SAU VI: The Temple of Khaine
Moderator: The Makers of Chains
"I would defend myself, but there is nothing to defend myself from, and already have your hasty words been punished."
XtremeNL said to Lamehk.
"My vote does not matter, die in honour Lamehk."
XtremeNL tensed his muscles and put his hand on his sword, in case Lahmek will try to do something rash, and awaited Tarbo's action now the majority has been reached.
XtremeNL said to Lamehk.
"My vote does not matter, die in honour Lamehk."
XtremeNL tensed his muscles and put his hand on his sword, in case Lahmek will try to do something rash, and awaited Tarbo's action now the majority has been reached.
- Lamehk the slavemaster
- Cold One Knight
- Posts: 209
- Joined: Tue Mar 14, 2006 8:08 am
- Location: looking for something else to do with Sanity
-
- Executioner
- Posts: 193
- Joined: Wed May 04, 2005 6:32 pm
- Location: in my basement, pretending to be an elf.
"Well, this is off to a good start. inactivity is the prelude to death."
in this life time, people get hurt. just be glad is wasn't your turn
http://z13.invisionfree.com/Cadian_Fortress/index.php? Come and join the ranks of the Imperial Guard.
http://z13.invisionfree.com/Cadian_Fortress/index.php? Come and join the ranks of the Imperial Guard.
- Tarbo
- Morathi's Best Friend
- Posts: 1203
- Joined: Tue Oct 04, 2005 5:06 pm
- Location: Flanders, Belgium
The final vote lands on Lamehk with the silence of a soft voice speaking hard words. The chamber comes to a nearly complete silence as the votes are counted again and Tarbo reaches the required total of nine. He recounts and comes to the same number.
“Looks like the mob has decided, Lamehk.”
Lamehk stays remarkably calm and quiet under the verdict. Surely, he must know what is about to happen; he will be executed at the beckoning of his fellows. Perhaps he has found release and peace of mind knowing that his fate is sealed while others must dwell in uncertainty for the next week.
As it turns out, he has a surprise up his sleeve.
In a burst of action, Lamehk suddenly jumps from his seat, throwing back his chair. “You will not have my life! I will not die due to another's incompetence!” With those words, he hurls himself at the tall windows, crashing through the glass and freeing himself from the council chamber. Yes, he had eluded capture; freedom was his again!
Hurriedly, the others in the room rush to the now broken window and stare out as their erstwhile companion flees the scene. He makes distance remarkably quick, his image shrinking with each passing second.
“Quick thinking,” Seanzala admits while staring out. “He parked his horse there in case he needed to escape.”
“He even managed to land right on it, the poor thing,” Mel'Reyna added.
Again, it was quiet for a long time.
“What is this, eighth floor or ninth?” XtremeNL finally breaks the silence.
Tarbo looks at the broken window and answers in a deep sigh: “Ninth.”
Morvai purses his lips and whistles quietly in response. “Tough break, man.”
“Who was he?” Ashnari finally asks.
“A would-be inquisitor like most of you. You can all go to your rooms to have some rest; I'll call the servants to clean up the mess outside and have the window replaced. Good night to all of you.”
With the dismissal as final as it is polite, the aspirants make to their rooms slowly, gauging their peers' reactions for any lack of disappointment. The night would be filled with activity of all kinds to those dire enough to brave the floor--and its guards--in darkness.
(The names, other than myself and Lamehk, were picked fully at random and don't reflect any allegiance.)
---------------------------------------------
Lamehk the Slavemaster was an innocent, aligned with the aspiring templars.
It is now Night. You are allowed one post; a few final words before you leave for your nighttime activities, whatever those activities may be.
Everyone who has a nighttime ability must PM me. If you decide to take no action, you must inform me thereof.
“Looks like the mob has decided, Lamehk.”
Lamehk stays remarkably calm and quiet under the verdict. Surely, he must know what is about to happen; he will be executed at the beckoning of his fellows. Perhaps he has found release and peace of mind knowing that his fate is sealed while others must dwell in uncertainty for the next week.
As it turns out, he has a surprise up his sleeve.
In a burst of action, Lamehk suddenly jumps from his seat, throwing back his chair. “You will not have my life! I will not die due to another's incompetence!” With those words, he hurls himself at the tall windows, crashing through the glass and freeing himself from the council chamber. Yes, he had eluded capture; freedom was his again!
Hurriedly, the others in the room rush to the now broken window and stare out as their erstwhile companion flees the scene. He makes distance remarkably quick, his image shrinking with each passing second.
“Quick thinking,” Seanzala admits while staring out. “He parked his horse there in case he needed to escape.”
“He even managed to land right on it, the poor thing,” Mel'Reyna added.
Again, it was quiet for a long time.
“What is this, eighth floor or ninth?” XtremeNL finally breaks the silence.
Tarbo looks at the broken window and answers in a deep sigh: “Ninth.”
Morvai purses his lips and whistles quietly in response. “Tough break, man.”
“Who was he?” Ashnari finally asks.
“A would-be inquisitor like most of you. You can all go to your rooms to have some rest; I'll call the servants to clean up the mess outside and have the window replaced. Good night to all of you.”
With the dismissal as final as it is polite, the aspirants make to their rooms slowly, gauging their peers' reactions for any lack of disappointment. The night would be filled with activity of all kinds to those dire enough to brave the floor--and its guards--in darkness.
(The names, other than myself and Lamehk, were picked fully at random and don't reflect any allegiance.)
---------------------------------------------
Lamehk the Slavemaster was an innocent, aligned with the aspiring templars.
It is now Night. You are allowed one post; a few final words before you leave for your nighttime activities, whatever those activities may be.
Everyone who has a nighttime ability must PM me. If you decide to take no action, you must inform me thereof.
- Ansob.
- Follower of Malal
- Posts: 2726
- Joined: Wed Jun 30, 2004 6:37 pm
- Location: Colchester, Essex (UK).
'Pity,' Drythe commented drily. 'Oh, well; at least we have done ourselves a favour.'
He turned to the gathered acolytes and took a bow. 'Good night, then. I shall see you on the morrow, Khaine willing.'
OOC: can we have a list of the people remaining? I believe Prince Cal didn't post, so he'd be modkilled.
He turned to the gathered acolytes and took a bow. 'Good night, then. I shall see you on the morrow, Khaine willing.'
OOC: can we have a list of the people remaining? I believe Prince Cal didn't post, so he'd be modkilled.
General Kala wrote:All my eloquence fails to express it as well as this.Cenyu wrote:Hail to the King, baby.
OOC: I couldn't get on earlier......
IC:
Princess Cal at last broke her long silence, "It is sorry to see an innocent die, next day we must do better or face trouble from the traitors within. I will now depart to my chambers for the night" said Princess Cal as she picked herself out of the corner and headed out of the room.
IC:
Princess Cal at last broke her long silence, "It is sorry to see an innocent die, next day we must do better or face trouble from the traitors within. I will now depart to my chambers for the night" said Princess Cal as she picked herself out of the corner and headed out of the room.
Last edited by Cal on Sat Mar 25, 2006 9:17 pm, edited 1 time in total.
NK wrote:Bonjour et bienvenue lá Druchii.net Hastings!(Excuse the Christie pun, I'm an avid reader of Poirot!)! Cannot help you here mon ami, but again bienvenue! Now, I must say 'Abiento!'. I have threads to browse.
- The liger
- Malekith's Pet Cat
- Posts: 1452
- Joined: Mon Aug 16, 2004 7:26 pm
- Location: Prowling around the streets near London, England.
- Contact:
"Well...that's a shame, but we still have most of our members, and look on the brightside. He could have had a negative impact in a few days, sending votes around randomly. We were not to know, at least this shows the assassins that we are not unwilling to act, and they should not think that we will dither around."
With that, The Liger turned on his heel and strode out of the door.
With that, The Liger turned on his heel and strode out of the door.
"Purrrrr...."
Venkh wrote:I wish i had been told about the "A-Team effect" that druchii experience with their shooting.
i.e. move into position, huge ammounts of shooting, nobody gets killed.
OOC: I know, sorry about the editing but it just seemed pointless to post again to change my name when as it's going to bed it doesn't really matter. I know the rules yet it just felt spammish.
NK wrote:Bonjour et bienvenue lá Druchii.net Hastings!(Excuse the Christie pun, I'm an avid reader of Poirot!)! Cannot help you here mon ami, but again bienvenue! Now, I must say 'Abiento!'. I have threads to browse.
- Tarbo
- Morathi's Best Friend
- Posts: 1203
- Joined: Tue Oct 04, 2005 5:06 pm
- Location: Flanders, Belgium
Midnight. Moonlight shimmered through the windows in Darmort's room. He had gazed into the starry night for what seemed to be ages, standing next to his writing table, hands on his back as he breathed deeply, calmly. His hearing was honed to any noises he might hear past the door that kept any common assassin from entering his private quarters. He knew better than to trust the guards with his safety.
His gloved fingers pulled on the boney chin that stuck slightly from underneath his hood, most of his features covered in the same robes he had worn during the day. No, there was no use in trusting the guards of a man who summoned them only to be decimated by his own.
Looking next to him, Darmort saw his diary, fully adorned with notes of what he had found during the day. In order to share his suspicions, he would have to wait until daybreak, at least, until sonnerie. He had not gotten too far yet, but he was making progress; progress that his enemies would be loathe to grant him—he caught something in the corner of his eye.
Peering over his shoulder to see what it was, he saw only one thing out of the ordinary: his door was slowly closing on its own. And then, he couldn't breathe anymore. The wire squeezed into his throat, no matter how much he tried to fight it; the knee in his back pressed against his spine, causing him to nearly topple over. Knowing he was lost, Darmort stretched his hand towards his notes... to scribble down who he knew killed him... and collapsed.
These few made no sound.
***
“Mister Darmort?” The she-elf stood quietly in front of the closed door, waiting for an answer. If it weren't for her voice, noone would even notice her. She smiled politely at the passing guards, then wet her lips and looked out the tall corridor windows into the interior garden blooming under the morning sun. It truly was a pleasure working here. “Mister Darmort, you have mail from a friend.”
Still no answer. The young elf scanned the hallway insecurely, unsure of what to do. She hadn't expected not being answered. It was morning already, and she was told that everyone would be on their toes. Finally, she collected her courage and frapped the door.
It gave. Under the soft rapping of her knuckles, the door had slowly creaked open, revealing that Darmort's curtains were already—or still—open. “Mister Darmort?” she asked softly, as if afraid she would actually wake him. She opened the door wider, looked inside... and screamed.
***
“To whoever finds me,” the guard read the letter aloud to the other two. “I am late for council and seem to have misplaced my head. Could you help me find it, please?”
Just in the doorway, the lifeless body of the elf named Darmort was lying, untouched, although his head seemed to have gone astray. There was remarkably little blood on the scene, not even the obvious.
“Look,” his colleague suddenly said as she pointed at the walls. “Arrows.”
Indeed, arrows drawn in blood. They pointed in haphazard directions, away from the body.
“Find Waldo's head,” the first muttered under his breath. The lack of tonality carried the fact more than it hinted at any attempt at humour.
The captain entered the room with careful steps, not wanting to disturb the grizzly corpse or any evidence that may still have lied around. He had been informed that this whole floor was reserved for the inauguration ceremony, and that he was ordered not to investigate, only report.
Next to Darmort's bed stood a small box, the vivid colours sorely out of place in a murder scene. The captain drew his sword and tapped the side of the box twice roughly.
Instantly, Darmort's head popped out of the box, bouncing steadily on the spring that supported it.
“Nice,” his lieutenant added, barely even hiding the sarcasm in his voice.
“Right,” the captain concluded the tourist attraction. “You two stand guard here, make sure noone else enters. I'm reporting this to Tarbo.”
The other guards nodded and threw a curious, cautious peek into the room. Their eyes scanned the scene entirely, trying to imagine what a sick mind came up with this.
Escaping their attention was the lack of Darmort's diary on his table.
***
“Goodmorning, class,” Tarbo greets the aspirants with an amused smile. “I hope you've all had a chance to enjoy our hospitality.”
No laughing muscles as much as budge. Someone discretely clears her throat.
“Right,” he mutters under his breath, then looks at the assembly. “The windows in the council chamber are being replaced after yesterday's hooligan rampage, so we're having today's session in the temple garden. I hope noone objects.”
You are sitting on stone benches in the sun-laden garden. Many exotic plants and flowers grow here, carefully tended by gardeners and workers. To the sides, you see elves busily going about their business, sheltered from the sun by the overarched corridors surrounding the garden.
An armoured elf approaches the aspirants from those same shadowed areas. “Milords, miladies,” he greets you formally and bows briefly, then bends over to whisper in Tarbo's ear.
Tarbo looks at him, then nods quietly in dismissal. The captain of the guard instantly turns on his heels and takes his leave.
“Darmort won't make it today,” Tarbo divulges before others can ask. “Since the assassins do not—as a rule—hare off killing themselves, I'm afraid I must tell the templars-to-be that they have lost one of their number.”
------------------------------------------------------
With 15 players, 8 constitute a majority.
It is now Day.
His gloved fingers pulled on the boney chin that stuck slightly from underneath his hood, most of his features covered in the same robes he had worn during the day. No, there was no use in trusting the guards of a man who summoned them only to be decimated by his own.
Looking next to him, Darmort saw his diary, fully adorned with notes of what he had found during the day. In order to share his suspicions, he would have to wait until daybreak, at least, until sonnerie. He had not gotten too far yet, but he was making progress; progress that his enemies would be loathe to grant him—he caught something in the corner of his eye.
Peering over his shoulder to see what it was, he saw only one thing out of the ordinary: his door was slowly closing on its own. And then, he couldn't breathe anymore. The wire squeezed into his throat, no matter how much he tried to fight it; the knee in his back pressed against his spine, causing him to nearly topple over. Knowing he was lost, Darmort stretched his hand towards his notes... to scribble down who he knew killed him... and collapsed.
These few made no sound.
***
“Mister Darmort?” The she-elf stood quietly in front of the closed door, waiting for an answer. If it weren't for her voice, noone would even notice her. She smiled politely at the passing guards, then wet her lips and looked out the tall corridor windows into the interior garden blooming under the morning sun. It truly was a pleasure working here. “Mister Darmort, you have mail from a friend.”
Still no answer. The young elf scanned the hallway insecurely, unsure of what to do. She hadn't expected not being answered. It was morning already, and she was told that everyone would be on their toes. Finally, she collected her courage and frapped the door.
It gave. Under the soft rapping of her knuckles, the door had slowly creaked open, revealing that Darmort's curtains were already—or still—open. “Mister Darmort?” she asked softly, as if afraid she would actually wake him. She opened the door wider, looked inside... and screamed.
***
“To whoever finds me,” the guard read the letter aloud to the other two. “I am late for council and seem to have misplaced my head. Could you help me find it, please?”
Just in the doorway, the lifeless body of the elf named Darmort was lying, untouched, although his head seemed to have gone astray. There was remarkably little blood on the scene, not even the obvious.
“Look,” his colleague suddenly said as she pointed at the walls. “Arrows.”
Indeed, arrows drawn in blood. They pointed in haphazard directions, away from the body.
“Find Waldo's head,” the first muttered under his breath. The lack of tonality carried the fact more than it hinted at any attempt at humour.
The captain entered the room with careful steps, not wanting to disturb the grizzly corpse or any evidence that may still have lied around. He had been informed that this whole floor was reserved for the inauguration ceremony, and that he was ordered not to investigate, only report.
Next to Darmort's bed stood a small box, the vivid colours sorely out of place in a murder scene. The captain drew his sword and tapped the side of the box twice roughly.
Instantly, Darmort's head popped out of the box, bouncing steadily on the spring that supported it.
“Nice,” his lieutenant added, barely even hiding the sarcasm in his voice.
“Right,” the captain concluded the tourist attraction. “You two stand guard here, make sure noone else enters. I'm reporting this to Tarbo.”
The other guards nodded and threw a curious, cautious peek into the room. Their eyes scanned the scene entirely, trying to imagine what a sick mind came up with this.
Escaping their attention was the lack of Darmort's diary on his table.
***
“Goodmorning, class,” Tarbo greets the aspirants with an amused smile. “I hope you've all had a chance to enjoy our hospitality.”
No laughing muscles as much as budge. Someone discretely clears her throat.
“Right,” he mutters under his breath, then looks at the assembly. “The windows in the council chamber are being replaced after yesterday's hooligan rampage, so we're having today's session in the temple garden. I hope noone objects.”
You are sitting on stone benches in the sun-laden garden. Many exotic plants and flowers grow here, carefully tended by gardeners and workers. To the sides, you see elves busily going about their business, sheltered from the sun by the overarched corridors surrounding the garden.
An armoured elf approaches the aspirants from those same shadowed areas. “Milords, miladies,” he greets you formally and bows briefly, then bends over to whisper in Tarbo's ear.
Tarbo looks at him, then nods quietly in dismissal. The captain of the guard instantly turns on his heels and takes his leave.
“Darmort won't make it today,” Tarbo divulges before others can ask. “Since the assassins do not—as a rule—hare off killing themselves, I'm afraid I must tell the templars-to-be that they have lost one of their number.”
------------------------------------------------------
- Players
- Mel'Reyna
- Drakhan
- Tastyfish
- SleekDD
- Morvai
- The Liger (formerly The Blade Liger)
- Tylarion
- rankrath
- Kin'eleth
- seanzala
- Malevion
- XtremeNL
- Ashnari Doomsong
- A neutral shade of black.
- Prince Cal
- Deaths
- Lamehk the Slavemaster (Day 1) - Innocent
- Darmort (Night 1) - Innocent
With 15 players, 8 constitute a majority.
It is now Day.
- The liger
- Malekith's Pet Cat
- Posts: 1452
- Joined: Mon Aug 16, 2004 7:26 pm
- Location: Prowling around the streets near London, England.
- Contact:
"Hmmm...well, one bites the dust. The assassins have had their first kill. I would suppose that they chose at random, and Darmort was the unlucky one, but then again, Darmort did say that there was no evidence against XtremeNL. Probably nothing, but even so, perhaps. Make of this what you will..."
"Purrrrr...."
Venkh wrote:I wish i had been told about the "A-Team effect" that druchii experience with their shooting.
i.e. move into position, huge ammounts of shooting, nobody gets killed.
- Ansob.
- Follower of Malal
- Posts: 2726
- Joined: Wed Jun 30, 2004 6:37 pm
- Location: Colchester, Essex (UK).
Drythe sniggered. 'The Liger is right - Darmort did say that XtremeNL was innocent. What do I make of this? He was silenced for speaking the truth.' The merchant's son paused, thinking. 'Why him and not any other one of us, though? Therein lies the real mystery. I am loathe to admit this, but we shall have to ignore his death, until we possess more conclusive evidence.'
General Kala wrote:All my eloquence fails to express it as well as this.Cenyu wrote:Hail to the King, baby.
- The liger
- Malekith's Pet Cat
- Posts: 1452
- Joined: Mon Aug 16, 2004 7:26 pm
- Location: Prowling around the streets near London, England.
- Contact:
"As will I. Although I am keen for us to do something, I personally don't hold any evidence against Tastyfish, and therefore unless I have reason to vote someone, or feel that I should vote for us to get something done today, I will not vote yet."
"Purrrrr...."
Venkh wrote:I wish i had been told about the "A-Team effect" that druchii experience with their shooting.
i.e. move into position, huge ammounts of shooting, nobody gets killed.
- Sleekdd
- Highborn
- Posts: 637
- Joined: Sat May 21, 2005 7:33 am
- Location: Belgium, the only country where surrealism is a way of life.
Sleek Davian took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the uncharacteristically warm air and sweet scent commonly found in a garden. Tarbo seemed to enjoy settings which other races would describe as idyllic instead of resorting to the trademark brooding black and purple style of the Druchii. Then again, he always got results and as such was probably allowed some leeway in his affairs.
"You are correct,Kin'eleth. They do seem to choose their victims at random, but since that is a choice the assassins make, we can make something of it."
Sleek rose to his feet and threaded the field.
"When I searched through the records of Slaaneshi infiltrations and Khainite counter-strikes, I learned there are several strategies they employ. Those strategies relate to their character. For example, there are those who just remain quiet and hope to avoid any kind of detection. But there are also those who attain a high profile and bluff theirway to victory. Ideally, they will make a lot of noise but refrain from doing anything constructive."
"There are other methods for them but I will not bore you with the details. However, when I poured over the records of yesterday, I found something peculiar; nothing that would raise a 'red flag' on its own but the subsequent death of Darmort reinforced my suspicions."
He looked about, many eyes were fixed on him and some with more than just curiosity.
"There is one among us who feared not to raise his voice but at the same time failed to do anything but quarrel. There are several among us who I believe to be smart enough to choose their victims at random or seemingly so to cover his tracks. The person I have in mind fits both criteria."
"As a third and final reasoning, consider this: if the assassin play a high profile, would he be smarter to eliminate the silent ones? After all, if he were to pick off similar people as himself, one could start to wonder why he is the sole survivor of his kind."
Sleek took another deep breath. He had cast the dice, now he had to follow through.
"My friends, I present you your wolf: Ilran Drythe. He was eager to pick a fight with Malevion while showing remarkable constraint in ending it, lest he attracted attention of others stalking the night. On top of that, he is smart enough to pick his victims at random to leave us dumbfounded and has stated that himself just now: let this murder be as it is, it isn't going to help us."
Sleek looked around one last time before fixing his eyes on his suspect. Support was everything.
Vote: A neutral shade of black.
"You are correct,Kin'eleth. They do seem to choose their victims at random, but since that is a choice the assassins make, we can make something of it."
Sleek rose to his feet and threaded the field.
"When I searched through the records of Slaaneshi infiltrations and Khainite counter-strikes, I learned there are several strategies they employ. Those strategies relate to their character. For example, there are those who just remain quiet and hope to avoid any kind of detection. But there are also those who attain a high profile and bluff theirway to victory. Ideally, they will make a lot of noise but refrain from doing anything constructive."
"There are other methods for them but I will not bore you with the details. However, when I poured over the records of yesterday, I found something peculiar; nothing that would raise a 'red flag' on its own but the subsequent death of Darmort reinforced my suspicions."
He looked about, many eyes were fixed on him and some with more than just curiosity.
"There is one among us who feared not to raise his voice but at the same time failed to do anything but quarrel. There are several among us who I believe to be smart enough to choose their victims at random or seemingly so to cover his tracks. The person I have in mind fits both criteria."
"As a third and final reasoning, consider this: if the assassin play a high profile, would he be smarter to eliminate the silent ones? After all, if he were to pick off similar people as himself, one could start to wonder why he is the sole survivor of his kind."
Sleek took another deep breath. He had cast the dice, now he had to follow through.
"My friends, I present you your wolf: Ilran Drythe. He was eager to pick a fight with Malevion while showing remarkable constraint in ending it, lest he attracted attention of others stalking the night. On top of that, he is smart enough to pick his victims at random to leave us dumbfounded and has stated that himself just now: let this murder be as it is, it isn't going to help us."
Sleek looked around one last time before fixing his eyes on his suspect. Support was everything.
Vote: A neutral shade of black.
Great minds think alike.
So if you want diversity, try morons.
So if you want diversity, try morons.
- Ansob.
- Follower of Malal
- Posts: 2726
- Joined: Wed Jun 30, 2004 6:37 pm
- Location: Colchester, Essex (UK).
Drythe's tone was ice. 'Your evidence is pitifully weak, Davian. Why I "pick a fight" with D'fein, as you say, is none of your business, but know that I cannot abide the pompousness of noble blood.'
'However,' he continued, 'your clever ploy has failed. I find it amusing that our friend, here,' he gestured towards Davian, 'was first eager to agree with me on the subject of condemning Lamehk, and now is eager to turn on me. This smells of distraction; of smoke and mirrors thrown up to deceive you. No, I believe Sleek Davian's purpose is far more sinister; I believe he is one of the assassins we are looking for.'
The commoner fixed Davian with an unwavering gaze. 'If I were an assassin, Davian, why would I pick Darmort? Why would I pick one of the quiet ones, who said little other than to agree with the rest of us? Why - if I were one of the Temple's elite - would I not choose someone better suited to feeling my dagger in his back? Malevion, Tastyfish or even Drakhan would all have been better choices, no? Why take out the stupid ones, who present no danger, when you can pick the smarter ones - the ones that threaten your cover - off and protect yourself? Were I the assassin, Davian, I can guarantee you I would not have made that mistake.'
'No,' the merchant concluded, 'I will repeat what I stated before: I believe Sleek Davian is attempting to dazzle us, to turn our prying eyes away from him. Therefore, I will Vote: SleekDD - I am afraid your ruse has not worked, assassin.'
'However,' he continued, 'your clever ploy has failed. I find it amusing that our friend, here,' he gestured towards Davian, 'was first eager to agree with me on the subject of condemning Lamehk, and now is eager to turn on me. This smells of distraction; of smoke and mirrors thrown up to deceive you. No, I believe Sleek Davian's purpose is far more sinister; I believe he is one of the assassins we are looking for.'
The commoner fixed Davian with an unwavering gaze. 'If I were an assassin, Davian, why would I pick Darmort? Why would I pick one of the quiet ones, who said little other than to agree with the rest of us? Why - if I were one of the Temple's elite - would I not choose someone better suited to feeling my dagger in his back? Malevion, Tastyfish or even Drakhan would all have been better choices, no? Why take out the stupid ones, who present no danger, when you can pick the smarter ones - the ones that threaten your cover - off and protect yourself? Were I the assassin, Davian, I can guarantee you I would not have made that mistake.'
'No,' the merchant concluded, 'I will repeat what I stated before: I believe Sleek Davian is attempting to dazzle us, to turn our prying eyes away from him. Therefore, I will Vote: SleekDD - I am afraid your ruse has not worked, assassin.'
General Kala wrote:All my eloquence fails to express it as well as this.Cenyu wrote:Hail to the King, baby.
- Tarbo
- Morathi's Best Friend
- Posts: 1203
- Joined: Tue Oct 04, 2005 5:06 pm
- Location: Flanders, Belgium
Aaah... the quiet, the peace, the calm... this is living. Tarbo lies down against the nearest tree, halfly out of sight, listening to the aspirants while enjoying the shade in the meantime; the black-and-red uniform—or grooming very similar to a uniform—does soak up the sun. A gentle breeze dwells through the garden while a debate is started.
Noticing that votes are starting, Tarbo picks up some papers he had along, flicks out a quill pen, and notes them down. In this case, he grins to himself, the pen is mightier than the sword. Words, too, are powerful, and the wrong or proper twist thereof can turn salvation into damnation.
He allows himself a smile. Just like the good old days.
------------------------------------------------
With 15 active players, 8 constitute a majority.
Noticing that votes are starting, Tarbo picks up some papers he had along, flicks out a quill pen, and notes them down. In this case, he grins to himself, the pen is mightier than the sword. Words, too, are powerful, and the wrong or proper twist thereof can turn salvation into damnation.
He allows himself a smile. Just like the good old days.
------------------------------------------------
- Tastyfish
- Drakhan
- Ilran Drythe (A neutral shade of black. / Ansob)
- Sleek Davian (SleekDD)
- Seanzala
- Sleek Davian (SleekDD)
- Ilran Drythe (A neutral shade of black. / Ansob)
With 15 active players, 8 constitute a majority.