[Mini-Phalla] of Brass: The Devil's Train - REAL LIFE VICTORY

I needed anime to post.

At 25 minutes past the 18th hour, delegate Aldous Fresmith was informed that the ambassador from Adabage Major wished to speak with him. This news was not pleasing. Aldous had dealt with the ambassador on many occasions, and they did not see eye to eye. Adabage ideals were in some contrast to Greater Vernland’s, and only in the most radical of Westspire classrooms did they see serious discussion. Aldous had been forced to entertain these ideals many times in order to appease the Adabage ambassador, and even pretend as though they had legitimacy.

Still, Vernland could not afford to make an enemy out of Adabage Major. Their army was notorious for its standing strength, and all knew the legends of their elite soldiers’ prowess. Fear of the Djavol kept the other world powers from invading the technologically-rich empire. Every nation could replace their soldiers, but how many could reforge them?

When Aldous entered the ambassador’s office, the deacon was looking out the window. The Adabage had requested their embassy look out not over gardens and rivers but industry and cobblestone. Smoke from a great factory was clouding the sky, causing the only light of the room to be from the lamps on either wall, kept lit through a low stream of gas. It was quite atmospheric, and the light played off the brass of the ambassador’s coat well. Deacon Nikodem turned when he recognized that Aldous entered, and gestured to the chair before his desk. “Lord Fresmith,” he said without smiling, “I am glad that you were able to respond to my summons.” His hand moved to stroke his carved goatee. The light cast shadows across it that gave it an air of great depth and mystery. The ornate designs along his coat were only aided by the setting, the metal seeming to almost dance with the light.

“You know well that I am happy to serve the Adabage in any capacity here in Westspire,” Aldous responded, taking a seat as well. Though he had spoken with the ambassador many times, his eyes still found themselves wandering to the same places. The tall horns, the seemingly infinite and intricate joints that ran all along Nikodem’s custom-built body. The Djavol didn’t notice, caught for a moment in thought as he looked down at a folder on the desk. One by one his teeth pulled back into his frame and then tapped together – a sign, Aldous knew, that he was thinking.

“Tell me Aldous, what do you know of the Djavol?” he said at last, sitting as well. His accent was thick with the harsh cadence of the Djavol’s cold metal. This time, he smiled, but Aldous could see behind the curtain – he could see every intricate component click into place to let the artificial lips curve as they did.

“Your people?” Aldous asked, lightly blowing on his moustache as he thought a moment. “Well, they’re like you for starters. Adabage who have-” He paused for a second. Saying that they bought their status was probably not diplomatic. “Earned the privilege to become a part of the upper class. Their immortal soul is placed in a custom, ornate frame, and they-“

“That’s close enough, yes, close enough for what I was asking,” Nikodem stopped him, holding up a hand. “The important thing is yes, these bodies. They are…unique, yes?”

Aldous wasn’t sure what the Djavol was getting at, but he went with it. “Both in the sense of being uniquely designed and just…not what we’d expect around these parts, yes. Made in the image of your martyred god, aren’t they?”

“The Martyr, yes, yes.” Nikodem opened the file in front of him, his fingers delicately turning through the pages. “It’s a very closely guarded secret. Very important to our people. It would be…alarming, to know that such secrets had been…leaked.” He looked up at Aldous again. “Have you heard of Doctor Montgomery Jameson?”

Lord Fresmith thought for a few seconds, then shook his head. “Can’t say I have,” he replied.

“He had tenure at the Royal University in Stanton. The Djavol recently acquired some of his more recent notes. We are…alarmed at their content.” One by one, his teeth clicked together again. “Tell me then, Aldous, if you have not heard of Doctor Jameson, you surely know of the Corrigan.”

there are no dead gods

Though many in Westspire slept, the city did not. Cogs turned and steam vents exhaled. The industrial age marched forward. In a building long since abandoned – yet immaculately kept – a telegram arrived. From its device of delivery a single gloved hand plucked it, learning what it had to say over a cup of tea. The telegram traded hands many times that night, each time with the same instructions: “Give this to Passeridae’s Finest.” Westspire did not sleep, did not pause, but perhaps the city would have held its breath for just a moment had it known the contents of the telegram.

“THE ROBELSHEVIKS KNOW ABOUT THE ARTIFICIAL MEN STOP THEY KNOW BARTLEBY BROWN SURVIVED STOP”

Nation of Brass: The Devil’s Train

A pulp phalla for 25 players.

WHAT’S ALL THIS THEN
Nation of Brass: The Devil’s Train is a miniphalla. If you are unfamiliar with what a phalla is, this thread may be of assistance. This particular mini serves as a sequel of sorts to my previous game, Nation of Brass: The Artificial Men. Reading the previous thread is not required to participate in or enjoy this game, but you may appreciate the references more. Please SIGNUP! in lime green if you wish to play.

This game is structured for 25 players – no more, no less. Each of these 25 players has boarded the 8:00 Royal Estmunder Scenic to Kafskaw, departing shortly from Sparrow’s Nest Station. As with any large group of people they are sure to find each other quite annoying, and must Politely register a complaint with the conductor regarding a passenger on board each day of travel, before 8 PM Pacific. The passenger with the most complaints registered each day will find themselves stranded at the train’s particular location and unable to rejoin the proceedings.

Bartleby Brown (also known as The Choker) has boarded this train, for reasons known only to him. Vernland is determined not to let Adabage Major get their hands on the technology behind his creation, and has dispatched their finest spies – an association known only as The Suits. They will stop at nothing to get him.

This game will not last longer than 7 days. The train has 7 stops. If The Suits take custody of Bartleby Brown’s body for more than a few days they will win regardless of how many villagers remain. The village may win by eliminating all members of Westspire Intelligence or by keeping Bartleby Brown out of their hands for the entirety of the journey.

HERE ARE SOME RULES
-You may not directly quote your role PM or screen cap it or do any sort of similarly shifty thing to prove you are who you are.
-One ghost post.
-Do not speak with the dead during the game. Djavol funerary rites are very sacred to their people and you would risk a great deal of spiritual karma to disturb those who have passed on.
-Do not add other players to conversations in PMs. If you wish to have a 3 or more way conversation with someone else, start a new one.
-Add the host to PMs and proboards, and PM me any IRC/IM/etc conversations you have. I am trying something specific with narration and while I may not use the information you provide I would like to have it. I may go so far as imparting penalties if you forget to do so.
-All contact you make with other players should be traceable to you.
-Post in English.
-Make two posts and a vote each day. If you’re not very active you’ll have a hard time catching the train.
-Ask clarifications in Orange bold.
-PLEASE DO NOT EDIT VOTE POSTS!!!

LOFTY GOALS AND CHILDHOOD DREAMS
The poet Theodore Herrick once said that no man boards the Royal Estmunder without desire. Now Herrick also said that we likely descended from southern primitives but this particular statement is not without merit. All players have either a special ability or a secondary goal. Upon completing their goal they may find themselves granted a boon of some sort.

Unlike my previous game it will not be publically announced when a player completes their goal. It may, however, be hinted at in the narration. It may also not be. But there will be goals, and some players will be completing them, and things will happen – of that you can be sure.

PHRENOLOGY: THE NEW CRAZE
With His Royal Excellence and Most Glorious in Grace King Gregory Passeridae mentioning offhand that he quite liked Arthur Mancer’s cutting new theories in his book Phrenology and You: How To Improve Your Life Thanks To Childhood Concussions the science of Phrenology has taken off in Westspire, with citizens finding themselves eager to classify themselves under Mancer’s six classes of mentality.

It’s quite simple really. Some individuals are MURDERous, capable of changing lives in the most dramatic fashion. Others trend towards MERCY, compassionate souls who make a difference in the world. There are those who find themselves with a knack towards MANIPULATION, altering public opinion. In contrast, those who find themselves MINDFUL prefer knowledge and keeping the attention away from themselves. Understood by none of these are those who like MAYHEM, who find spice in chaos.

And if you’re none of those, well you’re really quite MUNDANE, aren’t you?

Mancer has many theories, but he believes that if these six people were in a room, the MERCIFUL would act first, followed by the MURDEROUS, the MANIPULATIVE, the MINDFUL, and then lastly those affectionate towards MAYHEM. The MUNDANE probably wouldn’t do anything at all.

TRAVEL GUIDE
The Royal Estmunder Scenic makes many stops during its route – thus the Scenic affectation. They encourage their passengers to go out and visit the cities they stop at, and conduct any business they may wish to perform out there. Each is lovely, and can inspire those of the right mindset.
The travel guide lists the following locations in order:
1. Stanton
2. Allegaro (+MERCY, -MANIPULATION)
3. Tardis (+MINDFUL, -MURDER)
This marks the end of Greater Vernland territory.
4. D͔̯̗̩̦é̫̱n̮̣m͏̩̹̭̼͚̭͉o̯u̲͉̠͍̝̱t̗̯h (+MAYHEM, -MINDFUL)
At this point, you enter the Eastern Mass, the beginning of Adabage territory.
5. Sandusk (+MURDER, -MERCY)
6. Mekanika (+MANIPULATION, -MAYHEM)
7. Kafskaw (+MAFIA)

The Royal Estmunder Scenic advises you to plan out how to spend your time in advance so that you do not miss the train.

I needed anime to post.

The first thread was eaten by forum errors! You may be able to find it here.
Then 24 hours later it happened again.

SIGNUPS:
1. Capfalcon - Vanessa von Kamanov (Day 1)
2. Peccavi
3. Alegis
4. Langly
5. Flarne
6. jdarksun - Jacqueline Liddel (Day 1)
7. schuss
8. facetious
9. Phyphor
10. Egos
11. corvidae
12. kime
13. Taya
14. kuhlmeye
15. Matev
16. tmoiy - Dresden Carmac (Day 1)
17. Sir Fabulous
18. Cayrus
19. MrTLicious
20. Bedlam
21. The Anonymous
22. stever777 - Kasima Torchlin (Day 1)
23. Cythraul
24. SLyM
25. MaxFrost

RESERVES:
1. Lucedes
2. Zandracon

Game Start
Day One
Day Two

I needed anime to post.

Day Zero: Westspire

There were all sorts in Westspire, and more than half of them passed through Sparrow’s Nest Station. Where else in Westspire would you see the dead buying sweets, magician’s assistants and ballerinas breaking bread? Where else in Westspire would Djavol succubi and sadistic heirs share a laugh over the Gazette? Sparrow’s Nest was the melting pot, the equalizer, the height of Westspire exoticism.

It was quite overwhelming for the bandaged man. He stood nervously at the platform, waiting for the conductor to check his papers and admit him on board. “Goin’ to Adabage, eh!” he said with a smile. The man nodded solemnly. “It’s a dull place if you ask me, Westspire’s got all you need!” The conductor glanced around. “Travelin’ alone then? That’s a damn shame, young man like you should be accompanied on his journeys!”

“Please,” the man said quietly, slightly raising his hand. “It’s…a personal matter.”

“Fair enough, fair enough, I won’t press ya,” the conductor said. “Everything’s in order, sir! Please enjoy the trip. We’ll be stopping over in Stanton later this evening.”

“Thank you,” the man said, stepping onto the train. He pushed awkwardly past an Adabage inspecting his teeth in the window, ensuring that none had fallen out. The walking corpse nodded politely at him as he passed, but the bandaged man did not acknowledge him. He ducked into a private carriage, placing his suitcase down and closing the drapes over the door. Looking out the window, Bartleby Brown wondered where his brothers were.

the prince laughs

“All along the watchtower,” the phonograph sang in a copper voice, “Princes kept the view.”

“Why is it singing?” the Queen of Powder asked the man sitting across from her. He shrugged.

“While all the women came and went, barefoot servants too.” The phonograph paused. “They are silent,” it mused afterwards, “There is a standstill.”

“We’re not learning anything from this.” The Jack of Hammers stood, stretching and looking out the window. “So they talk, and they sing, like a man. So we have to look for a man. We already knew that.”

“It’s eerie,” the Queen said, sitting back and tapping her pistol to her chin. “To know it replicates a human so well.”

“Well I think it’s a useful recording and we’re lucky to have it,” the King of Sparrows said, glaring at the insolent Jack. Still, he stopped the record. “We have 7 days to figure out where he is on this train without alerting the Djavol to our presence. Any later than that and we’ll have the entire robolshevik force chasing after us, and Westspire can’t be implicated.”

“Not a problem,” the Jack said. “We wait until the train stops, we take him out. We take his body, we leave.”

“We have to make sure we get the right one though,” the Queen interjected. “Don’t think that the Djavol on board are here for a joyride. We’re being hunted just as much as he is.”

“Which is why we need to choose our targets carefully,” the King spoke up. “We may need to be patient and eliminate threats to us before we worry about the mission.”

The Jack wrung his hands lightly. “I wouldn’t worry about that,” he said calmly.

In the corner, the Ace of Cogs sat beneath robes and mask and said nothing.

the martyr sighs

The ticking of the Djavol was the only sound in the private car. The Contrite gently worked on the watch before him, the screws kept organized to one side as with minute detail he took it piece by piece. The Acolyte’s eyes were closed, his hands tracing whorls on his copper chest in prayer.

The Prioress turned her head to look out the window, the ornamentation upon her thick horns jangling with the motion. She eyed the conductor outside as he doffed his hat and boarded the train. How long had it been – forty years? He had been so handsome then. He had likely forgotten that evening by now, but she remembered. She remembered all of them.

The Vernish were laughably unmindful of such things. With their fleeting lives – mere decades, not even a century – they should have had more value of each moment, but they lived and forgot like children. Not like the Adabage, with the Martyr’s Blessing. Not like the Prioress. Her mind had never faltered, her beauty only enhanced by age and decoration. Her cubus was more decorated than the finest of Vernish cathedrals. A body of brass, and an eternal life.

Blessed were the Djavol.

A low whistle filled the station. The train lurched. The journey had begun.




NEXT STOP: STANTON
Most notable for the Royal University – the most esteemed house of study in all of Greater Vernland – Stanton is a lovely city filled with class and culture. Be sure to stop by the world-famous History Museum! This month only you can view an exciting exhibit of terrifying skeletons unearthed from the Osiran Desert, terrible lizards who must have been killed by early man. Stanton’s cobble streets and old-fashioned charm are sure to win over any visitor, and a fine busking tradition is certain to make every walk pleasant.

Stanton confers no bonuses or penalties to any players.


Game on! Raise a complaint regarding a player making your time on the Royal Estmunder Scenic more unpleasant to ditch them in Stanton! Vote close will be TOMORROW at 8:00 PM Pacific.

It wasn’t mentioned in your role PMs, but please include the day you are sending in orders with the orders, for organization’s sake.

I needed anime to post.

Day One: Stanton

“Look, you had her hair, alright?”

jdarksun Jacqueline Liddel laid rasping on the dirty cobble of a Stanton alley. She wanted to lash out at her attacker, but couldn’t find the strength to reach the knife at her belt. He rummaged in his pocket for some change, tossing it at her. “If you pick yourself up, buy a nice ice, I suppose. No hard feelings.”

She could barely breathe. The bruises on her neck were raw and fresh, and blood was running from her forehead to her eye. She couldn’t even make out the man who had slammed her to the pavement. He drew out a pipe, dabbing some tobacco in it. “I was really sure I had her this time,” he murmured, staring out at the street introspectively.

Her lips parted as though to utter a curse at him, some exclamation to express the unending rage she felt for his cowardly attack. All she could muster was a low, quiet rattle. “Yes, yes, mistakes were made, but let’s not throw blame around,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “We both could have handled things better. See you on the train?” He gave a cursory smile, lifting his hat at Jacqueline. She shook, in anger or cold or a deeper fear. She was better than this.

She was better than dying in some alley.

She was better than this…

and they think me gone

The Djavol carefully turned the page in his book, taking care not to tear the pages with his segmented fingers. stever777 Kasima Torchlin rest her head on his shoulder, the sun setting on the Stanton park. Pigeons were starting to gather around the bench. “The Martyr saw that His brothers sought to usurp the Sky,” he continued. “And He knew that it was necessary to intervene. He cleverly drew the forgotten one from the appointed place. Alone, the Grace saw through Bel Hazan’s treachery, and banished him to the space between spaces, to never again breathe the air of the earth.”

His posture was perfect, and his eyes barely focused on the good book. He had read this many times before. “But the forgotten one saw through the Martyr’s intentions. He realized that the Martyr had seen the light. So it was that they grappled, and fought, and fell. With His last bit of strength the Martyr threw the forgotten one into the sea, and all the waters broiled with hate, and all the fish rotted in wrath, and the forgotten one sank to the bottom of the Dead Sea, and drowned. The Martyr could not stop his fall, and fell to Adabage.”

He looked to the side now, at the resting woman on his shoulder. “Great remorse filled Him, for all the men had died in His landing. So it was that He gave His chance to return to the Sky to let us walk again. He passed on the secrets of the cubus, that the Djavol might act in His name. The Martyr would atone for His failures, and we thank Him for His kindness.”

Delicately he stood, letting Kasima tip limply backwards, her hands falling lifelessly to the bench. “I hope, sister, that when you find your eyes open again, you think harder on the gifts granted you by the Martyr. If, that is, you may even open your eyes in this blind land.” He closed the book and placed it on her lap. “Martyr’s Blessing,” he said, raising his hand and letting it fall.

no

The unnoticed man finished his apple. He slipped back onto the train, trailing behind his target. Everyone was boarding the train again, and it was easy to move hidden through the crowd. Unfortunately, it was just as easy for his target to disappear from view. Eventually, he found himself in a quiet section of the train, and yet still could not see where his target had gone.

He opened the door to the nearest compartment, and then was immediately shot.

“You know,” the King of Sparrows observed as he dragged the man’s body into the carriage, “You should really be a bit less eager with that thing.”

“I’d rather be safe than exposed,” the Queen replied. She gestured down at the man, slipping her pistol back onto her belt. “Don’t recognize him, does he have a wallet?”

“One second…” the King of Sparrows mused, checking the man’s pockets. He found a small leather-bound book, flipping through it, then pausing. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and handed the book over to the Queen of Powder.

“What? What is it?” she asked, flipping through the pages herself. There was silence in the room for a few seconds.

“This was such a stupid fucking idea,” she said, tossing the book to the side. There was a certain poetry in how it landed open to Capfalcon the spy in the service of Vanessa von Kamanov’s identification.

“Hold on,” the King said, pulling a device from the man’s bag. It began to beep, starting to print a telegram. “It might not all be a loss.”

t̡h̡e̕r̨e͘ ͜áre̡ no de͏a̶d g̴ods͠

“Excuse me,” tmoiy Dresden Carmac said, rapping on the door. “Excuse me, I need to be let on.”

A conductor stepped past the door, noticing Dresden there. Dresden smiled, trusting the man to open it, but instead the man seemed to slap his knee and start laughing. He beckoned someone over and another conductor walked up, beginning to laugh as well. They pantomimed a man talking with their hands, rolling their eyes and looking like they were complaining.

“Sirs, have I offended you in some way?” Dresden asked diplomatically. One of the conductors left, then stuck his head out a nearby window.

“’Oy guv! All we ‘ear all day is whining, and you think we give a damn? ‘ave fun in Stanton!”

“My bags are still on the train!” Dresden said, as the loud whistle of the Royal Estmunder sounded.

“Well, should’ve thought o’ that fore ya decided to piss off the ones who look after it then!” the conductor smiled. “All aboard!”

“Sirs…Sirs! Sirs!” Dresden started walking alongside the train as it began to roll out of the station, breaking into a run, and then finally desperately looking for a point to grab onto. He reached out, eager and desperate…and then fell short, landing on his face on the rail tracks. He stood up, rubbed his bruising chin, and watched the train chug away.

“Well piss.”

Thrown from the train:
Tmoiy – Dresden Carmac (Solemn Widower) – Tied up the conductors’ ears

Killed:
jdarksun – Jacqueline Liddel (Templar of the Golden Dawn) – Looked rich
stever777 – Kasima Torchlin (Star-Crossed Maiden) – Unrepentant
Capfalcon – A spy in the service of Vanessa von Kamanov (Westspire Intelligence) – Miscommunication

We hope you have enjoyed your time in Stanton. Should you have any complaints against other passengers, such as concern for your own livelihood, please voice them to the conductors.

Please have all complaints to the conductors made by 8PM Pacific. If you are expecting a message from some higher power, they are now going out. Get settled, and treat yourself to some complimentary steamed nuts.


NEXT STOP: ALLEGARO
One of the oldest cities in Vernland, Allegaro is best known for the religious tensions that persisted through the city centuries ago. Though the city has reconciled and now embraces the teachings of the Eternal Sky, a number of cathedrals to smaller faiths still persist. The city is a spiritual one, and known for its charities. Be sure to visit the Yawning Tower, most ambitious of all churches, built up higher and higher to touch the Sky itself.

Allegaro’s piety inspires the MERCIFUL. MERCIFUL players may privately send in an order to guard a player. If there is no conflict in the decision of the MERCIFUL, that player will receive a divine shield blocking all abilities.

Allegaro’s trusting nature has inspired the conductors. MANIPULATIVE players may be disappointed to know that an accurate vote tally will be provided to all players in Allegaro.

Langly

switching to the anonymous

I needed anime to post.

The train will be departing 5 minutes late due to difficulties with the engine. We got a new one.

Cythraul

Again?! lol

Phyphor

One thread per day!

Peccavi

Vanilla

The Anonymous

So, why exactly am I getting voted out? Just curious.

Phyphor

Unhelpful hints!

The Anonymous

Phyphor

Anon for anti-shenanigans

SLyM

This is more than a little bullshit here.

Godamn.

The Anonymous

The Anonymous

corvidae

You forgot "breaking news"

The Anonymous

There's breaking news?

Langly

ties don't help the village, someone needs to go.

SLyM

BREAKING NEWS

The train broke.

I needed anime to post.

Now departing.

Phyphor

All aboard

SLyM

choo choo

corvidae

The network kills matev.

Phyphor

I'm pretty sure nobody outed themselves so that would make you the seer or vig?

corvidae

Neither. The expendable one.

Phyphor

So the seer seered you and just happened to be in contact with the vig? Convenient

corvidae

We were masoned from the start.

corvidae

Phyphor- totally mafia.

Phyphor

Nah, it's a mini

I needed anime to post.

Day 2: Allegaro

Her lips were cold. It was strange, but to some degree…comforting. She had been unlike any woman he had been with – in more ways than he could really describe, or even come to terms with. Yet still, he knew in his heart that she was not the right one for him. Perhaps she had seen it as well, for she had brushed her bronze fingers through his hair and sent him on his way. “I hope you find what you are looking for,” she said simply to him, “And my apologies.”

Alegis Neil Yeats shivered slightly in the night air. The train would probably be boarding soon. He should get going.

“He’s moving.” The King said, lowering his binoculars. “Can you take the shot or-“

He jumped as the loud crack of the rifle beside him went off, glancing down and glaring at his partner.

“Got him,” the Queen said, raising her goggles. “We certain he was visiting the succubus?”

“Absolutely.”

In the distance they could see the heavily-coated Jack step out from an alley, taking the body now laying in the street and dragging it out of sight. The King rose his binoculars in time to see him step back out, doing a quick gesture across the chest and then heading down the street. “Not him,” he told her, “Connected maybe, but not our man.”

The Queen was already packing the rifle back into her case, rubbing her jaw lightly. “Well, we’re out of time to do anything else now. Tomorrow, then.”

“Hrm. Time’s ticking down.”

“It is wont to do so.” The Queen smirked wryly at him, slipping back into the chapel tower. The King grunted lightly, lifting his binoculars and looking at the distant church their target had come from. He thought he saw a devil of bronze close and lock the doors, but he vanished behind architecture before he could watch much longer. The King cracked his neck, and left the railing.

you ͠a͡re̵ ҉bri̴n̸g̴in͏g̵ ͞m҉e s͡u̕c̸h͠ ̷toys

“You devil!” Matev William Gonne spat. “You abomination!” He struggled in the iron grip of the Djavol. There was no purchase for his feet, nor any means to break his fall. The Djavol watched him impassively as he dangled off the church roof.

“I understand,” he said slowly, “Wishing to pay respects to the Eternal Sky. It is not ideal, but it is not unfounded.”

“A sermon?!” William laughed, his foot lashing out at the bronze knee of the Djavol. “What, you want to convert me now?”

“That is not my duty to my order,” the Djavol said calmly. “It is no concern of mine whether you seek penitence or not. It is through curiousity that I speak now to you.”

“And it is your naivety that is truly insulting,” William hissed, holding himself up with the Djavol’s arms even as he sought to break the grip around his neck. “The childlike idiocy that marks your culture.”

The Djavol ground his teeth for a few moments before continuing. “You worship unseen powers, that offer you nothing in return. You lay claim to magic, without demonstration. It does not make sense to me.”

“Why should it? You have not seen what I have, not walked in our temples. You have never been to the sands!” William spat again, his face growing redder and redder. “You are a child raised by children, told fables and fairy tales, and then empowered not by gods but toddlers, to do a babe’s will.”

The Djavol’s shoulders raised, his body drawing up higher, as though taking in a deep breath. He thought for a moment longer, and then simply released his grip, letting William fall to the ground below. The crack was more satisfying than he wanted to admit.

Later, as he closed the doors to the chapel, he could have sworn there was a glint in the distance. He thought little of it. It was time to go.

you҉ are͝ d̷an̨c͏i̛n͏ǵ ̸a̢t̛ ̸bec͟k a͡n҉d̶ ́c̡all̀

Neil wanted to scream. He ripped from his body, hissing, fluctuating between form and fraction, racing through the world infinite times.

“Please!” an urgent voice finally pierced through the fog, “Please! Calm down!”

Hissing still, he closed his eyes and forced himself to sit down. When he opened them he was on a bench, alongside a young woman he had not seen. On the other side of her sat a grim, stonefaced man, gaseous and as vapour. Much like him.

“I’m sorry, I was watching you,” the woman said quietly. “I didn’t realize this was going to happen to you. Are you alright?”

“I….” Neil hissed slowly. He rose, taking stumbling steps forward. “I need to get back to the train…I’ll be late.”

“Sir, please…” the woman said. “You need to focus. You need to recognize what’s going on.”

Neil lifted his hands, gazed at the steaming mass. He pushed them together, and then through one another. “This is…” he hissed gently. He turned to look at the woman speaking to him.

She shrugged and offered a half-smile that might have been meant to reassure. Behind her a woman in a dark coat and a widow’s veil walked up at a brisk pace, took a small gun out of her handbag, and shot her in the back of the head. “Hmm. Thought that was him. Seemed the sort of thing he’d try.” The woman walked around the bench and paced quickly away, passing through Neil without acknowledging him.

From her body, Flarne Florence Lalonde rose up, shuddering. She looked around, her form uncertain, and her mouth agape in a raging, soundless scream.

yo̶u̶ ͝ar̀e̡ cơmįng̀ ͠cl̛o͡s̶er҉

As The Anonymous Elizabeth Perth moved to get onto the train, she found her way blocked. “Excuse me sir,” she said in the sweetest voice she could manage, “I believe this is my train.”

“You talk too much and everyone hates your stupid game,” the conductor said, before closing the door. Elizabeth stood stunned with her mouth open, her brow furrowed in anger.

“What?” she finally yelled as the train started to take off.

A man threw a hammer at her from the window.



Removed from the train:
The Anonymous – Elizabeth Perth (Attention-Seeking Socialite): Please stop bothering us.

Killed:
Alegis – Neil Yeats (Star-Crossed Suitor): Probable Cause
Flarne – Florence Lalonde (Dancer Macabre): Unwanted Compliment
Matev – William Gonne (Hermetic of the Golden Dawn): Crusaded

The Star-Crossed Maiden is in the process of revivication.

The conductors have provided the following list for your benefit:
The Anonymous - 8
Langly - 1
Peccavi - 1
corvidae - 3
kime - 3
schuss - 1
Taya - 1
MaxFrost - 1
Bedlam – 1

Kuhlmeye dozed off and nearly missed the train.

The trip has seen many of our passengers interact with each other, and we recognize that conflicts may have arisen. Please file any complaints you have with the conductors. The conductors would like to remind you to avoid being a nuisance.


NEXT STOP: TARDIS
The brew capitol of the world, nowhere has finer pubs and ales than Tardis. Enjoy a refreshing drink no matter where you go, but please remember that the Royal Estmunder Scenic has no facilities should you require special attention, nor is the Royal Estmunder required to clean your carriage during your time here.

The alcoholic atmosphere of Tardis is easy for the MINDFUL to take advantage of. Every MINDFUL player may choose another player. They will appear to be that player if anyone attempts espionage on them.

It is difficult to clean yourself in the Tardis pubs. Players targeting MURDER players who have killed a player in Tardis will see bloodstains.

Tardis is the last stop on the Royal Estmunder Scenic in Greater Vernland. The urgency has mobilized The Suits. Tonight they may target a player and prevent them from taking any actions. This is a MALEVOLENT power.

The Anonymous

oooooooOOOOOOOoooooooo

Who knew getting Houston'd could be so much fun?

oooooooOOOOOOOoooooooo

Matev

OoooooOOooooOOoooOOOOO

The Dawn is coming is coming my friends! Remain steadfast!

OooooooOOOOOOOoooooOOOOooo

Peccavi

T_A: Mundane
Alegis: Mundane
Flarne: Manipulative
Matev: Mayhem

SLyM

EXTRA! EXTRA!

Slaughter at the station!

Our intrepid reporter had hoped that his dire predictions of a continuing massacre of the passengers of The Royal Estmunder Scenic would turn out false, but his acute predictions have, as always, turned out to be completely true. Last evening, the corpses of no less than 3 persons were found throughout the city of Allegaro. The innocent passengers of this beautiful train are obviously caught in the crossfire of a vicious mafia gang-war, as indicated by the brutality of the deaths.
Who else, this reporter poses, has the training and knowhow to kill the simple man such as Neel Yeits with such a large callable weapon? The only organization with the black market contacts to purchase such weapons is the mafia, as it is obvious that no powerful, secretive government body would have anything to do with the doings of a business like the Estmunder Transport Co.
In addition, only the mafia would be ruthless enough to throw Waleym Gung off a church spire. It seems Waleym got caught up in affairs bigger than himself and was poorly rewarded for his troubles, which is why this reporter recommends that everyone follow his advice, and never impersonate a mafia member, not even in games or jest.
Indeed, who else are known well for their "assassination" style kills, a single bullet to the back of the head, like that that ended the life of poor, poor Elysabith Lonlde? It seems that she saw too much, and had her life cut short by these criminals. Indeed, it seems the mafia has their hand in every pot.
In unrelated news, a passenger on said train seems to have lost their hammer. If anyone stumbles upon it, it would be wise to give it to a conductor, so it can be returned to its rightful owner.

facetious

SLyM wrote:

Our intrepid reporter had hoped that his dire predictions of a continuing massacre of the passengers of The Royal Estmunder Scenic would turn out false, but his acute predictions have, as always, turned out to be completely true.

I love these.

corvidae

damn this yellow press.

Capfalcon

OH DEAR STOP
IT LOOKS LIKE ANOTHER NEUTRAL BOUGHT IT STOP
I DON'T THINK THERE ARE TOO MANY OF YOU LEFT STOP
YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE A HECK OF A TIME STOPPING THE TRAIN WITH SO FEW MEMBERS OF THE GOLDEN DAWN HELPING STOP
OF COURSE I THINK WE COULD COME TO AN ARRANGEMENT STOP
SINCE I DO NOT THINK WE ARE IN DIRECT CONFLICT STOP

corvidae

phyphor

MrTLicious

For those not following along at home, the vote tallies show that Capfalcon cannot actually vote.

kime

Weekend = busy, so how about MrT

Cythraul

kime is busy in Tardis. Must be why he didn't change his av yet