Kasmandre

Hours later, the construction is left for another day and the guards and prisoners have a short meal before retiring to their respective barracks. An hour after sunset, the only people about are the unlucky guards who drew guard duty. Maybe... At the Commandant's office a light burns as Ulster continued his work, mindless of the time of night. Even on the edge of exhaustion, he believed that he was almost finished with his compilation. But, as the time dragged past, he could feel his head drooping. Until, finally... Deep in the forest, the tribe had come to a decision. The time for action was at hand. The intruders would be swept out like the passing tide. Their two fiercest warriors strode from the forest, through the dark of night and into the death-bringers' colony. They took their mortal flesh like a hunter wears the skin of its prey and walked to their first victim. The one who led this unholy place. The warriors whispered with one voice, "Ulster." The Commandant jerked awake, startled by the vividness of the dream. Deciding that enough was enough for one night, he began to gather up the papers he'd been poring over. He was putting them back in their files at the back of the room when he heard the door open. He turned stark white as the two native warriors from his dream strode across the room. Convinced that this was still a dream, he only screamed when the warriors faded and he recognized his two killers. The scream woke up most of the colony. Everyone, guards and prisoners alike, rushed to the Commandant's Office. Rushing through the still-open door, they saw the Commandant lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling with wide, terrified eyes, his throat bruised where it had been throttled. After the initial shock wore off, the guards managed to get the prisioners out of the Office and back in their barracks. Then they gathered to try and figure out what was to be done. The supply ship should show up within the next week or two, but until then, they had at least one active killer on the island. ooc: Well, the Commandant's good and dead. The Day Phase begins now and will end in about 48 hours. Roles are now being sent out. If you don't get a PM, you're a villager. Let the accusations begin!!!

A little later than I'd planned, but it's begun. NPC death and distribution of roles (baner, seer, 2 wolves) will go out in 24 hours (give or take ). Character submissions are open until then.

From the Journals of Commandant Edward James Ulster (assumably earmarked for a scholarly work on the natives of Annisberg): Looking up from his journals and notes for the first time in hours, Commandant Ulster listened to the sounds of the convicts laboring on the new baracks. He knew that he should go out to inspect the work and to make sure that the guards weren't taking too much advantage of the prisoners or vise versa. At the very least, he should make the appearance. But the prisoners and guards were all rough and uninteresting, while the dead natives were intriguing and, in their own way, alive. He was sure that he was on the cusp of a great breakthrough in his research, having accumulated a number of accounts on their actual incantations. With a little more work, he might just be able to reconstruct them in whole. With a last fitful look at the door, Ulster turned back to his papers. ooc: feel free to RP your characters actions. The first (NPC) death will be posted in about 24 hours, at which time everyone will get their respective roles. If anyone else wants to join in, you have until the first death. Game on!

I am vapour. Formless, sightless, aimless. I may be everywhere at once or nowhere at all. I move at the whim of wind and stay at my own expense. Little noticed, little known, ignored at others' cost. I may cool and soothe or burn and corrode. Such is my power, such is my curse. Such are all things in the end, carried on the wind.

An NPC spirit would be fine Tanny. If the wolves have their way, you'll have plenty of company soon :yuiwink: I'm going to make the first post sometime tomorrow evening, both to give a little extra time for anyone else who wants to sign up and because I had my last final of the quarter today and I'm wiped (figures the course I've been dreading the final for would be at the earliest possible slot). All the characters so far look great!

Kasmandre the Koot wanders into the Cabaret Room just in time to hear Zariah start detailing the 1950's rules for wives. Ignoring every word that was said after that, he stands up and begins pontificating. "Yup, those were the days, when you could count on a nice soft chair and a hot meal on the table after a long day's work. Not like today when-" Kasmandre's cut off as he's pelted with blunt objects from all sides of the room. ooc: seriously though, if I ever came home and a woman was doing the 50's style stuff, I'd be sure I'm in the wrong house. Incidentally, I've seen that Home Ec exerpt before and it never ceases to amaze me and creep me out a little.

Excerpt from the Report on the Incident on His Majesty's Penal Colony on Annisberg: That's about it. You're all convicts or guards on the English penal colony at Annisberg around the start of the 19th century. It's a fairly small colony as these things go, but, despite the lack of walls or cells, escape is nearly impossible unless you fancy hiding out in the jungle for the rest of your life. The only way off the island is a supply ship that comes about four times a year and drops off supplies and prisoners and picks up guards whose term of duty is up and pardoned prisoners. There used to be some native people on the island, but they all died of smallpox and other diseases shortly after the English started the colony. Unfortunately, they didn't leave. The angry spirits of the native people still haunt the island and they've had just about enough with the colony. The wolves will be prisoners or guards possessed by these spirits. The spirits want to wipe out the invading presence and leave the island a sacred place, as it once was. The baner has managed to get the key to the Commandant's armory, where the firearms are kept and is using the weapons to protect the other villagers. The seer knows the island like the back of his hand and get pretty much anywhere unnoticed and can spy on the other guards and convicts. The Commandant is an NPC. He's not really made for running a penal colony and spends most of his time studying the records of the colony, especially the ones about the natives. He pretty much lets the guards run things but will step in if they get seriously out of line. I'll probably start game either Thursday or Friday. Some general rules: -no PM alliances. PMing to establish relationships is fine before game starts, but after the first NPC kill, only the wolves should be PMing each other. -day phases will be 48 hours, night phases 24 hours. RP during the night phase is encouraged, but no accusation/speculation. -dead players can come back as ghosts and interact with the living or other spirits, but no influencing the living. -When accusing, include an ooc line stating specifically who you're accusing. I think that's it. Can't wait to see what you guys come up with.

It's over? Wow. That has to be some kind of record. Great job, everyone! Tanny, if Vahk can't mod, I should be able to start mine. Just PM me.

By my count, the voting stands thusly: Venefyxatu/Emmett -> 5 votes Quincunx/Marisa -> 3 votes Knight/Bernie -> 1vote But, with three votes still outstanding and people changing votes left and right, this could change in a hurry! Stay tuned...

Kaz grimaced, thinking of all the reasons why he shouldn't agree to deal with Marisa (and there were a lot), then thinking of having his name in the title credits. It was too much to pass up. He took a cigarette from the pack and accepted a light from Marisa. He took a long drag, stifling a cough. After Marisa had lighted her own cigarette, Kaz asked, "So, who do you think did it, that Emmett kid?" ooc: changing my vote to Emmett/Venefyxatu for the time being

Kaz prowled the upper reaches of the catwalks, making sure that no one else was present. After all, he couldn't be too careful. How many people had died already, two, three? And he'd have to take precautions if he was going to avoid being next. Decending to stage level, he hung up a sign: Catwalks off limits to ALL personell.I mean it! Then he climbed back up and went to check on one of the left fresnels. He'd seen it flickering yesterday and it might need its lamp adjusted. He also thought he'd seen someone up there messing with it, but the only one who was ever up on the catwalks besides him was... Kaz stopped halfway to the light. It had to be her. Anyone who would sabotage a defenseless lighting instument would be capable of anything! ooc: Accusing Quincunx/Marisa Hawkins

Give me the strength to change what I cannot accept, the tenacity to accept what I cannot change, and the wisdom to know the difference. > this one is what I try to live by And the Calvin and Hobbes version: "Give me the strength to change the things I can, the serenity to accept the things I cannot, and the inability to tell the difference."

Kaz looked around the set as he swept up pieces of what used to be one of his fresnels' lenses. He'd have to get another down from his workshop before shooting started again or there'd be a shadowy spot where it was supposed to shine. And that idjit of a director wouldn't even notice... Picking up the last pieces of the lens (and of the gel which had burst when the lens shards poked through it), Kaz made his way back to his workshop. On his way he overheard several members of the crew whispering about sabotage. Most stopped before he could get close enough to hear particulars, though. But that was nothing new. No one really trusted "Creepy" Kaz...If Kaz ever found out who started that... Sorting through the other fresnels, Kaz found an 8" with a fairly new lamp. As he checked the new light over, he thought about who might want to sabotage the set. I'd say the director, but he'd be more apt to do it out of stupidity than design. Same with the producer, buncha stuck up stuffed shirts, got no appreciation for the fine art of illumination... Now that Buzz guy, he used to be a leading man. Now he plays the mask-and-facepaint roles, but if he were to save someone from an onstage accident... As he rushed the new light out to the set, Kaz watched Buzz carefully. He didn't seem to be acting strangely, but it was hard to tell since he was orange. Now that's a pain. Lighting people with regular skin tone's tough enough, now I have to figure out what not to do to a guy who's orange. Maybe some magenta and cyan... no, not magenta...maybe a strong lavender... Kas had the light finished before he noticed that a few of the grips were looking at him more than usual. He was halfway back to the catwalks before he realized why. He'd gotten gel from the broken light all over his shirt. Figures it'd be R26 too...I probably look like the town butcher or something. But, not having another shirt here, Kaz would have to make do with a shirt with dark red stains on it. ooc: accusing Buzz Lightyear...I mean Beckenstein/Gnarlitch

-Whether you think you can or can't, you're right. -If something sounds like a great idea after a few drinks, it's not. -If someone asks if you're a god, you say yes.

Last year, I played Texas Hold-em a lot with the other guys in my dorm, but since I've moved off campus I really haven't played any...maybe I should try getting something together...

Kaz happened to be standing on a catwalk directly above the explosion when it went off and had to grab one of the handrails to keep from going over the side. After righting himself, he set about making sure that none of the lights in this area of the catwalks had been shaken loose. After a few minutes of checking, he realigned the ones that had slipped and was scanning the catwalks again. Where is she; where is she? he thought to himself, wondering for the hundreth time why he let her up on his catwalks. But then, those shiny new Altman axials had blinded him, so to speak. The director and producers didn't understand the importance of lighting in the new world of color. Temperature and intensity weren't enough anymore, you had to worry about color and amber drift. Kaz needed more intruments and more gels. And if he had to let some crazy mother up on his 'walks to get them, that's what he'd have to do. It was annoying, though, trying to keep an eye on her. Kaz tried to know where she was at all times. It wouldn't do for her to be upsetting his lighting. It was time-consuming keeping an eye on her though. Kaz had been so busy with it that he'd hardly even heard the director yelling for him (but then the director should know better than to doubt his lighting). Kaz scanned the catwalks one last time, not seeing the mother. Either she was behind one of the hanging flats stored up here or she'd gone back to stage level. As much as Kaz wanted to scour the level looking for her, he had to go back to ground to fix the floor level lighting, which had almost certainly been thrown out of whack by the explosion and would have to be fixed. Sighing, Kaz decended to stage level.

Awesome ending, Deg. Definitely worth waiting for.

Fxz'et arrived to see Klen and Que-essa in the middle of a heated lightsaber duel. Briefly, he considers letting the two finish this on their own, but then he would have little control over how it actually ended. And also, two on one is always entertaining. He activated his lightsaber and dived into the fray. Que-essa had only a moment to react to this new threat, but did so admirably, fighting off both Klen's and Fxz'et's blows. But now she was on the defensive and it was only a matter of time... ooc: vote for Celes/Que-essa

"Creepy" Kaz Johnson- Kind of creepy gaffer who spends most of his time up on the catwalks adjusting lighting or working in his cramped office fixing various pieces of equipment. Has the unnerving tendency to stare at others without speaking. Still, he's good at what he does and works hard: he's usually the first one on the set in the morning and the last one to leave at night. In fact, no one's actually ever seen him leave...

Me gusta you guys! (It's part spanish...) Anyway, congratulations to everyone promoted! Enjoy your shiny new ranks! And finally, "I wear more bracelets than a Russian whore."

Happy Birthday!

A thousand congratulations, every one richly deserved!

I'm in. Hopefully, I can win this one first.

Fxz'et watched as the Republic soldiers swarmed in, three dozen fighting men armed with blaster rifles and pistols, all aimed directly at him. He thumbed on the control for his mag-armor and activated his lightsaber. He could feel the magnetic field pressing inward at him even as the soldiers opened fire. As the first bolts bounced harmlessly off his armor and lightsaber blade, he grasped the Force, pulling it into him. In his mind, he was a spinning dynamo of power, an invincible juggernaut, wrath incarnate. He looked out at the hate-filled faces of the captured soldiers, given weapons and a target for the first time in weeks. Fxz'et focused his hatred at them. To him, half seemed to be wearing Klen's face, the other half, Que'essa's. He plunged inward, tearing into his helpless foes. He barely noticed the carnage he wreaked. All his attention was on the dilemma that was tearing at him inside. Which one? I'll only have one chance. The woman or the Bothan? If I chose wrong, I'll be dead and there'll be none to challenge the Jedi. Which one? Klen? Que'essa? Which? Fxz'et came out of his own thoughts just enough to notice that all but one of the soldiers was lying dead on the ground, all of them ruthlessly mangled and most of their weapons destroyed with the Force. The last soldier dropped his own rifle, now little more than a mangled chunk of plassteel and, fumbling, pulled a cylinder off his belt. After a few vain attempts, he managed to activate the lightsaber Fxz'et had had given him. Reaver's lightsaber. A Jedi lightsaber. It was the space of seconds to destroy the pathetic creature as it was even clumsier with the blade than Fxz'et was. Fxz'et stared down at the corpse of his last foe. Like all the others, he saw the face of one of his fellow students on it. He'd received an answer through the Force, through his rage. He knew who the Jedi was. Fxz'et left to go kill them. ooc: not nearly as sure of the Jedi as my character is. Will post again before deadline.

Fxz'et looks down at the smoldering wreck of Zarek's ship. He really didn't care that Zarek was dead, he'd never liked him much, but it was a shame that Zarek's ship had been destroyed in the crash. Fxz'et wished the Jedi who killed Zarek could have chosen another time to off him. Ah well, he thought, I guess I'll just have to take comfort in the fact that he suffered horribly. Passing a knot of students as he leaves the crash site he says, "It's a good thing Reaver got to Zarek quick enough to hear his last words. Of course, we do only have Reaver's word for it, but that should be enough..." ooc: accuse Gryphon/Reaver