Jeremy shook his head, bowed it. .. He had failed, then. Months of building towards a greater horizon, tireless days of working, selflessly, to achieve Utopia, to shape heaven by their personal graces, would all end here. The Usurper’s great dream, of a better world, of one free of corruption, would, in the end, be in vain. He had saved these people for nothing. As the trainer had said, they had rejected him, rejected all he stood for, utterly and completely.

And now, now the Guardians’ quest was in vain; their journey, one of desperate, naïve hope, shattered as the truth was laid bare before them, as the people they sought to carry into the light cast them aside.

He gazed out, through the rising smoke, upon the ruined city, upon the people, and a note of despair struck him, a final realization of futility, and of damnation. This was what it had come to, then. A shattered wasteland hanging by a thread, on the edge of oblivion, even as reality had repaired the wounds dealt it at the demon’s hand. They had seized the great throne, those months ago, and stood at the helm of the world, at the summit of their Kingdom. And they had followed the Usurper, worked with him to achieve peace, to forge prosperity. They had struggled, without end, to build the new world out of the ashes of the world. They had broken the peace, thrown aside the corrupt admin and fought for justice…

And this was all it had been worth. This was the sum of all their efforts. A desecrated wasteland, forever marred by the crimes they had inflicted on it. A city that was barely a city anymore, inhabited by mere hundreds. Thousands had died by their dream; thousands had met their end by the war they had started to gain power, by the Purges that followed, and in the conflict of the past week and a half, as they had struggled to keep their vision alive. They had struggled for that goal, struggled for that perfect world, believed so strongly in the pursuit of the throne of the gods…

…and they had been wrong. Jeremy lowered his head, sorrow and bitter regret marring his countenance, his gaze. Their mission had been in error, their vision, in equal depravity. For there, before him, Jeremy could see, clearly, the scars they had left on the world. They had plunged the Kingdom too deep, wounded it until it was beyond saving. All that remained now was the bitter skeleton of a once-great land, the mockery of a world that had known nothing but oppression. And they, self-proclaimed upholders of justice, had been the ones to doom this world, after all this time. They, of the Coalition, had been rejected by people who had understood the truth, who had known the depths of their depravity, and now nothing remained but death.

They had failed; no, their dream was a lie to begin with.

Jeremy held the cyan banstick out in front of him, examining its length, marveling in the unnatural flare of the searing, absolute power. This was the blade that had ended countless lives. This was the sword that had carried out the usurper’s will, the sword that had purged all their enemies.

This was the blade that had wounded the world.

Jeremy held the banstick high, allowing the sun’s rays to catch its brilliant, cyan glow, filtering them as a bright spot of blue light down onto the gathering below. Around him, flames roared; behind him, he heard a loud crash, felt the building shake, as a large swath of the tower collapsed. But still he focused n the banstick, on its noble, carved hilt, its unnatural, flickering, cackling light.

Their dream had been in error from the start; his vigor, his strength, the force of the Usurper’s will… they had all meant nothing, after all this time. This blade had brought about more suffering than he could ever imagine. Jeremy raised his head, looking towards the setting sun. It was only fitting that it would preform one final act, then.

Yes, this Kingdom would know one final Purge.

The banstick came down, and the dusk of the new age was lit with an azure flash.

TheTJ was banned (lynched). He was JGH27, the Arisen Moderator. Alignment: Coalition.

The Coalition of Moderators has been defeated.


Last edited by Quaetam on Tue Aug 14, 2012 12:11 am; edited 3 times in total

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Night 10-A Fucking Army

Post  Quaetam on Sat Aug 11, 2012 2:43 am

The Coalition was gone, the angels’ reign ended.

The executioner had vanished in a flash of light, and in his wake the world was alive once more. News of the moderator’s death spread quickly through the dispersed masses, through the streets of the Kingdom, and for the first time in months, the people celebrated, cheered openly in the streets. The thoughts of the dead, of the sacrificed, were eased, or even subdued, by the knowledge that their sacrifice had not been in vain; the Guardians were gone now, for good. Their reign had been ended, their lives extinguished, and the Kingdom had fallen to the people who truly deserved it, to those it rightfully belonged to.

Thoughts turned now to a time before the Coalition’s Rising War, before their reckoning, to a time before the Cannibal’s rampage, a time of peace. The age of heroes had fallen those years ago… but perhaps it was not over. Perhaps it could come again. Mario walked among them, the hero in him alive once more, for he was the one who had defeated the Usurper, and freed them from the moderators’ iron grip. Camilla, and her Arcanine, patrolled the streets, themselves lauded for ending the Coalition’s brutal order. Link, having led the people in their defense against the clones, helping to throw off the shackles of the Avalanchians before it was too late, watched over them. Yes, there were heroes in this world.

And the people knew it. Their tears of mourning had been stymied by the rise of sunshine, by the knowledge that those lost had been martyred, those gone had left the world with purpose. The dawn had risen on the world, and the sun shone stronger than ever. The Cathedral burned through the day… dozens camped outside to watch the flames, the people alight with celebration. While many remained in Ascendancy Square to mourn, some gave their dead to the fire, for it was an end worthy of those who had fought for the world; they were cremated in the blaze that had brought about the advent of freedom, their lives, their sacrifices, celebrated in a symbolic funeral.

Yet still others, apart from the celebration, worked to unearth their buried, fallen, damaged homes; to try to clear the streets of rubble. For the Tempest’s fury had known no bounds, and in its aftermath, much had been lost. Precious things, pieces of memory, family heirlooms, entire homes even were turned to dust, swallowed by the void, or moved to parts unknown by the shifting of the world. Electricity was lost to much of the city, most of the central power plants having been destroyed in the storm; almost all grid lines simply shredded by the winds, displaced by the void, or damaged by the unnatural lightning. The people had nowhere to go.

The Bastion, come afternoon, was thrown open; its great halls given as a place of refuge, of solidarity. Some of the bunk rooms had been converted to a makeshift hospital; old electric generators were gathered from around the city and used to power all the necessary medical equipment, and the wounded were transported into the great fortress from across the city for concentrated treatment by everyone from surgeons to white mages. Luigi himself had been placed in critical condition in a private room, for Mario insisted they at least try to save him. Even they, even the most dedicated physicians, the most disciplined doctors, understood that many could not be saved.

And as the day progressed, the peoples’ celebration swiftly gave way to a deeper understanding; to the realization of the task ahead of them, to the understanding that this was a wounded world, a Kingdom freed, but left on the brink of death.

They had earned their freedom, yes, but at what cost? The city lay in ruins; most of its people dead or wounded. They were without power, without easy access to food or water, living in the fortress that had once housed their oppressors, as if to mock them in their newfound freedom, to illustrate the futility of their endeavors. The future was theirs, yes. But little remained of the Mushroom Kingdom; theirs was a future in peril, one they would have to struggle to save. The war-torn city was little more than a wasteland, barely habitable, barely survivable. Much would have to be done to rebuild, much would have to be done if they were ever to recover from the trauma the war had brought upon them.

Could they do it? Could they rebuild the world they had lost to the Cannibal those years ago, to the Mafia, to the Coalition and the Avalanchians, to the Demon’s wrath? Perhaps. But it would take time; it would take years to recover from the calamity that was the Tempest, from the harrows of warfare. And even if they succeeded, with all that had happened, could things ever go back to how they’d been in ages past? How far could they fall; how far must the Kingdom descend before it was lost forever? They might rebuild their Kingdom, they might save their people. But this world, this wasteland… It might never be the same for it.

The afternoon wore on slowly, the fires of the Cathedral standing strong as the sun began to sink, painting the city an array of golden and red hues once more. The dusk, as it fell upon the damaged world, was a thing of beauty, a sign of grace, of peace, yet a reminder to all of the eternal, undeniable truth; that no matter how bright the light shines, it will, at day’s end, yield to night.

The people celebrated the peace, the end of the Coalition, the fall of the gods’ corrupt era… but that night, that irascible, endless darkness, still remained a thing of terror, a thing of danger, and as it fell upon them like a dismal shroud, as the bonfire that was the Cathedral became the sole spotlight in the darkness of the night, the masses grew nervous, knowing what may lie waiting, in the darkness. When the sun shone upon the city, the world was theirs to rebuild, theirs to champion, but at night it was still a discordant land of unknowable fear.

Those who still had homes returned to their lodgings, taking shelter in familiar surroundings against the all-encompassing dark. Those who were not so lucky, and those who found the lack of power, the isolation in their homes, frightening, made their way by torchlight to the Bastion. There was strength in numbers, there was solidarity in collective willpower. They forged their way through the blackness, staving off the distress, the despondency the eerie starlight promised, and entered their stronghold in droves. There, they waited out the night, hopeful, strong, but apprehensive at the portent of terror the blackness brought.

There, inside the Bastion, in a secluded side room, two figures stood beside the bed of a third. One wore long, white robes, of an ancient, unfamiliar design. His head was bowed, his brow furrowed in concentration, and beaded with sweat. Beside him stood another man, clothed in red and blue, his garments torn, his cape shredded at the edge, yet still proud, that of a hero. Atop his head was a mismatched cap, one of green and white, belonging to the man, to the brother, who lay upon the bed before him. Mario watched in silence, his mind an ocean of bitterness, of rage, as the mage’s hands were held out, a silver aura glowing from his fingertips, encircling the wounded, fallen victim in a radiant shroud.

How is-a he?” asked Mario.

Not well,” the mage responded, bitter, “His wounds are too grave; there is little even I can do to save him. Had he gotten here earlier, maybe something could be done, but right now all we can do is hope.

There was a loud crash as Mario turned away, knocking aside a table of medical equipment in his anger. The mage turned, the silver radiance waning for a brief moment as his concentration split in two. The champion stood across the chamber, hands clenched into fists, looking away from his wounded brother, his entire being contorted with rage at his own helplessness, his own uselessness. Mario’s heroism was broken, his resolve cracking beneath the loss that was dawning on his mind, and the mage could see it, plain as day. His will to fight was beginning to fade again. He frowned… This place was wounded enough… What would become of this Kingdom, if the one they most looked up to were to once again fade, to once again fall from grace and lose all hope?

The mage’s thoughts were interrupted as, with loud footfalls, Link stepped into the room. The Hylian looked at the rage-filled, bitter hero with sad eyes, before speaking up, breaking the silence.

The people need you, Mario,” said Link, softly but sternly, “The Coalition is gone; they could use an address.

Mario looked towards Link, “I’m-a going out.

The hero of the people turned, made to depart, and Link frowned. He could not allow Mario to break, not now, after all that had happened. He raised his hand, made to touch Mario on the shoulder, but the man in red slapped it aside. The two heroes exchanged looks, the Hero of Time meeting the bane of the Usurper with hard, determined, but sympathetic eyes. Then Mario shook his head, turned away, walking towards the door of the small room that was serving as their Luigi’s private ward.

I’m-a going.

But just as he had a night ago, Link persisted, refused to back down before Mario’s brute force, before his bitterness.

This war isn’t over, Mario,” said Link, “We don’t have time for this. Abandon us now and it’ll all fall apart. You leave, and HIS death will have been for nothing.

As he spoke, he pointed toward Luigi, and Mario turned again to face the Hero of Time. His eyes flared with anger, with bitter fury, before his expression hardened, stabilized, and he nodded. His resolve had not faded, not yet; still it remained moored to the solidity of his focus, the core of his thoughts. His vehemence, his valiance, still remained. The hero within him was not faded, not yet.

Then let’s-a finish this. It’s time to-a raise a fucking army.

And even as Mario formed one last bit of resolve, as the heroes of the people mustered every last vestige of their might, of their hope, one man walked, the streets, cloaked in green, large, bulbous sack held in his right hand. His order was a dying one, his hope eclipsed by the failure of all that he held dear. He saw nothing ahead but blackness, no future but void. There was no fate left for him to challenge. All that remained was revenge.

Tonight, the minister would wait. He would prepare his last play. And, tomorrow, he would have his final vengeance on those who had shattered his dream.

Nobody was killed!

Day 11 starts now, and will end Sunday, August 12, at midnight!


Last edited by Quaetam on Sat Sep 01, 2012 4:34 pm; edited 3 times in total

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 2)

Post  SpoonMan Abrams X on Sat Aug 11, 2012 3:13 am

Ok Coalition... Only a minor set back! We can turn this around!

Wait a sec...

Spoiler:
lol!

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 2)

Post  Doctor Shulk on Sat Aug 11, 2012 4:42 am

Fuck yes, Arcanine. Good job, Q, great posts as usual.

So vote: Eisen

...

...

No I'm shitting you here. unvote: Eisen, vote: Johnny

Obviously it has to be the person who roleclaimed Avalanchian. Sayonara, Coalition. Au revoir, Avalanchia, and hello victory.

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 2)

Post  SnakeInABox on Sat Aug 11, 2012 12:32 pm

Guys I'm gonna have to go with the obvious here and Vote:Camilla

No I'm also kidding lol

Vote:DRTJR

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 2)

Post  JohnnyFarrar on Sat Aug 11, 2012 4:29 pm

Whatever role I could claim to live through today, I'm that role. Yes, that one. I know it's hard to believe, but it's the truth.

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 2)

Post  Doctor Shulk on Sat Aug 11, 2012 4:32 pm

Wow that totally seems legit, yep Johnny's definately an innocent I should certainly take my vote off of him.

nope.avi

(that post made me lol though good job)

Also Snake, what, what, what are you doing?

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 2)

Post  SnakeInABox on Sat Aug 11, 2012 5:20 pm

I'm a stupid bitch.

Vote:Johnny


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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 2)

Post  Eisenbeißer on Sat Aug 11, 2012 7:09 pm

I haven't read anything that the EloE has been overthrown and therefore the avalanchians are the enemies of the town. In this case I vote Johnny.

JohnnyFarrar wrote:Whatever role I could claim to live through today, I'm that role. Yes, that one. I know it's hard to believe, but it's the truth.

Can you explain that? What do you want to tell us?


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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 2)

Post  Doctor Shulk on Sat Aug 11, 2012 8:12 pm

Eisen, I'd say he was joking Razz

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Re: TWBB Mafia Game 20: Those who Challenge Fate-ENDGAME-A Kingdom Worth Living For (Thread 2)

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