[THEMED MAFIA] T+M's Chains of Blood: Crimson Tides Mafia SIGN UP

[Sir Redust]

Ugh. I to back out of this. Sorry. life came up.

[Toy and Minion]

No problem Redust. Let me know if things get better. If nothing else you could be a replacement, if it comes to that.

[aemonkristen]

Are we gonna do this in the BT or over here. Toy?

[mcs0083]

I never got a Pm about this. and now PMs are down again lol. Is the game going on?

[Toy and Minion]

pm's seem to be working for me. I haven't gotten around to PMing anyone yet. Been too consumed with pulling off a mafia win (failed).

 

I will get PM's sent out for player confirmation, then I will get the game started on Monday.

 

Note: I'm not sending out Role PM's yet. All who have checked in recently will be excluded from the PM check.

 

It will be played here in OG, Aemon.

[alannalynn]

Been too consumed with pulling off a mafia win (failed).

*ggls*

[Toy and Minion]

Someone get hold of Hybrid. He can't receive PM's apparently.

[dapianoplay3r]

have the role PM's been sent out yet?

[alannalynn]

pm's seem to be working for me. I haven't gotten around to PMing anyone yet. Been too consumed with pulling off a mafia win (failed).

I will get PM's sent out for player confirmation, then I will get the game started on Monday.

 

Note: I'm not sending out Role PM's yet. All who have checked in recently will be excluded from the PM check.

 

It will be played here in OG, Aemon.

[dapianoplay3r]

I dont know how i missed that cos thats the exact post i was looking for

[hotpocket2006]

pm's seem to be working for me. I haven't gotten around to PMing anyone yet. Been too consumed with pulling off a mafia win (failed).

 

 

Which you can't blame on me Mr Toy

[Toy and Minion]

I can and will. Humph!

[Hybrid]

I'm here. Shoot me an email at crewinskis@gmail.com if PMs are still not working for me.

[Thorum]

I'm here

[Toy and Minion]

2 players backing out

4 as of yet to check in here or in PM

 

I may need to postpone the game until I get the numbers to 20.

 

Knew I should have had a check in earlier... >.>

[Toy and Minion]

Sorry, everyone. I had typed up a notice but I guess it didn't get sent. *facedesk*

 

Been busy with Gramps funeral this last week and so I was planning on starting the game this next Monday.

 

However, 3 players have yet to contact me in any way. So I may need to keep sign ups open a bit longer.

 

My deepest apologies for those of you who are eagerly awaiting to play. I will let you all know on Monday if we're waiting or just starting a few players short.

[Toy and Minion]

Game's starting Wednesday.

 

Officially.

[hotpocket2006]

Yay!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Give me a good role XD

[Talya]

Can't wait...wooohooo!

[mmeeshal]

*claps hands* Excited! ^^

[Toy and Minion]

The silence permeated the room like smoke. Dallar did not look away from Nil, trying to gauge the mans reaction to the tale. Nil kept his features closed. Only a twitch on the corner of his mouth let Dallar know the Deathseeker was still alive.

 

“Did you truly think,” Nil began, the sudden sound making Dallar start. Nil’s blue eyes looked into Dallars red, and Dallar saw…rage. Cold rage. “That I would let the Deserter lead a single one of my Deathseekers to so much as the privy?”

 

Dallar sat still. The words cut deeper than any blade. Struggling to keep his composure, he asked, “What was the meaning behind this? You never intended to accept my proposal, so why did you allow me entrance?”

 

Nil sat back in his chair. “I needed to see for myself.”

 

“Damn you. What?”

 

Nil sneered. “Go drink up your challan, Deserter.”

 

Dallar felt a sharp pain in his hands and realized he was gripping the chair arms. Those hands were pale, drained of blood from the pressure. He knew now what that undercurrent had been.

 

“Damn you, Nil. This isn’t about me, it’s about Anamira!”

 

“No, this is about you attempting to regain your lost place in this world. You’re not a Deathseeker, Dallar. I don’t even know if you qualify as human.” Nil stood and turned his back on Dallar. A firm dismissal.

 

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Dallar stood to leave.

 

“One last thing, Deserter.” Dallar paused. “Always remember that you cast yourself down.”

 

Dallar pushed the door open and left. He stopped as all the Deathseekers turned to look at him. There was the cold hatred in their eyes. The same look they had when he first arrived. He could not meet their eyes and exited as fast as he could walk.

 

* * * * * * * *

 

His stalker followed him again, after having been so rudely halted by the Deathseekers hideout. But Dallar had to come out sooner or later, and when he did, the stalker could resume. It didn’t matter to Dallar.

 

He had failed her. The Deathseekers would not join this voyage. Forget that Anamira had asked for them, Dallar didn’t trust the task to any one else. Not even himself. Booted footsteps behind him. Especially not himself.

 

Booted footsteps? Booted?

 

Dallar turned, hand reaching instinctively for the sword that had not been at his hip for nearly ten years. It was too late, they were upon him. A swarm of bodies, metal glinting in the morning sun. Dallar would fight hand and foot against sword and shield. He would die. The nightmares would end.

 

But they were not attacking. They didn’t have weapons drawn. Dallar backed up, taking them in. He saw they were dressed as Deathseekers, the black bands around their exposed biceps more then enough proof of that. There were not many. Ten perhaps. One stood before the others, a childish smile on his face.

 

“Esian? Esian Rinend?”

 

“Got that right, Dallar. Didn’t I tell ya?” He turned to the others. “Just as tall as they say.”

 

“We’ve all seen him before, Esian. You’re the only dumbstruck fanboy.” Dallar looked to the woman who spoke. Mirassa Ies. He gave her a nod of respect and she returned it. Dallar looked to the others. Aedon Eliden. Dwalder Ailar. Ernald Civer. Sacar Tsilnar. The brothers from Orash-kar, Senaldor and Tedevi Krendal. Arida Cullaso. Linetto Refin. They had all been part of Dallar’s squad at one point or another.

 

“What’s going on?”

 

“We’re joining you, Dallar.” Esian smiled.

 

“Joining me?”

 

“On whatever airheaded adventure you and Cirindol have planned.”

 

Dallar did not know how to respond to this. “Nil?” It was all he could muster.

 

“You forget, we’re Deathseekers.” Mirassa declared. “We choose our leader. And we’ve chosen you now.”

 

Esian nodded, jumping in. “That’s right. We’ll follow you to the end of Arlantin.”

 

“What-”

 

“It’s not use, Dallar. We’re following you and that’s that.” Mirassa cut in.

 

“Wait just-“

 

“You can’t get out of it.” Esian chimed.

 

“Shut up!” Dallar yelled. They did, surprisingly. “First of all, how did you know about any of this?”

 

Ever eager to please, Esian replied. “Anamira came and talked to Nil a couple days ago. He refused her and she came to us. We told her we obeyed our leader, and she left”

 

“So Nil knew about it already?” Dallar could have laughed. Well played, Sero. “Now who came up with the notion that you’d be following me?” They looked at each other, confused. “Let’s get one thing straight. If you’re going to do this, you’ll be following Anamira, not me.”

 

Esian brought back his smile. “Why would we do that?”

 

“Because,” Dallar said tersely. “I won’t be going.”

 

“Yes you will.” Mirassa said. “If you don’t go, we don’t go.”

 

Dallar smiled. “But you chose me as your leader. You obey me. I’m ordering you to follow Anamira.”

 

Suddenly Mirassa was directly in front of him, their noses nearly touching. “If you do that, we’ll be forced to go back to Nil. We will follow you, not her. If you want your Purveyor protected, you will have to be right there beside her.”

 

Dallar had a few choice words for the soldier, but none he could bring himself to say. Instead he said, “Tonight. Crownless Traveler. We’ll discuss our plan for tomorrow.”

 

* * * * * * * *

 

The bare feet followed him back to Helgate. Despite Nil, despite being bullied by those who claimed to follow him, despite it all, Dallar’s step felt lighter. Until he saw the poster on the notice board. The hell?

 

ATTENTION!!

 

Seekers of Adventure, look no further!

The Deathseekers are leading a trek across the

Tiraceas Sea and into the Unknown!

 

None shall be turned away!

Veteran soldiers seeking old glory

Misguided younglings seeking legendary status

Rats at the bottom searching for an exciting way to die

 

All are welcome

 

Meet at the Crownless Traveler to sign up for the Voyage of a lifetime!

 

HIGH SEAS, LOW PAY, NO CHANCE OF SURVIVAL

SIGN UP NOW!

 

Those little... He bit back the curse. What were they thinking? Didn’t they understand the situation at all? Dallar quickly tore the poster down. He sighed. At least not many people could have seen it before he had removed it. He turned and saw a crowd gathered around the opposite wall. Curious, he approached. Only to see the object of their attention was a duplicate of the paper he now held in his hand.

 

Shoving himself through the throng, he ripped down the poster and shooed everyone away, warning them to stay away from the Crownless Traveler. How in the eternal fires did they get so many out so fast?

 

Dallar made his way to the Traveler. He needed a drink.

 

* * * * * * * *

 

By nightfall, Dallar was completely drunk from challan and a couple ashlons short. He would need to find a game of sticks to replenish his cache.

 

“Sticks is not about winning.” Dallar slurred. “Sticks is all about cheating. Whoever cheats the best, wins. Many commoners frown on sticks, thinking it a noble game having no place with the everyday gambler. But what they don’t understand is that it were the commoners who created the game and later taught the nobles to play it. The world is funny like that.”

 

The man who shared Dallars table eyed him curiously before taking his drink and departing for another seat.

 

“What a prettiful people.” Dallar offered to the empty chair before him. Only the chair was not empty any longer; it was filled with the swimming face of Anamira Cirindol.

 

“Dal!” her voice bounced around his skull like a showman’s rubber ball. “Challan again?”

 

“Is okay.” Dallar said, wincing. “Keeps the nightmares at bay.” He smiled. “Is okay, keeps the nightmares at bay.” He sang. Tried to sing.

 

Anamira reached into a pouch and pulled out a nut. She placed it under his nose and broke it. Dallar reeled back from the stinging scent.

 

“Damn you, Ana! The hells was that?”

 

“Seed from a flamebrush. Surprising effect, considering the wondrous sent of the flower it came from.” Anamira placed the broken seed back in her pouch. “Sober?”

 

“Yeah.” Dallar kept flexing his nostrils, trying to rid himself of the memory.

 

“Good. I got an Asteri ship.”

 

“What?!” Dallar looked at her. “Here? In Ohral?”

 

“I know, what luck. The Three Gods do smile upon us.” Anamira smiled lifting her head up in silent prayer.

 

Dallar sat back and folded his arms. “Very lucky indeed. I think it’s a trap.”

 

“What?”

 

“Yeah. I don’t trust it.”

 

Anamira gave him a level stare. “Dallar, you know the Asteri, you befriended one. They never break a Pact.”

 

“True.” Dallar was unconvinced.

 

“So, let’s begin planning.” Anamira rubbed her hands together, forgetting the matter of the Asteri.

 

“We will have to wait for the Deathseekers to arrive. Who knows when that will be.” Dallar leaned back and rubbing a finger under his nose.

 

“Oh, of course.” Anamira said despairingly. “While we’re waiting, Vidan gave me this letter. He told me it was to be opened by no one but you, Dallar.” She pulled an envelope out of her pouch and slid it over the table to sit before Dallar.

 

Raising an eyebrow, he picked it up. A quick look told him it was indeed from the ex-King of Arlantin. Shrugging, he placed it in the pocket of his coat.

 

“You’re not going to read it?" Anamira asked.

 

“Nope.”

 

“But-”

 

“Don’t care.”

[aemonkristen]

So stoked to get started.

[hotpocket2006]

I'm getting antsy lol

[Toy and Minion]

 

A sketch of an angered Asterit.

Artist unknown.

 

 

It became abundantly clear to Dallar that the Deathseekers had put up more than two of those posters, as the crowd of the Crownless Traveler had quickly become a horde. The innkeeper had been flustered, but had been quite open once someone announced a round of drinks for everyone. Dallar could only manage holding a finger against his temple and muttering half-whispered oaths.

 

He began to survey the group. The vast majority was Arlantii, to be expected; they were of the usual variety of pigment and hair color. There were a few Orashar, like the Krendal brothers; rare enough to be surprising. What caught his eye, however, was the pack of Asteri.

 

He leaned over to Anamira and whispered, “Are those the same Asteri who are taking us on their ship?”

 

Anamira turned and studied them. “No.”

 

Dallar sat back. This was interesting. He kept his eyes on the Asteri. He didn’t trust any of this. Too many unknowns, too much chance to go wrong. His eyes landed upon one of them and he jumped to his feet. It couldn’t be.

 

“Dallar, what is it?” Anamira’s question went unanswered as Dallar pushed his way through the bustling bodies until he was before the pack. He launched himself at the Asterit. There were growls of alarm, but none of them were quick enough.

 

Dallar wrapped his arms around the beast and gave him his strongest hug, ignoring the rough blue fur. Releasing the Asterit, Dallar smiled. “Kylan!” It had been nearly fifteen years since Kylan had fought beside him in the Noble War.

 

Kylan bared his teeth in what passed as a smile for the Asteri. “Dallar Aunoll.” He growled. “It is good see you.”

 

A shorter, but much bulkier Asterit pushed himself before Dallar. Dallar did not think his bearing of teeth was a smile. “We not accustomed to such contact. Do not again.” Definitely not a smile.

 

“Sorry if I offended. Me and Kylan have a bond. I think he called me a moonbrother.”

 

The apparent leader turned his teeth on Kylan, who backed away and bowed his head. “Forgive, Alfa. I was Clawless.”

 

“Still Clawless!” Alfa barked. He turned back to Dallar and gave a snort before turning away. The pack fell into line behind him. Kylan offered Dallar one last look before trailing behind.

 

A hand planted itself on Dallars shoulder. “Their ways are not our ways.” He turned to find a gnarled man connected to the hand, a sad smile. “But they are Asteri ways. We must respect that, and not interfere.”

 

Dallar smiled. “Menden Atal. You haven’t aged a day, have you?”

 

Menden gave a soft chuckle, but offered no other response. “Whatever you are doing, Dallar, I will be there to aid you any way I can.”

 

Dallar nodded in appreciation and Menden left him.

 

Making his way back to the table, he found it surrounded by his ten Deathseekers. He went to Esian. “What in the eternal fires were you thinking?” He demanded, cuffing the lad upside the head. “Don’t any of you understand the meaning of the word ‘secret’?”

 

“Don’t abuse Esian, it was my idea.” Mirassa said with a smug look of satisfaction.

 

Dallar hesitated. He was missing something. “I’m missing something.”

 

“Yes, you are.” Anamira said, smiling at Mirassa. “Before, we wouldn’t have known where the danger was coming from. Now, we can safely presume that the danger will come from them.”

 

“I never thought I would be the sane one among us.” They ignored the comment.

 

“We’ll have potential allies among them, of course.” Anamira continued. Of course. “Not all of them would be Assassins. That’s not how they operate. But now we’ll know who to watch for. At least we know none of us at this table are Assassins.”

 

“Hope, Anamira.” Dallar corrected.

 

“Hope and Faith are all one needs.”

 

“I hope you’re right, Anamira. This is your expedition. Your call.”

 

She smiled and stood up, ringing her wine glass with a iron spoon. The Traveler became quiet as all attention turned to her. Dallar noticed a glint of red in the sea of dark and yellow hair. A little girl stood in the back of the room, looking at him. A cough from Anamira drew his eyes back to her, where he kept his gaze fixed, trying to ignore the red haze in the corner of his eye.

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Dallar opened the door to his room and smiled. Deena was already in bed, awaiting him. His smile faded as he spotted the little girl standing beside the bed. He went to the small table and set down the bottle of challan, uncorked it, and poured a glass.

 

“I hate it when you drink that first.” Deena whined. “You become so…cold.”

 

Dallar didn’t reply as he drained the glass. The girl didn’t like it when he drank challan either, always leaving when he did. Disrobing after closing the door, Dallar climbed into bed. He didn’t get to see Deena dance, but he would make up for that this night. One last night.

 

* * * * * * * *

 

The chamber was filled with a pungent smell so strong that Dolmad had to keep his scented kerchief pressed under his nose. It was the stench of politics. The foul odor of corrupted men shaking hands and smiling at each other while planning on driving the knife in their other hand into the others spine. Not that any of these men had the decency to get their own hands dirty.

 

Dolmad hated nobles. Sometimes it seemed that the only half decent noble had been his father. But Madorr had died three weeks previously. The same time as the late King. Could it have been murder? Dolmad did not doubt that it was. These men had killed his father and now he was forced to sit in the same room with them while pretending that they hadn’t.

 

Dolmad was the First Councilor, the highest position on the Council; a position passed down through blood. A position of respect. Respect that he had yet to be shown. They expected him a puppet. Very well. But they would learn that this puppets string was very difficult to pull.

 

Someone coughed pointedly. Dolmad turned to the man. Lord Castral Urondor. He was the Lord of Cappe, and so believed that because his people braved the Wrath of Agrime, that they were made of tougher stuff than the rest of Arlantin. Dolmad simply thought them stubborn fools.

 

“Yes, Lord Urondor?” Dolmad acknowledged. It was a step in the dance. They didn’t respect him, but they pretended to. It was part of the procedure.

 

Standing, Urondor smiled at Dolmad. A false smile. “First, if I may, Lord Sentir and Lord Orinon should have arrived by now. We should proceed without them.” There were murmurs of accent throughout the chamber. A few did shake their heads in displeasure, but did not give their opinion voice.

 

Dolmad placed a finger to his temple. Father, how did you manage these snakes? He stood and gave each Lord a glance. “I’m disappointed in you all. Is that not exactly how the Noble Wars began? Do we desire repetition?” Urondors smile became a frown. Dolmad did not much care. He was tired of the games. “We will await until everyone is present. Any more suggestions like this, and that Councilor will be excused from this days proceedings.” Urondor’s face had gone a dangerous red at those words; one could almost miss seeing his beard.

 

Dolmad knew why Urondor wanted Sentir and Orinon absent. Urondor had been vying for the throne since before the Noble War. And once Sentir and Orinon arrived, despite the murmurs of approval, the votes for King would be split between the two. It would be up to Dolmad to supply the winning vote.

 

Urondor opened his mouth to rant, but the door to the chamber opened and the Highguards lead in a man before closing the doors once more. The man made his way to his seat. “My deepest apologies for my tardiness. I had a rather remarkable meal at the Feathered Cap.”

 

“You had us waiting because you were eating with commoners?” Urondor was aghast at the very thought.

 

“Yes,” the man answered heartily. “I believe that we sit so long on our high thrones, eating extravagant feasts, that we forget how satisfying a simple meal can be.”

 

Dolmad couldn’t help but smile. Lord Thend Sentir reminded him of his father. “What did this simple meal consist of, Lord Sentir?”

 

“The leg of chicken, peas, carrots and a thick, sweet red sauce that I had never had before.” Sentir said with a half smile of memory.

 

Before any retort could come from Urondor, the door opened again and Lord Andral Orinon strode in. He did not offer any word of explanation as he took his seat.

 

Urondor was flustered. “Don’t suppose you were held up by a commoner meal in a commoner inn, too?”

 

Orinon gave Urondor a cold glance. “Not that it concerns you, but I have just returned from personal business in Ohral. Shall we begin the meeting?”

 

Everyone sat until Dolmad was standing alone, looking across the triangular table at the nobles gathered. Three nobles sat along each side of the triangle with the top corner seat vacant. They were here to fill that seat. They were here to elect Arlantin’s next King: King Arlantinus VIII.

 

“Let us proceed.”

[Toy and Minion]

It begins soon.

 

I will begin sending out PM's shortly and post the Game Thread.

 

This ship is going to get beat and battered about, clawed up, chewed up, drowned, and even broken in half.

 

Are your sea legs ready?