Shadowhawk

Ah ha, trying to parry the accusations, are we now? Foul Mafia dog!

This comment arouses my suspicions. To be honest, Pulse frightens me with his cold powers of calculation, and so when Pulse starts asking carefully-guarded questions... not to mention, admitting that he tried to buy a (presumably) weapon... see, the thing is, if Pulse is Mafia, he wouldn't need a weapon of killing, so if he publicly proclaims that he did, in fact, attempt to buy a weapon, such a proclamation would theoretically prove that he's not Mafia. Except why would he proclaim it in the first place, except that he's truly Mafia and is trying to get us to think he's an innocent Villager? And assuming he's actually lying about trying to buy a weapon, there's no way to prove it, because the Storekeeper couldn't come out and say 'hey I'm the Storekeeper and I know who bought what and you're lying', because then the Storekeeper's identity is confirmed and the Storekeeper becomes the Mafia's number one target. Pulse wins both ways, unless someone calls his bluff. So... voting Pulse. E: Not to mention, he jokingly voted for himself. Classic Mafia tactics.

Hmm... interesting thought. Somehow I don't think of the Abettors as being on par with actual deities, though. Although admittedly exceedingly great, they're very plainly(?) little more than mere mechanical guardians. No souls, no true sapience. They're not entities, I would venture to guess; just machines. Personally, I'm beginning to strongly suspect that this whole 'Makuta's Vault' quest is one great big puzzle designed to be solved by two parties working in conjunction. There's a 'puzzle station' at each of the two islands; each puzzle station is watched over by an Abettor; each puzzle station requires a 'key' of some sort. Perhaps... this is just a semi-educated tentative guess, but perhaps the Abettors are guarding each other's keys? By this reasoning, the Mata Nui Abettor's crystal tunnel doesn't lead to the Vault, as has been assumed, but to the resting place of the key that is required to crack the Kentoku puzzle station, and vice versa. Taking a closer look at the Kentoku puzzle station's riddle, it would appear that the Abettor on Kentoku must be dealt with first (made to 'live', or whatever that line said; maybe (wild guess) we need a Toa of Iron?), which in turn will allow the Abettor on Mata Nui to 'yield'. The two keys must then be transported to their appropriate puzzle stations, and used to unseal the doors, which may or may not actually lead to the same exact Vault. A 'subspace pocket' area, or something like that, with an entrance on each island, and both entrances must be opened, possibly simultaneously, in order to finally gain access. What say, folks? Think I'm on to something, or am I wasting my typing fingers?

I say, instead of fretting about display names being recognizable, just keep the same avatar. It's got your real name already on it, after all, and I've found that avatars are often easier to recognize than usernames.

This is exactly what I'm talking about. The information's all there, but it's buried pretty deep in big long staff posts with little to no pointers as to where to find it. I say again, we need an obvious and clear topic for new players. Motion seconded. A 'Quick Start' guide, if you will. Right up front and obvious, with flashing lights and 'READ ME FIRST' and all that.

IC: [ Wulf Kharon ] - UFS Kestrel / Deck 3 / Mess hall "Me? Rode shotgun in an armored truckload of high explosives, mainly. Five hundred miles of empty desert to get behind the Mantis lines, and from there on out, it was tooth and claw. Fighting in the rocks, at night, mostly on foot. With knives, garrotte wire, silenced automatics. Real movie stuff." A tight, crooked half-smile. More a grimace, really. "Took out a supply dump, started an avalanche or two, poisoned a reservoir. Bought some time for the guys at the front line, I suppose. Hard to say, but we gave it all we had. Lost twelve men out of fifteen, in the end. The last three of us hijacked a Mantis dropship for the getaway; we'd lost the truck in a ravine two days before." A brief moment of silence, and then the privateer added simply, "That's all, but I guess it's something. Keep your chin up, kid. Lay off the bottle; try meditating instead. See you around." And he turned then, easy on his feet as an enormous tomcat, and walked out as noiselessly as he had come. OOC: Might not be online much tomorrow, so will take this opportunity to free up your character for potential interaction with someone else.

Neither my name, nor my character's, is anywhere on the crew bunk list. I feel excluded. Please correct.

IC: [ Wulf Kharon ] - UFS Kestrel / Deck 3 / Mess hall "The computer...? No. The computer told me nothing. I didn't need to ask it, and I wouldn't anyway. It's none of my business." Wulf leaned on his mop, gazing down somberly at the jaded young woman with the red-brown hair. "I'm not blind, Nicole, and I'm not a fool. I'm an observer, a listener, sometimes a doer, but most of all I'm a thinker. I keep tabs on my teammates, it's a survival skill, and quite frankly, of all the variables and the misfits we've got on this ship, you're the one who worries me the most." "I'm not a counselor. It's not my job to sit and talk soft and easy-like and try to baby you through your problems. , we've all got demons to duke it out with. Some worse'n others, I'll give you that, but it's not so much the demons as how we deal with them. War's always been that way. Some can't take it. It kills 'em. Some can take it, like Major Daniels seems to, and some... some just don't give a . Like me." "You're a medic. A doctor. A healer. You're on this ship to help people, and we don't care what the you do in your spare time, but when the hits the fan, we need you to get your act together and get the job done. Give it your best. Because it's not about you, and all the you've seen and the you've been through, and all your private little boo-hoos and nightmares. It's about here and now and your teammates." "I'm a pirate. A criminal. A survivor. I'm not a good man, but gods it, when I run with the pack, I take care of my own. In conflict and out. Because in a life-and-death scenario, when you've got Mantis boarding and the engines down and ammo's running out... these people you're taking your frustrations out on today, will be the people who may very well be saving your sorry hide tomorrow." His voice wasn't hard, wasn't angry. Just calm, even, and brutally honest. "I know about Gaia. I worked a behind-the-lines guerrilla run there, right in the thick of it. I saw it. Not all of it, but enough. I know it was bad, real bad... but you know what? There's been worse, and you're not the only one who's lost something. There's people who've lost more to war than you ever dreamed of losing, and they haven't cracked, like I'll wager you're about to. They've set their teeth and moved on. Fought for the memory. Fought so others to come wouldn't have to suffer like they did and do." He looked her straight in the eye, and the jagged scars on his jawbone stood out clear and tense against his dark brown skin. "Nicole Sarany. I don't like it when you treat your teammates-- my teammates-- like . I don't know what you're dealing with, and I don't care to know, but if you can't control yourself anyway, and fit in somehow... you pack your bags and tell the Colonel you want out. A cripple's no good on the front lines, as you should know." "You understand what I'm saying?"

IC: [ Wulf Kharon ] - UFS Kestrel / Deck 3 / Mess hall "Drunk is short term. Mental breakdown is long. I'm talking about the latter." said Wulf simply, returning with a long-handled mop in one hand and a battered dustpan in the other. Kneeling, he deftly corralled the entire sloppy mess with three quick strokes of the mop, then slid it into the dustpan and from thence to the waiting steel-toothed maw that was the garbage disposal unit. The entire process took less than fifteen seconds; if there was one thing that two rough decades of commanding a pirate ship had taught him, it was the useful art of cleaning up broken beer bottles.

OOC: @Humva: Hmm... are you... sure that the update process worked properly? I don't mean to be critical, but frankly, I don't see any change. @Atton: Oh, probably not so weird. I've always kinda thought of him as a bit more like 'the Hun' from TMNT, but you know. Different people, different strange little mental images that pop up in our brains without warning. IC: [ Wulf Kharon ] - UFS Kestrel / Deck 3 / Mess hall "...you are allowed to do it." responded the privateer dryly, his voice partially muffled by the half-open kitchen door and punctuated by a few metallic clangs and clatters as he rummaged through a maintenance closet. "Only, sometimes 'allowed to' isn't quite synonymous with 'should', right?"

IC: [ Wulf Kharon ] - UFS Kestrel / Deck 3 / Mess hall "Last I checked, ninety-nine point nine percent of all trained medical personnel strictly discourage the consumption of alcohol. Especially when said consumer is using said alcohol as a means to combat mental problems." Letting his words hang on the air, Wulf walked quietly into the kitchen area to fetch a mop and dustpan.

OOC: Ah, lighten up a little. My character's the 'gigantic privateer', your character is the 'psycho doctor'; also on board are the 'cat-girl w/guy stuck in head', 'Pink Hair', 'the Colonel', 'that one guy with all the armor', 'Miss Mantis', and so forth and so on. We refer to 'em by their most defining traits, do we not? It's kind of a joking thing, like 'ha ha funny'? Also I was under the impression that Chastain had just left a few minutes ago, leaving Nicole all by her lonesome, but whatevs. It doesn't matter. IC: [ Wulf Kharon ] - UFS Kestrel / Deck 3 / Mess hall Wulf seemed to nod slowly to himself, but the movement was so slight, so well-nigh imperceptible, that it might have been just a fluke of the imagination. A trick of the lighting, perhaps. He stepped carefully into the mess hall, rubbing a massive hand thoughtfully along his stubble-shadowed jawline as he watched the puddle of expensive alcohol spread slowly out across the polished floor amidst broken glass. For a long moment, utter silence. Then-- "Tell me, Nicole. You're... absolutely sure you should be drinking that?"

IC: [ Wulf Kharon ] - UFS Kestrel / Deck 3 / Mess hall Having finished his meal, Wulf Kharon got up, smiled briefly at the waitress, and left the eatery without so much as a backwards glance. ... Fifteen minutes later, the scarred ex-pirate materialized noiselessly in the doorway of the Kestrel's mess hall, tall and dark and enormous in the harsh white glare of the interior lighting. His intense gold-flecked gaze slashed once across the room's utilitarian interior, registering the details in an ice-cold analytical mind, then darted abruptly back and stabbed straight into its lone sentient occupant. The psycho doctor, Nicole Sarany. He looked at her for a moment, his eyes coolly emotionless, then made a slight bow from the waist. "Good evening." OOC: That's for you, Atton. Please also note, I'm a busy person and don't have time to sit at a computer all day, so if I take longer replying than you think I ought to, don't freak. I'm still here. Good things come to those who wait.

'Curse level' could vary greatly, I imagine, based on how permanent and powerful the Ignika itself wishes the effect to be. The mask is sentient, after all, which introduces an awful lot of variables.

OOC: UFS Kestrel = flying spaceship social time bomb of throat-strangling insanity doom IC: [ Wulf Kharon ] - UFS Brasilia / Burger King The gigantic tawny-eyed privateer continued to munch his way through his cheeseburger and fries. He supposed he'd better be getting back to the ship soon, but he was in no hurry. A good meal rushed is a good meal wasted; always has been, always will be. Chew-chew-chew-swallow.

I'm in. Slot 21, if you'd be so kind.

Avak and Vezok are hiding out in the smoldering-but-still-partially-intact wreckage of the Lavapool Inn. A bunch of people, including the air Maru, are in a nearby alleyway, trying to flush out said duo using various elemental manipulations. The Guard is maneuvering around in the background, doing their job with great skill and courage even though nobody realizes it. Several of the Maru have engaged the rest of the Piraka (where's Hakann, BTW?), so there's more than one battle going on, really. Reidak vs. the fire Maru; Thok vs. the earth and water Maru; Zaktan vs. the ice(?) Maru. That's it in a nutshell, I think. I'm not actually involved, just a spectator, so I might not be recalling the exact details.

I bet there were. Only the inn blew up. The missing fifty or so are dead amidst the wreckage. NPCs are people too, right?

The surviving 10% being the Piraka, naturally.

OOC: Assuming certain well-known fast food joints are still around in the future... I can't imagine why they'd die. Also, open for interaction. IC: [ Wulf Kharon ] - UFS Brasilia / Burger King Wulf Kharon sat alone in a corner booth, munching on an immense cheeseburger and a large order of fries. Naturally, his rather formidable appearance drew a few curious stares from the eatery's other occupants, which stares he flatly ignored as only the truly primal can. Not that they didn't register. He knew what was going on; he always did... it was just that, right now, he was feeling just a trifle occupied. A half-pound charbroiled wedge of hot, salty, grease-dripping meat between the teeth tends to have that effect. Chew-chew-chew-swallow.

My lawn is fine.

Check out the newest posts in the Kini-Nui topic, my friend. There's actually six Abettors... or so it seems to have been implied. And yes, isn't it?

First RPG post I've seen in at least a month that actually broke the sombre silent carapace I dwell within. I read, and smiled. With appreciative amusement. At something I saw on the Internet. Such a thing has never happened heretofore, in recent memory. Bravo, AuRon. Truly well done.

OOC: Rhea and Nero from Ko-Wahi. Rhea's currently located in the general vicinity of the ongoing conflict of adventurers vs. Nui-Jaga; Nero is... around. Somewhere. IC: [ Rhea ] - Ta-Wahi / Charred Forest In the tangled black shadows at the edge of ash, a brimstone huntress crouched motionless, blade in hand, dark streaks of soot smeared in mottled guerrilla whorls across her mask and armor. Her weight was shifted forward on her feet, her every sense keened and alert, but her slim figure betrayed no tension and her quick green eyes held a smoky humor. Rhea Heartsflame, professional gypsy, was dusted from head to boot heel with mud and grime and cinders, her attire smudged with grass stains and rain-kissed earth. There was dried blood on her forearms, and carefully-stitched rents in her clothing, and a fresh bandage wrapped tight about her left wrist stood in stark contrast to her admittedly rather barbaric and unkempt appearance, and she was absolutely filthy and she'd never looked hotter in her life and she knew it. Wild thing. Lived the wild, was the wild, looked best within it. There was an odd sparkle in her gaze, and alone atop a rocky forest ridgeline, she remained, and watched the battle unfold in the gully below. Adventurers, plainly, of some cut or another, dueling a scorpion monster of majestic size and formidable power. They weren't doing a bad job of it, either, even if they were a slap-dash, happy-go-lucky bunch. Reminded her of old times, old campaigns... old rumbles in Makuta's reign. Maybe in a minute, she'd step in. Land a blow or two. Kick some carapace. Show the guys what a real girl was made of, if they didn't stagger and swoon at the sight of her. If that happened, she'd just have to crush bugs all by her lonesome, and that wasn't a bad thing either. It had been a while since she'd had a nice little one-on-one. Her smile flashed white in the gloom, and she almost laughed. Just because. Life was good.

If I ever happen to run an online Mafia game, all persons with the ability to vote shall be permitted one vote switch per lynching. Only one. The end. Shifting votes from Ehks and Portal to iBrow. Because revenge, and the dead don't flinch if the living suffer.