IC Mafia 56: Fire and Blood

Ravenfall, ancient home of House Rhysling

“That’s it!” he heard him say. “You are doing well, my lad!”. His lord father towered over him, a giant in his eyes. His voice was deep, yet soothing. Nithan must have been no older than 7, little more than a babe. Yet here he stood, wooden sword in hand, looking for approval with every swing, his eyes ever searching his father’s face for a glimmer of pride. As he battled his older brother Braeden, Lord Rhysling made no big effort to hide his feelings. Saying he was proud would have been an understatement.

Braeden was older than him 3 years, and it showed. He was stronger, faster, his blows heavy. Still, Nithan held his ground, unflinching. Yielding before his lord father would not do, would never do. Taken in the moment, he charged forward, shouting. His brother sidestepped him and brought his sword down on his thumb, causing Nithan to drop his sword and go down to his knees holding his finger, a small stream of blood where his nail had been.
“That’s enough!”, the master-at-arms yelled, grabbing both swords “You have both done well today. I’m sure Lord Rhysling would agree.” His father nodded. “Aye, Ser Gerrar, I am pleased. Off you go, lads.”.
Braeden took off running after his favorite hound, but Nithan remained, sobbing. It was the third time this week he had been bested by his brother. Lord Rhysling crouched down beside Nithan, offering solace with his words. “You have no reason to be shamed, son. Your brother is older than you, yet you give him pause every time you draw swords.” “I will never beat him, father. He is stronger than me. I will never beat ANYONE!”, he cried out in anger.

His father sighed as he passed his hand through Nithan’s hair. “I wish you need never grow. Life was simpler when I was a lad just as you are. I long for it everyday, but it is a fool’s errand, my boy.” Lord Rhysling looked at his son intently “You are not a child anymore, Nithan. So long as I live, no one shall harm you or your brothers. But I would be remiss if I did not look to you becoming your own man. Someday, you will be the lords of this house. Do you understand?” “Yes, father” he sobbed “I think I do”. His father smiled at him, and then so did he, a big smile only father and son could share. Just then, the hound came rushing at them as it fled his brother and almost knocked down Lord Rhysling. Braeden followed laughing, and they shared a loving embrace. As his brother started after the hound again, Lord Rhysling looked up at the sky. It was almost night, he thought. “We have lingered enough, the moon is almost upon us. Time for supper and bed” he said, as he hoisted himself up. He was happy to see Nithan smiling, a sweet child once more. He reached down, his heart both heavy and full “Come lad, take my hand. Let us rest and dream of a better day”.

30 years later

Westermere, the Capital

Bailin’s Keep

The Privy Council

“My Lords! My Lords, please!” Lord Coldwater , the King’s High Chancellor, tried his best to ease the tension, but to no avail. Nithan Rhysling, Lord Paramount of the Realm, would not be calmed this day. The Crown had fallen heavily in debt to foreign lenders, and many in the Privy Council were not shy about faulting the wars that had ravaged the countryside for a decade now. King Karron Blackmyre, nicknamed Karron the Carrion by the smallfolk due to his incessant wars, had appointed Lord Rhysling as Lord Commander of his armies in a desperate attempt to keep his crown when many of the noble Lords had rebelled against him. Lord Rhysling had succeeded, but at great cost, both in blood and coin.

“Your Majesty, I cannot sit here to be insulted like this! I did what I had to do to save your crown! It is due to my efforts we sit here today!”
“How dare you speak to His Majesty this way?” shouted back Lord Caswell, a stocky, baldeheaded man who was Master of Mint “Your recklessness has bled this country dry, and you dare give us lessons in honor? King Karron is our King and you, sir, are no Kingmaker!” Lord Rhysling felt the blood rush to his face, his fists clenching in anger. He rose to his feet, sternly but dignified, and addressed the King himself “Is this how you feel, your Majesty?”

King Karron looked at his Lord commander, and sighed. “How I feel bears no relevance, Nithan. I am well aware of the sacrifices you and your family have made for all of us, but we can afford it no longer. If we have to make concessions, then so be it. Nothing is more important than the future, especially not the past. I can bear it no longer. You are relieved of command, Lord Rhysling. I shall hope you will regain your senses at Ravenfall.”

Nithan listened to the King, his rage suddenly giving way to a cold shiver, almost as if his blood had just frozen in his veins “Sacrifices, your Majesty? You speak to me of sacrifice? My brother died for you. MY FATHER DIED FOR YOU! I almost died for you. And this is how you reward those who serve you so? Disgrace and banishment?” - his voice could not hide his disdain for the man he once thought of as a brother. He removed the ring and badge which identified him as Lord Commander of the Royal Army and threw them on the table “Very well. If it please your Majesty, your humble servant.” Lord Rhysling bowed and walked out, his manner graceful, his steps firm, his mind lusting for revenge.

2 years later, present day

Lord Ice surveyed the work of his warband, high atop his grey stallion. In the forest behind him, scores of farmers, millers and fishermen lay dead, food for the crows which circled the area already. Several were hanged from the trees, both a warning and a promise. Hope had left this place. In the distance, a scout came into view, a cloud of dust behind him. “Ser Robart! Ser Robart, sir! There’s a Royal escort some 2 leagues ahead, some Lordling fleeing to the capital, scores of smallfolk behind them!” Lord Ice looked at the man, and for an instant you could almost have seen a half-smile on his face. “You heard the man!” He drew his sword from its sheath and held it high above his head - “First man to bring me ten heads gets first pick of the women! To war!” His brigands raced ahead, the dawn sky behind them tinged in red.


This was a cold place, he thought. Never before had he witnessed so much rain, so much snow. Still, any amount of rain would seem strange to Maro Vhassinar. After all, his birthplace had not seen the rain in over 10 years: Haran, the City of Fire, as some called it due to the scorching temperatures and arid deserts that surrounded it. It was not just the heat that gave pause to foreigners though; Maro’s ancient order, the Keepers of the Flame, had a searing reputation of their own. Known for both their healing skills and prowess in blood magic, they were not bound by moral constraints; good and evil were distant concepts, only the Flame mattered. And now, it had come for them all.


The Great Hall

Lady Amyra was a beautiful woman, even now at forty years of age. Her brown hair flowed down her back like a butterfly descending onto a flower, slowly and freely. Yet her face showed distress. It had been over a year since her Lord husband had raised the banners in revolt against King Karron, having felt wronged and discarded, his loyalty stomped on and tossed aside like nothing. Lady Amyra was younger sister to the late King Corren Blackmyre, the Dread, and aunt to King Karron. Her brother had been a good ruler to the smallfolk, but not one to accept the questioning of his authority. He had noble Lords killed and imprisoned by the dozen, which had set the Kingdom ablaze. When he died, young King Karron inherited his wars, and she was forced to marry Lord Nithan Rhysling so that his armies would join the Crown and put an end to the rebelion.

It was not a happy memory for her, yet they had grown on each other well enough. They had 5 children, and her loyalty and obedience were his, if her heart were not always so. Tonight, as she looked at her husband across the dining table, she wondered if he’d make a better ruler than her nephew. Her heart was torn, but she did not dare show it; she had tried her best to mend their relationship, but it appeared nothing would quench that particular rivalry.

“You are silent, my Lady. What troubles you?” “My Lord, I wonder, how fare our forces in the field?”“I received word from Lord Hayford not an hour ago. He has routed the Royal garrison at the Pillars, my Lady. Our forces are not 20 leagues from the capital, with little in their way.”

Lady Amyra forced a smile, her mind thinking what her mouth would not dare repeat. “Good news, my Lord. Soon, you shall be King, and I, your Queen.” she said, as she pushed her dinner plate aside.



King Karron Blackmyre - Despite his best efforts to unite his kingdom, things have not turned out as he had wished. He must now see that might triumphs where diplomacy failed. Every night phase, King Karron will choose one player to answer before him him at Court, rendering that player’s night time abilities useless. He cannot choose the same player two nights in a row. He will appear to be a simple citizen if investigated by the Mafia.

Lord Jorrel Coldwater - Lord Chancellor to King Karron, who entrusted him with the governance of the realm. Given the current situation, Lord Jorrel’s priority has changed to putting an end to the rebellion. Every OTHER night phase, he will order investigations on a player, after which their allegiance will be revealed to him.

Lord Broden Perry - King Karron’s oldest adviser, Lord Perry is First Knight of the infamous Crimson Legion. The King’s last line of defense, they will act without regard for themselves or others to protect the Crown. Every night phase, he will order investigations on a player, after which their allegiance will be revealed to him.

Ser Lucas Fowler - Second Knight of the Crimson Legion, he will receive the reports of all previous investigations conducted by both Lords Coldwater and Perry, should they both die. His identity is not known to either of them, nor does he know theirs.

Davith Mertyns - the King’s personal physician. With the realm descending into chaos, he will order his healers to save a player every night phase. He cannot save the same player two nights in a row.

Alavin Ridman - Mertyns’ personal attendant, he will inherit his master’s role should Davith Mertyns come to an untimely death.

Ser Duncas Cray - called the Dark Blade, he is King Karron’s Sentinel, the head of his Guard. Should the King be targetted during night phase, Ser Duncas will protect the King at the cost of his own life.

Ser Ryden Chandyll, the Good Knight - Ser Ryden is the bravest knight in the land, a bastion of valor and honor. If targetted by any kill roles during night phase, he will survive the first attempt ONLY. Should Ser Duncas die, he will take his place as the King’s Sentinel.

Codin Farwynd, the Just - a Praetor in the Crimson Legion, he has now taken on the mantle of command and will be allowed 1 investigation every night phase. He will have a ONE TIME night kill available. If targetted by any kill roles during night phase, he will survive the first attempt ONLY.


Nithan Rhysling, Lord Paramount - Having been excluded from the King’s circle, Lord Rhysling assembled his captains and decided to raise his forces in open rebellion aginst the Crown. Every night phase, Lord Rhysling will choose a player to kill. If investigated, he will appear to be a normal citizen. He cannot die during night phase.

Lady Amyra Rhysling - King Karron’s aunt, she still holds considerable influence at court. As such, every night phase she will order her chronies to investigate a player of her choosing, making their role known to her.

Lord Herrath Eathe - the aged Lord Eathe was a valorous knight in his day, councillor to the late Lord Rhysling, a role he has continued to undertake for his son. A courageous man, he will not hesitate in putting himself or his knights in harms way to preserve House Rhysling. As such, he will be able to roleblock any player of his choosing during night phase, but he can do so only TWO TIMES for the duration of the game.

Carsen Tarlor - a sellsword sworn to Lord Nithan Rhysling, and rumored to be the deadliest combatant in the kingdom. He will be able to kill a player of his choice during any phase of the game. He can do this only once over the course of the game.

Ser Zyre Greyiron - an otherwise loyal subject, Ser Zyre was a good friend of Lord Braeden Rhysling, who died in his arms at the Battle of the Red Fields. He has joined his forces with Lord Nithan.

Elmar Greyiron - brother to Ser Zyre Greyiron, and loyal squire to Lord Rhysling.

Lady Katryna Harte - Lady Katryna is lady-in-waiting to Queen Astris Blackmyre. She is secretly in love with Ser Zyre, and will do his bidding if so requested.

Ser Braeden Rhysling - exiled brother to Lord Nithan Rhysling, he now returns to aid his House in the fight against its’ enemies. Every ODD Night phase, he will be able to kill a player. Every EVEN Night phase, he will be able to roleblock a player. This is independent of other concurrent roles, but will still submit to the Godfather. He is NOT immune to investigation nor immune to night kills.


Ser Robart Foral - nicknamed “Lord Ice” due to his cruel demeanour and lack of compassion, Ser Foral has thrived in the violence surrounding him. Every night phase, his brigands will loot and plunder the countryside, allowing him to choose a player to kill. If investigated, he will appear to be a normal citizen. He is immune to being killed at night until and during night 3.

Maro Vhassinar - a stranger from a distant land, where the cult of the dead oftentimes surpassed concern for the living, Maro has transported his ancient rituals with himself to this new land. His people are rumored to be wielders of ancient magic, yet no foreigner could claim to have witnessed it firsthand. Every night phase he will choose a player to kill. If investigated, he will appear to be a normal citizen. He is immune to being killed at night until and during night 3.

Saloman Spyre - Saloman was once a famed warrior, trained in the Falcon Haven of Wintervale, home to the deadliest killers in the land. However, a drunken quarrel had caused the death of his beloved wife, and the mindless killing he engaged in from then on has not been able to bring him peace. Should either Ser Robart or Maro die after night phase 3, he will take their place in killing one player every night phase. Should they be lynched at any stage in the round, he will also take their place. If investigated, he will appear to be a normal citizen. He is immune to being killed at night until and during night 5.


Should the hidden roles come to an untimely death before they activate, the role will be randomly assigned to another townie who’s still alive

1 x Godfather (Nithan Rhysling)
6 x Mafia members (Amyra Rhysling, Herrath Eathe, Carsen Tarlor, Zyre Greyiron, Elmar Greyiron, Katryna Harte)
2 x Cops
1 x player with access to cop reports
1 x Robleblocker
1 x Doctor
1 x Junior Doc
1 x Bodyguard
1 x Replacement Bodyguard
2 x Serial Killer
1 x Replacement Serial Killer
2 x Secret role
15 x Townies

The Rules

- Your objective is to eliminate your opposing faction and rule the land

- Mafia is allowed 1 kill each night; they will win if they kill all other roles

- Town will win if they kill all Mafia and Neutral Roles

- The serial killers are allowed 1 kill each night; they win if they kill everyone else and are the sole survivor

- Each day phase, every town member must vote for whoever they think should be lynched; this person will die and no longer be a part of the game

- In the event of a tie in the number of votes at the end of dayphase, there will be an extended period of 1 hour for players to change their votes, should they wish to do so; if at the end of the extended period the tie still persists, BOTH players will be lynched; if a player missed the original voting deadline he will NOT be able to cast his vote during the extended period. During the extended voting period only those who were tied on can be voted on.

- You cannot miss two votings in a row; should this happen, you will be immediately removed from the game, and lynch will still commence based on voting.

- The voting deadline is just that, a deadline. Day phase will finish at 0500 GMT, this means that if you vote at 05:00:01 GMT your vote will be excluded. This is irrelevant of whether the game moderators have posted that voting is closed.

- You are NOT allowed to make public the message sent you by the game moderators to tell you your role, either entirely or in part; should this happen you will be removed from the present game and possibly future editions as well. You can share what your information means, but you cannot share exact text.

- Once you’re dead, you’re dead. Do not talk about the game to still active players, or post in the forum thread. This will be considered an act of influence upon the remaining players, and will get you banned from future games. We all like to have fun, and play by the rules, so please keep that in mind.

Order of events

- King Roleblock
- Mafia Roleblock
- Heal
- Maro Vhassinar Kill
- Ser Robart Foral Kill
- Mafia Kill
- Special role if active
- Investigation


1700 GMT - 0500 GMT = Day phase
0500 GMT - 1700 GMT = Night phase

These times may be subject to change due to work schedule, however announcements will be made if there are any changes.



  1. HydroP -----------------------> Ser Robart Foral, aka Lord Ice (SK) - Lynched Day 4
  2. Goddess_of_the_Dead --> Lord Jorrel Coldwater (Cop) - killed by the Mafia - Night 2
  3. Jets --------------------------> Lord Broden Perry (Cop) - killed by the Mafia - Night 5
  4. Tishxo -----------------------> Townie - killed by Maro Vhassinar (SK) - Night 5
  5. Luker -----------------------> Townie - SURVIVED!!!
  6. Arby3 ------------------> Saloman Spyre (Replacement SK) - Lynched Day 2
  7. rizzy -------------------> Ser Zyre Greyiron (Mafia) - Lynched Day 3
  8. TBO -------------------> Maro Vhassinar (SK) - Lynched Day 5
  9. Nolio -------------------> Townie - Killed by the Mafia - Night 3
  10. I_like_pie -----------> Lady Katryna Harte (Mafia) - killed by Ser Robart Foral, aka Lord Ice (SK) Night 4
  11. Darrk -----------------> Townie - Modkilled for being INACTIVE SCUM - Day 3
  12. Ordos234 ----------> Lady Amyra Rhysling (Mafia Cop) - Lynched Day 3
  13. The_Unknown ----> Ser Ryden Chandyll, the Good Knight (Bodyguard) killed by the Mafia - Night 8
  14. Missylin ------------> Alavin Ridman (Jr Doctor) - SURVIVED!!!
  15. You_Fool ----------> Townie - SURVIVED!!!
  16. Xenon1122 --------> Townie - killed by Ser Robart Foral, aka Lord Ice (SK) Night 2
  17. Mrblonde ----------> Townie - SURVIVED!!!
  18. Azmadi -------------> Ser Duncas Cray (Bodyguard)- killed by Maro Vhassinar (SK) Night 3
  19. Lee ------------------> Ser Lucas Fowler (Acess to cop reports) - Modkilled for being INACTIVE SCUM - Day 2
  20. HellRaizeR --------> Townie - killed by the Mafia - Night 5
  21. thirdrock -----------> Hidden Role 1 (Town) - SURVIVED!!!
  22. melvin -------------> Townie - Lynched Day 1
  23. KT--------------------> Carsen Tarlor (Mafia special kill) - Lynched day 7
  24. Sushi ---------------> Hidden Role 2 (Mafia) - Lynched Day 8
  25. Lethal --------------> Nithan Rhysling, Lord Paramount (Mafia GF) - Lynched Day 8
  26. Undeath ------------> Townie - killed by Codin Farwynd (special Cop kill) - Night 7
  27. TIF ------------------> King Karron Blackmyre (Roleblocker) - SURVIVED!!!
  28. Metrex --------------> Davith Mertyns (Doctor) - killed by the Mafia - Night 6
  29. Warsong -----------> Townie - Lynched Day 6
  30. Gwynedd ----------> Townie - SURVIVED!!!
  31. Protoss -------------> Elmar Greyiron (Mafia) - killed by Ser Robart Foral, aka Lord Ice (SK) Night 1
  32. SEXTANS ---------> Townie - killed by Maro Vhassinar (SK) - Night 1
  33. Dukey --------------> Townie - SURVIVED!!!
  34. Nai ------------------> Lord Herrath Eathe (Mafia Roleblocker) - killed by Maro Vhassinar (SK) - Night 4
  35. Luster --------------> Townie - Modkilled for being INACTIVE SCUM - Day 2

Game will start Tuesday May 21. Roles will have until 17:00 GMT to submit their choices to Torqez and myself


Team blood

So many roles and i am stilla townie

Night Phase ends at Tuesday 17:00 GMT (approx 12.5hrs from this post).


Ice and Fire

Elmar Greyiron (Protoss) was a young man of 21 years, tall and slender, cutting a striking figure as he rode his horse while inspecting the battlefield at the Pillars. House Rhysling’s banner now flew high atop the keep, as dead bodies belonging to the Royal Guard were carted away. The Pillars were a pair of twin mountains which guarded the entrance to each side of the Valley of the Moon, the only road wide enough for an army to march into the Westermere Peninsula beyond, and the Capital itself. Elmar was younger brother to Ser Zyre Greyiron, a sworn banner to Lord Nithan Rhysling who had joined his forces in the march on the Capital. As a sign of gratitude, Lord Nithan had appointed Elmar as his personal squire close to a year ago, and would now entrust him with difficult tasks in his bid to become King.

Elmar had such a mission tonight, having handpicked a few knights to help him carry out this task. A message from Ravenhall had arrived, and he was to search out and kill an enemy of Lord Rhysling, and he would do it tonight. He had hoped to break bread with his brother one final time before he departed, but he was having trouble finding Ser Zyre in the chaos of the battlefield. Just as he spotted the grey banner with the red crossed swords of House Greyiron in the distance, there was a commotion down the road: peasants fleeing, begging for help as they carried their loved ones in their arms. Elmar rode out to meet them, intrigued. “You there, soldier. What is the cause of this? I thought we had ordered all peasants be kept away from this place!” The soldier looked at him, a worried look it was - “My Lord, they are frightened and would not stop even before our drawn swords! They claim to have been attacked by raiders riding under our own banners, and they would leave no one alive in their wake!”

“How is this possible? Lord Rhysling made it clear he would tolerate no ravaging and pillaging in his name! Our enemy is the King, not the people. You there, farmer! Is this true?” The farmer bowed, fear in his eyes “Y-Yes, m’lord… t’was the black and gold raven of House Rhysling alright, n-no doubts about it… They killed us all, m-lord!” Elmar sighed “Idiots. Bloody idiots.” he muttered. “Very well. Soldiers, help these people and care for their wounded. I shall ride off with my escort to bring these beasts to heel. Inform Ser Zyre at once.”

Having ridden for close to an hour, Elmar could see smoke in the distance, and as he approached it, he could see the shape of a small village start forming ahead. The fields were littered with body parts, both human and otherwise. Bodies were hanging from trees, children most of them. As the horses strode ahead, they left bloody imprints in their wake. Elmar and his soldiers looked on in disbelief, trying but failing to avert their eyes. Elmar slowly dismounted, incredulous. “Who would do such a thing?” he asked, his voice but a whisper. He was answered by nothing but the cries and wails of the dying, but then, screaming! A mother and her 2 children running away, mounted soldiers on their heels, and as they were cut down, silence settled in again. Elmar could make the black and golden of Lord Rhysling’s banner, and rode out to confront the assassins.

“You there! Stop this at once! In the name of Lord Nithan Rhysling, you will hold! You are no banner of ours! What do you think you’re doing??” Surprised, the raiders turned around to meet him, and then their leader let out a loud laugh. “A Greyiron, is it?” he asked, as he removed his helmet "We are not your banners, aye, but the dead soldiers who carried it before us were. This banner of yours makes for good cover along the road, lad. “It’s Ser Elmar Greyiron to you, villain! Name yourself, if you dare!” Lord Ice threw his helmet on the ground, revealing a scar that ran across his face, from his left eye to his right jaw. “My name will do you no help, boy. As you die, know that it was fate that killed you, not I.” Lord Ice drew his sword, and his raiders followed him into battle, outnumbering their foes 5 to 1. It was over as quickly as it had begun.

Lord Ice dismounted his grey stallion and looked down at Elmar’s body, his head barely clinging to his neck. “In the name of Lord Rhysling!” he bellowed mockingly, and everyone let out a loud laugh. “Feed them to the dogs, lads. All they’re good for. We ride north!”

Sextans was hungry, and tired, and weak. His village had been burned down, his family killed before his eyes. He had barely managed to escape the violence, taking with him little more than the rags he had been wearing and some berries he picked up along the way. He had joined a group of stragglers along the road, poor farmers like himself, moving slowly towards the Capital, Westermere, in search of food and protection. “King Karron will avail us, you’ll see.” he reassured them, despair in his voice “His Majesty has always been good to us.” Every time they thought they heard or saw something, anything, they ran away from the road, taking cover behind trees, bushes, rocks and anything else they could find, as they watched the parade of knights and foot soldiers going up and down the road, their banners flying high, singing songs of victory and glory. Sometimes they dared come out and beg for food, but they were quickly waved away more often than not.

It was cold this evening, and there was no den in sight. They were moving along the road, the Shaded Forest to their left, thick and dark and gloomy it was. Not many dared enter it after dusk, and they were wise enough to do the same. They had a mind to start a fire in the clearing ahead, maybe capture a squirrel or a stray hare and roast it over the fire, and then a night’s sleep. The Capital was not that far off, after all. Perhaps they would make it. Just then, Sextans was suddenly startled by a bright blue glow on the horizon “Stop!” - he said, racing ahead of the group. He pointed in the direction of the glow - “Do you see that?” “There is nothing there, friend. What is it you see?”, someone replied.

Sextans, however, had stopped listening to his companions of route. He felt himself drawn to the glow, and while his mind tried to warn him, his feet insisted in taking him further and further, until he arrived at the edge of the clearing. He could hear a man’s voice humming a strange tune, a certain foreign accent to it, as strange as it was alluring. “Stop it! Get back here” his friends pleaded, but Sextans did not echo their urgency “It’s alright. No harm will come to us, can you not see?” As he approached the strange figure, the glow turned brighter and brighter, a bright blue color like he’d never seen before. However, this fire was cold, and he felt himself shiver as he walked closer and closer to it.

Maro Vhassinar interrupted his chant, and looked at this new arrival. His eyes were as bright as the fire, a light emanating from them, both soothing and terrifying. “Do you like what you see?” the Warlock asked. “This is the Flame of Iranyr, The Undying.” he said. “It must never be allowed to go out, for that is the day the World will end.”. “It’s-it’s beautiful.” Sextans mumbled - “I have never seen anything like it. Wh-Why is it so cold? A flame is meant to be hot.” Maro glanced at him “This is a special flame, friend. It must be nurtured, and only through our own heat will it remain burning, as bright and terrible as it stands before our very eyes. And tonight, it has chosen you to help feed it.” “Do you mean we have to keep the fire going forever? With branches and twigs and dry leaves? I would do this every day for the rest of my life, should you just ask it of me.”

Maro smiled at Sextans. “No friend, there is an easier way, and I will show it to you. Look deep within my eyes, and you will see.” As Sextans locked eyes with the Warlock, he felt strangely lightheaded, as if all the worries had been lifted off his shoulders. Maro’s bright blue eyes felt as if they could touch his very soul, and then he felt it. A coldness in his chest, his body numbing, yet he did not fall down. A bright blue glow originated from within him, and suddenly he was on fire, a bright blue flame, as hot as a thousand Suns. As Maro turned to the Flame and resumed his chanting, his fellow stragglers ran for their lives, leaving behind nothing but Sextan’s screams, the blue aura slowly dissipating from his charred remains.

Protoss (Elmar Greyiron - Mafia) was killed by Ser Robart Foral, aka Lord Ice (SK)
Sextans (Townie) was killed by Maro Vhassinar (SK)


It is now DAY PHASE. You have until 05:00 GMT to vote on who you feel should be lynched.

You can do so in IC Mafia server, there is a voting channel for that effect. You can join here

Upon voting, please provide a short reason. Also remember editting and deleting posts is NOT allowed. If you wish to vote again, just post a new vote. Editted votes will be counted as NO VOTE.

Friendly reminder that if you miss two votes in a row, you will be auto-killed!

1 Like

Final Vote - Day 1

[7] melvin - Arby3, Tishxo, You_Fool, rizzy, I_like_pie, Goddess_of_the_Dead, Jets
[6] Lee - TBO, Sushi, Dukey, xenon, TIF, Ordos234
[5] Dukey - Lethal, HydroP, Nolio, Metrex, melvin
[3] Arby3 - Gwynedd, thirdrock, HellRaizeR
[2] Luker - The_Unknown, Azmadi
[2] MrBlonde - luker, Missylin
[1] Darrk - Darrk
[1] Nolio - MrBlonde
[1] KT - Undeath
[1] Undeath - KT
[1] I_like_pie - Nai

Did not Vote
[3] Lee Warsong Luster



King Karron had been pacing the Royal Quarters. These past 2 years had not been kind to him, and he felt he had been losing his mettle. Had he made a mistake in how he dealt with Nithan when he banished him back to Ravenfall?

“Nonsense!” he shouted to noone around, trying to snap himself out of it. A King should not be wrong. A King CANNOT be wrong. He must resolve himself, rally his men and continue to quash the rebellion. There was too much at stake here and he must do this for his people. They needed a King. A strong, committed King.

Melvin was extremely dismayed with what he just saw. His friend had just succumbed to the most alluring blue glow, but the sight of it, was completely beyond his comprehension. Sextans and himself were just trying to find their way to their King. Melvin was at a loss, without the friend that inspired him, the friend that instilled in him the will to carry on, what should he do? Deep inside, he knew that the King was facing trouble, and even though their village was decimated, his King needed him!

However, the logical, pragmatic approach escaped him. Deep down inside, he knew he must contribute in whatever little iota of hope there could be - but on the surface, he was numb. Devoid of facial expression and any semblance of intelligence.

Looking at Sextans’ corpse, he peddled backwards, with a vacant emptiness within his eyes. He took another step backwards, only to stumble on a rock, fall and hit his head on another.

As melvin lay still on the ground with those bewildered eyes wide open, a stream of blood trickled down from his temple. The burden of thought was now lifted.

Melvin (Townie) was Lynched Day 1

It is now NIGHT PHASE. Night roles have until 17:00 GMT to submit their actions to Genesis and myself.


Night 2

The Falcon and the Prey

Ari was flying high above the trees, the wind under its wings taking it where no man could ever dream of going. The Gyrfalcon was out looking for prey, while on the ground its master, Saloman Spyre, meditated. His training at the Falcon Haven demanded extreme control over his mind, and even more so over his body. They were the elite of the elite, the gladiators of this era, versed in all types of combat, capable of wielding any weapon with deadly efficiency and ruthlessness. Upon completion of their training, they were given a Gyrfalcon, a huge and fiercely loyal bird of prey, which would accompany the warrior for the rest of its life.

Saloman’s light brown skin gave away his origins. He had been captured as a young child in the distant shores of Zefaar, and brought over as a slave to this strange land. The Masters of Wintervale had acquired him, along with thousands of other prospects for the Falcon Haven over the years. Only a few dozen were ever strong enough to survive, and not without consequence. Staying their lust for blood was no easy feat, and Saloman had learned this the hard way. Klissa had nurtured him back to health when she had found him left for dead, his body ravaged by cuts and stabs, the terrible outcome of a failed raid on a keep owned by his Masters’ rivals. He had found love then, married her, and abandoned the Falcon Haven. The Masters were not quick to forgive though, and they were forced to live on the run, ever looking over their shoulders. But then, one night, faith caught up with them, albeit through an unlikely culprit: having taken a bed in a roadside inn, they were in the common room enjoying a meal of brown bread and hard cheese when Klissa was accosted by a group of drunkards. Saloman had risen to confront them, but in the confusion one of the men pulled a dagger and stabbed Klisha in the chest, killing her. Saloman raged and roared, his heart broken, his humanity lost once more. He slaughtered everyone in that inn that night, and had not stopped until this day. His grief was too great, and he could not express it any other way.

Saloman’s meditation was interrupted by Ari’s calls. He opened his eyes and tried to make out the falcon over the tree line. He could sense distress in the falcon’s calls, an unusual emotion from the mighty bird. Dusk was setting in, and Saloman’s eyes squinted as he tried to gather his surroundings more clearly. It was the sound that came to him first though. A monotonous tune, which he did not recognize. Slowly tracing it to its origin, he started making out a quiet chant, composed of words he did not recognize, and then a blue glow, as bright as the Full Moon on a starless night. Saloman reconsidered his steps, but it was too late.

“Come forth, friend. Have no fear, I mean you no harm.” Saloman did not wish to be there, but he was compelled to, somehow. “Who are you?”, he asked. “My name is Maro Vhassinar. I am a Keeper of the Flame, and it is my duty to ensure it never goes out.” He pointed at the Flame - “Isn’t it beautiful?”. Indeed it was, beautiful, and terrible. It made him feel uncomfortable, yet he could not escape its allure. “What do you wish from me?” he dared ask. “Only what is owed to the Flame. I am but its’ servant, forever bound to its’ tending.” Maro’s eyes became as bright as the Flame as he spoke, the air suddenly going cold all around them. “Look within my eyes, and you will see.”

Saloman tried to look away, but his eyes would not answer his commands. He locked eyes with the Warlock, and he could feel a coldness taking over him, his body going numb. Just then, there was a loud shriek, and Ari rained down on Maro, its beak and claws wounding him. He was forced to break eye contact with Saloman, who regained his senses and tried to shake the coldness he felt within. As Maro finally disentangled himself from the Gyrfalcon, he turned around to face Saloman Spyre, sword in hand and ready to fight. “I don’t know what you tried to do to me, but I will not have it again. Prepare to face your doom!” Maro grinned, and pulled 2 daggers from within his wide dark cloak. “As you wish, stranger. The Flame will be satisfied, one way, or another.” Saloman roared and lept forward, swinging down with his sword. He was met with the striking sound of metal on metal, as Maro’s daggers checked his blow. His daggers were not like any others he had ever seen, though. Strange symbols adorned them, and their blades glowed, a bright blue glow which hurt his eyes, making it difficult to see. They traded yet more blows, Maro checking Saloman’s fury with every stroke, graceful and swift as a cat. Saloman charged once more, but as the metal rattled, he could see small dents start forming on the edge of his sword. The daggers were enchanted, he realised, and he would soon find himself unarmed. With one last thrust, he created some distance between himself and the Warlock, and called out: “Ari! To me!”

Once again, the Gyrfalcon came plunging down, scratching and clawing at Maro, who could do nothing but defend himself from the bird. When he was finally able to free himself again, he found himself all alone. Saloman was gone, nowhere to be found. The Warlock looked at the Flame and, with a quick motion of his hand, so too it was gone, the bright blue aura slowly dissipating. Maro Vhassinar pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and walked away. The Flame would not be fed tonight.

Lord Jorrel Coldwater (Goddess_of_the_Dead) was King Karron’s High Chancellor, as he had been his father’s before him. He had never been anything but loyal, always putting King and Crown ahead of himself, or anyone for that matter. Even in the face of terrible odds during the rebellions against the King, his loyalty had been unwavering, and absolute. Until tonight.

After the defeat of the Royal Guard at the Pillars, the situation in the capital was slowly becoming untenable. Yes, many high lords and ladies across the land were still loyal and fighting on their side, but what good would that do with the Capital surrounded? King Karron would not hear of truce. He demanded victory, but he had dismissed his best commander 2 years before, and it was against this brilliant military foe that they now waged war.

Faced with this situation, Lord Jorrel decided to take matters into his own hands. He had sent out a raven to one of his oldest friends, one who was now the main counsellor to the King’s dreaded enemy, Lord Rhysling. If anyone could help him make their Lords come their senses, it was Lord Herrath Eathe. The old Lord Eathe had been best friend to Lord Jorrel’s father, and they considered each other family. Even though Lord Eathe was Nithan Rhysling’s banner, they would still send ravens to each other on occasion, lamenting the war and writing promises of peace.

Lord Jorrel rode out of the Capital’s walls in the dead of night, accompanied by only a handfull of his personal guard. He had decided to meet Lord Eathe on neutral grounds, a rocky field known to the both of them, about halfway between the Pillars and Westermere. He was plagued by doubt, but he had seen enough war. What good was it to be the Chancellor if you could not rule? It seemed to him his only function was to raise men for the armies, and then bury them. It would not do.

After riding for a few hours, Lord Jorrel’s company approached their destination, and they could make out small fires in the distance. As they approached, they saw men with long hoods holding torches. Emblazoned on their cloaks was the distinct banner of House Rhysling. “Who goes there?” one of the men shouted. “You adress His Majesty’s High Chancellor!” one of his soldiers replied. Lord Herrath Eathe rode forward, metting him. “Hello, old friend. I am sorry it came to this.” Lord Jorrel did not have enough time to process this, as the hooded figures charged at the Royal company with spears and drawn swords. Most of the soldiers fell swiftly, as Lord Jorrel’s horse was cut down and he fell on the rocky ground. One of the riders rode towards him and attacked, his spear going through his right eye socket and coming down the back of the Chancellor’s neck, severing his spine.

“It is the only way.” Lord Herrath Eathe, said, as his party rode back to the Pillars, leaving the rocky ground behind them soaked in blood.

Xenon was a small landowner, nothing but a few acres of farm and trees to his name. Still, he could count himself fortunate in these troubled times. He had food on his table, cattle by the dozen, servants to attend him. Most of the fighting had taken place further down south, and he thought he was safe in his land. There had been some troubling reports the past few days, he thought. Peasants fleeing north, with tales of slaughter and decimation too hard to believe. Even the little children, they said. How was that possible?

Xenon was going about his day, seeing to his fields of wheat and barley, when the screaming started in the distance. He could see riders cutting down his farmers, men and women alike. He ran to the house, and rang the bell, fear in his eyes “To arms! To arms!” He yelled. “Everyone grab a sword, a hoe, anything! Defend yourselves!” He pleaded. Some answered his call, but most of the poor villagers ran for their lives, looking for safety in the trees. It was found later, not one of them had survived.

As Lord Ice’s brigands raced forward, they showed no mercy. Anyone in their way was cut down and killed, except if one of the farmers was unfortunate enough to injure one of his riders. Then they would keep you alive, just long enough to flay you alive and cut out your bowels to feed them to the dogs. They were feared, and this was why. When they entered a fray, it was already half won, such was the terror they instilled in their foes.

Xenon was one of the last villagers alive. As Lord Ice dismounted and approached him, he went down on his knees and begged for mercy, his forehead touching the dirt at Lord Ice’s feet. “Mercy, my Lord, I beg of you! You can have anything you like, my crops, my pigs, anything! Take it, it’s yours! Ser Robart, I beg yo…” SLASH! Xenon’s head was instantly split in half as Lord Ice brought down his longsword on the poor man. “There you have it, the extent of my mercy.”, he growled. “Tonight we feast! Tomorrow, we hunt!” he yelled out, to loud cheers from his warband.

Goddess_of_the_Dead (Lord Jorrel Coldwater - Cop) was killed by Lord Harreth Eathe

Xenon (Townie) was killed by Ser Robart Foral, aka Lord Ice (SK)

It is now DAY PHASE. You have until 05:00 GMT to vote on who you feel should be lynched.

You can do so in IC Mafia server, there is a voting channel for that effect. You can join here

Upon voting, please provide a short reason. Also remember editting and deleting posts is NOT allowed. If you wish to vote again, just post a new vote. Editted votes will be counted as NO VOTE.

Friendly reminder that if you miss two votes in a row, you will be auto-killed!

Final Vote - Day 2 - TIE
[5] thirdrock - I_like_pie, Arby3, Gwynedd, You_Fool, TBO
[5] Arby3 - The_Unknown, thirdrock, KT, HellRaizeR, Jets
[4] Jets - Sushi, Undeath, Nolio, Metrex
[3] Gwynedd - Dukey, Warsong, rizzy
[2] Sushi - MrBlonde, Ordos234
[1] luker - TIF
[1] Dukey - HydroP
[1] HellRaizeR - Lethal
[1] Azmadi - luker
[1] MrBlonde - Missy
[1] HydroP - Azmadi
[1] I_like_pie - Nai
[1] Tishxo - Tishxo

Did not Vote
[3] Darrk Lee Luster

Final Tie Vote - Day 2: Arby3 vs thidrock
[9] Arby3 - The_Unknown, thirdrock, KT, HellRaizeR, Jets, Tishxo, Metrex, TIF, You_Fool
[7] thirdrock - I_like_pie, Arby3, Gwynedd, TBO, HydroP, rizzy, MrBlonde

[3] Jets - Sushi, Undeath, Nolio
[2] Gwynedd - Dukey, Warsong
[1] Sushi - Ordos234
[1] HellRaizeR - Lethal
[1] Azmadi - luker
[1] MrBlonde - Missy
[1] HydroP - Azmadi
[1] I_like_pie - Nai


The Plaguing Stench

“Unbelievable!” yelled King Karron while punching the wall in his chambers. Only yesterday had he
resolved himself to meet with his Crimson Legion - his most trusted circle. However, the events of the
previous night and day, prove that they are incompetent.

“Outrageous!” he screamed again while taking his anger out on the wall, this time a little more
cautiously as his frail knuckles become tender. He made his mind up, time to show the steel of a King
and make some bold decisions.

Saloman Spyre (Arby3) was reliving the moments of last night. The encounter with Maro was an unexpected one, and difficult to grasp. He found a space in the forest and propped himself up against a tree. He had an aching pain at the left part of his torso. Ever since last night, his vision was also slightly blurry. He lifted his tunic, only to reveal the slightest of cuts. Could it be that Maro’s enchanted blade had achieved it’s objective?

Saloman sighed. He knew this was it. He had an unending desire within him to execute his training and become the killer he could have been. So much potential, yet never materialised. Despite trying to supress his natural desire, he knew deep down it was what he really wanted.

“Ari, my trusted companion” as he held out his arm for the Gyrfalcon to come atop and perch. “It has been a journey, my friend, and I will be forever grateful. One that I now ask you to continue without me.”

Salmon closed his eyes and the visions of the shores of Zefaar, his homeland, came flooding in. These were the images that stayed with him, as he sunk into eternal slumber.

Davith Mertyns, was not used to such menial tasks. Investigatory work was far beneath him and he much preferred to command his healers to do the work. However, the King was very insistent and Davith could sense he was quite upset. Therefore he decided not to question the command and carry out the actions directly. He was ordered to go down to the lower quarters and investigate a stench that was emanating from one of the corner rooms.

“Oh, this is too much even for me.” he muttered to himself as he held one hand up to block his nose and using the other to creak open the wooden door. As soon as he was able to peek inside, his eyes opened widely and almost threw up in disgust.

The stench was plaguing, but not moreso than the sight of what lay before him. Two rotting naked bodies intertwined. The room was covered in dead roses and cinnamon. Davith walked a little closer and was able to identify Ser Lucas Fowler (Lee), held in high regard by the King himself, and another peasantfolk (Luster). Clearly some debauchery but the level and extent to result in this was unthinkable - surely these bodies had been laying here for a while without any activity.

Arby3 (Saloman Spyre) was LYNCHED Day 2

Lee (Ser Lucas Fowler) has been killed due to INACTIVITY
Luster (Townie) has been killed due to INACTIVITY

It is now NIGHT PHASE. Night roles have until 17:00 GMT to submit their actions to Genesis and myself.

1 Like

Lee and Luster, you twits.

1 Like

Night 3

The Mouth and the Blade

Ser Zyre Greyiron was despondent. His younger brother, Elmar, had been brutally murdered by Lord Ice’s warband, and he could not come to terms with it. “I should have been there! I would have put down that rabid dog!” he yelled. “Before this is over, I will have that head on a spike!”

He was in a foul mood as he inspected his camp, punishing soldiers for the most minor of offences, such as keeping dirty boots or bedding ugly whores. This was his state of mind when he overheard a conversation between several soldiers gathered around a fire: “This is all Lord Rhysling’s fault! And Ser Zyre is not without fault as well! Bad planning, poorer execution! A disaster all around, I tell you! If only they would listen to me, we would all be much better off!”

Ser Zyre listened to this blusterer, his anger growing with every word. The braggart continued: “They have no idea how to play this game of theirs, what they call a war. We are here for their amusement! Ser Zyre couldn’t even protect his own brother! What will he do for us then, tell me? If only I had been there, I would have saved him! Or least I would know where the killer was by now!” That was all Ser Zyre could take. He stepped next to fire and addressed the blowhard, his eyes red with rage. “Soldier! What is your name?!” The soldier got up in a flash, cowering in fear - “Nolio, my Lord.” he whispered.

Ser Zyre roared: “Soldiers, seize this scandalmonger! I will have his tongue for this insolence!” Four men grabbed Nolio and dragged him to Zyre. He drew his dagger and cut out Nolio’s tongue in one swift motion, blood gushing all around. Satisfied, Zyre began to walk away, but then he stopped. He could not believe it! The busybody was still protesting! Although you could not make out his words anymore, his meaning was still plain for all to see: pointing fingers and blabbering, he was not done in his recrimination!

Ser Zyre closed his eyes and shook his head. “Some people will never learn.” he thought to himself. “Soldiers, take this trumpeter to see the headsman. I will have his head on my table before sunset.”

“Make way for the King! Make way for His Majesty!” The heralds announced the royal column, and the peasants and highborn alike would kneel and face the ground as King Karron Blackmyre rode past them. Behind him rode Ser Ryden Chandyll, the Good Knight, and the rest of his Guard, all clad in resplendent golden suits of armor. It was quite a sight, awing to all who were fortunate to see it. Lord Broden Perry had ridden ahead with a contingent of the Crimson Legion, their crimson capes floating in the wind, making sure the King would come to no harm along the way.

King Karron was on his way to a gathering of loyalist Lords to discuss the war and what could be done to stop the momentum of Lord Rhysling and his minions. Karron had summoned all his banners east of the Pillars, and sent ravens to those beyond, demanding action. All his subordinates were commanded to attend this meeting, all but one. The King had personally ordered his Sentinel, Ser Duncas Cray, called the Dark Blade (Azmadi) to oversee the preparations for the burial of his High Chancellor Lord Jorrel Coldwater, who had been brutally slain the night before, the exact circumstances of which were still unknown.

Ser Duncas had taken his King’s command to heart, and had ordered all details be attended to without exception. However, as Lord Sentinel, he was also required to investigate the murder of the Chancellor. He rode out of the Capital, tracing the late Chancellor’s steps, examining the bodies and the grounds around them, and the conclusion was but one: Lord Coldwater had been betrayed, most likely the work of the devious Lord Eathe. They had warned the Chancellor not to trust that man, but he had not heeded it. In the end, he had paid for his misplaced trust with his life.

They had lingered in the countryside, he thought as he looked up at the Moon starting to show itself in the sky above. He got on his horse and ordered his company of 20 soldiers to march back to Westermere. After a few leagues, they noticed a strange glow in the distance, bright as the starlit sky. As they approached they could see a blue flame, terrible and immense, roaring in their way. There was a cold in the air such as they had never felt, not even in the coldest winters in their memory. Before they could being to comprehend what they faced, the Flame split itself and rained down on the soldiers, burning man and horse alike. The air was cold, but the Flame was hot, searing and scorching. Swords and chain mail melted and became one with the flesh, a terrible sight, and a worse smell.

Ser Duncas managed to take cover under the carcass of his charred mount. Two or three other soldiers had also survived, but he could see they were quickly cut down by a strange figure, covered head to toe in a dark cloak. He seemed to be wielding a pair of daggers, the brightness that emanated from them hurting his eyes. He watched as the daggers cut through the steel of their swords, and for an instant Ser Duncas knew fear.

It was a fleeting instant, though. The Dark Blade gathered his strength and hoisted himself up, calling out to the assassin: “You, wizard! Magic has been forbidden in these lands for a thousand years, under pain of death!” Maro Vhassinar looked at Ser Duncas and grinned, his blue eyes glowing in the dusk “It would appear death has ridden ahead of your sentence, knight. The Flame knows no master.” Ser Duncas looked at Maro and reached behind his back for his great longsword. As he drew it from its sheath, it did not fail to impress the Warlock. It was not just any blade: dark and glittering, it had been worked on for years in the great forges of Llyn, the hard steel coated in a fine layer of obsidian, hardened by the fire and worked on by the great masters of the forge. It was unbreakable, and impervious to magic.

Maro recognized the threat, but he welcomed the challenge. After his fight with Saloman Spyre had gone awry, the Flame hungered. And this he could not allow. Maro lunged forward, trying to catch Ser Duncas off guard, but the knight was a seasoned fighter. The blades gave a low echoing buzz when they clashed, sending ripples through the air around them. The enchantments did not seem to work on this sword, and Maro worried. Ser Duncas was an accomplished duelist, and he was losing ground with every blow. Ser Duncas lunged forward, a thrust, a downswing, blow after blow, until one of Maro’s daggers went flying through the air. “Yield, wizard. I will show you a good death.” he said, as he pointed his blade at the Warlock. “Your blade may contest the Flame, knight, but your flesh may not.” A jet of blue flame streamed from Maro’s dagger toward the knight, who parried it with his sword. The glow was blinding though, and for a moment Ser Duncas lost his bearings. It was all Maro needed, as he lunged forward and pushed his dagger right into the knight’s forehead, killing him instantly.

Maro Vhassinar looked down at the Dark Blade, and wondered. He may yet meet his fate in this strange land.

Lord Rhysling had not taken kindly to the death of his squire, Elmar Greyiron. He had ordered Lord Herrath Eathe to take 500 riders and bring him the head of the villain Ser Robart Foral, ominously called Lord Ice. His warband had become a plague on the countryside, pillaging, looting and burning everything they found in their way, leaving behind nothing but grief and death. Ser Zyre Greyrion had begged Lord Nithan to command the chase, but he would not have it. This needed a skilled hand, and Ser Zyre was not of clear mind. Lord Eathe had scoured the area, trying to make sense of the devastation he found. He could scarcely believe it. The stench, the putrid stench was the worst of it all, lingering in the air for miles and miles, forcing many in his party to cover their nose with rags. He would bring this villain to justice, Lord Eathe thought, if it was the last thing he did.

Unaware of this, Lord Ice’s raiders rode ahead, leaving a path of devastation in their wake. They took great joy in the misery of others, and they were enjoying themselves today. They had left the villages behind and came across a small town, home to a good crowd of artisans, blacksmiths, merchants, and whores. They took the town watch by surprise and killed and maimed at random, sparing neither the infants nor the elderly. Not happy in the chaos they caused, they dismounted and cut down all in their way, breaking down doors and cutting infants in their cribs, the crippled and sick all the same. Any gold or silver they came across, they claimed. And they laughed, loud and often.

As they broke down another door, they found themselves in a brothel. Whores ran out, crying and screaming, some covered in sheets, most naked, their parts laid bare for all to see. They let them go, as they would round them up later, when the killing was done, and they would take their pleasure, first in the sheets, then with their knives across the whores’ necks. The men inside were given no such mercy, though. All were killed, except a sniveling coward who crouched down in the back of a dimly-lit room, his parts too small to be of any notice. He was naked and cowardly, so they could not make out his standing; sitting there, in a shameful display, MrBlonde could have been either a farmer or a knight, though not any valiant knight, for sure.

It made no difference for Lord Ice’s men, though. Everyone dies; the weak, feeble and spineless especially. MrBlonde begged for mercy, but it was a loud sound that came to his rescue. A war horn sounded in the distance, and the rumbling of hundreds of hooves hitting the ground running came nearer and nearer. Lord Ice’s men stepped outside of the brothel and saw Lord Herrath Eathe’s cavalry charging at them, House Rhysling’s banner flying high against the wind. Ser Robart judged the situation, and finding himself outnumbered 5 to 1, or worse, ordered a retreat. Lord Eathe gave chase and many of Lord Ice’s raiders were cut down and killed, but their dreaded commander escaped into the woods.

Having been spared of certain death, an anemic looking Mrblonde stepped out of the brothel, looked around and fainted, lying there on the ground, his bare ass pointed upwards to the sky, perhaps a sign of things to come.

Azmadi (Ser Duncas Cray, the Dark Blade) was killed by Maro Vhassinar (SK)
Nolio (Townie) was killed by Ser Zayr Greyiron (Mafia)

Lord Herrath Eathe (Mafia roleblocker) has 1 block remaining!

1 Like

It is now DAY PHASE. You have until 05:00 GMT to vote on who you feel should be lynched.

You can do so in IC Mafia server, there is a voting channel for that effect. You can join here

Upon voting, please provide a short reason. Also remember editting and deleting posts is NOT allowed. If you wish to vote again, just post a new vote. Editted votes will be counted as NO VOTE.

Friendly reminder that if you miss two votes in a row, you will be auto-killed!

TIE VOTE Vote - Day 3

[8] Ordos234 - The_Unknown, thirdrock, Luker, Metrex, Tishxo, Undeath, TBO, rizzy
[8] rizzy - Jets, Ordos234, I_like_pie, You_Fool, HydroP, HellRaizeR, TIF, KT
[2] HydroP - MrBlonde, Lethal
[1] Tishxo - Dukey,
[1] Warsie - Gwynedd
[1] KT - Warsie
[1] Nai - Sushi
[1] Luker - Missy
[1] I_like_pie - Nai

Did not Vote

[1] Darrk

Final Vote after Tie - Day 3

[9] rizzy - Jets, Ordos234, I_like_pie, HellRaizeR, TIF, KT, MrBlonde, Gwynedd, You_Fool
[9] Ordos234 - The_Unknown, thirdrock, Luker, Tishxo, Undeath, TBO, rizzy, Metrex, HydroP

[1] HydroP - Lethal
[1] Tishxo - Dukey
[1] KT - Warsie
[1] Nai - Sushi
[1] Luker - Missy
[1] I_like_pie - Nai

Did not Vote
[1] Darrk


The Revealing Report

Lady Amyra Rhysling (Ordos) and Ser Zyre Greyiron (Rizzy) were in the council room, frantically going through all the reports they had collected on the war efforts. They had nearly had Lord Ice’s head before his timely escape. Lady Amyra was sure there had to be some clue, some little tidbit indicating where Lord Ice would strike next somewhere in all the chaos strewn across the council table. They would get him this time, he would not get away.
They read, and re-read, each and every report, analyzing and tearing apart even the smallest of details, knowing time was working against them. Food and drink were brought and ignored. The servants cleaned around them as best they could until Lady Amyra banished them from the room under threat of flogging. Once it was just the two of them, they worked with a single-minded purpose, not caring for the hour. Late into the day they poured through the reports, until finally the rumblings of their stomachs brought them out of their task. The food and wine from earlier in the morning was still sitting where it had been placed before the servants had been kicked from the room.

“Let us break for the night, my lady.” Ser Zyre reached across the table and took the Lady Amyra’s hand in his own, slowly drawing her to him. Loyal and obedient to her husband and his cause, he did not have her heart.
As they took air on the balcony, their passion for each other took over and without regard to who may see them, they fell into each other’s arms. As their love-making grew more heated and rough, they leaned up against the railing for stability. However, the railing was in disrepair and couldn’t hold under the vigorous activity. With a loud screech, the railing gave way and both Lady Amyra and Ser Zyre plummeted to their deaths, clinging tightly to each other.

Story courtesy Goddess!

In a distant land, Jorre Lensk (Darrk, Townie), was just yet another loyal subject who had given up hope. Darrk walked up to the cliff face and had a look at the ocean beyond. He always wondered what it would be like to fly. He took one step off, and his fight against the world was now over.

Ordos234 (Lady Amyra Rhysling) was LYNCHED Day 3
rizzy (Ser Zyre Greyiron) was LYNCHED Day 3

Darrk (Townie) has been killed due to INACTIVITY

It is now NIGHT PHASE. Night roles have until 17:00 GMT to submit their actions to Genesis and myself.

Night 4

The Fall of a House?

Nithan Rhysling, Lord Paramount, had had quite enough. He had seen his wife die, his squire butchered by a villain, the noble House of Greyrion destroyed. He would not have this, and it would change tonight! After a brief meet with his advisers, he ordered his castellan to send a raven to Lord Eathe, as quick as the wind could take it. There would be blood tonight.

Lord Herrath Eathe (Nai) had known better days. In his youth he had been fast and agile, a duelist of some repute. He was now an aged man, counting 67 years to his name, his body aching. He had gained a noticeable limp, as well as a respectable paunch. He had not lost any of his cunning though, which had always been his strongest trait. It had served him well with his old friend the High Chancellor, Jorrel Coldwater. It had pained him to have his old friend killed, but his loyalty to Lord Nithan Rhysling was above any personal considerations. Lord Nithan would be King, and that would be the end of it.

He had almost added more glory to his name this past night, when his troops had almost captured the villain Ser Robart Foral, the dreaded Lord Ice. The murderer’s forces had been scattered though, so he did not hurry to give chase. His soldiers’ horses had been ridden long and hard, and needed rest. From Ravenfall to the Pillars to wherever they now found themselves, it had been eventful and, mostly, bloody. Lord Eathe’s forces were half their original strenght at the start of Lord Nithan’s rebellion, he realised as he watched over the encampment from atop a nearby hill. The price of war, he thought.

Lord Eathe had received his master’s raven, and had a mind to chase down this enemy he had been commanded to put down. He would do so, vigorously, but on the morrow. He, too, was tired, and needed a good night’s rest. As he made his way to his tent, he looked around for the two guards who were permanently posted by it but they were nowhere to be found. He was not concerned, as they had posted scouts all around the perimeter.“Those idiots. Wine and whores is all they have on those peasant minds.” He sighed and entered his tent.

The blue glow that followed was of a brightness seldom witnessed by any one man. Lord Eathe’s screams were quite audible throughout the encampment, but as his soldiers reached his tent upon the hill, all they could find were the slain corpses of his 2 guards, and Lord Eathe’s charred body, a bright blue aura slowly dissolving into the night’s sky.

Lady Katryna Harte (I_like_pie) had accompanied the King and Queen on their ride to meet the loyalist Lords. As lady-in-waiting to Queen Astris, she was required to attend the Queen wherever and whenever she would so require, and she had relished the chance to go outside the city walls, if not the company of her Queen. Lady Katryna was loyal to Lord Rhysling afterall, and she had tried often to get to the King, to no avail. She had tried to poison the King’s food, but he had tasters, and more than a few had gone down ill or died these past few months. She had tried to conceal a dagger within her ample gowns, but King Karron was never alone, always the golden armor of the Guard glittering behind him. She had even tried to seduce one of the Guards, but he would not hear of it. Their hearts and lives were the King’s alone, and no one else’s.

The Royal column was again on the move, and bound to Westermere. The King had ridden ahead with his Guard, having heard the news of the death of his Sentinel, Ser Dorcas Cray, the Dark Blade. It seemed everyone they knew was dying, one after the other. Would this bloody war never end? These thoughts troubled her so, but the cries she heard in the distance would soon become her pressing concern. The Royal carriage came to a sudden halt, as Crimson Legion soldiers opened the door and yanked the Queen outside. Lady Katryna rushed outside to protest, just in time to see the soldiers riding off at full speed with the Queen, clouds of dust behind them. It was only when she turned around that she realised it: they were not harming the Queen, but saving her.

First it came as a confusion of sounds and screams, the metal of swords and lances contesting each other, the crimson capes of the Legion swinging back and forth in the wind, the horses neighing, the cries of the injured. The dust was all around, making it difficult to see. She tried to take cover behind the carriage and figure out what was taking place in front of her. She saw a soldier of the Legion being cut down, two more coming from behind and impaling their comrade’s killer with a spear. In the distance, mounted brigands rode after 2 other ladies-in-waiting to the Queen, grabbed them by the waist and rode off with them, not unlike a piece of game they had hunted down and killed.

After a few minutes, it was all over. Lady Katryna could see the dead bodies all around her, and more than a few still alive, pleading for help. A soldier of the Crimson Legion dragged himself her way, begging for water. She was about to reach out to him when a longsword plunged through the soldier’s back, killing him, a stream of blood flowing out of his mouth. “Well well well, what do we have here?” Lord Ice mused, as he looked over Lady Katryna. “The Queen escaped, but you will do, my Lady.” His tone was mocking, but his meaning was clear. He grabbed at her and tore down her gown. She tried to scream, but no sound came out. “Pretty. I wonder what the inside of that carriage looks like.” He grabbed her arm and tossed her inside. He spat on the floor, and as Lord Ice climbed into the carriage and closed the door, Lady Katryna knew she would never see the Sun again.


Braeden Rhysling had gotten the grim news. His brother Nithan hand engulfed their country in a bitter and bloody war, and their forces were now reeling after having controlled much of the war so far. He had been banished by their late father to the Frostford, a cold and sorrowfull place in the very north of the continent after defying his Lord father’s will and marrying a peasant girl he had fallen in love with. It had been years since he had seen his brother Nithan, and he had not been there when their father and brothers had died in the wars.

He would sit idly by no more though. He was a Rhysling after all, and he would not watch his own blood be swept away without interfering, without fighting for his House, without dying if need be! He gathered whatever forces would join him and started his march down to Ravenfall. He did not know whether his brother would welcome him or not, but it did not matter. Blood was above all, and Braeden may have lost his claim to his House, but he had not forsaken his honor. Beware, villains. Your day of doom approaches, he thought as he put his heels to his mount.

Nai (Lord Herrath Eathe) was killed by Maro Vhassinar
I_like_pie (Lady Katryna Harte) was killed by Ser Robart Foral, aka Lord Ice


This would happen if the Mafia were to find themselves with 3 or fewer members before Night 5 (now 2)

Braeden Rhysling - exiled brother to Lord Nithan Rhysling, he now returns to aid his House in the fight against its’ enemies.

Every ODD Night phase, he will be able to kill a player.
Every EVEN Night phase, he will be able to roleblock a player.

This is independent of other concurrent roles, but will still submit to the Godfather.
He is NOT immune to investigation nor immune to night kills.

1 Like

It is now DAY PHASE. You have until 05:00 GMT to vote on who you feel should be lynched.

You can do so in IC Mafia server, there is a voting channel for that effect. You can join here

Upon voting, please provide a short reason. Also remember editting and deleting posts is NOT allowed. If you wish to vote again, just post a new vote. Editted votes will be counted as NO VOTE.

Friendly reminder that if you miss two votes in a row, you will be auto-killed!

Final Vote - Day 4

[12] HydroP - thirdrock, The_Unknown, Jets, Missy, Gwynedd, TIF, KT, Metrex, TBO, Undeath, Tishxo, Warsong
[7] Sushi - MrBlonde, Dukey, You_Fool, Luker, Lethal, HydroP, HellRaizeR
[1] Warsie - Sushi

Did not Vote
[0] - Noone! All voted. Yay!


The Reckoning

Ser Robart Foral, aka Lord Ice (HydroP), was smiling after successfully raiding yet another village. This was too easy and creating this mess was extremely pleasureable. He was riding on horseback, accompanied with 5 of his brigands, laughing and merry-making.

As they rode over the hill, exiting the village, they were stopped by a Knight. “Halt! This is as far as you go!”

“Bit hot for wearing all that armour, don’t you think, Sir?” ridiculed Lord Ice, as he sized up the Good Knight. His men burst into laughter as they moved to surround him.

“I am Ser Ryden Chandyll. The King himself has tasked me with the duty of protection, and for too long have you been able to escape me.”

“Escape you?!”, Lord Ice’s men burst into laughter again. They drew their swords and inched closer to Ser Ryden. “You will be just a mere casualty and your so-called duty of protection will be the end of you.”

As Lord Ice himself drew his sword, Ser Ryden raised his right arm and pointed to the sky. Just then, 5 arrows with brisk speed and deadly precision whizzed out of the nearby scrub and felled his men. Lord Ice’s eyes widened and frantically started looking around, as fear crept into his body for the first time in a long time. He was far away from any support and steeled himself. He turned slowly to face Ser Ryden.

Ser Ryden drew his sword, and gave Lord Ice the honour of a one-on-one battle. Not that he deserved it - rather, far from it, however, it was the right thing to do by The Good Knight. The battle that ensued was glorious, as they moved back and forth, clashing blades and matching each other. As the battle drew on, Lord Ice got complacent. He thought to take advantage of an opening - however, that proved to be a fatal mistake. Ser Ryden strafed, parried ever so slightly, and ran the Lord Ice through.

“Settled then. The terror you have brought upon these lands is now over, and we can move to neutralising Rhysling’s threat on our own.”

HydroP (Ser Robart Foral, aka Lord Ice) was LYNCHED Day 4

It is now NIGHT PHASE. Night roles have until 17:00 GMT to submit their actions to Genesis and myself.

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Night 5

Battle at Mirfield

Braeden knelt before his younger brother, his arms stretched outwards, his hands holding his sword as he presented it to his Lord. Nithan Rhysling, Lord Paramount, could not be happier. “Rise, brother.” he said, “Let us embrace once again. I have missed you.” Braeden’s smile was telling “Nithan! How I’ve missed you, and these halls! I am sorry about Lady Amyra, the news of her death have me grieving still.”. Nithan sighed “Aye, brother. Your presence soothes me though, and your courage even more so. We must strike back!” Braeden bowed “You need only command me, brother, and it shall be done.”

HellRaizeR was going about his day as a foot soldier in the Crimson Legion, tasked with guarding the precious iron mines west of the capital, Westermere. A small garrison held the road to the mines, no more than 15 men. There had been more, but the war had required most of the Legion to be posted along the road to the capital. They were elite soldiers, but in this war, even the strongest were not spared.

The miners were common people of low birth, rugged and muscular, loyal to their King. The brothel down the road was popular, and whores across the country would flock there for the promise of good money. This was Hellz’s day to day, as he had not seen any action so far. He was about to, though.

Without warning, a column of riders came running in the distance, banners flying high. Atop the guard towers posted by the road, the scouts sounded the alarm: “Traitors! Rhysling’s banner among them! To arms!” As a skilled archer, Hellz quickly climbed to the top of the tower and grabbed his bow and quiver. As the riders came within shooting distance, he let fly, with deadly accuracy: two riders down with the first 4 arrows. His brethren on the ground fared much worse though, their numbers were few, and they were quickly cut down by the enemy cavalry. They had archers of their own, and their flaming arrows quickly found the towers’ dry wood as their mark.

The guard towers went up in the flames, and the soldiers posted atop them had no choice as they jumped out. Hellz did the same, but his foot was caught in two beams which had been torn by the weight and the fire. He tried to free himself, to no avail, as his boot caught fire, then his trousers, as Hellz screamed in pure agony. One of the enemy archers aimed an arrow at his heart, but Ser Braeden Rhysling pushed the bow down. “Let them burn.”, he said, revenge written all over his stern face.

Tishxo was a poor beggar, having been reduced to picking up and eating rotten fruit and whatever scraps travellers seemed fit to throw her way as they passed. Her village had been burned down, and her family had been put to the sword by brigands. There were so many outlaws now, she thought. Life and death had become a simple matter, one day you lived, the next day you did not.

“I wish I would go to sleep and wake up somewhere else, somewhere where I could find some happiness.” she muttered to herself. “You may. If only you will dare.” a voice answered, a certain foreign accent to it. She jumped around, startled, and faced this strange figure, covered head to toe in a dark cloak, his lips giving away the finest of smiles. “Wh-who are you?” she managed to articulate. “My name is Maro Vhassinar, and I have the answer to your troubles. Behold, the Flame of Iranyr, The Undying.” he said, as a quick wave of hand brought forward the brighest glow she had ever seen, a deep blue not unlike the ocean, yet much more vivid, as if all the stars in the sky had come to be within it.

She stared in awe, and for a moment, she knew joy. “Yes. This is the way, I see it now. Help me good sir, and I will follow you.” Maro was happy to comply “Look in my eyes, child, and all will be revealed.” As Tishxo locked eyes with the Warlock, tears were rolling down her face, as she would finally know happiness. The screaming followed, and the odour of charred flesh would linger for days to come.

Lord Rhysling was incensed. He had been wronged too often and too deeply, and he would not allow his foes to get the best of him yet. There was nothing left to be done at Ravenfall, he thought. The war would be decided in the field, and he had decided to take command of his army himself. He rode hard and fast, days and nights alike, until he reached the Pillars, where his forces had been stationed, leaderless for the most part since Lord Eathe’s passing. He could sense the low morale taking over his troops, and decided to take action. He ordered his army to gear up and move forward: they would take the fight to the enemy!

As they marched forward, news of this impending threat reached Westermere, and King Karron dispatched the Crimson Legion headed by Lord Broden Perry himself (Jets). The First Knight of the Crimson Legion rode forward, thousands of men at his back, a crimson sea making its way down the road. Envoys were sent between both armies, with demands of surrender. Both were rejected, and the battle was joined near the town of Mirfield, halfway between the Pillars and the Capital.

Thousands of arrows were fired first, finding their marks on men and horse alike, sparing neither leg nor gut, muscle and bone both ripped apart. The cries of the wounded were audible for miles, and they would only get louder as foot soldiers raced towards each other, wielding knives and swords and lances, yelling promises of honor and death. The clashing armor and metal made for a terrifying sound, and blood and guts were spilt everywhere. The cavalry on both sides soon joined the fray, and no quarter was given. As they cut their way through the sea of humanity around them, Lord Rhysling and Ser Broden Perry came within sight of each other. Both pushed through the battle and were soon circling each other.

“Stop this madness at once! King Karron commands you to lay down your arms!”, the First Knight ordered. “Will the King bring back my brothers and my Lord father? Will he deliver my wife back to me in his own arms?”, Nithan roared. “Lady Amyra’s death was of your own making, my Lord! And so will yours!”. Nithan screamed in anger and charged at the First Knight, sword in hand. Lord Perry answered the challenge, and they exchanged furious blows, their armies left watching the fight. They were both accomplished fighters and neither seemed to gain an advantage, until Lord Perry managed to toss Nithan from his horse with a swift blow. He quickly dismounted and gave chase, as Lord Rhysling climbed back to his feet. “Surrender, my Lord, and the King will show you mercy! You have my word!”, Lord Perry shouted. “I have seen enough of his mercy, Ser. We all have.”, Nithan replied.

They charged at each other once more, mud and blood all over their suits of armour, the weariness of war starting to show on their rugged faces. After a few more blows, Nithan gained an advantage, and he would not give it up again. A swift blow to the chest, a punch to the helm and the blade of his sword finding the neck of Lord Borden Perry, splitting it open as blood poured out. The First Knight fell to the ground, dead. “Go now! and warn your King this is what awaits him if he does not yield! Go!”, Lord Rhysling shouted, as the Crimson Legion retreated to the Capital.

As the battle unfolded, Carsen Tarlor had a different mission. He was given a different target in Metrex, and he had sneaked his way past the Lion Gate to make his way into the capital, Westermere. He had asked around and had learned of Metrex’s location, and was keen on completing his mission. The sellsword sharpened his knife once more, and gave chase. He came to find his target, but he was not alone. He was attending a gathering, but Carsen could not make out what they were saying without showing himself. He waited for a good amount of time, but the attendants seemed to be in no rush of leaving, and soldiers had passed more than once already.

Afraid of being discovered and arrested, Carsen Tarlor was unsure on how to proceed, but he would not fail his Lord. He was a master assassin after all, and he always found a way. He grabbed his blade and took aim, and with a steady arm flung it at Metrex’s neck. He saw it hit its target and ran off, disappearing into the crowded streets of the Capital.

As the onlookers rushed to Metrex, they found him alive still. As Metrex’s neck was stitched up and bandaged, it was clear he would live to see the morrow.


Codin Farwynd, the Just, saw as the body of Lord Broden Perry was brought back within the city walls. A Praetor in the Crimson Legion, he had been third in command behind Lord Perry and Ser Lucas Fowler. The war had claimed them both though, and he now found himself First Knight of the Crimson Legion. A dream of a lifetime, somehow turned into a bloody nightmare. He would not fail where they had though. The Kingdom depended on it.

Jets (Lord Broden Perry) has been killed by Nithan Rhysling, Lord Paramount (Mafia)
Tishxo (Townie) has been killed by Maro Vhassinar (SK)
HellRaizeR (Townie) has been killed by Ser Braeden Rhysling (Mafia)