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CRUSHING FINGERS - MAFIA (THE END OF THE STORY)
Posts
Liberty
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CloseWell, my cave-dar is still working which is nice to know~ I'm all better now and ready for the next game! Good job staying alive and beating the mafia, unity and YM!
I was actually happy to die this game. It was interesting watching the game with all the answers. I'd love to play another one though! Glad to see we've convinced Unity of our mafia ways!
author=Liberty
Well, my cave-dar is still working which is nice to know~ I'm all better now and ready for the next game! Good job staying alive and beating the mafia, unity and YM!
Thanks for giving me the chance to play, Liberty ^_^ I had a lot of fun and did my best to be a good townie in your place. I'm so glad to hear you're feeling better, too!
author=Gourd_Clae
I was actually happy to die this game. It was interesting watching the game with all the answers. I'd love to play another one though! Glad to see we've convinced Unity of our mafia ways!
It's a lot of fun! A little intense sometimes, but really neat! I'm definitely going to have to play a lot more to learn more about how to win. And I think it's really cool that even if you die you get a hidden forum to talk in ^_^
Well I just need to say as a complete lurker and non-participant I had a lot of fun watching you guys play this game. I've never played Mafia but it was interesting to watch you all construct and deconstruct your views on each other. I was never much one for spectator sports but I could find this sort entertaining, so thanks to you all from the sidelines :).
Truly hope that doesn't come across as creepy, it's not meant to.
Truly hope that doesn't come across as creepy, it's not meant to.
ivoryjones
75
It's okay, I've been lurking myself but found the discussion this time a bit boring (the nightkills amused me though).
ivory how do you have time to read a game and not play in one. What are you......................................................afraid..
author=ivoryjones
It's okay, I've been lurking myself but found the discussion this time a bit boring (the nightkills amused me though).
Really? I have always found the interweaving threads of loyalty and suspicion to be amusing, and this game was no exception to that observation. Though as I say this was my first exposure to this form, so perhaps as I came to it with unbiased eyes. I'm glad you found some examples for entertainment though.
ivoryjones
75
It was pretty boring right?
And cave I don't think I even WANT to make an effort to build up arguments, plus I've more or less just skimmed the whole thing anyways. (Yeah it was THAT boring soz)
And ummmmm I've, uh, -coughs- been hanging around LoL lately and you know how long one match could last...... xd Do you play League of Legends cave. if you do are you in NA server
And cave I don't think I even WANT to make an effort to build up arguments, plus I've more or less just skimmed the whole thing anyways. (Yeah it was THAT boring soz)
And ummmmm I've, uh, -coughs- been hanging around LoL lately and you know how long one match could last...... xd Do you play League of Legends cave. if you do are you in NA server
ivoryjones
75
author=nhubiauthor=ivoryjonesReally? I have always found the interweaving threads of loyalty and suspicion to be amusing, and this game was no exception to that observation. Though as I say this was my first exposure to this form, so perhaps as I came to it with unbiased eyes. I'm glad you found some examples for entertainment though.
It's okay, I've been lurking myself but found the discussion this time a bit boring (the nightkills amused me though).
Ha! You should have seen the mafia games discussion before, it was pretty funny how cave was dicking around xP
author=CAVE_DOG_IS_BACK
aaaaaaaaaa after ten thousand years im free. its time to ruin another game
i do not play league of legends, as I have seen what it has done to my friends. curse you, league of legends.
this game should tell you you do not need to make arguments to play a mafia game, although doing that makes it..bad
PlatinumAshes
I am now certain that you are not scum and are just town trying to play scum as hard as possible.
0
I play a great deal of league, but I'm on EUW.
ivoryjones
75
:(
In all fairness, I think you did a pretty good job handling this game. Though I'm not sure about allowing MafiaChat for the dead players...(too early perhaps?)
In all fairness, I think you did a pretty good job handling this game. Though I'm not sure about allowing MafiaChat for the dead players...(too early perhaps?)
PlatinumAshes
I am now certain that you are not scum and are just town trying to play scum as hard as possible.
0
They weren't allowed to speak in there, just spectate. But yes, that was a difficult decision to make, and I doubted it somewhat.
Some hosts leave the dead in the dark while others let them in on everything. For my first mafia, I went with full visibility because it seemed like the more 'standard' way to handle things, but I might try the other approach next time.
Some hosts leave the dead in the dark while others let them in on everything. For my first mafia, I went with full visibility because it seemed like the more 'standard' way to handle things, but I might try the other approach next time.
PlatinumAshes
I am now certain that you are not scum and are just town trying to play scum as hard as possible.
0
It was morning, and Wildwes was standing at the riverside. The city had not yet sprung up from its sleep, and so the world seem rather empty and lifeless: he and the figure opposite to him, were the only living, breathing things within miles. The figure was wearing a peculiar set of black rags and a blindfold. You could tell just from their close proximity to one another on the massive emty plain, that they weren't strangers, and if you took the time to listen to the tone of their voices, you would realize that they had known eachother for a very, very long time;
The playwright and the ferryman.
“' 'ave you figured out yet what the world will look like?” the ferryman asked, like it was the most normal thing ever. The playwright responded by carefully reaching into his pocket for a small, folded piece of paper and, while pinching it between thumb and index finger, handing it to the man in rags, who unfolded it, and closely observed it. The blindfold did not seem to be bothering him one bit. Either the it was somehow see-through, or the he was using some other sense. Eitherway, he found himself holding a small, sketched pencil drawing. I could describe its content in objective terms but such a description would be useless to you, as you would not have his memories and asociations to interpret those facts, and see their underlying thoughts and feelings. All I can say is that it was a juvinile drawing; one in which everything looked wonderful and everyone was smiling.
“Hn. Hmmmm.
Yes, I can use this.
Did you come up with this..?”
He nodded. The ferryman shifted his head and raized his eyebrows in recognition.
“Well, next up, we'll have to destroy the sample I built this world out of. ”
“I'll just turn away untill you're done. ” the playwright whispered, and did just that. “Yeah. Sure” The ferryman got out a lighter in one hand, and an old, wrinkled fotograph in the other, which didn't last very long in the flame. “Charon, ehh, do I still need to pay the styx fare?” The playwright asked, knowing full well the answer would be 'yes', yet still clinging to the hopes of a 'no'.
“I was afraid I'd have to remind you myself.” Charon muttered apologetically. He scratched his head and leaned to the side. “I'll make it it quick.” The playwright had already gotten out his right hand, which had been resting in his pocket up intill then. It struck me how his middle-, ring- and pinky finger weren't standing straight anymore; they seamed to have swollen and had turned pinkish blue. He raided held up his hand, as though he was handing the ferryman his payment, even though his palm was empty. Instead, the ferryman wrapped his hand around the playwright's index finger and made a quick, decisive rotary gesture, that snapped it at the knuckle. He cringed and groaned, but quickly managed a recovery, and contained most of his reaction.
“You never get used to it, do you?” Charon sympathized
“Hah! I'm FINE!” the playwright said coarsely with a sarcastic grimace.
The two stood there silently for a moment. Charon listened to the rushing of the wind and clashing of the waves of the river styx, while the playwright waited for the waves of pain in his hand to subside. Time drags by when a decision has been made, and all that remained was to say to goodbye.
The town was a million miles under. Even though he had never informed his subjects of the nature of their creation, it was hard not interpret their rabbid looks of fear and resentment as a sign that they knew they were about to be abandonned. Even their irrational phobia of cannibalism could merely be a result of the way he himself had treated them. He was, however, not willing to interpret manners that way. He wished not to live in a world where everything was somehow his fault, and instead chose to make some logical consessions. After all, he was not a scientist.
The others spent the afternoon divining some hitghly advanced, agonizing means of execution. He did not involve himself in the process, from which it followed that he was their next subject (that is how a cannibal was detected). He overheard parts of their hours long discussion in which they laid down their sience; in how many parts the carpals could be fractured under optimal circumstances, how to make effecient use of a tissue with a high density of nerve endings and all the different ways in which leftover meat could be repurposed.
His price was payed. When his time came to be tied up brought to the shed, Charon appeared at his side, and told him to close his eyes. The world spun as he fell through a great number of doorways untill he could watch from a distance, his body being carried off into the shed.
“Your request was settled with the old man.” Charon smiled and directed his look at the shed in which the playwright's empty vessel was being deconstructed “They won't follow you overseas now that they think your dead. So we're all set. Let's go!”
Wildwes was Lynched on Day 5! He was the Playwright, a “Vanilla”. He was Town-alligned!
“This is the part that always gets me” Wildwes exclaimed, after they had been sailing for a while. “I just can't believe this place used to be my idea of paradise.”
The End
The playwright and the ferryman.
“' 'ave you figured out yet what the world will look like?” the ferryman asked, like it was the most normal thing ever. The playwright responded by carefully reaching into his pocket for a small, folded piece of paper and, while pinching it between thumb and index finger, handing it to the man in rags, who unfolded it, and closely observed it. The blindfold did not seem to be bothering him one bit. Either the it was somehow see-through, or the he was using some other sense. Eitherway, he found himself holding a small, sketched pencil drawing. I could describe its content in objective terms but such a description would be useless to you, as you would not have his memories and asociations to interpret those facts, and see their underlying thoughts and feelings. All I can say is that it was a juvinile drawing; one in which everything looked wonderful and everyone was smiling.
“Hn. Hmmmm.
Yes, I can use this.
Did you come up with this..?”
He nodded. The ferryman shifted his head and raized his eyebrows in recognition.
“Well, next up, we'll have to destroy the sample I built this world out of. ”
“I'll just turn away untill you're done. ” the playwright whispered, and did just that. “Yeah. Sure” The ferryman got out a lighter in one hand, and an old, wrinkled fotograph in the other, which didn't last very long in the flame. “Charon, ehh, do I still need to pay the styx fare?” The playwright asked, knowing full well the answer would be 'yes', yet still clinging to the hopes of a 'no'.
“I was afraid I'd have to remind you myself.” Charon muttered apologetically. He scratched his head and leaned to the side. “I'll make it it quick.” The playwright had already gotten out his right hand, which had been resting in his pocket up intill then. It struck me how his middle-, ring- and pinky finger weren't standing straight anymore; they seamed to have swollen and had turned pinkish blue. He raided held up his hand, as though he was handing the ferryman his payment, even though his palm was empty. Instead, the ferryman wrapped his hand around the playwright's index finger and made a quick, decisive rotary gesture, that snapped it at the knuckle. He cringed and groaned, but quickly managed a recovery, and contained most of his reaction.
“You never get used to it, do you?” Charon sympathized
“Hah! I'm FINE!” the playwright said coarsely with a sarcastic grimace.
The two stood there silently for a moment. Charon listened to the rushing of the wind and clashing of the waves of the river styx, while the playwright waited for the waves of pain in his hand to subside. Time drags by when a decision has been made, and all that remained was to say to goodbye.
The town was a million miles under. Even though he had never informed his subjects of the nature of their creation, it was hard not interpret their rabbid looks of fear and resentment as a sign that they knew they were about to be abandonned. Even their irrational phobia of cannibalism could merely be a result of the way he himself had treated them. He was, however, not willing to interpret manners that way. He wished not to live in a world where everything was somehow his fault, and instead chose to make some logical consessions. After all, he was not a scientist.
The others spent the afternoon divining some hitghly advanced, agonizing means of execution. He did not involve himself in the process, from which it followed that he was their next subject (that is how a cannibal was detected). He overheard parts of their hours long discussion in which they laid down their sience; in how many parts the carpals could be fractured under optimal circumstances, how to make effecient use of a tissue with a high density of nerve endings and all the different ways in which leftover meat could be repurposed.
His price was payed. When his time came to be tied up brought to the shed, Charon appeared at his side, and told him to close his eyes. The world spun as he fell through a great number of doorways untill he could watch from a distance, his body being carried off into the shed.
“Your request was settled with the old man.” Charon smiled and directed his look at the shed in which the playwright's empty vessel was being deconstructed “They won't follow you overseas now that they think your dead. So we're all set. Let's go!”
Wildwes was Lynched on Day 5! He was the Playwright, a “Vanilla”. He was Town-alligned!
“This is the part that always gets me” Wildwes exclaimed, after they had been sailing for a while. “I just can't believe this place used to be my idea of paradise.”
The End
PlatinumAshes
I am now certain that you are not scum and are just town trying to play scum as hard as possible.
0
Haha, I'd be suprised if many people got it. I know it's very very confusing stuff, but it's more about the 'feel' of it anyway :p
Jeroen_Sol
Nothing reveals Humanity so well as the games it plays. A game of betrayal, where the most suspicious person is brutally murdered? How savage.
3885
As one of Platinum's personal friends, I can tell you it's best not to question what comes out of his keyboard, even if you don't understand it, and try to enjoy the cryptic and metaphoric mindfuckery regardless. ;-)
(That is, when you're not correcting his grammar :) )
(That is, when you're not correcting his grammar :) )
