Oh, wonderful, now we've used both our pardons on people who may actually be guilty.
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MAFIA... and other forum games
Mafia XIV
-Narrative Contest-
Humorman is being unsporting and not giving us much material to draw for the comic. So, I will hold a narrative contest. You can submit one narrative for every cycle to me and when the game is over I will make a contest thread.
Day and Night Cycles are both permitted as long as the same things happen (pardons, lynches, attacks, etc.)
You may submit starting now and the deadline will be posted at the end of the game.
[RULES]
1. Only one narrative per cycle per person
2. Put the cycle name in the subject to me. (Day 1, Night 1, etc.)
3. Submissions should be PQed to me (it will make it easier to keep track)
4. 5 sentence minimum per each separate event.
5. Don't make narratives so long that it would take a team of artists to draw.
Oh, wonderful, now we've used both our pardons on people who may actually be guilty.
Oh no we didn't- that was the mafia cancel. I wouldn't vote to lynch if I wanted to pardoned. I was actually hoping they would use it this turn too, now we can double lynch without fear.
-Narrative Contest-
Humorman is being unsporting and not giving us much material to draw for the comic. So, I will hold a narrative contest. You can submit one narrative for every cycle to me and when the game is over I will make a contest thread.
Day and Night Cycles are both permitted as long as the same things happen (pardons, lynches, attacks, etc.)
You may submit starting now and the deadline will be posted at the end of the game.
[RULES]
1. Only one narrative per cycle per person
2. Put the cycle name in the subject to me. (Day 1, Night 1, etc.)
3. Submissions should be PQed to me (it will make it easier to keep track)
4. 5 sentence minimum per each separate event.
5. Do make narratives so long that it would take a team of artists to draw.
So this is like my narrative games but with actually stakes of being drawn?
Well, that question kinda was a joke but since my contribution to the second day narrative contest included that scenario then there's always a chance, right?Does that mean someone's gonna draw a picture of a fat lady, sitting on a pile of bananas, eating wonka bars?If a winning narrative includes it, yes.
It had been a productive night for the mafia. The slain bodys of Product Placement and Exzachly had barely been checked for clue when Gullas arrived on scene and discretly removed them. The people were stunned. Those two were the best freelance clues solvers in town at the moment. It was they who had found TheFlyingGreenMonkeys hat that he misplaced last tuesday, it was they who solved the great mystery of the Townston graveyard, and it was they who now would be on sale in Gullas's shop in a few hours. The town would miss their wisdom and light hearted antics.
But now more pressing matters were at hand. Who had done such a thing to these fine citizens of Townston? Who?!
While Townhall held secret meetings to discuss the clues, the town was pretty sure that the blame lied on Aghammer. The information pointed at him and while he tried to shake off the cold stares he knew he was doomed.
A man walked past Aghammer, shot him a dirty look and mumbled something under his breathe.
"What was that!" cried Aghammer. "Say it to my face, at least give me a chance to defend myself!"
"I said you're a puppy kicker and murder!" shouted the man.
Everyone turned and stared. One particularly sassy lady muttered a "oh no he didn't" And crowd began to circle around.
"I-I never! I'm no puppy kicker! That's a horrible thing to say! An-and I didn't kill anybody- you can't prove anything! It's all heresay! Heresay! I'm a good person! I vote, and read Harkovast and LOVE puppies!"
"pff, yeah right- I bet you HATE puppies. I bet that's why you killed inuyasha_rules!"
"I didn't kill anybody! Sure I sell guns and explosives- but as my motto says 'Guns don't kill people- Mafia kills people! And I'm no mafia!"
The townhalls burst open and Crocty steps out. "Yes, I'm definitly getting better with this dramatic timing! Er-HEM! People of Townston! I your super awesome and handsome mayor has something to say!" annouced Crocty. "We've got suspects! That's right! Someones gonna hang and I have the promise from our hippie pardoner that she will NOT be pardoning tonight!"
"It's Aghammer", said Niccea. "I bet he's a suspect!"
"Ah yes, along with-"
"LYNCH HIM, LYNCH HIM!" shouted the crowd.
"Well alright I guess, I mean, the ropes still out from yesterday so we can just go do this now if thats good with everybody."
"YEAH!!! And we'll get triple dessert after the lynching right?"
"Well you should really take that up with Rokuli-"
"DESSERT!!!! LYNCH HIM, LYNCH HIM!"
The crowd in a dessert driven frenzy quicky moved Aghammer to the hangmans rope despite he many protests. They had the rope over his neck, Gullas' hand on the trigger when…
"WAIT!!! NO! That man in innocent!" screamed rokulily shoving through the crowd. "I pardon him, get that rope off him!"
"Rokulily?!", stammered Crocty. "But you said-"
"NO DESSERT FOR ANYBODY!" she yelled back. "C'mon Aghammer lets get you away from these crazies!" The two quickly hurried outta sight leaving a stunned Crocty and friends behind.
"Hey guys! Done with the lynch yet?" asked a familular voice.
"YOU, but. WHAT IS GOING ON?!" cried out Crocty.
"Hmm?", asked an equally confused rokulily. "What do you mean? I was just in my Bakery finishing the desserts for everybody for after the lynch like I told you this afternoon. Why? What's going on?"
"WE'VE BEEN HAD!"
"What?!"
"THE-THE MAFIA! THEY PRETENDED TO BE YOU! AN-AND WE LET THEM GET AWAY!" The realization of the suckiness of the situation was almost to much for Crocty. Kitty17 patted him on the back in a there-there type manner.
"Well, I guess it can't be helped… We'll get those mafia back! We're wise to their tricks now! Now who wants some dessert!?"
The town cheered, and feasted on far too much sugary goodness for their own good. They hadn't lost yet, no the battle was far from over. And they knew just where to go from here.
In a different, dessert lacking, part of town mafia gathered. After Townston celebration they would continue their not so secret war… And who know, prohaps they would even manage to win.
Night 3 ends at midnight GMT tomorrow.
They came like a black cloud rimmed with a hue blood red, slow, unrelenting and merciless, and though they numbered in the hundreds, they were unified by their one objective; death. The ground shook with their every step, the loose cobble stones of the street rattling with their impending march, the shingles on houses clacked together, and there was not a sign of wildlife to be found in any direction, for they had all fled under the miasma of hatred they felt emanating from the lynch mob. The evening sky was tinted red with the flames from their torches, and the quickening darkness on the horizon seemed that much blacker, that much more ominous, and the air itself was dry, the moisture evaporated away by those said flames.
The victim sat in their chair, aware of the incoming horde. What would it do to run? Leaving town would prove useless as those who knew him would find him, and eventually, whether it was on a pier in Italy or a mountain in Colorado, a cold dagger would slit his throat in the night, or a hot bullet would find him in a crowd. No, best to die here, where he could see it coming.
"Are you ready?" a voice asked from beside him. The victim did not even flinch. The shadow, a visage of perfect calm simply stared down at him, their eyes locking; a dead man walking and the one who would walk beside him.
"Would it matter if I were not?" the victim asked.
"No." The shadow responded, and to those words, the victim stood. The rumbling had neared, and long ago it had set the entire house shaking. Dishes fell from cupboards, paintings fell from walls and a poor, and a bookcase, always a bit wobbly finally collapsed, pouring its volumes of knowledge to the floor. And then it came to a single halt, engulfing the world in a peerless silence. The shadow stood between the victim and the door, extending an arm as if a maitre d', and the victim strode past, unafraid earning himself a last nod of respect from the shadow.
They spread before him like the ancient Persian army, their weapons at the ready; guns, clubs, baseball bats with nails and the occasional Viking warhammer, and torches. So many torches. And there, as Xerxes sat in a similar time, sat she, the epitome of opulence and greed, in a throne of freshly picked fruit to display her dominance over nature itself, and feasting on a seemingly never ending bounty of purple wrapped chocolate bars to display her dominance over man.
"Thou art sentenced-" she began, her eyes yellow and spotted with disease beholding the victim, who's eyes shone back with no power, no glory, but with their simple determination to exist, "to death."
"I wont fight you," the victim replied, and there were both jeers from the crowd, and sighs of relief. There need only be one death this day it seemed, and the victim was cuffed, shackled, and with a last chain around his neck, forced to keep up on his feet as Her horse drawn cart led the way up the mountain.
To a distant observer, it may have seemed as if the lava flowed in reverse, as the precession of flames climbed higher and higher to the peak, where a scaffolding of sorts awaited, perched precariously against the rim and above the moten rock below. There awaited two persons, the mayor and the executioner.
"Today," the mayor began, "we finally obtain our sacrifice!" The crowd roared in a sudden bloodlust, their anger and rage at the cyclical misgivings of their life focused for just a moment on one single person. The victim said nothing, but turned and stood, his back facing the flames of the earth, and his eyes facing the flames of men. The executioner stood directly before the victim and readied a long, iron spear. "Last words?" the mayor asked. The victim stood stock still, and betrayed nothing. "Just as well," the mayor replied, raising a hand and then dropping it, the crowd gasping in excitement, the executioner's muscles bulging as he made his lunge and the obsidian spearhead glistened in the blood red light.
The blade ceased mere millimeters before the victim's chest. The sharp report of a handgun died away. The victim smiled calmly, his single shot hold out pistol dropped casually to the ground.
"I wont fight you. I'll just kill you all instead."
They came again, a swarm, surging forward in a maniacal rage, their weapons brandished wildly as they came in for the kill. The victim danced through them like a hummingbird through a field of flowers, his fist victim's weapon liberated to become his own, his attackers and would be killers falling dead or thrown into the fires below. With a claymore in one hand and a bloody rusted chainsaw in the other, the victim, now the denier, stood with a cold grin.
"Allow me," said a cold voice. The denier observed the shadow, now his challenger, an unassuming fellow in simple clothes, who carried neither a torch nor weapon, and the mob parted before him, their cries of bloodlust now surging again. The denier leaped forward, his chainsaw splitting earth and stone where the challenger stood, who ducked beside and with a simple sideways kick sent the chainsaw flying, passing mere inches away from the mayor's face and dismembering the poor fellow who stood behind him. The denier turned, swinging his sword, but the challenger bent over backwards, and snapping up another leg kicked the weapon free. As the denier recovered from his riposte, the challenger flipped backwards to prepare and dashed forward not giving the denier a true chance to defend himself.
Punch after vicious punch slammed into the denier's person, his defenses useless, his body crumbling, until the challenger reached back a hand and caught the now falling claymore, and stood beside the denier with the blade poised to finally slice his neck.
"Wait!" a voice cried. It was the mayor, holding a phone. "There's… been a recourse. This execution must be canceled." The mob, now stripped of their prize, scattered, and the challenger discarded the weapon and all departed leaving the victim beaten, defeated and alone, but at the very last, alive.
Day Three is over!
Send in your night actions by 00:00 GMT!
That's right. The original epic narrator is back.
It had been a productive night for the mafia. The slain bodys of Product Placement and Exzachly had barely been checked for clue when Gullas arrived on scene and discretly removed them. The people were stunned. Those two were the best freelance clues solvers in town at the moment. It was they who had found TheFlyingGreenMonkeys hat that he misplaced last tuesday, it was they who solved the great mystery of the Townston graveyard, and it was they who now would be on sale in Gullas's shop in a few hours. The town would miss their wisdom and light hearted antics.Sniff…. I miss them already.
How does this contest work? Do people vote for the best narrative?Yes any one can write narratives. They just have to PQed to me by the deadline which will be about a week after the game ends. Any narrative is fair game. I will then make a poll for you to vote in.
Can dead people write narratives?
Alright, here is my narrative (in a gang theme)
niccea, sorry about it being longer than five sentences, but it seems no one else is taking note of that rule either.
VOTE PARKERFARKER FOR MAFIA XV GM
The blood no longer seeped from the three bullet holes Product Placement sustained the night before. His heart had stopped beating over 10 hours ago. Exzachly died in a similar manner.
The town was furious.
Crocty the mayor promised more bloodshed that day, but this time it would be the gang's blood, not the town's.
Crocty rode with the two squad cars. Those cars each had 3 police officers in them. Police Officer's sent to serve justice to the gang member that they were sure caused these deaths; Aghammer.
Aghammer knew he would not last long on the streets, so he hurried to get home. He turned the corner of his street and ran to his door. He got his key's out and fumbled to get them in the key-hole. *WOOP WOOP*. The sound of the sirens made Ag jump and he dropped his keys. He fell to the ground to pick them up. Lucky for him. *BANG BANG BANG* The police opened fire on him. Bullet's were racing above him. Ag pulled the semi-automatic out of his pocket. *RAT TAT TAT TAT TAT*. Ag blindfired at the police. Bullets were racing faster as heart's were pumping harder. Houses were getting shot up, bullet's were tearing through windows. The cops stood behind their squad cars as they fired in Ag's direction. Aghammer was lying prone on the ground, no cover but the bushes in front of him.
There was a moment of silence. All that could be heard was the clicking of guns being reloaded.
Ag only had two clips, the first he had already used 'till it was empty. He was on his last one. Crocty called out, "Give up Ag! We know you're part of a gang, there's nothing you can do to-" *RAT TAT TAT*, Crocty's words were cut short as Ag opened fire. The cops shot back, and the gunfight resumed.
Close-by gang members were speeding to Ag's house in their hotted-up sedan. Safety's were off and extra ammo was near at hand. They pulled up behind Ag, in front of the police officers.
Two of the gang-members stayed in the car and provided covering-fire as the third ran to Ag. He dragged Ag over to the car, and chucked him in the back seat. The tires screeched as the sedan made a speedy get away.
Day Three is over
Night Threer has now started
Send in your night actions before 00:00 GMT
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