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House Targaryen

GoT Mafia Game 70

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Yo guys. Everyone in the world and especially everyone on this forum, is invited to play in my forthcoming game of Mafia! If you've never played before, now is a brilliant time to start, and if you have played before, you know you want to again.

The game will begin on Tuesday 8th December, AD 2009, at 12am GMT (6pm on Monday in Chicago, 7pm in Baltimore, 1am on tuesday in Berlin, 2am in Cape Town, 6am in Novosibirsk, 10am in Sydney). Game days are likely to last ~36 hours. There will be a twist to game mechanics, but it will be a really fun one I promise (and hopefully balanced :)). Scene and things to follow. Also, if you can't play but would like to mod, I need some helpers so that would be much appreciated!

A quick preview of the setting: it will be set in Westeros, in the time of King Wayne 1st :)

Summary: Sign up to play mafia in a week and a half's time!

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Dawn breaks on a cold dreary winter's day as Lord Gareth Stark sits in his kitchen poring over the arrangements for the party he has been charged with organising next week. Gareth reflects that this all might be a bit less stressful if he actually had a guest list sorted by now; as it was he knew five people were coming, but no-one else had responded to his widely circulated invitations. Oh and the King would be there too of course. Luckily King Wayne was a different sort of dragon from his fire-loving ancestors - there wasn't any chance that this modern monarch would contrive a situation where two teams of his nobles end up pitted against each other to the death, let them fight it out while all the while knowing who the bad guys are and yet letting them get on with it. But it's moot anyway, since the chance of any kind of violence mayhem or wantom destruction happening after the party was pretty much zero, Gareth was confident of that.

Quite apart from the question of who would actually be there, the venue was still all up in the air (not literally, although he had considered a hot-air ballooning trip for his guests, before deciding that even nowadays, mixing a Targaryen with fire in a perilous confined space would not be a terribly bright idea). He could of course use his ancestral home, Winton Castle, but he wasn't sure that the Westeros Heritage Board would allow it, and the public halls in Winton itself didn't seem to have quite the right air of opulence he thought necessary. There was always the hollowed out volcano he used as a base for world domination plotting, but it's not yet wheelchair accessible, so it would never do.

Gareth sighed. This party has to be good - it's been 10 years since the Restoration and 20 since the end of the Terror, and the nation needs a chance to celebrate, especially as Dorne just had its festivities to mark 100 years of independence. What could be a better show of national solidarity that to see the former noblemen and women who used to rule and exploit the common people simply by right of birth, once again receiving privileges simply by virtue of their hereditary title? He certainly couldn't think of anything. Yes, the people will love it, and the guests will have a great time, and nothing and nobody could possibly mar or ruin it in any way. And they are going to have steak!

Lord Stark relaxed. Everything will go according to plan.

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"...so we can see that these results generally support the idea that stong rays and sharks use electroreceptors to provide a compass dependent on the local geomagnetic field."

Master Veronica Lannister paused. Her first week as an underlecturer at the University of Aulton was going quite well she thought. On balance at least. Sure there'd been the powercut during the first lecture she gave, and the fire alarm in the second. And the third had been cut short by that student demonstration. Thnking back on it though, those events had probably been what kept her students awake - as Mtr Lannister looked around the theatre she could identify the sources of several murmured snores, and the rest of them were shuffling, clearly wanting to go.

"Thank you very much - next time we'll be looking at biological clocks"

As the students shuffled out, Veronica reflected that her life had really contained an extraordinary amount of misfortune, ill-fated plans, and sheer bad luck. Not in any of the big things sure, but all the little things seemed to go wrong no matter how hard she tried. And it couldn't be like she was being puniched for the crimes of her ancestors or anything (not that she'd believe in such, of course - the resurgence of the Faith in the years following the Terror hadn't yet reached the secluded courts of the Citadel). After all, she knew from the history lessons in school that it was the Lannisters who bravely and heroically attempted to defend the realm from the second Targaryen invasion all those years ago. Of course she was now a loyal subject of King Wayne, but that didn't mean she'd forgotten the Lannisport massacre all those years ago.

"Master Lann'ster?"

Veronica blinked and looked up, "Yes?"

"Could you get out of the theatre please, we're about to start" Archmaster Baleson barked, and gestured to the rows of waiting students who had taken their places as Veronica stood lost in thought.

As she walked out embarassed she reflected that Balson really was an insufferable man - the sort who (one suspected) didn't quite approve of the fact that Aulton now granted chains to women, let alone gave them masterships. It started raining, and Veronica started to cry. This first week really wasn't going well at all, no matter what she told herself. There is, though, that party for the current heads of some of the old arastocratic families. Bit anachronistic really, but it is something to look forward to. Maybe this will be the day when she can finally prove herself, finally think of herself as an accepted member of society, finally prove that one can succeed even if one is unlucky. Yes, she thought, I'm not going to allow anyone or anything to spoil it.

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The thing about, like, streets, Prince Rupert Martell was thinking to himself, is that they, like, have houses and shops on, and they're all in rows. After pondering this for a little while, he staggered to the nearest wall to lean against it a vomit. Having discharged himself, he felt much refreshed, and really in the mood for a bit of a sing-song. Lifting his voice to a hoarse shout it suddenly dawned on him that he was all alone - his friends had unaccountably vanished. He wasn't sure how long ago it was that he'd been with them. Mother wouldn't be happy with him if he returned like this, he knew. He'd only had a couple of drinks, so far as he could remember anyway, but there was no reasoning with her. Rupert could hear his mother's voice ringing through his head from the last time he'd gone out all night ' no way for the prince of Dorne to act', she'd gone on and on. He reflected bitterly that that seemed to be her catchphrase nowadays. he knew it was only sadness and pity in her eyes when she spoke to him, never anger, but what could he do about it? It wasn't his fault his father had been killed in the republican uprising all those years ago - he could barely even remember their midnight flight from Sunspear to Aulton and then up to Whittarbour. His mother called him Prince Rupert, but he knew that she fooled no-pne, not even herself. Prince of the Whittarbour Piss Alley, that was about it. He refrained from pointing this out to his mother - the one time that he had, she'd suggested that that he therefore ought to get a proper job. Fearing that, if he mentioned it again, she'd go further and actually arrange one for him, he let her have her make-believe. He sat down heavily in the Yarundel's shop doorway, and swore as a spasm of pain went up his back. He had his life, and it was pretty good. he couldn't go home though. Not yet. He'd go in the morning. His last thought as he drifted off to sleep on the cold stone flags of the pavement was to remember the party he was going to on monday - a gathering of the heirs of historic families; Dorne may now be a separate country, and a republic to boot, but he still got an invite. The party would be fun. It would be nice to get out of this shithole for a few days. And nice to get away from his mother...

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"The thing is, Amanda, we value you as an individual, but we're not sure that you quite fit in with the uh, aims and vision of the company at the current time. We are very sorry, we can assure you"

Lady Amanda Frey stared at the two very unapologetic-looking men on the other side of the desk

"What you mean is, the company has the aim of not losing buckets of maney and the vision to sack half the workforce to save a few pennies. Truly inspiring"

"I think this meeting is concluded, Lady Frey. You may go". The sneer in his voice was pronounced, though the effect was minimised by his lisp. Amanda guessed that these were two who had benefited from the Equality of Opportunity (Serfs) Act thirty years ago, of the same cohort who privatised Trident River Customs, and took her ancestral home away from her family. Only one half of the Twins survives now, due to the callous destructiveness of the planners who built the new M2 bridge straight through the middle of formerly Frey land. Amanda clenched her fists but held her tongue as she walked out of the office.

Still, now that she had no job, she had plenty of time to pack for Gareth's bash. It would be good to see him again - they last time she had seen him was when they were both novices in Aulton, a while ago now. And it would be interesting to see who else turned up - an intriguing idea for a celebration for sure, to invite only noble lords and ladies. Amanda couldn't wait to see how it turned out. At the very least, it would be a chance to relax away from Barmley, where it seemed every other week, there was a gruesome murder or a bunch of people would together form a majority vote to kill someone they deemed 'suspicious'; bizarrely this was in no way illegal. But nothing of that nature would happen up in Winton, she was sure. And when she got back, she could worry about finding a job. Now was time just to have fun.

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"Penelope Amelia Arryn! Get down here this instant! If you think that this is how a young lady of Arryn behaves when she's asked to..."

"For fuck's sake Dad" the object of Lord Rex Arryn's ire, his sixteen-year-old and purple-haired eldest daughter, was clearly none too impressed by her father's argument, "no-one gives a shit about House Arryn. And our fucking noble ancestors could probably do what they wanted anyway, without having to listen to the stupid fucking rules of their stupid fucking parents"

Downstairs in the two-bed terraced house the family of 5 lived in, Lady Arryn could see her husband growing steadily more apopletic, "Leave her, dear, it's not important"

Rex calmed down at the sound of her voice, as she knew he would. He had spent his childhood being shouted at by an angry father, who had still not forgotten the family's loss of the Eyrie, back in hisfather's time. So Rex tried hard not to subject his daughters to the same thing; he knew that he shouldn't burden them with their family's past - that was dead and gone. It had been the invitation to Lord Stark's party next week that had disturbed him. He was looking forward to it, of course, but he had mixed emotions about it - maybe it really was time that they all moved on from the aristocratic system of the past. The country had already, but those who still held their family titles found it much harder to. Sighing, Rex resolved to apologise to Penelope later. It was all the fault of this damn party up at Stark's. He'd go, but the whole thing was never a good idea, he decided.

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Siobhan Stokeworth buried her head in her hands and wept. Now, away from the busyness of her day-life in the city; after the television had stopped its transmission for the night, when the cars on the street passed only occasionally, she could let her tears flow. It had been a week since she’d left Dave, a week to come to terms with the situation. It had seemed like such an obvious decision two weeks ago – she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep her relationship with Derek secret from Dave forever, and they hadn’t seemed to be moving forward together as a couple at all. But now she missed his gentle laughter, and the way he’d always bring her a cup of tea when she got back from work. She thought she hadn’t been happy with Dave, but if that was the case, why did it hurt so much that he hadn’t called since she’d made him move out? And why did she keep returning to his workshop in the basement to cry? Siobhan resolved to be stronger from now on. What was done was done, and Derek would be returning from Lys in a few days. And, of course, there was that party up North. For the heads of the Households, the invitation had said, which applied to her as the lady of Stokeworth, she supposed. Not that, as far as she could tell, the family had ever been terribly distinguished. Anyway, that was tomorrow, so she must get ready. It will be a new start, Lady Stokeworth decided. A chance to rebuild her life. To prove herself all over again. She sighed, as she wondered whether she would be truly ready in time.

PS: please note the new game start time - 7 hours later than planned. Apologies if this inconveniences anyone.

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Jez Tyrell smiled, closed his eyes and let out a contented sigh. Everything in his life seemed to be going just right - he had proposed to Sammie last night on the bank of the Mander, and she had said yes, his landlord had earlier rang up to tell him that his rent was going to be halved for next month, and his promotion had come through just last week. And to cap it all off, he was invited to that posh do up at Winton tonight. The trains were running on time today and he had finished his packing well ahead of time, so he had nothing to worry about now, but simply wait on reflect on how great everything was as he sat with a beer in his spacious back garden with the sun shining congenially down on him. It occurred to Jez that maybe his life, if summarised, might seem a little boring, but at least, he thought, it wouldn't take too long to write down, like it might if he had more complications. That might be important to someone, he supposed, but he couldn't think why.

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Keffer Botley stared out of his studio window glumly. This mist and drizzle was never going to clear before he had to walk to Gulton station to catch his train. He knew he'd probably catch a chill on the way, what with his chest. Not that th train journey itself would be any better. He shuddered to think of how the carriage would rattle and shake - he could feel sick just imaginaing rushing past all those fields and towns, recklessly (or so he always thought it) thundering down the track. He hoped that Stark's kitchen would take account of his dairy, nut and gluten allergies. He shuddered again. He knew that he must try to be more sociable - this would be good for him, or so he hoped. But he couldn't help but feel that life is so much more pleasant when you can get along without other people. Other people had germs and were loud and obnoxious. Still, this party is just for those gently born, if that means anything at all these days, so it should be civilised. Or so he thought. Or so he hoped.

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Rose Tully laughed as she reflected on the bizarre, convulted, tragic and comic in equal measure series of events that had brought Eadweard Dondarrion, Thomas Hunt Stonetree Ronald Kenning, Francesca Cerwyn, Victor Erenford and Stevie Yronwood to her house for some pre-drinks before they headed up to Winton Lodge for Gary's party. It would make a really good story, she knew, if someone took the time and effort to write it out for the benefit of anyone reading - each one of her guests was a complex character, filled with regrets, hopes and tics, and their interaction was truly fascinating to watch. She hoped that if anyone in the future did deign to describe the scene, they wouldn't just fob the audience off with collectively summarising everyone together and eulogising on how interesting it would be to find out more. That would be rubbish. Still, the mulled wine urn was looking empty and Eadeward had scoffed the last mince pie, so she supposed it was time to go. The party would start soon.

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CLUNK!

That was ominous. You could have sworn that that sounded almost exactly like all the doors in Winton Lodge being sealed as part of some dastardly plan. And your hearing always was very good. Around you a worried murmur has broken out among the guests.

"Silence!" boomed a voice from somewhere, "I, King Wayne Targaryen, have engineered this little gathering for one reason and one reason only" he paused, in what seemed to you to be a heavily rehearsed way. Unfortunately, he left it a little too long, so it sounded like he'd just lost his place in the script, but you supposed you had to make allowances - King Wayne never was the sharpest tool in the box. Nor had he ever orchestrated something like this before. You had to hand it to him; from the goons guarding the door to the rather excellent dinner buffet, this all seemed rather well organised. "I want to make you pay" the voice continued, "not one of the noble families stood by House Targaryen forty years ago, but cowardly gave up your homes and influence to the lowborn peasant scum who now run this place. To cut to the chase, only one of you will leave this place - you will decide among you who that will be. Your ancestors were involved in similar, uh, games, but I have decided to make some changes. There will be no teams, no camaraderie. Three of your number have been given equipment suitable for removing people at night, and they can communicate, sure, but the rest of you are not undefenceless. You will be given the means to defend yourself, to remove others, and to survive. But there can be only one winner. I await the result eagerly."

Well, shit, you think. Not again.

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A synopsis:

Rules are standard - if anyone has any questions PM me

Days will be 35 hours, night 8 hours - both of these are MAXIMUM, not a target - days are so long because some people won't be able to be too active. in particular one player has indicated that they won't be able to post for about 20 hours into the start of the game. Please be considerate.

This game will be an individual game, not a team game. Nevertheless, I suggest that if you are innocent, you work together to find the FM first, then start stabbing each other in the back if you get the chance. Since this is novel, it is probably unbalanced and unstable - i apologise. There will be 3 FM and no symps, nor any roled innocents.

You will be able to earn points based on your game play in the following manner:

Gaining points:

1 for making 1 post

1 for making 20 posts

1 for reaching 60 posts

1 for reaching 150 posts

-2 if the mods believe you are spamming in order to get these points more quickly

1 for laying the first vote on a successful lynch train

1 for laying a hammer vote

1 for not moving your vote all day, regardless of who is lynched

1 if you are on the mob of an FM who is lynched

1 for not being on an innocent lynchmob

5 for getting WJ lynched

2 for all surviving players if all three FM are killed

These points can then be spent on transient roles, in order to kill off the competition:

4 – one vig kill, to be used whenever you wish

1 – suicide bomber jacket – if you are lynched, you take one person down with you who was on your lynch train

1 – a heal, can be used on anyone apart from yourself

4 – a shield – you cannot be killed at night for one night (this is used up that night reagrdless of whether you were targeted)

2 – notebook of Gregor Clegane – if you are killed at night (this only works if the kill is successful) anyone who targeted you will also die.

5 – mystic shield – if at any point after you purchase this item, more than one person tries to kill you in the same night, you will not die. You will not be informed that your mystic shield has come in useful, but it will remain active. It offers no protection if only one person (or the FM team) tries to kill you - if that happens, you will surely die)

3 – binoculars – all the night actions of one particular night will be PMed to you in the morning (this does not include who carried out each action, only what the action was, and who was the target)

2 –guarding gloves – one guard

THIS IS SUBJECT TO REVISION at any time before the end of day 1. You will not be told when you have earnt points, but if you PM the mods we will tell you your current balance. You can buy abilities at any time, and may assume that you have that ability (if you have sufficient points) as soon as you send us the PM. All abilities can only be used at night.

There will also be very loose alt-rules in this game. You may reveal your alt if you wish, and you may alt speculate, but you may not ask someone outright to reveal their alt. Sorry if you like stricter alt rules - i thought i'd go weak due to the new board design.

There will be 14 players:

Siobhan Stokeworth

Veronica Lannister

Gareth Stark

Rupert Martell

Amanda Frey

Jez Tyrell

Keffer Botley

Rose Tully

Eadweard Dondarrion

Thomas Hunt Stonetree

Ronald Kenning

Francesca Cerwyn

Victor Erenford

Stevie Yronwood

You may post as soon as you receive your login PM. Enjoy the game!

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To the players of the game - apologies. The game may well crash and burn, and not work at all. I wanted to try something new, and you guys are the victims of that whim I am afraid. I hope it will be lots of fun though, and also that i can learn from this game and do the same set-up again in the future but actually properly prepared and balanced. So - no whining in spoilers, I've done my best :P

I'm about to start sending out PMs - you can post as soon as you get it. If anyone doesn't want to play now you know the set-up, that's fine, but you have to help me mod instead. That goes for dead players too :)

And my lovely co-mod will be MinDonner :)

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God damn it! Grandpa said not to accept the invitation. He said it was a trap but did I listen? Nooooooooo. Feck.

I'll be in the corner creating a complex character, filled with regrets, hopes and tics, and figuring out which of my interactions are truly fascinating to watch since the narrator can't be bothered to :P

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I'll be in the corner creating a complex character, filled with regrets, hopes and tics, and figuring out which of my interactions are truly fascinating to watch since the narrator can't be bothered to :P

Interesting... you seem both the type who enjoys RP and the type who has problems keeping their mouth shut.

1 for laying the first vote on a successful lynch train

*Eyes Stevie* *mouth waters*

Yes, erm... I think I'll just cast a joke vote on Stevie Yronwood. You know, just a beginning of day 1 joke vote. Just for laughs. hahaha hahahaha Bwahahahahahaha *coughs* Sorry, got a little carried away there.

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It is day 1.

14 players remain: Amanda Frey, Eadweard Dondarrion, Francesca Cerwyn, Gareth Stark, Jez Tyrell, Keffer Botley, Ronald Kenning, Rose Tully, Rupert Martell, Siobhan Stokeworth, Stevie Yronwood, Thomas Hunt Stonetree, Veronica Lannister, Victor Erenford.

8 votes are needed for a conviction or 7 to go to night.

1 vote for Keffer Botley (Stevie Yronwood)

1 vote for Stevie Yronwood (Victor Erenford)

12 players have not voted: Amanda Frey, Eadweard Dondarrion, Francesca Cerwyn, Gareth Stark, Jez Tyrell, Keffer Botley, Ronald Kenning, Rose Tully, Rupert Martell, Siobhan Stokeworth, Thomas Hunt Stonetree, Veronica Lannister.

To note: day one end time is strictly defined by the vote counter in my sig. If your PM contained no role or alignment info, you are RI

and if anyone's login doesn't work, try changing the case of the first letter of the password

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You're all evil! All of you!! You've lured me here to kill me and eat my face and I really don't think that's acceptable behaviour. Especially after I hosted the pre-party drinks, which none of you remembered to RSVP for!

I'm voting everyone. I figure that's got to be worth a point or two eventually.

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