IC Mafia 56: Fire and Blood

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.

1 Like

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)

The second Hidden Role has been activated!

Codin Farwynd - this role would only be activated upon the deaths of either both cops, both doctors, or both bodyguards (with him replacing the role which disappeared first) - Codin, a Praetor in the Crimson Legion, 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, and will be immune to night kills himself, but only ONCE.

For clarification, the hidden role is now a Cop.

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 Tied Vote - Day 5

[6] Warsie - Sushi, Missy, Lethal, Luker, KT, TIF
[6] TBO - You_Fool, Metrex, The_Unknown, Dukey, Undeath, Warsie
[2] MrBlonde - MrBlonde, TBO
[1] Gwynedd - Gwynedd
[1] thirdrock - thirdrock

Still to Vote


Final Votes after Tie - Day 5

[8] TBO - You_Fool, Metrex, The_Unknown, Dukey, Undeath, Warsie, Gwynedd, TBO
[6] Warsie - Sushi, Missy, Lethal, Luker, KT, TIF

[2] MrBlonde - MrBlonde,
[1] thirdrock - thirdrock



5 years ago

“No! Try again!” Silena snapped at Maro Vhassinar (TBO), as she forced him to the ground with an invisible force. “If you cannot even do this, you will never progress!” she commanded.

“I’ve had enough! I’ve been training for an eternity and continue to be abused by you! I am ready! And I can prove it!” Maro picked himself up, and started the now familiar incantations to beckon the Flame of Iranyr."

Silena, who had mentored Maro for a number of years, stood with her mouth agape. She could not believe it and this was not something she had taught him. She wondered to herself if Maro finally surpassed her? But deep down, she knew he was not ready yet. He had still too much to learn!

But it was too late. Silena was stuck gazing at this amazing blue, so deep and attractive. As she involuntarily moved closer to it, it consumed her.

Present time

Maro had done much work over the past few weeks. He felt exhausted, yet the need for continuing existed. His home land was not only a great distance away, but now also starting to be a distant memory.

As was his norm, he would release the Flame of Iranyr tonight. Maro waved his hand and released the blue glow. However, this time he noted a slight flicker in the flame.

Did he lose his concentration for a brief moment? Maro shook his head, trying to shake the feeling. Something did not feel right, but he could not allow himself the liberty to divert his attention.

As the blue flame grew more intense, Maro sensed the danger. “No!” he urged himself. “Focus!” he exclaimed, but it was too late. The instability was too much for him to control. His forehead had beads of sweat forming and the stress was evident. All of a sudden, the blue grew to a blinding white, that stretched far into the sky and the surrounding area. It completely consumed Maro and erased all evidence of existence.


King Karron was walking along the parapet of his castle, deep in thought. The battle was coming to a head, and he must focus his efforts.

Just then he noted a bright light coming from a distance, that released the most awe-inspiring flash across the whole open sky. He had seen nothing like it before! It was intensely white, with a tinge of blue.

Strange arts were at play here… he thought to himself, as he gazed out into the openness, watching the light diminish.

TBO (Maro Vhassinar) was LYNCHED Day 5

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

Night 6

The cunning Carsen Tarlor

Davith Mertyns (Metrex) had barely escaped with his life last night. The King’s personal physician, he had been lecturing his students on the benefits of ginger and bat kidney potion, when he felt a glancing strike on his neck and fell to the floor, blood pouring over his robes. Luckily for him, one of his students had inadvertly given him a small push when looking over at the cauldron in front of them, and it had been enough to spare the old master’s life. Still, it had been a swift blow, and he was now confined to his chambers, his recovery likely, but slow.

Carsen Tarlor had learned of Mertyn’s survival, and he was most displeased. Lauded as one of the most skilled killers in the land, he did not take kindly to failure. He would do whatever it took to correct his mistake, but it was no easy task: the Royal Physcian’s chambers were inside Bailin’s Keep, a fortress atop a hill overlooking the Capital, Westermere. The King’s own chambers were there, albeit in a different tower. It was the most heavily guarded structure in the Kingdom, but Carsen had one thing going for him: the city was reeling from the Crimson Legion’s defeat at the hands of Lord Rhysling just a day prior, and many of the soldiers had been posted along the streets of the Capital in order to prevent looting or riots. There were also vast celebrations underway in honor of the late Lord Broden Perry, former First Knight of the Crimson Legion.

It was in this confusion that Carsen Tarlor strived the most; he followed a guard of the Legion into an alley and, making sure they were unseen, cut the soldier’s throat. He put on his outfit and made his way into the Keep. Even then he had to be careful, as there were strict proceedings for everyone who walked within in. He found his way into the Legion’s common room and made inquiries about the Physician’s health and whereabouts. Learning that he would not be permitted entry into the physicians’ tower, he made his way to its’ entrance and, after adressing a healer and inquiring of his master’s health, grabbed him by the mouth and chest and quickly snapped the healer’s neck. Once again he changed his garment, and finally made his way into the tower.

Once inside, it was easy. He disposed of the guard by the Physician’s bedchambers, killed the two healers inside and approached Davith Mertyn’s bedside. He was fast asleep, probably under the influence of some sleeping potion. Carsen Tarlor grabbed a pillow and forced over the physician’s face, snuffing his life away in quiet fashion. “No one gets the best of me.”, he whispered quietly, as he made his way out of the tower and disappeared into the streets once more.

Alavin Ridman was in utter disbelief. His master, Davith Mertyns, who had been attacked in the Capital, in broad day light, was now dead. He could not quite believe it, but the truth made itself present regardless. He was now Royal Physician to King Karron, and every morning, when he opened his eyes, he hoped he could be someplace else. There was fear in the air, and Alavin felt it all too strongly.

Davith Mertyns (Metrex) has been killed by Carsen Tarlor (Mafia)

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 Votes - Day 6

[8] Warsie - thirdrock, KT, The_Unknown, Lethal, Missy, Dukey, Gwynedd, Undeath, TIF
[2] MrBlonde - MrBlonde, You_Fool
[1] Gwynedd - Luker
[1] thidrock - Warsie

Still to Vote

[1] Sushi


The Silenced Song

The war was still ongoing, and it was clear that although both King Karron and the Lord Paramount had opportunities to sieze the upperhand, neither were committed enough to do so. Battles raged throughout the land, and neither faction seems to be have been able to take the initiative.

Warsie (Townie) was a veteran and who wanted to see results. He was a seasoned campaigner, who decided to re-enlist to make a difference.

As he walked up to the edge of one of King Karron’s encampment, he approached a soldier, looking somewhat dishevelled.

“G’day sir. I would like to join the efforts in honor of King Karron!” as Warsie offered up his services.

“Excellent! We need more soldiers like your goodself. Just come up with me to the sign up tent, and we will get you all sorted”, replied the soldier.

As Warsie entered the tent, he picked up the parchment to write down his details. The soldier walked up behind Warsie, knife in hand. Without delay, he grabbed Warsie’s head and slit his throat in one swift movement.

There would be no additional recruits today.

Warsong (Townie) was LYNCHED Day 6

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

Night 7

The Knights of the Realm

If you had just arrived in this once prosperous kingdom, this day would appear to have started just like any other sunny Spring day; the Sun rising, the sky clear of clouds, but there was a morning chill, and signs of frost could still be found on the hardened ground, the last traces of a stiff Winter which was now subsiding. However, this was not any day. Nithan Rhysling’s forces marched ahead to Westermere, the high walls of the Capital still out sight, but closing with every step. The Lord Paramount had decided to end this conflict once and for all, and he was determined to storm the city and root out the man who had become his mortal enemy, King Karron Blackmyre.

After the defeat at Mirfield, Karron was pensive. His own Queen had almost been killed by the villain Robart Foral, the false knight they called Lord Ice, but Ser Ryden Chandyll, the Good Knight, had seen that justice had been meted out. Still, those had been the only glad tidings he had received in what seemed like forever now. He had been told the city would hold a 2 year siege if need be, but Karron thought hiding behind his walls would not be very kingly of him. Gathering all forces still available to him, he decided to march and meet his foe head on in the field. It was thus both armies came within sight of each other, not far from the convergence of the Three Streams, the three shallow rivers which meandered throughout the Westermere Peninsula.

The Royal Army had arrived first, and it was a sight to see: the Lords bannermen to the Crown had answered the call, Houses Coldwater and Fowler chief among them, but other minor Houses such as House Solover and the old Lord Nightwell could be seen as well. The center of the line would be held by the Crimson Legion, their First Knight Codin Farwyn at the head of the army. Overlooking the preparations was King Karron himself, mounted on his black stallion, his armor the colour of pure silver. With him stood the Guard, headed by Ser Ryden Chandyll, the Good knight, their golden suits of armour unmistakable for anyone in the Realm. All accounted for, a solid five thousand soldiers awaited to give battle.

Those were still 2 thousand fewer than Lord Rhysling’s army though. He had marched out in force, and would stake his claim to the Throne today. His bannermen were faithful, and the arrival of his brother Braeden had bolstered morale troughout the common soldiery: Ser Braeden was a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield, a skilled commander and no less a fighter. The drums were soon heard, and the arrows started flying. They were not as effective as they had been though, as broader shields were now being used as well as other tactics such as spacing out their forces. It was soon clear only the strenght of arms would settle this dispute, and the rumbling of thousands of soldiers marching into each others would be enough to give even the bravest man the shivers.

The singers would immortalise this day, but if you had been there you may as well do your best to have forgotten it. There was nothing poetic about the carnage that followed, the dead and dying or the scars the living would bare for the rest their lives. The Crimson Legion pushed forward, their coordinated maneuvering taking a toll on their enemies. The Royal bannermen followed their lead, and the rebel army would soon be in a perilous situation, their numbers crumbling before the onslaught. At this critical juncture, Lord Nithan decided to interve; he ordered his cavalry to charge, and charge they did, their Lord at the head of the rush. They aimed right at the heart of the fight, where Codin Farwynd, the Just, now found himself, bringing the Crimson Legion to bear on their fleeing foes.

Nithan took note of the First Knight, and rode for him. Having recently killed his predecessor, he could only imagine how terrible it would be for the Legion to lose yet another commander. The riders cut through the rank and file, friend and foe alike, to make way for the doom that awaited Codin. It was a slow advance though, mud and blood and bodies making it difficult for the horses to make much headway. Codin had recognised the danger and ordered the spearmen of the Legion to block the cavalry’s path as well, making it nigh impossible for Lord Rhysling’s men to claim yet another First Knight. A few more thrusts and it became clear they would not take Codin Farwynd’s life today, so Nithan, much to his chagrin, ordered his cavalry to fall back.

Across the battlefield…

King Karron had also sensed the danger, and had ordered his own cavalry to come to the aid of the Legion. Headed by his own Sentinel, Ser Ryden Chandyll, his forces galloped over the shallow Wolf’s Branch, the river which delimited the battlefield to the North. Faced with this situation, Ser Braeden Rhysling was forced to make a tactical decision: press the flanks so a victory could still be claimed from the jaws or defeat, or come to the rescue of his brother, Nithan? “There is no victory without a King, and we can scarcely lose ours.”, he thought. He directed his forces inwards, as they came to block the path of Ser Ryden’s cavalry. The Good Knight hesitated, but it was too late. Braeden was on him, and the fighting was fierce and savage once more. The Good Knight was the bravest man in the land though, and he did not back down.

Through the fury of man and horse they came to face each other, Ser Braeden swinging his morningstar at his foe with such ferocity that he broke through his shield. “Hear me, Good Knight! You die today!”, Braeden roared at the top of his lungs. “That may be Ser, but I will not go alone” Ryden repied, and they charged at each other, sword and shield and morningstar entangled in a deadly debate. Braeden’s fury could not be contained, and he swung at the shield of his enemy time and again, until Ser Ryden’s arm was broken and bloody. He tried to defend himself with his longsword, but in his mind he was lost. If the Good Knight had to fall, he could hardly imagine a braver death than this. Just as all seemed lost for Ser Ryden, the trumpets sang in the distance, calling for the retreat of Lord Rhysling’s forces. Fearing capture, Ser Braeden hastily departed. “We shall meet again, and next time, one of us will fall!”, he promised.

After the battle was done, burying the dead and caring for the living were the priorities, but there were others as well. Desertion was not tolerated, and more than a few soldiers had lost their mettle in the face of the carnage they had witnessed. The pain for desertion was death, but not any death. Deserters were nailed head-down to two beams of wood in the shape of an X. Then their guts were sliced open with a longsword, and they would taste their own blood and guts as a reminder of what they had failed to give for their King. This was called simply “The Fate” by the smallfolk, and it awaited quite a few deserters today.

Codin Farwynd had decided to mete out this punishment by himself, as he tried to make an example of these cravens for all to see, and remember. The King needed them, and cowardice would not be tolerated! Codin made his way through the line of X’s planted by the road, sword in hand, tearing them open, one after the other. He showed no mercy, and as Undeath’s turn came to taste his own blood and shit, he wondered if a brave death in the field wouldn’t have been better after all.

Undeath (Townie) has been killed by Codin Farwynd, the Just (special Cop kill)

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 Votes - Day 7

[6] KT - thirdrock, Mrblonde, Dukey, Missy, TIF, KT

[5] Lethal - Gwynedd, The_Unknown, Luker, You_Fool
[1] MrBlonde - Sushi
[1] You_Fool - Lethal

All votes in

Day 7

The Cost of Defeat

Carsen Tarlor (KT) would not abandon his Lord, Nithan Rhysling. As he covered his retreat after the disastrous cavalry charge that had precipitated their defeat, he wondered if he had made the right choice all those years ago, when he had entered into Lord Nithan’s service.

He had been nothing but a cutthroat, he thought. A sellsword, master assassin who handled his Lord’s dirty business, yet he could not fail to realise there was some honor to his proceeding. He would butcher and maim in Lord Nithan’s name, yes, but his victims had always been men of little honor, rebels and traitors to the Crown. Funny his Lord should be branded a traitor now, he who had sacrificed the most to preserve the Crown on King Karron’s head.

Carsen tried to cut his way through the quivering mass of humanity which sprawled out in front of him, barring their escape at every turn. Their army’s retreat had turned into a rout, and the Crimson Legion gave chase, no quarter given.

As Carsen pleaded with Lord Nithan to follow him, a spear flew through the air and hit the sellsword on his back, puncturing his heart and killing him instantly. Lord Nithan stopped for a second, but he could not linger. “You have served me well, friend. Rest now.” he said to himself, and rode away.

KT (Carsen Tarlor) was LYNCHED Day 7

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

Night 8

Dream of a Better Day

Best with Soundtrack! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pS-gbqbVd8c

The Three Streams

The battle was over, and Nithan Rhysling, Lord Paramount (Lethal), suffered the indignity of defeat. The most powerful Lord in the Kingdom, the best commander, some said the finest soldier as well. How could this have happened? What had he done wrong? He was troubled so, but the arrows flying overhead brought him back to reality. His forces had tried to retreat, but the Royal Army had given chase, and retreat had quickly turned into a rout. Men were run down by horses, others pulled riders out of their saddles and tried to steal their mounts, more were cut down and slain by the enemy. Many laid down their arms, hoping for nothing but to see their families once more; most would not.

Nithan had been involved in the charge of the heavy cavalry, and found it hard to navigate the chaos. His loyal soldiers, heads held high, singing and cheering for their lords not an hour ago, were now fleeing before him, tossing the helmets and swords they once carried proudly so they could make a quicker escape. His trusted sellsword Carsen Tarlor had just been slain in front of him, while trying his best to lead his Lord away from the battefield. Nithan feared for his life, but felt suddenly overtaken by memories of his childhood, even as blood and screams clouded his perception. He saw the training ground at Ravenfall, where he sparred with his brothers under the watchful eye of Ser Gerrar, the old master-at-arms. He remembered his mother, fair Lady Marleya, whose embrace soothed him unlike any other.

“Nithan! This way!” Nithan looked up at his brother Braeden (Sushi), who was pleading with him to ride ahead, furiously swinging his sword from one side of his horse to the other, clearing a path for his Lord. Nithan followed, but in the blink of an eye found himself tumbling down on the mud along with his mount, its left hind quarter punctured by two arrows. He found himself thinking of his sister Taryne, who had died of the pox, only a child of 6. Braeden tried to bring the Lord Paramount back to his feet, but his armour was heavy, helping to mask Nithan’s resignation to a fate long awaited. He thought of his brothers Ruban and Marvion, slain in the service of their King.

As Braeden pleaded with Lord Nithan to stand up and escape, the King’s Guard came upon them, the valiant Ser Ryden Chandyll, the Good Knight (The_Unknown) first among them. His left arm had been broken not an instant ago by Ser Braeden, but he had not lost heart. Victory was at hand, and he would not let it slip through his fingers. The Good Knight engaged with Braeden once more, his sword raining down on his foe, blow after blow. Braeden tried to protect his brother, but almost lost balance and fell. In a move of desperation, he swung for the Good Knight’s saddle and cut it apart, causing Ser Ryden to come crashing down from his mount. Like a cat, Braeden jumped on him and buried his sword in Ser Ryden’s neck, killing the King’s Sentinel.

Braeden, blood smeared all over his armor, grabbed Nithan by the arm and tried to get him on his feet, but Lord Rhysling would not move. Nithan looked up at Braeden, his lips moving, an expression of urgency and panic on his face, but Nithan could not hear what his older brother was saying. It was as if time itself had slowed down; he could smell the wet grass of the battlefield, the mud, the smell of the horses and the blood; he saw soldiers running, others dragging themselves across the field, limbs severed, horses quivering as they lay in agony; yet the sounds did not come to him.

“Nithan! You have to get up! Please!” Braeden pleaded with his brother, but as he turned around, he was run down by a stray horse, the animal fleeing in terror. He tried to get up, but was stepped on by man after man, poor farmers and fishermen who had been given a sword and asked to die for their Lord. Now, they fled, a mindless rabble once more. His armor afforded him some protection, but soon even the hardened metal gave way under the weight of boot and hoof, as they trampled Braeden to death.

Nithan saw as his brother fell, but his expressionless face did not give away his emotions. He looked up at the blue sky and thought of his King, Karron. They had once been as close as brothers, their paths turned to one, the Kingdom their cause, honor their purpose. How had it come to this? Nithan slowly rose to his feet, and looked around. The Crimson Legion inched closer, tearing through the routing remnants of Lord Rhysling’s once proud army. He drew his greatsword, Hollow, so called due to its’ blade’s seemingly indiscernible edges, so fine they were. And then, Nithan thought of his father.

Lord Garrat Rhysling loomed ever so large over his son. He was the one he had tried to emulate, a goal he had found harder and harder to achieve as the years went by. Still, he was his father’s son, and he would not dishonor his memory by fleeing the field. He pulled down the visor on his helmet, held Hollow high above his head and yelled out “To me, soldiers! Ravenfall!!”. Nithan charged, roaring, the few soldiers who had rallied to him by his side, valiant and valorous, the stuff of legend. Nithan felled 5 soldiers of the Legion before even a single blow was delivered to him. As his loyal soldiers were cut down around him, he held his ground as best he could, Hollow claiming victim after victim, its’ sharp blade claiming limb and head, muscle and bone, armor and shield.

A spear cut him behind his left knee. He turned around and cut down his agressor. A sword found its’ way into into the opening of his armor right above his right shoulder. He groaned in pain, Hollow almost dropping to the mud. He swung it once more in a circle around him, trying to keep his assailants at bay, but the numbers were too great. A kick to the back of his armor and he tumbled forward, being hit by what felt like dozens of blows, each cutting into his flesh, his armor a bloody mess.

Nithan fell down, mortally wounded. He saw his father before him, the Sun at his back as he knelt down before him and stretched out his arm, offering his hand to his son. Nithan tried to speak, but all he could muster was a faint whisper. “F-father…”, he uttered, a single tear running across his face. “Come lad, take my hand. Let us rest and dream of a better day.” he heard his father say, a faint smile upon his lips as life abandoned Nithan Rhysling.



Bailin’s Keep

King Karron Blackmyre (TIF) watched as the celebrations unfolded before him, the city below filled to the brim with peasants and merchants, whores and thieves from all across the land. There was peace in the Realm after nearly 20 years, and Karron’s reign was now unchallenged. He had Codin Farwynd (thirdrock) raised to Lord and made him a member of his Privy Council, along with Alavin Ridman (Missy), the King’s Physician. Of all his closest advisors, they alone had survived the onslaught brought forth by Nithan Rhysling, the late Lord Paramount. Karron had not annointed a new Lord Paramount yet, and he doubted he would ever do so again.

Dukey, the Royal Cook, was hard at work in the kitchens of the Keep. He had never had to deal with such a large crowd of cooks and helpers, but the banquets in honor of the King’s victory had to be just perfect. However, as he laid eyes on dozens of ducks being slaughtered and plucked for the feast, if for a moment, he was forced to reconsider his line of work. Luker had been the butcher, and soon found himself thrown out of the kitchens.

You_Fool, of course the King’s Fool, was a tremendous success with the Ladies of the court. The Fool’s apprentice, MrBlonde, was better known to entertain the Lords, however. As he was performing a juggling trick for the Royal party with knives and forks, he clumsily tripped over himself and stuck a fork in King Karron’s left thigh. The King would have his head, but the Queen was able to convince His Majesty into exiling MrBlonde instead.

Gwynedd was wandering the streets of the Capital, trying to stay unnoticed. He was a thief after all, and a good one at that. He would not pay for a pigeon pie he could steal, but as he did the deed once more, the baker caught sight of it and chased him down the street, wooden cane in hand.

As King Karron adressed the crowds from the Keep’s balcony, he looked a hero of the songs, all clad in gold and silver, ruby and sapphire alike. “We have won this war!”, he proclaimed, “But we must win the peace now as well! As your King, I will see that no harm comes to any of you ever again! And now, let us feast!”, he said, as the crowed erupted into cheers for their King.


Congrats to the Town for winning! Good game everyone!


Epilogue 2

Ser Jorah Mormont walked into his master’s chambers in the Free City of Mereen. “Khaleesi.” he announced himself, and bowed. “What is it, Ser Jorah?” “There is a new arrival, a Fool who claims to have been exiled from King Karron Blackmyre’s Court, for no good reason.” Daenarys Targaryen considered this, and ordered: “Bring him in. I would see this Fool perform.” As MrBlonde made his way in, she was not impressed. A poor figure, not worthy of a Court position, she thought.

She ordered him to perform, but after a minute she closed her eyes and raised her voice: “Stop. You may be a fool, but you are no Fool.” she said, as her Dothraki handmaidens giggled. “Blonde fools make the worse Fools.” one of them offered. “It is known.” “It is known.”, added the other girl.


Daenarys had MrBlonde brought to the courtyard, bound and gagged at long last. As Drogon landed before them, she uttered the word we had all hoped for, for so long: “Dracarys!”. No more memes.

Epilogue 3

Thanos was displeased. His quest for the Infinity Stones had yielded him only the Time Stone so far, and he had used it to search for the other Gems, but to no avail. He had, however, come across a singular point in time where Kings and Lords butchered each other for the illusion of power. He considered his goal, and smiled. Death was coming.

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Thanos awaits you!