Thread: Circus: Mafia 2011: The Penultimate Frontier Board: Limbo / Ship of Fools.


To visit this thread, use this URL:
http://forum.ship-of-fools.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_topic;f=11;t=000800

---

Posted by AristonAstuanax (# 10894) on :
 
Ouranos Starlines cordially invites you to experience the pinnacle of interstellar slipstream travel on the maiden voyage of our new flagship, HCSS Ariston. Thanks to recent advances in slipstream technology pioneered at the Confederate University at Delos, we are able, at long last, to open a nonstop passenger and trade route between the the heart of the Hellenic Confederacy and the exotic worlds of the Lusitanian Alliance. No longer will the breathtaking Falls of Lamanath remain beyond the reach of our citizens, nor the majestic arcs of Eta Carinae . . .

Archeploiarchos Pelius smirked at the sales brochure the marketing wonks had put together. Not that a word of it was untrue; the Ariston was a marvel of engineering and craft, a wonder of human ingenuity perhaps never surpassed since the early days of the Transsolar Era. She was quite honored, and more than just a little humbled, to be given the chance to command the flagship on her maiden voyage; even if she had spent much of her life piloting and commanding capitol ships of various stripes, none of them compared to the Ariston. Her smooth, flowing lines, glowing brightwork, and positively seductive form—she was not so much a ship as a drive-capable work of art. The final preparations were being made for embarkation; supplies loaded, cargo stored in the vast hold, staterooms furnished and surfaces polished; in only a few short days, the greatest ship ever conceived would be cast free from her moorings at Zea Stardock and begin her first journey to Eta Carinae, a destination no Hellene had seen since before the first signs of the tension that would eventually become the Polarian War . . .
* * *
HELLENIC CONFEDERACY
Homeworld: Euboa
Capitol City: Delos
Government: Parliamentary Democracy . . .
International Relations: Neutral towards both parties in the Polarian Conflict, though recent provocations by Caadran agents have lead to public sentiment generally favoring the Presa Empire. Historically, the Hellenes have enjoyed a close relationship with the Lusitanian Empire; however, as the majority of the transit routes between the two nations pass through territory controlled by the belligerents in the late hostilities, trade and communication between the two has been greatly impeded. Furthermore, the Hellenes have yet to forget the failed attempt at infiltration and subversion by the Nidau several years ago; though relations have improved in recent years, tensions still remain, and should not be discounted.
Demographics . . .
* * *
Welcome to space, ladies and gentlemen! Though much has changed here in the future, the nature of sentient beings remains much the same—including, of course, the intrigue, backstabbing, and lies. Our little corner of the galaxy is currently involved in a bit of political unrest, which means, of course, that there are all sorts of shady (or virtuous) characters everywhere you turn, almost all of whom have a hidden agenda or three. Who's working for whom? How many people have been double-crossed by a three-armed hyperintelligent cactus this week? And what's the latest rumor about the most luxurious, most powerful, and most absolutely stunningly gorgeous starship ever built—the Ariston?

This one could get interesting. I would suggest having a seat at one of the windows and enjoying the view before we leave our parking orbit—unless, of course, you prefer to relax at one of our many remarkable bars. Of course, all this assumes you actually come aboard . . .

Your ticket, please.


*A note for character creation: this is space. If you feel like making whoever's in charge of coming up with alien races for Doctor Who look dull, be my guest. Prefer to stick with humans (generally speaking)? Also more than fine. The galaxy's a big place, after all—and the intrigue is by no means confined to this little corner of it.

[ 07. June 2012, 18:41: Message edited by: Belisarius ]
 

---

Posted by AristonAstuanax (# 10894) on :
 
Out of World:
For those of you who have never played—or, perhaps, last played a while ago—this here is Mafia, AKA Werewolf, AKA Murder Your Friends for Fun and, Well, Fun. I'm opening the signup period a little earlier than usual; it'll run for at least a week and a half—say, until I've eaten my Valentine's Day Cheapie Chocolates—since, well, the more passengers, crew, and assorted Characters we can get on board, the better. Of course, there are as many ways to play as there are players; some like to play the statistics route and look for irregularities in voting patters, some play the psychic psychologist and analyze motives and statements, some play a character in an unusual setting, and others of us just like to jam up the works and watch as chaos ensues.

Whatever your motive, whatever your ideals, I'd suggest signing up for the journey of a lifetime. Space is limited, and, once our ship has launched, there will be no turning back for stragglers.

Also, for those who like to develop their character before their role has been assigned: please do. You'll find the ship and her staff quite welcoming, I'm sure.

For more information, please see:
Ypres, 1917
Camp Sarastro, Egypt, 192X
Shipbury, the Cotswolds, 2010
Little Florence, Massachusetts, 2009
Cosenza Beach, 2006
(Also, I remember once seeing a Third Crusade setting, but couldn't find it in Limbo—if I hadn't seen it, we'd be in Northern Italy, 1308 right now, but I'm pretty sure this may be far more . . . interesting.)
 

---

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :
 
Yo estoy aqui! (=I am here!) Blame the Spanish on listening to tango lyrics late at night while running a FOUR HOUR database upgrade prep routine. Bluuuurgh.

Do you want characters right away, or can we think about it a bit? Or even, as some prefer, to give the character after the role is assigned?
 

---

Posted by AristonAstuanax (# 10894) on :
 
Yes.

 

---

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :
 
Boa Languina opened both sets of her eliptical eyelids wide. This ship was impressively beautiful. She only hoped its engineering was as good as its aesthetics.

One of the stewards pointed her towards the holographic inform-aton so that she could see for herself how to get to the entertainment crew quarters. The passageways were jammed full of happy and expectant embarkees, jostling for good seats in the Star Lounge and cabins nearest the ship's eatery.

Quickly, she made herself invisible and slithered up the wall and along the ceiling.

"Mmmm," she thought appreciatively, " nice surfacing applications. Fast. Clean. Cool to the scales."
 

---

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :
 
Herodartus boarded the ship full of excitement. Every time they turned a corner he double-blinked so as his glasses would take a picture of the fascinating quarters. This was a far cry from Harticanassus, the rather dull Hellene city he'd grown up in.

After having been awarded his research grant to write a new History, the like of which had never been written before, he'd immediately decided that travelling to Lusitanian worlds would be essential (now he had the money to do it in style). His aim was simple: to preserve the memory of the past by putting on record the astonishing achievements both of his own and of other peoples; and more particularly, to show how they came into conflict. How could he do that without write about the Polarian War, the greatest war that other peoples had ever waged on eachother? And, of course, first-hand research (and some excurses about their exotic local customs) would be essential.

Stopping in a nice looking bar, he ordered a drink and sat down to review the work of his predecessor in historical inquiry, the great Android historian 6Ti.S.
 

---

Posted by Rev per Minute (# 69) on :
 
It had often been said that amongst the exotic, the ordinary becomes interesting. On that basis, Reverse Minuto should have been the most interesting person on the starship, as he was almost certainly the most ordinary and, well, boring. Human-basic appearance, with no obvious genetic engineering, and no dreams to explore the universe and get close to green-skinned women. By far the most interesting thing about him was his first name - but even that had a mundane explanation.

Still, he boarded the starship without being noticed and made it to his stateroom with the minimum of interaction with his fellow passengers. All he wanted was for the ship to depart, so he could leave everything behind him - good and bad. Perhaps even the name could chasnge once he was far enough from home...
 

---

Posted by JFH (# 14794) on :
 
I'm in. Who and what I am I have not yet discovered.
 

---

Posted by obble (# 10868) on :
 
Obble-42 is a Hospitality Robot, who has already travelled the equivalent of 100 times around the known universe. It has been transferred to the Ariston from another ship which is currently being cut up for scrap due to its age. Physically the robot is approximately six feet tall, and has been programmed to have an intelligence roughly equivalent to that of its builders. It is largely a humanoid form, although it has a great many arms, many fitted with useful tools such as hammers and corkscrews. It also has the ability to fly short distances under its own power despite the ship's artificial gravity field.
 

---

Posted by AristonAstuanax (# 10894) on :
 
Nothing escaped the notice of Quartermaster Rhyddwyn as he monitored the loading of the ship; the Ariston was as much a trade ship as she was a passenger liner, carrying goods and data that was much in demand by the Lusitanian Alliance. Like the caravels and schooners of the long-past Age of Sail, the scarcity of ships able to perform like the Ariston necessitated that she be able to take on a multiplicity of roles. Beautiful though she may be, a cargo freighter's a cargo freighter—and likewise with a blockade runner. So long as the only routes between the Confederacy and its Alliance trade and business partners passed through disputed territory, it was simply too much of a risk to travel on any ship that couldn't evade detection, outrun, or outgun the combined fleets of two very well-armed belligerents. An unarmed and fantastically visible vessel really only had one option left to her . . .

Rhyddwyn's link with the ship let him know the location of every bit of data, every loaded parcel, every coded message, every work of art, every single thing that was valuable to someone on some world and on his ship. Thus, he was surprised when a rather well-dressed young woman approached him with a seamless metallic box. She shook his hand; the quartermaster had a flickering impression of the Hellenic Special Projects Division's logo, as well as a quick back-and-forth of neural authentication codes.

"This doesn't exist."

"I'm sure you people could have just put it in a box or something, labeled it 'recreational narcotics—no legitimate medical use,' and not even you would have known about it. It's not like you all don't have the power to hide things from me anyway!"

"The ship would know." Rhyddwyn heard the young woman's voice in his head—or at least the idea of it. She looked him in the eyes, and offered him the box.

"It's yours now. We'll pick it up on the other side."

She shook his hand and left, leaving a roll of bills—real, physical cash—in her wake. He thought about putting the box in the usual "secret" compartment—diplomatic packets, various contraband, illicit love letters from very well-connected people—but decided against it. If even the ship couldn't know about this . . .
 

---

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :
 
I'm in. Character to follow.
 

---

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :
 
It didn't take Boa Languina long to settle into her new quarters. Her needs were very simple: a pole to sleep on and a sonar cascade to keep her ambient body temperature right.

She decided to spend the time leading up to departure exploring the ship in detail. She had been ordered to embark early by the shipboard management because she was a licensed practitioner of Polacrity - the art of helping people feel better about themselves and their circumstances. It meant that on her patrols, she would be able to allay any anxieties among the other passengers, simply though her presence, visible or invisible, among them.
 

---

Posted by la vie en rouge (# 10688) on :
 
Ruby checks her whiskers in the mirror before pushing the scarlet flower back into place above her left ear. She has given up on the stockings, having already put her claws through four consecutive pairs.

Back in the day the Red Cat Goddess was somewhat of a celebrity back on Bast but her career has taken a turn for the worse of late. Which is how she's ended up singing caberet to a rather bored-looking group of miners in the piano bar of the Ariston every night.

She checks her playlist and sighs as the blue lizard-like creature charged with playing the piano appears in the dressing room.

Mrow. It's going to be a long night.

--------------------

(I thought about being a super-intelligent shade of the colour red but sadly I don't think I have the writing talent to make it work. Someone more gifted than me is welcome to steal the idea tho )
 

---

Posted by Rev per Minute (# 69) on :
 

quote:

---

Originally posted by la vie en rouge:
(I thought about being a super-intelligent shade of the colour red but sadly I don't think I have the writing talent to make it work. Someone more gifted than me is welcome to steal the idea tho )

---

[OOC]I'm not sure whether Iain M Banks or Douglas Adams will be a better guide to this ship...[/OOC]
 

---

Posted by obble (# 10868) on :
 
Obble jumps down a stairwell to the ship's maintenance store, to have a look round.
I can't believe there's no spare diodes in here that would fit my left leg. You just can't get the parts these days.
 

---

Posted by Surfing Madness (# 11087) on :
 
Zoink was optimistic this would be the last trip. Soon there must be enough money for him to be free. It wasn't even as if Zoink got to see anything. He was more of a non person. A cleaner, who was hidden away in the bowels of the ship. He didn't even really have a gender. Somedays he choose to think of himself as him, other days as her, not that it really mattered noone seemed to take any notice of her. Humanish in form, but with a few teaks, Zoink as the oldest of 10, when she had last seen "home" had been sold in to slavery at a young age, by parents with no money, but lots of offspring. Zoink wondered how many there were now, and how many had been sold off.
 

---

Posted by Antisocial Alto (# 13810) on :
 
Astraea Alcyone was filled with pious joy at the opportunity to visit Eta Carinae. The Oracle of Carina had long been cut off from the citizens of the Confederacy by the Polarian War. But the new slipstream technology which allowed the Ariston to evade privateers, belligerents and other assorted opportunists made it safe for her to make a pilgrimage at last. She was eager to visit the holy site and worship in the temple there.

Astraea was the chief priestess of the Euboan fertility cult dedicated to Demeter. The cult worshiped primarily through ritual copulation and human sacrifice; they never had any trouble finding participants for the former, but lately there seemed to be a shortage of volunteers for the latter. Astraea hoped to ask the oracle for guidance about how best to serve Demeter in future, if the supply of sacrifices dried up altogether. And if she happened to find some potential converts on the voyage, so much the better.

She lifted the hem of her peplos and strode up the gangway onto the gorgeous ship. Even the third-class cabin she had reserved with the cult's limited funds was more luxurious than any room she'd ever seen. After hanging her spare tunic and ceremonial headdress in the spacious closet and splashing some purified water on her face and hands, Astraea ventured back out into the sinuous hallways in search of refreshment and conversation. According to the pamphlet she'd seen, the Ariston had a recreation deck that Dionysus himself could only have dreamed of.
 

---

Posted by AristonAstuanax (# 10894) on :
 
Xhosimina made her way through the ships' communications relays to the bow of the ship, then across a strut to the starboard slipdrive. As the prime monitor of the Ariston's networks—making her the de facto chief of intraship messaging, or the ship's Archangela—she had (in theory) knowledge of every single event that passed through the ship, as well as every single packet of data transmitted through every single channel. The ship's brain was her brain; its central database was her throne, and the lines of communication were her dominion over which she and her cohort exercised what was supposedly unlimited power. In practice, of course, it was a disorderly principality; patience was a virtue, one that even the strongest of Angelai struggled with. The Ariston was an enormous and convoluted mess, with the right hand only barely knowing what the left one, much left the hind foot, was doing; it was enough to tax even a being of indeterminate substance.

She flowed out of the superstructure into the starboard engineering room, the air around her coalescing into her preferred assumed form for working with humans, a tall, rail-thin woman in a rather fetching black gown. Her violet hair flowed behind her in an unfelt wind, and, in a winking reference to the name her race had been given by the humans, a pair of bright green cherub wings appeared to be tattooed on her back, clearly visible through the web of her low-cut dress. She walked up to the engineer making adjustments to the slipstream drive, her skin still seeming to change color (freckles today? Helline olive, or Inismann pale—or would something darker suit my wings?), while her shoes switched between pink hi-top sneakers and many-buckled goth boots.

"Sir."

The junior officer turned around, noticing the now-settled creature before him.

"A few more adjustments for the sake of certainty. Leaving the lower bow decks outside of the gravity well was a prudent design decision after all—otherwise, the flux would have collapsed the drive envelope at that point—but we'll be cutting it close at the rear of the ship. Arche Pelius will probably have a nice view of the envelope a few inches out her back window."

"Exactly why she's asking about it. Private communication, no chance of intercept: what's her clearance back there?"

"Assuming no interaction with the hull? Well . . ." The officer looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"Assuming."

"About three centimeters, maybe a bit more."

". . ."

"We're working on it."

". . ."

"We'll have it done before we enter drive, don't worry."

". . ."

"Before we leave the dock?"

". . ."

"We'll get right on that. Two days, max."

"She likes that answer. If you need any help . . . well, I'll probably already know." Xhosimina sat down in the engineer's chair and rarified herself, merging back with the ship's network.

"New directions from the captain—again!" Now that he was sans seraph, it was back to work . . .
 

---

Posted by AristonAstuanax (# 10894) on :
 

quote:

---

Originally posted by Rev per Minute:

quote:

---

Originally posted by la vie en rouge:
(I thought about being a super-intelligent shade of the colour red but sadly I don't think I have the writing talent to make it work. Someone more gifted than me is welcome to steal the idea tho )

---

[OOC]I'm not sure whether Iain M Banks or Douglas Adams will be a better guide to this ship...[/OOC]

---

Douglas Adams. Really. I was hoping there might be a hooloovoo in our cast, but having the RCG make another appearance—well, we can't argue with that one! I may just have to add one to the non-player character list if nothing else . . .
 

---

Posted by Imaginary Friend (# 186) on :
 
I'm in. How long do I have to sort out my character?
 

---

Posted by Dafyd (# 5549) on :
 
Neversaid A.I. boarded the ship, wearing dark glasses and a trenchcoat. It hoped nobody would recognise it as Captain McKirk, the character it portrayed in the popular long-running sf serial. It wasn't that he was afraid of fans; in fact he looked forward to meeting them. It just wasn't sure of the precise legal status of an android in relation to the network that owned it, and it hadn't checked with them before resigning. But after two thousand three hundred and thirty eight episodes, it had begun to feel that its performance was getting stale. (This was two thousand three hundred and thirty seven episodes after the more discerning critics.) Neversaid was called upon to teach green-skinned alien ladies every week What This Thing Called Love Is, and wanted to finally find out what was supposed to happen after the camera cut away.
 

---

Posted by AristonAstuanax (# 10894) on :
 
7 Days Remaining Until Departure—Initiating Drive at 0:0:0 Octidi, 28 Pluviôse (Jour Cyclamen)*

Xhosimina exited the network in the bilge of the ship—or, at the very least, where the bilge would normally be. Though she knew all about this place and, while in the network, had watched it come together, it just wasn't the same as actually being there. Plus, having a body, as she was finding out, had some perks . . .

She walked up to the lifeguard on duty. The observation pool was at the bottom of the ship's prow—a design anomaly made purely for the sake of aesthetics that drove the engineers nuts. The grandiose sharp curve at the front of the ship, reminiscent of nothing so much as an old seagoing vessel, continued down even below the main keel, leading to something of a hatchet-shape that, while it looked absolutely stunning (not to mention fast), was a true pain to account for when calculating the effects of gravity on a drive envelope. Simple solution? Allow for this part of the ship to be in zero-g, thus making drive calculations significantly easier. The original plan had been to use that area as a cargo hold, but the ship's designers had far grander ideas . . .

"Will you be needing wings, ma'am?" The Yntross-born hraithe steward flexed his bat-like set, looking over to a set of lockers and bins in the back wall.

Xhosimina pulled her orange aviator sunglasses to the tip of her nose and winked. "I think I'll manage, Mitlcatl." She walked over to the edge and jumped.

Three hundred fifty-nine point five seven meters of pure space.
Twenty meters to accelerate, the rest—exhilaration. The relative smallness of the pool opening, just a way in and out, belied the vast open expanse that the angel was now falling through, its walls (floors? ceilings?) perfectly clear, giving an almost unimpeded view of the ship and the universe beyond. The few silvery struts that ran along the exterior seemed to be more like a spider's web in frost than an industrial edifice, a decoration rather than an enclosure, something graceful rather than an obstacle. The stardock gleamed in the twilight underneath the ship, a multitude of flashing lights revealing the frenzied activity taking place even as the night arrived. Still further lay Euboa; Xhosimina could see the network of cities on Arcadia, the darkness that must have been Ocean, then the "barbarian" country of Piedemonte, the megalopolis of San Angelo brilliant against the coast.

"The bottom's close now. We have to time this just right, use the momentum to our advantage—NOW!"

A pair of brilliant, iridescent wings, flashing greens and reds, materialized from her shoulders. A powerful downbeat, then soaring, her arms stretched first in front of her, then at her sides, taking in the speed, the motion, the thrill. Mitlcatl had never heard any creature make such sounds before in his life; he peered over the edge, then realized that he would be a fool to ask if everything was all right. Better just to take a jump himself and enjoy it as well.

Three minutes later, he discovered that even a lifetime of experience flying in low gravity is worthless in a competition with an angel. He was glad Xhosimina took him back to the pool deck after he crashed and mangled one of his wings—even if she did laugh at him mercilessly. It wasn't until he was walking to dinner and saw the smirks that he realized that the head of shipboard communications might not be whom you would really want to have as a witness to anything embarrassing.


*16 February, EST (GMT-5)
 

---

Posted by AristonAstuanax (# 10894) on :
 
5 Days Remaining Until Departure

The sights and smells in the aft promenade were overwhelming to the young Astyanax; despite the eternal vigilance of his parents, there's only so much one can do when confronted by a very determined and very curious boy. His mother turned her back on him for one moment to take a peek in one of the many shops selling goods from strange parts of the galaxy—her son came by his curiosity honestly—and, the next thing she knew, the child was nowhere to be seen.

Which was exactly the plan. Whatever was being cooked in the open pit several stalls back smelled absolutely divine; a strange mix of exotic spice, charcoal smoke and foreign savor. Astyanax slipped through the crowd back to the patio of the cafe, standing on his toes to get a better view of the chefs at work around the brazier. One of the tall, stocky creatures caught the boy's eye; he had never seen a Tarakian in the flesh before, nor heard anything of the celebrated culinary traditions stemming from the southern countries of their homeworld. A few minutes later, as he took his first bite of the souvlaki-like dish he had been given, he would never be able to forget either. Whatever it was, it was like nothing else he could have imagined even a day before. The multitude of flavors, most unfamiliar, some comforting, all working together in just the right way . . .

He took another bite, and looked into the crowd. What new wonders were in store here? A strange reptilian creature passed by in front of him, turning her eyes to him—then turned invisible! He could have sworn that she was smiling at him as she disappeared.

"Astyanax! There you are!"

Oh dear. He was in for it now.

"Where did you find that?"

What? No "I was worried sick, you naughty boy?" Things seemed to be going absolutely perfectly today! He pointed to the brazier behind him and the chef who was still tending the grill. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a disembodied but familiar smile . . .
 

---

Posted by Autenrieth Road (# 10509) on :
 
Dr. Their Netua walked along the corridors, searching for her cabin. She could hardly believe that she had had the good luck as a fresh-minted Ph.D. in Terpsichorean Studies to land a grant to travel to Eta Carinae and study the indigenous dances. She suspected that the granting authorities had expected the hostilities to last longer and prevent her from getting into the field and racking up expenses, and thereby save them a boatload of money. But within a week of the letter's arrival, the unexpected peace had been announced. So here she was. Wherever "here" was: she seemed to have taken a wrong turn. She stared at the six-way intersection in front of her and wondered which way to go, and whether she could retrace her steps.
 

---

Posted by Rev per Minute (# 69) on :
 
Minuto had decided that he had spent long enough in his cabin, interesting as its five walls were, and began to explore. After all, there were still days left to departure, if he had understood the ship's ante-imperium calendar correctly - this posed a bit of a risk, as he could be seen and messages be sent - and even 7000 free channels lost their allure quickly (no more police and medical shows, please!).

The garden decks were still peaceful, with very few passengers walking/ rolling/ buzzing through the 'fields' of trees and plants from a thousand different planets. This sometimes meant sudden changes in gravity as you walked into a lunar section or towards Jovian snapdragons from gas giants. (The snapdragons had a nasty habit of living up to their name, as well). Signs saying 'Please do not walk on the grass' had to be obeyed, as some of the grasses could be a little difficult to control...

But Minuto still felt followed, even when there was no-one within a kilometre of him. He knew all about micro-bugs, of course, and he could have been swallowing them by the dozen as he walked through a shower of rain. 'Pull yourself together,' he muttered to himself, and headed to the upper decks for some food and some company - hiding in the crowd. Some of this off-world food was said to be amazing.
 

---

Posted by AristonAstuanax (# 10894) on :
 
24 Pluviôse—3 Days Until Departure

"Attention on the Ship!"

A number of smartly-dressed soldiers snapped to as Archon Aias Aristidies, SAH, and his staff entered the embarkation lobby. Every head turned as he entered; it wasn't every day that one got to rub shoulders with the best-known diplomat of the Hellenic Confederacy. The Archon was an old man, it was true, but neither the Confederacy nor the ambassador had any interest in discussing retirement. In his long and illustrious career, he had negotiated the fundamental peace agreements and alliances that had turned the Hellenes into a unified power to be reckoned with, rather than the ragtag band of colonies and continental powers it once was. Even as a young man, fresh from the Houporg Academy, he found himself in the middle of unexpected challenges that, time and time again, only proved his ingenuity and incomparable talent. What was supposed to be a soft first assignment for a promising junior agent—coordinating a new academic exchange program with the Piedmontese—lead to him making contacts and gathering information that would eventually lead both to the establishment of the Palladian Fellowship and, more importantly, the near-pefect political union of his homeworld. Though the Hellenes and Piedmontese claimed to be independent nations, Arc. Aristides knew, perhaps better than anyone save his good friend and counterpart in the Foreign Ministry, that this may as well be a convenient legal fiction—the two countries were inexorably intertwined at this point, with too much in common to ever allow serious division or discord.

From here, his career only became more remarkable; by common agreement, however, his greatest achievement was the Treaty of Hieronymous, which diffused the volatile situation created with the Nidau in the aftermath of the Chronos Incident. Just as it seemed as if war was inevitable, coming just before the order to engage was to be sent to the fleets, news of the agreement was released and the specter of mass annihilation was lifted for both parties.

As was becoming increasingly clear from the everlasting Polarian Conflict, the costs of war were becoming far too high for civilized societies to bear. Though the flood of refugees to nearby neutral territories had mostly stopped—either because of the blockades or simple annihilation—it was becoming all-too-obvious that these displaced people would never be able to return home. Thus, it was time for the Lusitanians and the Hellenes to come to an understanding, along with the other governments in the Carina Sector. The Conflict was causing problems for the entire region, and it was past time that something be done about it.

"Pardon me, ma'am." The old man turned to one of the stewards at the front desk with a kindly smile. "Would you mind telling me where I might find the library on board? I'm afraid I have some work to finish before we depart."

The steward called up a map of the ship, even as she relayed the information directly to the ambassador. It was strangely comforting to see the old-fashioned holographs in this day and age, what with the near-ubiquity of intraneural relays, but, then again, a touch of anachronism does add a certain air of class, no?

"Thank you kindly." The Archon bowed slightly, then, taking his cane in hand, began to walk to the library, his retinue falling in behind him.
 

---

Posted by Imaginary Friend (# 186) on :
 
Grstamjuarlt floated its ephemeral way across the boarding dock and onto the Ariston. One of the less conventional lifeforms in the universe, its physical manifestation was tenuous to say the least. It would be incorrect to say that Grstamjuarlt was not there, just as it would be untrue to suggest that it definitely was. When in it's presence one had a strange feeling that one was being watched without quite being aware of the location of the watcher. To some it was disconcerting, to others strangely reassuring. It wasn't that it was pure consciousness because it required certain things in order to survive. Oxygen was one obvious requirement, although nobody could be quite sure exactly what use Grstamjuarlt made of it. It was also true that it functioned rather more smoothly when there was a substantial amount of nervous energy in the atmosphere, but again there was no rational explanation of why. These basic needs served to impart a limited connection between the corporeal existence and whichever plane of reality that Grstamjuarlt existed on most fundamentally.

There was also a certain amount of debate (both amongst university scholars and amongst those more learned folks that prop up bars all over the universe) about how Grstamjuarlt came into being. Nothing was known of its parenthood or reproductive process, and no other being of its type had ever been known. So there was a vigorous argument about whether Grstamjuarlt was a ‘new’ form of life not previously known, a mistake made by beings from another universe who had tried (and failed) to travel the void between, or merely one of those things that appear in the sort of dream you’re glad to wake up from. Grstamjuarlt itself had always been rather coy on that subject, rather like a teenager being asked difficult questions about sex by his parents, and the fact that no definitive answer was forthcoming from the creature itself only fueled the more ludicrous speculators who started talking about experimentation by scientists employed by the Hellenic Confederacy, a top-secret weapon developed by the Alliance which would finally turn the tide in whichever war was currently being fought, and more besides. In ‘reality’, none of these ideas seemed very likely, but the origins of Grstamjuarlt were most definitely a known unknown.

What was undoubtedly true was that when Grstamjuarlt communicated, there was no physical voice that spoke nor any other concrete means by which its meaning was imparted. You just kind-of knew what it wanted you to understand. This had been known to cause some quite acute problems in the past, when powerful people had started believing that God was talking to them directly, when in fact it was Grstamjuarlt politely inquiring whether it might make use of the facilities before continuing its (presumably) everlasting and lonely journey across the universe. There had also been numerous (rather embarrassing) occasions where Grstamjuarlt had been worshiped as God Herself, which was clearly a silly idea but one which nonetheless seemed very appealing to species with lesser technological nous. Grstamjuarlt usually took this as a sign that it should move on.

But what is important for today is that Grstamjuarlt was in its element. The Ariston was a hive of frenetic activity and the expectant hubbub of people loading their possessions, saying goodbye to friends and family, acclimatizing to their luxurious surroundings and wondering whether the lifeform in the cabin up the corridor could be persuaded to have sex before the end of the trip was causing Grstamjuarlt to feel positively perky. It didn't feel emotions exactly, so it is redundant to try and describe them, but it was definitely true that Grstamjuarlt was doing just fine as it boarded the spaceship and hovered expectantly in the main concourse.
 

---

Posted by Surfing Madness (# 11087) on :
 
Zoink knew that in other parts of the craft the guests were being wowed by the ship, but as ever he was stuck where noone would notice him, or care about him, or even notice who he was today. Zoink dreamed of a life where he mattered to someone, and not just when they wanted some thing from him.
 

---

Posted by AristonAstuanax (# 10894) on :
 
OoW Announcement:

To the 12 of you who are on board, welcome! We'll be beginning shortly.

To those of you reading this, but not signed up: Do It. Trust me; the more people we have on board, the better this'll be—especially since, well, having more people allows for the Power That Is to act on a few of his Ideas . . .

You have two (2) days remaining.

There are a few people who are fixtures in these games that haven't signed up; we'd love to have you with us. And if you've never played, or it's just been a while . . . not a problem.

*Ahem*
/OoW.
 

---

Posted by AristonAstuanax (# 10894) on :
 
«Something is wrong.

«The ship is saying that everything's going perfectly. This, of course, is proof that something, somewhere, is really and truly fucked ad Gehennem.

«No Melanchthon. There are no other words I can use to describe the situation. Look, you monitor how many conversations among how many species in how many languages? Don't act like you haven't heard worse.

«Every time we've run the ship through trials, something always breaks. Or doesn't work like it should. Or otherwise blows up. Sure, the kinks have been worked out for the most part—but really. Multidimensional slipstream envelope calculations being adjusted at the last moment? The redshirts are adjusting it right now, and everything's going swimmingly. There's something we're not hearing.

«Yes, "not hearing." Yes, I know that's impossible. Yes, I know we hear everything that happens on this ship and see everything else. All I'm saying is that there's something we've missed. The fact that we . . . whatsthat?»

Stopping mid-tirade, Xhosimina didn't notice exactly what she was looking for—or, more precisely, became aware of her not noticing. A subtle wave with her cohort in the same space, a silent communication; there was a gap in their perception. The angels felt one another's mutual shock and dread. The all-seeing eyes of the ship had a crucial blind spot.

"Mycroft!"

The archangel emerged in the library, walking swiftly towards the Lusitanian steward-cum-librarian. If there was anyone who would be able to figure out what was going on, it would be him.

"Is there a problem, madame?"

"In fact, there isn't. That's the problem."

"I beg your pardon?"

"There's absolutely nothing going wrong anywhere on the ship. At all. In any department, any sector, any level. It's all going perfectly, and none of us know why."

"I fail to see the reason for your agitation."

"Mycroft. Really. When has anything gone perfectly on this ship? At best, we've been able to contain the mishaps and cover things up. You know this as well as we do."

"The fact that you tell me everything that goes wrong makes that fact inevitable. Now, if you wouldn't mind, could you please make yourself a bit more subtle? I'm afraid our guests weren't expecting the likes of you."

"First, I enjoy being 207 cm, thank you. Second, just because I'm the only shapeshifting being on board with a sense of aesthetics doesn't let you complain about the odd blue hair or eyebrow piercing. Third, this is serious. There are AI's these days that can handle intraship communications; we're on board to prevent anything from being missed—which is exactly what's happening. What the @#$% is going on?"

A few heads turned at that—most people had never heard a string of symbols pronounced before. Mycroft sighed, and motioned for the angel to follow him.

"I suppose we should sort this out. Come on, to the couch."

The steward was something of a collector of eccentric antiques; Xhosimina wasn't quite sure what the significance of the leather chaise lounge was, but she lay back on it, her Roman-style sandals hanging off the end. Mycroft sat down across the table from her, taking notes on what she said before engaging his relay. He focused intently, ignoring everything the ship saw, focusing only on the negative space, on what was missed . . .

"Inconclusive."

"What?!?!"

"Well, that's something. The fact that we can't tell what's going on is more information than we had before, right?"

"Not really."

"Well, now we know that we don't know why we don't know what we don't know."

". . ."

"Don't do that."

". . ."

"Right. That."

"Look, is there any reason why something could escape our notice? We're pretty good at seeing things, in case you haven't heard."

"Yes, I've read all about your kind. Truly fascinating, you are. Quite frankly, I have no idea what's causing your blind spots—and, to be honest, I don't think we're supposed to. In fact, it's entirely possible you weren't even supposed to notice them in the first place."

"Which means . . ."

"Someone on board knows a thing or two about how to evade notice. Even from you, Xhosimina."
 

---

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :
 
Boa Languina finished her third circuit of the passenger decks noting that there appeared to be few serious anxiety attacks as yet amongst those she passed. She was glad to have prevented an unnecessary chastisement for one hungry and curious boy (a future gourmand, perhaps?) and she sensed a great need for privacy in a trench-coated figure hurrying away down one of the ship's passageways, but she was detecting much higher anxiety levels in some of the starship's staff.

She slithered off invisibly towards the command centre, noting as she went, that many of the grey uniformed cleaners she passed had been mentally hobbled. This was somewhat disturbing, as such practices had been banned under the very first Inter-stellar legal codes. She made a resolution to keep all four of her eyes open at all times...
 

---

Posted by leonato (# 5124) on :
 
Leoximanios Quintrfdian Tr!nxlin III known to all his fans (for obvious reasons) as Leox stepped through the VIP airlock of the Ariston to an explosion of flashbulbs and screaming, fainting admirers. They had been waiting for several days for his arrival, but any true star is always fashionably late.

Leox was known through half the galaxy as a film-star, singer, military general, international peace-keeper and heartthrob. It was universally agreed that he was the perfect specimen of ... specieshood, and was rumoured to have bedded thousands, of every known gender and species.

He had prepared himself for this entrance, he was being paid handsomely for promoting this ship's maiden voyage. He had spent weeks in the gym and now every one of his seven six-foot long tentacles was honed to perfection and covered with just the right amount of glowing green slime.

He sent his staff of 30 PAs to take his luggage and prepare his suite. Leox then headed straight for the nearest bar.
 

---

Posted by la vie en rouge (# 10688) on :
 
Her evening set over, Ruby ensconces herself in her cabin with a bit of catnip.

Her supply is running rather low and this worries her. She'll never make it through a couple of weeks on this bloody ship without a few narcotics.
 

---

Posted by Surfing Madness (# 11087) on :
 
*****Real life announcement***** Due to circumstances beyond my control, I will only have random internet access for the next 10 days or so. Should be around enough to keep playing though.
 

---

Posted by The Great Gumby (# 10989) on :
 
Gumblor, a large, carnivorous blancmange from the planet Skyron, squelched aboard. He was travelling light, thanks to what seemed to be an unnecessarily tight luggage allowance, but had nevertheless managed to find space for his tennis racket.

He was hopeful that the artificial gravity would be reliable enough to play a few games on the recreation deck - all being well, he could even arrange a tournament. Before that, though, he needed to do some light recalibration on his nationality beam. The reports of Scots who could play tennis were anomalous, and possibly apocryphal, but he wasn't taking any chances.

Maybe Irish would do the trick.
 

---

Posted by Sylvander (# 12857) on :
 
Rudi Rattelschneck squeezed on board when nobody was looking or using one of the other sensual devices these guys came with.
When he heard of a ship about to leave he knew he had to go. He was sure there must be nice munchies lying about. And of course there was always the delicious rubber coating of the electric cables to chew through, yum yum.
He was not too fussed where this particular boat was going, he just liked the sound of the rolling sea by night, and no decent ship could do without a wee rat or two.

PS: Currently traveling for another week but should have occasional internet access every few days.
 

---

Posted by Smudgie (# 2716) on :
 
She knew she should have joined the trade union for intergalactic-coffee-caterers. Robotic stewards indeed. Miss Artichoke Smudgeson came from a long long line of coffee shop owners going back through history on earth and no jumped-up tin can was going to take her place on this cruise. Surely there were still people on board who prefered their cakes home-made and hot drinks from a steaming kettle, made in the time-honoured way even her ancestors had used, even if it did mean those cakes were occasionally slightly misshapen and the tea brewed to varying strength.
With a sideways glance at Obble, she made her way on board with her beloved antique tea-trolley and sought out a corner of the ship to establish her heaven-bound coffee shop.
 

---

Posted by AristonAstuanax (# 10894) on :
 
Drusilla Melitta was overjoyed. At last, all these blasted passengers were boarding; her duties as DeskBot would soon slacken, letting her go back to sleep without being forcibly awakened. Not that being on duty stopped her from usually doing what she wanted anyway, especially when what she wanted was to make someone go away.

Which, coincidentally, was what she invariably wanted whenever someone else wanted something from her.

One last look at the guest roster before pulling away from the dock--a few names caught her attention for no good reason, which was more reason than Melitta usually had for what she did:

Their Netua-Academic, Hellinic Confederacy
Boa Languina-Exopath (serpentine)
Herodartus-Historian, HC
Reverse Minuto-Human (unremarkable)
"JFH" (unknown)
Obble-42, Hospitality Robot
"Eliab," unknown
Ruby/RCG, Cabaret, Bast
Zoink, (redacted)
Astrea Alcyone, High Priestess, HC
Grstamjuarit, indeterminate?
Neversaid AI, android
Leox...III, Tenticled
Gumblor, Blancmange
Artichoke Smudgeson, Human, Adjunct crew
Rudi Rattelschneck, Rat, Not actually supposed to be on this list

Melitta paused for a moment at the last entry, then decided that doing anything about it would require even thinking about it. Time for the only thing she had been looking forward to for a while: making a Very Important Announcement.

This is the final boarding call for all passengers and crew of the Starship Ariston. We will be departing shortly; if you are not on board before we leave in the next few hours, we will cheerfully leave you behind without a refund.

This is the final boarding call for the Starship Ariston. We will be departing in a matter of hours; if you are not on board by this time, we will cheerfully leave you behind.
 

---

Posted by AristonAstuanax (# 10894) on :
 
“219-Alpha to the Ariston, we are presently inbound, on initial approach.”

“Understood, Formalhaut. Bridge crew standing by for arrival. Ariston clear.”

The fighter maneuvered itself into a bow-stern overflight approach path relative to the Ariston. Some captains settled for personal yachts, but, like most, Archeploiarchos Pelius kept her personal craft from her fleet service. The bond between a pilot and their craft was near-impossible to describe to most outsiders; it was not like you directed something external so much as you found yourself with new limbs and organs you never knew you possessed. Some people never adapted to living without their craft; even with her inhibitor chip, Pelius sometimes felt a phantom surge in her thrusters or a gimbaling of her cockpit. The Formalhaut was not her ship; it was her.

The Ariston, however . . . that was a different matter. Today was her wedding day, when she would assume her final command, committing to the ship that would define the rest of her life. She could never become one with any vessel as grand as the Ariston, but enter into a near-perfect symbiotic union with it? There was nothing she desired more.

Final approach. She pitched her fighter perpendicular to her direction of travel so she could see her bridegroom the better. The clean lines, the gleaming superstructure—none of the dark and confused mess that characterized most large warships—truly, this was the pinnacle of the shipbuilder’s art. She passed within a few meters of the starwindows of the central promenade; some of the passengers looked up with clearly visible amazement as she passed close overhead. Finally, after the long stretch of her ship, the quarterdeck and the bridge, her domain, the small, round glass bump at the very back of everything . . .

The fighter inverted itself, then applied thrust contrary to its previous direction. Slowly, she approached the back of the ship, then docked her ship in the bridge docking slip next to the escape pods. A short lift trip into the pressurized zone, then in to the bridge. The whole of her command structure was present; even her prime com monitor had materialized (and, more shockingly, had done so in uniform!)

“Sminagos Petra—how long until we’re ready to leave?”

“Bridge and engineering standing at the ready; the ground crew needs a few minutes to clear the area.”

“Thank you, ma’am. What of the Nikesan and Promachos?”

“Arriving presently.”

Even as she spoke, a pair of Hellenic battlecruisers dropped out of drive aft of the Ariston, swiftly decelerating as they fell in next to her, their long, spider-like arms catching the morning sun.

“Xhosimina—what news?”

The angel turned to the much shorter captain. “Ma’am. Quartermaster Rhyddwyn finished his final review of the cargo hold over an hour ago, and assures me all passenger baggage is accounted for. The embarkation lobby staff claims that all passengers are on board; my cohort claims the same for the crew. If the ground crew is ready, we can pull clear of the dock.”

“Very good. Myrrine, the Nikesan please.” A short pause, then a vision of the warship’s bridge appearing.

“Taxiarchos Teucer. We are pleased you were able to be with us as we leave.”

“As are we, Arche, and the whole of the Confederacy. At long last, we can be free of the Polarian blockade; perhaps, when they see how futile it is against us . . .”

“Arche, the dock crew is clear.” Sminagos Petra interrupted the commander. “Ready to leave at your command.”

“Given.”

The ship pulled free from the moorings and began to ease forward, the two cruisers flanking her. Below, the planet watched, some on the broadcast, a lucky few by looking into the pre-dawn twilight, seeing a bright star moving over the horizon.

Pelius took her seat at the back of the bridge. From here, she faced the whole of her ship; nothing that happened would be out of her sight. Behind her, the shining planet filled the window; the pictures of her being sent back to Euboa would quickly become classics, a symbol of the hope the Ariston represented for the Confederacy.

“Arche—“

“Engage drive.”
 

---

Posted by AristonAstuanax (# 10894) on :
 
OoW: check your PM boxes for nice, shiny roles. If you didn't get one ( ), then you're a normal "innocent" passenger.

Those of you who have roles—look them over. Remember, no actions are strictly obligatory, though some of you would be remiss not to take advantage of every available opportunity . . .

Ground rules (while OoW):
1. Ghosts are permissible. Strange things happen in the far reaches of interstellar space—who knows, you might even turn into a late-night talk show host! However, the process of dying/annihilation/whatever does rob you of the ability to do anything meaningful in games of Mafia. Even The Power That Is can't overrule that one.

2. Unlike previous games, behind-the-scenes communication, unless otherwise noted, is permissible.

3. Pay attention to time frames! Not all actions or events take place during the night.

4. Talking in public during the night is permissible. Not all species need sleep. However, may She have mercy on your soul if you awaken the Red Cat Goddess during one of her naps.

5. Weird stuff happens. You've been warned.

6. The Power That Is reserves the right to be inscrutable, evasive, or play "unreliable narrator." The ship's crew is pretty knowledgeable, but, as we've seen, they might not know everything. There are reasons why, as much as is possible, I'm going to try to stay in-world. And before you ask, I may have an obvious soft spot for Xhosimina, but she isn't a mouthpiece for TPTI. Neither is Mycroft, or anyone else for that matter.

7. Conflicting actions will be recognized on a "first sent, first done" basis. If you get axed before you can act, sorry. If you can't figure out why something unexplained happened when you tried to act, see #5.

8. Those of you who like the "story/setting" aspects of this game, have fun. I may have a certain idea of what the Ariston and the local (admittedly volatile) political situation is like, but it's not defined by any means. Your characters live there.

I think that pretty much covers everything, no? The mayhem should be starting shortly.
 

---

Posted by AristonAstuanax (# 10894) on :
 
There are many sounds that nobody ever wants to hear.

The "we've lost a critical component" alarm is one of them.

It's even worse when said component is responsible for safely dropping your ship out of slipstream.

Worst of all, however, is when said alarm follows the sound of massive amounts of energy surging out of control and through the body of the starboard drive engineer.

Everybody on the ship felt the lurch as, for a brief moment, something in the drive nacelle failed; on the bridge, however, the failure itself was felt instantly, the destruction known even as it happened.

"Put all command and engineering sectors on lockdown!" Archeploiarchos Pelius stood up from her chair. "Xhosimina? Block all com channels between the bridge and the rest of the ship. All data passes through you personally." The angel rarified herself, assuming indefinite form once more in the walls and optic lines of the bridge, physically stopping, then retransmitting, every signal. The risks involved in a saboteur gaining access to the quarterdeck and the command network were too high, the slight delay worth the cost.

"One crew member dead, three critically injured, seventeen wounded; slipstream envelope remains metastable, unable to disengage." Even as Sminagos Petra read off the report, Pelius looked out her back window; the shimmer of the envelope had changed from the smooth bubble of normal slipstream travel to a turbulent flux. Though the ship was in no immediate danger, something serious had happened.

"Pouros, ma'am. Able Crewman—Engineering."

"Place security on alert. We all know the drive schematics—for that system to fail, hundreds of others would have needed to go first. There's no way this was an accident."

Day 1—Now accepting nominations
 

---

Posted by AristonAstuanax (# 10894) on :
 
"Here's what we know, Ambassador: something failed in the starboard drive nacelle. The ship is in no immediate danger, but, as it just so happens, we're stuck."

Ambassador Aristides and Mycroft were meeting in the steward's private office. If any passenger had a right to know what was really going on, it was him—and, as experience had shown, there was usually only one crew member who actually knew what was happening.

"I'd heard rumors of a plot to sabotage the Ariston before I left—we thought we foiled it, but it seems we didn't. An outfit calling itself the Meritorious Association For Intergalactic Action—not affiliated with any one government or another, mind you, just interested in themselves as best we know. Mercenaries, really—highly trained assassins and terrorists available for hire. If anyone could have pulled this off, it would be them. That trick your archangel was describing, with the nothing you aren't even supposed to notice is one of their trademarks. It's a testament to her ability that she even caught that, much less that she told anyone. Most beings think it's just paranoia or a figment of their imagination. What's your security protocol?"

"The usual—uniformed officers, a few plainclothes—as well as some psionically adept agents. Naturally, those are in deep cover and of varying ability and function—I met one the other day who could read my every intention, but couldn't tell you what my position was even from my uniform. Another? The exact opposite. I've heard rumors that one of our passengers is a medium of some sort—able to commune with spirits, that sort of thing—though, quite frankly, that seems rather unlikely. There's also that security officer we recruited; you should have seen the demonstration of the ancient art of close-quarters pen combat I saw! I certainly wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of that one's ledger . . ."

"Good to hear. Our government is rather interested in this ship reaching its final destination; between you and me, there are more than just a few things we're shipping on board even I'm not supposed to know about—and I'm in charge of them! You've heard of the Xhoronos Project, I suppose?"

"That old conspiracy theory? Sir, with all respect, any bioweapon that debilitating would have long since become common knowledge—you surely would have used it by now! You don't mean to tell me . . . on this ship?"

"We tamed it, Mycroft. A lethal weapon is of no interest to us; one that makes death seem like a kindness, however . . . They will beg for death, and will not find it, I believe. Even in its weakest form, its victims are incapacitated for a full day; when activated however, its virulence knows no bounds, and for nearly a week, whole continents can be brought to their knees."

The steward shuddered at the thought.

"Come now. The Conflict has cost too many lives already; the Xhoronos virus could end it, destroying the will of both sides without the loss of life. Plus, it may just be that there are a few test subjects on your ship to demonstrate on—anyone who would seek to join the MAFIA, to say nothing of working in their ranks . . . well. It's an idea."
 

---

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :
 
Yesterday, just before boarding

The anti-gravity caligae clicked against the floor of the viewing gantry, as Eliabus Dautius Zurcon, tribunus militum of the Twentieth Star Legion (Valeria Victrix) looked admiringly, but disbelievingly, at the HCSS Ariston. Even after two years of the obligatory political assignment with the Lusitanian Empire's embassy on Euboa, he did not understand these Hellenes. To build a ship, such a ship, as this, and fit it as a pleasure cruiser! Gods of the Pack, what possessed them?

Eliabus was no stranger to spacecraft. The Scion, the Legion's fast carrier, had been his home for four years, and he had flown Pilum class medium fighters practically every day, and commanded Scorpio class corvettes in action more than a dozen times. But this was something else. The speed - the size - the sheer power of the craft was breathtaking. Properly fitted, she'd carry at least four, maybe even six, rail-gun launch tubes for fighters, and still have room for enough beam weapons and missiles of her own to challenge a dreadnought. Instead, the Hellenes had built a very fast, very impressive, floating hotel. Why?

But what a way to go home! Back to the Empire, the Legion, and, with luck, back to a proper campaign against one or other or (why not?) both of the belligerents in the Polarian dispute.

There were a few minutes left before boarding. The tribune made final, imperceptible, adjustments to his already immaculate uniform. The gleaming chrome-titanium helmet shines in violent contrast to the dull black bands of the more functional lorica deflector that encircled the torso, while the brilliant crimson of the helmet's crest was a perfect contrast with Eliabus's own thick ruddy-gray hair. From beneath the lorica, a belt supported a decorative cingulum studded with discs of cultured diamond, as well as a vibro-dirk with uni-molecular cutting edges, and a long-barrelled laser pistol, which would, doubtless, need to be placed with the diplomatic baggage, but nonetheless added a pleasing weight and seriousness to the soldier's appearance. He studied the Ariston coolly, with a disinterested, professional eye, mentally placing the particle cannon, sensor arrays, drone bays, and offensive field generators that she would have carried had she been Lusitanian. Which rather spoiled the undoubted effect of Twentieth's full-dress uniform, as the long tunic, split at the back to accommodate Eliabus's tail, shook uncontrollably as that tail began to wag like that of a puppy chasing a ball.
 

---

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :
 
Boa Languina felt the surge of anxiety from every direction, and knew something was seriously wrong - especially in the command centre. Instinctively she headed for the nearest intersection to it and draped her invisible body around an archway.

She could not deal with hysteria on a mass scale, but anyone who passed within the semi-circle of her serpentine presence would at least shed fear and confusion for a short while. If this was a crisis, then as many as possible needed to be thinking clearly. She closed her bright purple eyes and concentrated on the feelings of those hurrying past below her.
 

---

Posted by leonato (# 5124) on :
 
On entering the bar Leox was handed his favourite: a Stargian hyper-cocktail. The staff were clearly very well trained. The drink was delightful, but strong. Leox was grateful that his was one of the few species for whom alcohol was a necessary part of the metabolism.

Still, it wouldn't do for him to be seen drunk by his fans. A quick whisper to the barman and he was assured that the corridors back to his suite would all be cleared. Another quick whisper ensured that the barman (good looking, and from Ragire, judging by his tail) would be there waiting for him. Leox felt he might actually enjoy this trip.

But then he felt something. His species were slightly psychic. Someone had died on-board. Leox dismissed the thought, after all, crew members died all the time on these ships, they were notoriously dangerous. He decided to have another drink.
 

---

Posted by la vie en rouge (# 10688) on :
 
Ruby wakes up late and stalks down the corridor to the staff canteen in search of food. Breakfast is long over but they've started serving lunch.

Rrrrr myeow…. Really, this place doesn't cater for carnivores at all. Especially since they started that healthy eating drive and introduced all those revolting salads. A cat could starve to death. Oh, they have roast chicken. That'll do. No, no vegetables thank you. Give them to the pianist if you want, that lizard'll eat anything.

The piano-playing lizard is also annoyingly talkative, but Ruby decides it's probably worth humouring him in the hopes of mooching the bones off his plate at the end. What's he prattling on about now? Oh - the ship's exploded. Ruby didn't hear anything, but then it takes more than the ship blowing up to wake a sleeping kitty, particulary when she's lying in a catnip-induced stupor.

Who's responsible Ruby has no idea. But life-forms are going to have to start talking if there's to be any progress made.
 

---

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :
 
Someone attack ship. Bad. Everyone now say why they innocent. Others smell carefully what they say.

I innocent because ship take back home.

Who next?
 

---

Posted by JFH (# 14794) on :
 
From behind a mysterious door marked "GNDN", an undescribable voice was heard, "Doggone it, who cares about real income in China in the 17th century? What? I still need to write an essay about it all night? By that deep Abyss of the Black Hole north of Jupiter, action is necessary! I want to speak! Soon I will raise my voice and they will hear more of me! If only... If only I could get this forced writing behind me!"

[i.e. I will get talkative as soon as this very real, live exam is finished, and maybe after some three hours of sleep tonight, if applicable.]
 

---

Posted by Sylvander (# 12857) on :
 
Whoopsi!
This ship launched with somewhat more gusto than Rudi Rattelschneck was used to.
It was fun to be hurled about like this but he began having doubts as to his destination this time. And where was the soothing noise of waves lulling him to sleep? Something felt not quight rite.
 

---

Posted by Dafyd (# 5549) on :
 
Neversaid was online checking his reviews in case there was a positive comment in there somewhere that he'd missed. Suddenly he found himself in receipt of a communication for the ship's crew that had apparently been misdirected.
Having read it, he realised that this was not the only thing that was wrong. It was a crisis. Neversaid had no idea what to do in a crisis, but he knew someone who did. What would Captain McChurch do?
Neversaid left his cabin to look for a green-skinned alien woman to snog.

In the meantime Neversaid hoped that there wouldn't be any lynchings. Admittedly, the other way where we randomly lynch innocents and then make inaccurate guesses based on misguided suspicions of other people's behaviour is more fun. But Neversaid hoped that there would be detectives on board, and it was his opinion that our best chance was to do our best not to kill them.
 

---

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :
 
Decide now not to kill is foolish. May smell guilt - why not take throat in our teeth if do?

Hellenes use psionics. If aboard, make sense to listen. But better trust own nose than stranger's brain. Psionics not always reliable. Not see change of mind in future. Not see past neural shield. May see only what can do, not what side. We rely on them only, we die.

I say, all talk first. Then pack decide.
 

---

Posted by Rev per Minute (# 69) on :
 
Minuto was chatting in the bar, ignoring the piano-playing lizard who appeared to be murdering the classics and talking to some cave-dwellers from Androzani, when he realised that the tone of the chatter had changed. A carefree group of creatures had suddenly become a bit more nervous, a bit more worried. The Ariston may have done better than the starship Titanic, but everyone knew that the ship was a target for warships, privateers and others: only the slipstream drive kept them safe.

Minuto knew less about spatial mechanics than the average space barnacle, so at first a mention of 'starboard nacelle failure' meant nothing. Then he realised that the ship was becalmed - and vulnerable. Whoever had done this was going to be hard to tell so early in the voyage. But he knew that a scared crowd quickly finds a victim - the trick was finding the right one.
 

---

Posted by Imaginary Friend (# 186) on :
 
Grstamjuarlt was not psychic, nor psionic; neither could it know the future with any more certainty than most life forms. It didn't even really get gut feelings because it didn't have a gut. But unfortunately, its mode of communication sometimes gave others the impression that they could do these things. The Ariston was adrift, and none of the passengers seemed to know much about what was going on.

Suddenly Artichoke Smudgeson blurted out "I don't know why but I'm sure I have this certain feeling that there's no real way of telling what's going on right now". The other inhabitants of the Ariston nodded knowingly. "Given that it is likely that there are saboteurs on board then we must do something in order to expose them." At that instant Artichoke seemed to realize what she was doing, and the first reaction to this epiphany was to stop talking and adopt a surprised expression. Without having to say anything more, everyone aboard the Ariston suddenly thought the same thing: Who is behaving weirdly?
 

---

Posted by AristonAstuanax (# 10894) on :
 
A message to those involved in the investigation:
We appreciate your assistance in our time of need. Though our agents are already investigation, we ask that all passengers and crew keep an eye or three out for any suspicious or anomalous behavior.
It might also be prudent to consider any seemingly normal behavior as well. Normalcy, sad to say, is something in very short supply these days.
If you wish to nominate one of your fellows, we politely request that you do so within the next sixteen hours—or by 12 PM EST, for those of you using the old solar method of chronology.
Regards,
Mycroft
 

---

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :
 
Boa Languina sensed Xhosamina's presence in the wall she was draped around. Her employers wanted her back at the recreation area immediately.

"I was only trying to help," she thought to the wall.

"We know." The wall stroked her reassuringly before tipping her gently off.

BL resumed visibility and headed obediently off to the lounge areas around the various bars, her rainbow scales glistening like diamonds, and her four purple eyes wide open.
 

---

Posted by The Great Gumby (# 10989) on :
 
Gumblor squelched despondently along the corridor. The ship had barely set off, but it was already apparent that none of the other passengers were interested in a good, honest game of tennis. He could play against one of the ship droids, but he could muster little appetite for such a sterile encounter - droids didn't eat and they tasted vile, as he'd learnt from bitter experience, so the distracting and thrilling possibility that either player might be eaten in straight sets was entirely absent.

It would be understandable if they were lazy or cowardly, but it seemed that they were more occupied with discussing piddling matters like murder, theft and sabotage than playing a couple of sets. What was a carnivorous blancmange meant to do in the company of freaks like that?
 

---

Posted by la vie en rouge (# 10688) on :
 
Ruby has a little muse in between her nap and her next nap.

Nobody has accused anyone of the crime yet and she's not sure this is a good idea. If the majority decide that no lynching is the way to go that could be fair enough, but if they don't even make any nominations then the decision is made by default. A couple of random guesses would at least keep their options open.

Trouble is, she really has no idea who to accuse. There are certainly some lifeforms* acting very oddly (but isn't weirdness all in the eye of the beholder, anyway? Being a blancmange probably looks quite normal on a planet where everyone's a blancmange, for example), but that's different to being responsible for blowing the ship up. OTOH since everyone is being so reticent, making the first accusation could also make a cat look quite dodgy.

Maybe she should just make a blind guess, but she'd really rather a more telepathic lifeform did it for her.

*not sure "people" is quite the appropriate word here on the Ariston…
 

---

Posted by Dafyd (# 5549) on :
 

quote:

---

Originally posted by Eliab:
Decide now not to kill is foolish. May smell guilt - why not take throat in our teeth if do?

---

quote:

---

Originally posted by la vie en rouge:
There are certainly some lifeforms* acting very oddly
*not sure "people" is quite the appropriate word here on the Ariston…

---

quote:

---

Originally posted by leonato:
Well, Herodatus said I was picked for nomination completely at random. There are 15 possible MAFIA members on this ship, I guess at most 3 are (currently) members. So there is only a 1 in 5 chance that I am guilty. Not very good odds.

---

quote:

---

Originally posted by Eliab:
Hellenes use psionics. If aboard, make sense to listen. But better trust own nose than stranger's brain. Psionics not always reliable. Not see change of mind in future. Not see past neural shield. May see only what can do, not what side. We rely on them only, we die.

---

quote:

---

Originally posted by AristonAstuanax:
2. Unlike previous games, behind-the-scenes communication, unless otherwise noted, is permissible.

---

quote:

---

Originally posted by AristonAstuanax:

"The usual—uniformed officers, a few plainclothes—as well as some psionically adept agents. Naturally, those are in deep cover and of varying ability and function—I met one the other day who could read my every intention, but couldn't tell you what my position was even from my uniform. Another? The exact opposite. I've heard rumors that one of our passengers is a medium of some sort—able to commune with spirits, that sort of thing—though, quite frankly, that seems rather unlikely. There's also that security officer we recruited; you should have seen the demonstration of the ancient art of close-quarters pen combat I saw! I certainly wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of that one's ledger . . ."

---

code:

---

Loading...........................................100%
Sirius Robotic Cybernetic Operating System Ver. 3.11.
Share and Enjoy
obble@hospitality-bot:-$

---

code:

---

1st person module active...

---

quote:

---

Originally posted by la vie en rouge:
I think I'm wary of behind the scenes communication on the whole. There's no way of knowing that anyone's telling the truth. It may be allowed, but I'm not sure it's wise most of the time.

---

quote:

---

Same true of everyone. Soon as odds "good", MAFIA win.

Best see this as one of five chances to get right. Bad to waste chance. Even if slim.

---

quote:

---

Originally posted by leonato:
You seem to suggest that we should just lynch at random, sacrificing innocents in the vague hope of lynching the mafia, which seems to me to be just what the mafia would want.

---

quote:

---

Originally posted by Eliab:
We kill at random, have 21% chance never get MAFIA.

---

quote:

---

Originally posted by Dafyd:
Neversaid thinks that Eliabus is overestimating our chances of not lynching a mafia member.

---

quote:

---

Originally posted by Banner Lady:
"Interesting how Eliabus clearly and firmly wants to direct everyone away from voting for the only self-confessed rat on board." thought BL to herself.

---

quote:

---

Originally posted by Dafyd:
In the meantime Neversaid hoped that there wouldn't be any lynchings. Admittedly, the other way where we randomly lynch innocents and then make inaccurate guesses based on misguided suspicions of other people's behaviour is more fun. But Neversaid hoped that there would be detectives on board, and it was his opinion that our best chance was to do our best not to kill them.

---

Rudi Rattelschneck agreed with Neversaid. The other strategy had now failed six or seven times. Why not try the alternative? And he had insufficient time to even read the thread, never mind think about it.
no lynching
 

---

Posted by The Great Gumby (# 10989) on :
 
Gumblor considered. It would be a negligent conspiracy to allow one of their number to be involved in a two-way vote, and the risk of taking out anyone with special powers on the good guys' side was all too real. Besides, there was little eating on a rat, and slimy tentacles gave him gas.

No lynching
 

---

Posted by Rev per Minute (# 69) on :
 
Minuto pondered the facts, such as they were. Two passengers, one a stowaway, had been nominated, on little evidence that he could see. He thought it odd, though, that neither of the nominees had voted for the other to be lynched, surely the usual form of self-defence. Still, perhaps other planets had different ways of reacting to the threat of death than the ones he was used to.

Minuto cleared his throat - to the surprise of the other passengers, who had forgotten that he was even there. A number of pairs, trios and other multiples of eyes swivelled, bounced or otherwise relocated to watch him.

"I have always been told that action is better than inaction. I realise why people prefer to leave the decision up to others, but the facts are that we either take the chance to get rid of one of the bad guys - however small the odds - or leave it to the bad guys to get rid of one of us. So we need to try to choose one, even if some of you think there should be no lynching.

"The vote is tight, but I'm not going to be the one to tie it. I think that Rudi Rattelschneck should be dispatched."
 

---

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :
 
Herodartus looked over the quaint holographic voting displays that were floating around the ship. So far... 2 votes for Leox; 3 for Rudy; 5 for TESS; 8 needed to lynch; 6 left to vote (including to him). Does he go with his pick, or with the one that it's now easier to lynch? He decided to stick with his pick. He knew he'd picked Leox at random without first eliminating MAFIA (as he didn't know who the mafia were), whereas there was always a chance that the snake did know and was eliminating.

He "pressed" the imaginary button labelled Leox.
 

---

Posted by JFH (# 14794) on :
 
"What is it now? Oh, you want me to speak my mind? Screw the rat. It'll give us more info on whether Eliabus was trying to hide something before (as that snake implied). In general, dead people are more informative than living, especially at this stage of the game."

Jorfh "The Moose" lowers his dark eyebrows again over that drink that could be some alien form of beer, but might just as well be crude oil.

Rudi Rattelschneck.
 

---

Posted by Imaginary Friend (# 186) on :
 
Grstamjuarlt made its intentions known: a vote for Rudi Rattleschneck
 

---

Posted by AristonAstuanax (# 10894) on :
 
"Thank you for your vote . . . sir?"
As Grstamjuarlt left his office, Mycroft placed another black ink mark on his paper record of the voting. Every member of the vigilante coalition had to file through the steward's study; some still remained, however.

Rudi: IIII/
Leox: III
Nobody: IIII/
16 voters; 8 votes needed to lynch

A list of names followed Mycroft's columns; 13 had been stricken out after their owners had voted, but three remained:
Artichoke Smudgeson
Zoink
Obble-42

He stepped into the library, speaking both to those present and, via relay, to those in other parts of the ship. "Less than 24 hours remain to register your vote. Remember, voting is compulsory. It is kindly requested that all relevant passengers and crew visit the offices of Steward Mycroft in the ship's library within the specified time frame. Thank you."

"No ma'am, I cannot give you a schematic of the ship's engines." A rather persistent sentient shade of crimson had been pestering him for information. "Unless the education of Hooloovoo socialites has grown considerably more comprehensive, including subjects beyond antiquated etiquette and elementary optics, I am afraid that you are singularly unqualified to effect any repairs that might allow us to safely exit the slipstream."

Silence.

"I understand your concern, ma'am, but the fact is, the ship is currently hurtling through multidimensional space at velocities that boggle the imagination. Please, if you have expertise in engineering the event horizons of supermassive gravity fields, I'm quite sure someone official would like to hear about it."

"Oh. I see. While it is true that members of the engineering crew are distinguished by their red markings on their uniforms—hence the term "redshirt"—they are given this uniform because of their expertise. Simply being red does not make you an engineer, I'm afraid."
 

---

Posted by Smudgie (# 2716) on :
 
From the bowels of the ship, Artichoke finally emerges, having found a suitable place for her coffee shop after all but mourning the apparent lack of customers so far. Perhaps putting up a few signs on the walls would help.
Her investigations had shielded her from the other investigations taking place in the strange community around her - she knew nothing of any lynching plans or murderous intents. Thus it was that when a small piece of cognisant metal rolled past her and enquired "Rudi or Leox?", she immediately shuddered and vehemently responded "Neither!". Whoever would have believed that this voyage would be employing the services of a matchmaker amongst the crew!
 

---

Posted by obble (# 10868) on :
 
Obble-42 finds this a difficult sort of decision to make, on the basis of no evidence.

But it seems better to lynch someone than to wait for the Mafia to make the first move.

Rudi.

Not that it makes much difference now, there's not enough people left to vote to get the required 8 votes.
 

---

Posted by AristonAstuanax (# 10894) on :
 
"And with that, voting is CLOSED!"

*BANGsnap!*


"You might want to be a bit less enthusiastic with the next gavel, Mycroft."

Nighttime, such as it is, has now arrived. Those of you with night actions, please take them now.
 

---

Posted by Surfing Madness (# 11087) on :
 
Zoini had not realised how long the echos of what was happening else where took to reach him or that anyone thought he had a right to an opinion. He detrmined he was going to find a way out of his ckeaning hole and on to the rest of the ship as soon as he could.
 

---

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :
 
Poor Zoink!!!
 

---

Posted by la vie en rouge (# 10688) on :
 
Right, off to the bar for tonight's cabaret set. I've decided on the sequins.

This evening I am borrowing a routine from a cousin of mine who's doing rather well on the other side of the galaxy.
 

---

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :
 
Eliabus presses a paw against the biometric sensor by the door to his stateroom. Nothing happens. He kicks the control panel hard, and the door slides open, as synthesised female voice whispers "Ave, Eliabus Tribunus" in a Hellenic accent and what is obviously meant to be a soothing tone.

The room is awesome. Structurally superflously fluted columns rise from the floor up to the row of Lusitanian arches, which are hung with decorative banners in the colours and symbols of the Lusitanian Embassy, the Twentieth Star Legion, and even Eliabus' own people, the Vald. The pack markings are wrong - and the awning over the bed carries the sign for the sleeping place of a bitch in heat - but someone has clearly done some extensive research. Monitors, VR consoles, a cabinet stocked with an extensive supply of recreational drugs, and even a shelf containing some real, paper books. Eliabus picks one up and tries to open it. The book is a hollow polymer shell.

All in all, decides Eliabus, this is not a bad ship on which to be hurtling uncontrollably at unfeasible speed through uncharted multi-dimensional space. Certainly a better room than his kennel on the Scion. He sniffs the air for the comfortable scent of home. They got that right at least. The tribune paces around the edge of the room, before heading for the gravity-suspended bed. He drops onto the mattress, turns around three times, and is instantly asleep.
 

---

Posted by leonato (# 5124) on :
 
Leox was certainly relieved to have survived the vote. He now had a busy evening ahead of him lounging by the pool to "promote" this increasingly dangerous hulk of a starship.

How did the Mafia vote though? It would make sense for them to try and get an early lynching and the early votes were for Rudi, which would suggest if that was the Mafia's aim they would have voted for him. Or perhaps they were more clever? It was fairly clear quite quickly that there would not be enough votes to lynch, so did they split their votes to hide better among the innocent?
 

---

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :
 
Boa Languina was secretly rather pleased the stowaway had escaped permanent eviction by the authorities. He would have been found sooner rather than later anyway, because it was really quite impossible to hide much on a ship like this: not that it didn't stop some from trying.

She made her way to Miss Smudgeson's quaint Coffee Corner and asked for a quarter strength mocca bath. It was a long time since she'd experienced the luxury of lying in warm liquid and absorbing the delicious fluid through the skin beneath her scales.

Mmmmm. Heaven!!!
 

---

Posted by Rev per Minute (# 69) on :
 
Reverse Minuto headed back from the bar to his cabin. He stopped off for a coffee and liqueur in the tearoom that seemed to have been set up below decks. While it was a large cup that the rather flustered lady served him, he was surprised to see that among the usual sizes of grande, venti and drowni there was bath-size...

The evening had ended with no conclusion, except that the passengers were unwilling to agree amongst themselves at this point in the voyage. Cock-up or conspiracy? For once, Minuto was willing to believe the latter, and wondered what the hours of darkness (or hours of light for the nocturnal) would bring.
 

---

Posted by Dafyd (# 5549) on :
 
Neversaid was pleased that nobody had been lynched, since he'd been arguing for it. At the same time, he hoped it was the right decision. It was worth trying, given the usual results of trying the other way. It was too much to hope that the votes would reveal anything informative.
I think that Herodartus is more likely than average to be innocent, or else both Rudi and Herodartus are mafia. Just because I think that kind of non-decision vote is more likely than average to be innocent. But I could be wrong.
 

---

Posted by Sylvander (# 12857) on :
 
Rudi Rattelschneck weasled around the ship (can a rat "weasle around"? he wondered. He was a foreignish rat, you see), avoiding open spaces.
He was a bit unsure whether he had made the right decision. This ship was rather uncomfortable. Not only did he miss the lulling sound of waves and the heave-ho of the rolling boat, he also suddenly found that the passengers had laid out traps everywhere and he had walked between them with complete insouciance. (I was so in online haste last time that when I voted I had not even noticed I had been nominated. It was only when I saw a vote for me 2 days later that I realised my predicament.

He had so far been able to avoid them all but he dreaded a moment of inattention that might just cost his life Little as there was of it (and him) he was rather fond of it .

As said previously I changed my mind from previous rounds and agree with Neversaid (Dafyd) that we ought to try sth new. (Lynching at random our chances are almost equal for lynching a useful citizen as lynching a Mafioso of whom there can hardly be more than three). Past experience imo indicates that the clarity gained from dead innocents is not helping us much to increase our knowledge by logical conclusions.

Most important is: the detective needs to leave clues that are unambiguous - but unambiguous only in hindsight, i.e. after his death.
Not like last time when his predecessor misunderstood the same advice to mean "When the detective has found someone innocent (in that case me, a totally useless run-of-the-mill-citizen) he should jump up and down excitedly shouting: NN is innocent! I checked him out. And by the way I am the detective." Then to get killed the following night.
If at all this jumping-up-and-down-excitedly-strategy only makes sense when the detective found a culprit and the doctor is still alive and can protect him henceforth.
At worst (i.e. if we quickly lose the doctor and the detective) we would then trade a detective for a Mafioso - plus the possible voting patterns found in this Mafioso's past. Given how hard it usually is to kill the first Mafioso even this would not be an entirely bad bargain to get for a detective.

One strategy for unambiguous-only-in-hindsight clues would be to only ever "speculate tentatively" about people's guilt/innocence whom he checked out and likewise only suspect/accuse someone whom he knows to be guilty. We can all help the detective hide by speculating in that way about only one person per night past (this means everything said on day one is irrelevant as the detective cannot have had special knowledge then). As in: I think Eliab is innocent. (I chose Eliab randomly here but will not include more than one such hint per night played). Now the Mafia can go after me, but if many of us include such random remarks in our posts they'll have a hard time choosing their victim.
Plus: it is harder for Mafia to divert this strategy by posting confusing "reasonings", as our strategy is based on confusion, not logical conclusion. It only will bear fruit once the detective is dead and a lot of knowledge is revealed at once, so we need the patience to suffer many deaths on our team.
Once the detective dies of course we'll have to revert to the old strategy with the advantage of extra knowledge.
The longer Mafia fail to kill him the more knowledge he will gather.
There may come a moment when our number is so small (and hence he knows so much) that it becomes best for the detective just to come clean and share all his knowledge at once.

Only risk I can see: if the detective often unluckily checks out people who then get killed by Mafia. He should avoid this by checking out people whom he thinks unlikely Mafia victims.

Ok, now folks can comment on the logical flaws of my idea.
 

---

Posted by AristonAstuanax (# 10894) on :
 
Day 2: Misenformation
"We're having trouble replacing the data uplink, actually. The actual physical damage, though significant, we've already figured out and can deal with; talking to it again and getting it to behave? Not gonna happen any time soon. The ship's rejecting any attempts at repair—until we can fix this logic glitch, we're stuck."

"Not to be crass, but how long will that take?"

"Honestly? No idea. It's hidden somewhere deep in the ship's emergent intelligence—below even the basic personality sectors, as best we know. Whoever did this knows more about our dirty little unexpected secret than we do."

Arche Pelius combined a heavy sigh with some heavy swearing. She hadn't expected to have to put her own ship in the psych ward.

"With all these psionic adepts on the infirmary crew, there has to be someone who can deal with it. Thank you, Ensign."

All these connections and wires, artificial sub-intelligences running small sectors and tasks, to say nothing of totioform beings who worked in the communications systems . . . well, in hindsight, the fact that something would develop was rather obvious. Nobody was quite sure who or what had been born, but all authorities were dead certain that it hadn't happened before.

"Xhosimina. Head of Psionics, please."

"Ma'am?"

"Evilit. We have a problem. Who in your division works with evolved machine intelligences?"

"Excuse me?"

"What I thought. Who should work with one, then?"

"Probably our android people, but, quite frank . . ."

The rest of the transmission never made it to the bridge.
*****
Xhosimina had never known pain like this before—a stretching of her being beyond any form, a violation of every physical law, the experience of being in an infinity of places at the same time. Her consciousness shattered, spreading across the ship's entire communications network, being expelled even as it struggled to maintain form, to fight dissolution.

Something . . . a part of her mind emerged from an uplink point in the Central Gallery. Of all the parts of her self and consciousness that had been dispersed over the ship, only this one retained reflexive awareness; it was her now. She tried to condense, but . . .

but . . .

. . .

holdingtenuous unconsciouslyconscious
theunformedfor manunshiftingshifter
driftingnowintoplace
es
mia
en
1

". . . ive her one, then! However you remember her looking, dammit! Just something to hold her tog . . ."

sleep now
be at peace
*****
And so, as a new day rises on the Ariston, the chaos only seems to grow. Even as Xhosimina is held at the edge of life, however, another has already passed over the border that defines this life: Tribune Eliabus Dautius Zurcon, of the Lusitanian Twentieth Star Legion, is no more. Despite the efforts of all shipboard personnel, the most that can be said about the late soldier is that he is dead. Details about his death may be forthcoming; reliable news can, on occasion, take some time to travel (even when bad), despite rumors exceeding every known speed limit.

"I would be happy to note your nominations. Please, in the interest of efficiency, offer your defenses when you are accused. I shall try to run the mistruths and lies phase concurrently with the accuse at the innocent phase."
 

---

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :
 
Boa Languina opened one of her purple eyes incredulously. 'Dead? Really dead? The old wardog is gone?'

'How very curious. Someone obviously thought him a great threat. Eliabus had declared a great distrust of psionics, so this was meant to make those with presience look extremely guilty.'

She slithered down from her post determined to find out whatever she could on her next patrol. Even more disturbing was the absence in the infrastructure of the archangelus. What had happened to Xhosimina?
 

---

Posted by la vie en rouge (# 10688) on :
 
Poor doggy. Eliabus arrived on this ship with quite a reputation and he was always going to be a target. I would have thought the only question the killers would be asking themselves is whether he would be protected or not. The MAFIA took the gamble that they wouldn't miss their hit, and apparently it worked. Our enemies are prepared to take on a very big fish* on their first outing. I don't know if that makes them extremely dangerous, or foolish and reckless.

Some of us have had dealings with the dog in the past, so I suspect that at least one of the killers is someone who already knows about his acute sense of smell. For that reason I think we need to look for an individual who's already taken a few trips around the galaxy, not a newcomer who would be unaware of Fido's previous adventures.

Actually, I did wonder if Eliabus might not himself be the psionic. They were obviously on his mind. Maybe the killers had the same thought and decided that the safest thing to do would be to kill him to find out.

Regarding the last vote - I don't know if the MAFIA will have pushed for a lynching or not. I would expect them to steer the vote in that direction if they thought they could get away with it without blowing their cover, and assuming that both candidates were innocent (which for the time being I think I do. If one of them did turn out to be guilty, I think it would have to be Leox, since Eliabus was arguing in favour of keeping Rudi alive for the time being).

Don't know quite where all of that leaves us. I'm going to have to think about this some more. A bit of catnip to assist the creative thinking is just the ticket, methinks. Kindly not to be interrupting the catnap that shall follow.

*If only there were some real big fish on this ship. I swear I'm going to starve to death if they don't do something about the catering.
 

---

Posted by Dafyd (# 5549) on :
 
Someone had killed one of the passengers, Eliabus the warrior. What would Captain McChurch do, Neversaid thought?
He boldly strode into the lounge:
'We come in peace! Phasers on disintegrate! Fire photon torpedoes!'

I like Rudi's idea to provide cover for the detective. Each of us, each morning shall declare that one person is either innocent or suspicious. That way, if the detective is killed prematurely, before they can declare themselves, we know whom they've investigated.
e.g. Morning Update: Rudi is innocent.
 

---

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :
 
Eliabus rises early, as he always does - there may be no cornicen on the Ariston's crew roster to rouse late sleepers, but the habit is deeply ingrained. He stretches and yawns widely, showing a fine set of strong yellow teeth, before swinging his legs out of the bed's gravity field and onto the floor.

The Tribune wanders sleepily to the nearest column, and arches his back, stretching on the tips of his hind paws, before pissing copiously across the fluted marble. As the pungent stench hits his nostrils he sighs contently. That's good urine. Two years of political service, two years of making concilliatory and subservient gestures, however insincere, could not fail to have an effect, and in recent months, his piss has been like water. The prospect of returning to the Legion, returning to command, changes everything. The aroma of dominance fills the room.

Much more awake now, Eliabus strides to the next column and repeats the process. But someone has researched the habits of the Vald rather too well. The column conceals a small, but poweful capacitor, which discharges approximately 20,000 volts along the urine stream. The stench in the cabin is suddenly one of burnt flesh and hair, and an anguished howl of pain reverberates throughout the deck.

The Lusitanian writhes on the floor, stunned, but already feeling his drug glands activate to flush his body with regenerative enzymes and analgesics. His hair is now flat, and his teeth bared, as he struggles to stand. The stateroom door hisses as it opens, and Eliabus glances up to try to focus on the intruder. With the corridor light on, and the cabin dim, it is impossible to make out anything, other than a tantalising glance at the stand on which rests his precious lorica deflector and personal weaponry - half a metre and a million light years away from their crippled owner. There is a sudden flash of energy, and what is left of the tribune slumps back to the floor, dead.


An autopsy and investigation, should anyone think to undertake one, would reveal that Eliabus Dautius Zurcon was indeed fitted with a (now-partly disintegrated) neural shield of dubious efficacy, and his personal and official correspondence had been subjected to the highest Lusitanian government standard of quantum encryption. His purpose and intentions aboard the Ariston must remain unknown.
 

---

Posted by The Great Gumby (# 10989) on :
 
Well, thought Gumblor, at least that's got rid of one yappy thing that's likely to disrupt a spot of tennis by chasing the ball. As for the rat, his arguments are appealing, but...

"The flaw in the plan is that any time one of us guesses an alignment incorrectly, either expressing confidence in a MAFIA member, or pointing a finger/tentacle/appendage of choice at an innocent, we prove ourselves to the MAFIA not to be a detective, and narrow the field. At that rate, it won't be long until they identify and disintegrate the detective, and it may also hamper our ability to discuss anyone's guilt or innocence. Nevertheless, it seems to be our best chance. If everyone's happy with it, we go. But don't blame me if it turns to custard."
 

---

Posted by Rev per Minute (# 69) on :
 
Reverse Minuto hadn't realised how literal Mycroft could be: when Mycroft had said that Eliabus 'was no more', Minuto didn't understand that there was no more left of Eliabus than would fit in a small bucket. For some reason, the ship's news channel showed the scene in the Tribune's cabin, and Minuto felt for the first time on the ship the feeling of Death creeping up to him and saying, 'Boo!'. That and a strong feeling of nausea, of course.

So there was a murderer as well as a saboteur - not just someone throwing clogs around, but someone with lethal weapons. Not that they were too bad at the sabotage, with the ship's communication entity almost destroyed as well as the damage to the stardrive. Eliabus was a high-ranking officer and so a high-risk target, but Minuto knew that appearances counted for nothing in these situations. Eliabus had been the first to call for a lynching - was this the reason why he had been killed? Minuto went back to the bar to review the earlier discussions with a protocol droid who had been nearby - he was a bit up himself, but the tweeting of his companion droid was always restful. He also had some nice home movies of young princesses.
 

---

Posted by Sylvander (# 12857) on :
 

quote:

---

Originally posted by The Great Gumby:
"The flaw in the plan is that any time one of us guesses an alignment incorrectly, either expressing confidence in a MAFIA member, or pointing a finger/tentacle/appendage of choice at an innocent, we prove ourselves to the MAFIA not to be a detective, and narrow the field.

---

You are right, I had not considered this.
I don't see a way to avoid it, though. Open talk gives info to us all incl. Mafia. But we can limit the damage by more often publicly expressing trust in someone's innocence than suspecting or accusing.
Simply because there are more innocents than guilty and hence we are less likely to make a statement which Mafia know is wrong (which would tell them we are NOT the detective).

So: Let us make accusations sparingly! If we intend not to lynch for a few days we do not need to make many accusations. One or two per round suffice - just enough to allow the detective to hide once he strikes gold. And if you accuse, keep accusing the same person and do not switch to declaring a person innocent whom you previously accused. (Remember: anything that happened on day 1 is irrelevant as the detective knew nothing).

Anybody has more ideas to refine the whole idea? Or why it is utter crap?

PS:
On board this spaceship the detective is more powerful than he was in Flanders or Egypt bc we can communicate by night.
So once he finds an innocent the detective will PM him to say "I am detective and here's the proof: you are xyz [innocent or special role]".
Of course after night two he would contact both players investigated and tell them about their respective innocence. Thus broadening, night after night, our web of mutual knowledge.

Mafia can try to confuse us by doing the same: they know who's innocent and might contact us impersonating the detective - but they risk contacting a special role and only telling them "You are innocent" but failing to specify their precise role. In which case that innocent would immediately blow the whistle.

Things I have not checked:

1. Is there a defector or can a Mafioso in some other way appear innocent to the detective?

2. Does the detective actually
a) see the role or
b) does he only see "innocent" or "guilty"?

If
the answers to these 2 questions are "Yes" and b) then ignore what I wrote above - Mafia could easily foil it all by impersonating the detective.

3. How many players are there and how many special roles? I lack the patience to draw up these nice lists we sometimes get from more committed passengers than I am.

I already did my one-name smoke-screen declaration for the past night, so no more on that.
 

---

Posted by la vie en rouge (# 10688) on :
 
Ruby wakes up and stretches herself lazily across her room. What a lovely nap.

Now, what we're looking for is someone who's been around the galaxy long enough to have met the dog before, and probably someone a bit reckless and prepared to take some risks, or else they would have gone for a lesser target rather than attempt the assassination of a lifeform who was rather likely to have a security guard posted outside his room. While the conspirators may have voted in different directions, they may well have been prepared to try for a lynching if they thought they could get away with it.

Now the initial votes were pretty much evenly split between the two candidates and no lynching, before the trend started to drift towards no lynching. A daring MAFIA operative might have gently tried to swing the vote at this point in the hopes of securing the early lynching of an innocent. This would have to be done while enough votes were still uncast to make a lynching numerically possible.

I accuse Reverse Minuto.
 

---

Posted by la vie en rouge (# 10688) on :
 
I think I disagree with the rat.

I think it's highly dangerous to pin all our hopes on a psionic. AIUI, not all information that different people receive is perfectly accurate, there may be some who are capable of evading detection, and no way of knowing if there is a turncoat in our midst. We were told that weird things happen aboard the Ariston. Unless we've missed something, the only thing we can be sure about is how many of us are still alive. All the rest is unknown quantities.

We can't afford to sit about waiting for a psionic to work it out for us. Maybe I'm a recaltritant old moggie, but I think we have to carry on doing what we've always done, talking it out and looking for the flaws in each other's arguments. The innocent have nothing to hide in an open discussion. Otherwise we're making ourselves sitting ducks in the meantime. Just because we can do something doesn't mean we should.

I still don't like secret communication, for the same reasons that I tried to explain to the poor unfortunate dog. If I was a murderer,* here's what I'd do: tomorrow I would send you a private missive saying "Dear Mr Tastymorsel, I am the psionic. I have investigated you and [whoever] and found you both innocent" and consequently influence your voting behaviour. To shore up the plan, I would then murder you the following evening to stop you telling anyone about my little fib. The only danger is that I might send this message to a real psionic, but OTOH maybe there's more than one so I might still get away with it.

Now do you see why I don't like it?

*Rest assured that I'm not a murderer. If I was, I wouldn't be be putting telling you about this plan, I'd be putting it into action
 

---

Posted by Rev per Minute (# 69) on :
 

quote:

---

Originally posted by la vie en rouge:
I still don't like secret communication, for the same reasons that I tried to explain to the poor unfortunate dog. If I was a murderer,* here's what I'd do: tomorrow I would send you a private missive saying "Dear Mr Tastymorsel, I am the psionic. I have investigated you and [whoever] and found you both innocent" and consequently influence your voting behaviour. To shore up the plan, I would then murder you the following evening to stop you telling anyone about my little fib. The only danger is that I might send this message to a real psionic, but OTOH maybe there's more than one so I might still get away with it.

Now do you see why I don't like it?

*Rest assured that I'm not a murderer. If I was, I wouldn't be be putting telling you about this plan, I'd be putting it into action

---

quote:

---

Originally posted by la vie en rouge:
Now the initial votes were pretty much evenly split between the two candidates and no lynching, before the trend started to drift towards no lynching. A daring MAFIA operative might have gently tried to swing the vote at this point in the hopes of securing the early lynching of an innocent. This would have to be done while enough votes were still uncast to make a lynching numerically possible.

---

quote:

---

Originally posted by Sylvander:
2. Does the detective actually
a) see the role or
b) does he only see "innocent" or "guilty"?

---

quote:

---

Naturally, those are in deep cover and of varying ability and function—I met one the other day who could read my every intention, but couldn't tell you what my position was even from my uniform. Another? The exact opposite.

---

quote:

---

Originally posted by Dafyd:
From a conversation between Ship's Officers:

quote:

---

Naturally, those are in deep cover and of varying ability and function—I met one the other day who could read my every intention, but couldn't tell you what my position was even from my uniform. Another? The exact opposite.

---

I think the first one is a detective, and the other is a role-spotter. The same conversation lists a medium (allows dead people to communicate their findings?) and what I take to be a veteran (if killed in the night, kills their killer).

---

quote:

---

Originally posted by Dafyd:
We know of one other role: it wasn't possible for the detective to tell whether Eliabus was innocent or guilty. I think it's safe to assume he was innocent.

---

You mean we don't even now know whether he was? I hope that at least Mafia know who and what they are!
 

---

Posted by Rev per Minute (# 69) on :
 

quote:

---

Originally posted by la vie en rouge:
Reverse's vote was pretty much the last one that could have swung the ballot towards a lynching at the point when it was going in the opposite direction. Two votes later the majority had become impossible.

---

quote:

---

Rudi: IIII/
Leox: III
Nobody: IIII/
16 voters; 8 votes needed to lynch

A list of names followed Mycroft's columns; 13 had been stricken out after their owners had voted, but three remained:

Artichoke Smudgeson
Zoink
Obble-42

---

quote:

---

Originally posted by la vie en rouge:
I still don't like secret communication, for the same reasons that I tried to explain to the poor unfortunate dog...

---

Ah, but you overlook that this adds a lot of fun to the proceedings, which is the whole purpose of playing at all. The greatest fun-factor difference between Mafiosi and citizens, as you know, is that the latter mostly have nothing to do except wait while the former happily spin intrigues. I like the new set-up far more. So much room for double bluffs and using their own weapons against the vicious conspirators

However, if I were a mafioso I'd dislike the new rule, too.
 

---

Posted by AristonAstuanax (# 10894) on :
 
"Well then. Time to get down to lynching someone. Your options are as follows:

Reverse Minuto
Ruby the Red Cat Goddess
Nobody

"In addition, Mr. Minuto has informed me that, due to certain Difficulties he could not enumerate, he will be unable to properly defend himself. I would welcome a volunteer, even from the World Beyond, who wouldn't mind defending him. Though I have no doubt that all of you are guilty of something or other, I don't want anybody's lynching being overturned posthumously because of a poor defense, or whatever other technicality one might choose."
 

---

Posted by la vie en rouge (# 10688) on :
 
Miaow. Not only am I surrounded by people who apparently don't want to investigate the murder, but now they're accusing me.

I have no idea what you've all been talking about in private, but if we'd had some of the conversations in public, it strikes me we'd be much further along than we are. We'd all be party to the reasoning of everyone, we could bounce ideas around and see if they work. Since the doggy (may whatever deity he was an adept of rest his soul) isn't here to say it any more, I will: we must talk, we must accuse, we must use our collective brain or we'll get nowhere. Relying on the psionic alone is too dangerous, besides which, by talking, we allow provide leads for investigation, instead of depending on blind chance. We must narrow the field in which the psionic investigates. Imagine that he/she/it only finds a culprit on the fifth day. By then we will be thinned out too much for it to matter. There is also far more satisfaction in catching MAFIA using one's brain than by sitting about depending on investigation. And MAFIA can imitate the psionic, or murder them, or someone could defect. We still don't even know if some of the psionic capacity has died with Eliabus. The tactic is far from watertight.

Anyway, I am innocent, and I can prove it. If it's that or get lynched, I really might as well. I'm obviously blowing my cover, but all this sitting about waiting to get picked off in the hopes of getting rescued by the psionic is frankly making this a very boring game, so this should pep things up a bit.

You know, that Red Cat Goddess thing is only a stage name. Before I made the bigtime, I was just plain old Ruby Roleblocker on Bast. Of course, telling you this may result in me ending up dead, although since I don't know much about any of you except what I figure out by deduction, I'm not as dangerous to the killers as a psionic. Added to that I believe there is a security guard somewhere round about who might be prepared to protect me for a while if they haven't found the psionic yet.

Anyway, thing is, a catnip habit like mine gets kind of expensive after a while, especially when a kitty's fallen on hard times and isn't getting invited to showbiz parties any more, so when I was asked to carry a little something on board the Ariston, it sounded like a good enough idea. It wasn't quite what I was expecting though - not a little parcel of narcotics or diamonds or arms. A powerful bioweapon, actually. Xhoronos, in fact. And if anyone gets too close, they get a nasty dose of this vicious little infection that keeps them out of action all night and the following day.

My proof that this is true? Simple. I can tell you who I have blocked. Grstamjuarlt is currently floating about somewhere being ill in whatever ever way a lifeform with no physical substance can (G, don't take it personally - you did something that I thought might *just* be suspiscious, so instead of accusing you, I thought I'd take you out of action and see what happened. Conclusion - if you're a murderer, then you aren't the hitlifeform. There you go, you may have been as sick as a dog, but I've (probably) proved you innocent.) Rudi Rattelscheck is also going to spend the whole day tomorrow somewhere in the bowels of the ship feeling very, very unwell.* If I am telling the truth he will be in a state of radio silence all day (not like him, I'm sure you'll agree), and will emerge in the evening with a sore head. To be clear, I have not infected Rudi because I think he is a MAFIA agent; it's because I believe his tactics to be quite wrong and decided to take advantage of the opportunity to make him shut up for a while. Also because he was blathering on a lot and I thought I'd spare the Circus hosts The ability to prove my own innocence in a pinch is a plus.

Now, this is where things get interesting. Partly I have declared my role in order to save my skin, but I have I've given this a lot of thought, and realised that, for secret communication to be of any use to us, what the citizens really need is someone demonstrably, provably innocent. And I am that cat. The trouble with communicating in private is (unless one is the psionic) there is no way that you haven't just sent a message to the enemy. However, anyone who communicates in secret with me can know what side I'm on. The psionic can make great advances if we work together (I have limited detection powers) and since I am now both demonstrably innocent, and on the hitlist, I am happy to be the mouthpiece for anyone who has information from the citizen side.

If you contact me telling me that you are the psionic, I can't know that you're telling the truth, of course, but the easiest way for me to know there's something wrong is if I get two competing claims so I think it's actually safer for you to contact me than not. For obvious reasons, I am also very interested in hearing from the security guard.

How can you know I'm not playing a colossal bluff? You can't. But if I am, I'm going to have a hard time keeping this up for long. By tomorrow, you will also know that I am telling the truth about the two individuals I have blocked, which a MAFIA operative could almost certainly not imitate.

Anyway, there it is. I am Ruby Roleblocker, not a killer. Do you think we could start trying to catch the mafia now?

*the incubation period for Xhoronos is a little long - the victim is infected during the day, not the night.

[OOC: If I go a bit quiet this weekend, it's because my home internet connection is playing me up *again*]
 

---

Posted by Eliab (# 9153) on :
 

quote:

---

Originally posted by AristonAstuanax:
Mr. Minuto has informed me that, due to certain Difficulties he could not enumerate, he will be unable to properly defend himself. I would welcome a volunteer, even from the World Beyond, who wouldn't mind defending him.

---

"Hi there! I'm Demosthenes 0.9, your Beta-test version artificial-intelligence advocate, provided as a complementary service as part of your selected passenger package!

Before getting on with the fun, fun, FUN task of establishing your innocence, I have just got to tell you that this package comes FREE of any sincerity whatever, and no opinion expressed by me should be taken as the view of the Ariston, its owners, operators, crew or passengers, either living or deceased. And the great news today is that ALL ethical subroutines have been especially DIS-abled on behalf of you, our valued client! This program complies, and I mean COMPLIES, with the Advocacy and Solicitors Services of Hellenica Advisory Tribunal rules, and with nothing else WHATSOEVER! You can see all of our usual disclaimers in the ASSHAT rules. You cool with that or what?

OK, well, it looks like you have a pretty good case, my friend! I mean, SOMEBODY had to be the tenth to vote. And they had to vote for SOMETHING. So let's take a little-old-look-see at how the votes stood when you voted. Rudi and Leox about equal, but most of your passenger pals didn't want either to go. Can we agree that AT LEAST one of the two was innocent? I think so, because the chance of guessing right TWICE is way, way, low, baby! You guilty? Sure you want that frood dead, but hey, time's on your side, right? You don't need them dead TODAY! What's the rush, man. There's no fire! Chill.

So you chill - sure, of course, you chill. And you find one big-old forest to hide your little-old leaf away in. And "no lynching"'s looking pretty damned leafy right now, I can tell you! Blow right on in! Who's to suspect you?

But you don't, you crazy guy! No, you're right out there with the old rat-trap looking to stuff in the stowaway! Get this crazy old vigilante! Go, Justice League of Hellenica! You get ‘em! That's you, my friend, you get the scent and you are HUNTING! Guilty? You? Reverse Minuto? No way, man. Just, no, no WAY!

But, hey, check out the cat chick! Is she smooth or what? I mean, we are talking FRICTIONLESS BEARINGS here. If the beer here were that smooth, I'd be in the bar ALL DAY, dude, and I'm an AI construct, man! Smooth, smooth, smooth! Asking your pals to suspect her is a big ask, guy. I'm sure you know that.

What the hell, let's give it a whirl! What do we know here? I mean, what do we really, really know? We know that she accused you, my friend, and there wasn't even a good reason for that. Sure, sometimes you just have to take a WILD GUESS, but people who have useful skills are the LAST ONES who should be doing THAT! And how neat is that virus! Man, you have a dose of that to hand out, why would you go NEAR taking a risk? You want to stay alive, man - get down to the last five or six, and then you have a real good chance of hitting some MAFIA dude smack in the guts. You don't want to be mouthing off to lynch some poor sap who's probably innocent and coming up with some half-assed argument against HIM! No, man, you don't do that! And who's to say that the PROTECTOR with the INJECTOR is even innocent, babe? You think of that? Sure you did!

And what else? Hey, check the dead dog! Get that, guy? Dead DOG. Live kitty. C'mon, man, cats and dogs? Do I need to draw you a picture here?

Then take a look at what our cool, cool, kitty says she'd do if she were guilty! She's so twisty you could use her to open bottles! She'd make up some smooth, smooth story about having some special power that makes her innocent, and take the chance. That's one gutsy feline for you, my friend! And then she's accused, and check out what our craaaazeeee kitty does! She makes up some smooth, smooth story about having some special power that makes her innocent! You gotta love it, man. You just gotta.

AND best of all, man, I mean, really, just BEST of ALL, is this! When you hear this, it'll knock your little space socks off! This wraps out the whole case, dude. We are talking SOLUTION here. SO - LOO - SHUN. The real deal! When I think of just how awesomely clever this last little argument is, I get so hot I could just..."

There is a sharp pop, and a thin plume of smoke begins to rise from the console.
 

---

Posted by la vie en rouge (# 10688) on :
 
Newsflash:

I have been contacted by an individual claiming to be the psionic. He/she/it seems fairly plausible. He/she/it says that he/she/it was investigating me last night and finding me innocent. Less good news is that we knew that already. Since I am already a dead kitty prowling, I shall keep you posted with updates.

Note to the security guard, in case you didn't get it yet - keep me alive. Assuming that I've been contacted by a real psionic, he/she/it doesn't have to break cover as long as I'm around to report his/her/its findings. I'm not a particularly religious old moggie, but I shall now go and offer a mouse to the feline gods of Bast in the hopes that you don't get caught for a while.

[OOC: Man aLIVE Eliab, I hope I never find myself on the wrong side of you in a courtroom. Although it does seem a bit unfair that I had to defend myself while the other dude got the services of a professional defence lawyer ]
 

---

Posted by leonato (# 5124) on :
 
As I see it the Mafia had three options in the last round of voting:

1: Try to lynch me.
Seems unlikely that they did this given that only three people did vote for me and one of them is dead. It is just possible that those who did vote for me are mafia, perhaps they hoped that Eliabus' keenness to lynch me would sway the other innocent voters.

2: Try to lynch Rudi
Possible, but Minuto's vote was tenth, which strikes me as rather late to try and influence the vote as nearly everyone remaining would have needed to vote for Rudi to secure a lynching. Most of the votes for Rudi came too late to have an impact.

3: Not try to lynch
Surely the most likely choice. The mafia could vote for either candidate or no lynching with impunity. The layer-droid is right: the mafia didn't need to lynch, they can get us all eventually. I think it is more likely that at least one of us who voted for no lynching is mafia.
 

---

Posted by The Great Gumby (# 10989) on :
 

quote:

---

Originally posted by la vie en rouge:
My proof that this is true? Simple. I can tell you who I have blocked.

---

quote:

---

She's so twisty you could use her to open bottles!

---

quote:

---

Originally posted by The Great Gumby:

quote:

---

Originally posted by la vie en rouge:
My proof that this is true? Simple. I can tell you who I have blocked.

---

And if this checks out, you prove yourself to be a Roleblocker. However, I'm not sure that this necessarily demonstrates you to be innocent. AIUI, you could still be MAFIA with a Roleblocking ability.

Care to comment?

---

quote:

---

Originally posted by Sylvander:
1. The Cat's claim "I have been investigated and found innocent" is equal to the statement "I am innocent". Everybody will say that and - we cannot verify.

---

No, it's not the same. Saying "I have been investigated and found innocent" can be falsified by the investigator. The investigator may not reveal her role by announcing this publicly, but she can be counted on to nominate the liar for lynching.

This is less foolproof if there's more than one investigator, but would the Red Cat Goddess have been willing to assume that and spin this elaborate story? I don't think so.
 

---

Posted by AristonAstuanax (# 10894) on :
 
Final Tally:
Needed for conviction: VIII

The Red Cat Goddess: III
Reverse Minuto: IV
No Lynching: VI
Non-voting: II
Dead: I

Mycroft hoped that the switch from tally marks to numbers might cause less confusion. His research on ancient pre-Pegasonian counting systems was not looking promising, however—a base 7.5 counting system just does not translate well, especially for beings without half-fingers.

"Once again, you have decided not to lynch one of your fellow travelers. I sincerely hope your restraint is the result of prudence, rather than cowardice, deception, or timidity. May we all gather here tomorrow morning, as alive and well as we are at the present time. Goodnight."

**********
Night comes to the Ariston. Those of you who act during the night . . . it may be a good idea to do so now.
**********

The proceedings over, Mycroft took a long walk across the ship to the infirmary. News had reached him about his friend; even if she was supposedly stable, it was unlikely that the medical staff was well-equipped to deal with the peculiarities of Xhosimina's injuries. He had spent the day scouring the ship's library for any information he could find that might be of help, and, on the advice of one of her colleagues, had finally settled on a course of action.

"Breselarion—I'll be meeting you in Xhosimina's ward."

Though the words were spoken to empty air, the steward had no doubt he would find the angel waiting for him.

He hurried past the reception desk, ignoring requests to sign in. The ship's medical staff gave way before him; everybody knew why he had come, if not what he was planning. The lights were dark in the ward when he arrived, the air thick and completely still. Xhosimina was holding only tenuously to form; there was some worry that a strong draft could undo her forever. Mycroft leaned back into a nearby chair, feeling his relay mesh with the ship's network, the presence of Breselarion merging first with his electronic implants, then his own nerves. Somebody was going to have to steady the steward's hands during this operation, keep his mind clear, allow him to focus; a rational being's nervous system was certainly an unusual network to manage, but these were unusual circumstances.

«we remember her to herself
how she was
how she will be
soon
the union
the transcendental synthesis
conceptualization
one»

Mycroft reached forward into the tenuous condensation of Xhosimina. The angel inside of him was focusing his mind perfectly, revealing every memory he had ever had of her, feeding him images and data from elsewhere on the ship, even half-faded phantasms from the minds of others. Where once Xhosimina used her own intellectual powers to communicate consciousness and form to the chosen matter, the steward was relying on whatever knowledge he had of her to effect the same process. As the cognitions flowed forth, uniting intuitions and recollections, the body of the angel grew more and more substantial, changing from a dense fog through translucence to something vaguely solid—the limbs and body of an extremely tall woman.

«no
not exactly as we remember her
as she would be as human
not as we are
not as she appeared»

The dark marks on her body faded away, as did the subtle glints around her face; Breselarion was right to point out that there was a danger in informing the angel as united with her trademark piercings and gown. Probably best to leave her without her tattoos as well—and giving her almost unnaturally light hair might be best, considering her penchant for odd colors. It was going to be hard for Xhosimina to adjust to having a fixed form. Mycroft certainly hoped he did the best he could for her.

«done now
her mind
returns
the matter now determines form»

The steward felt the angel leave his mind as a sudden surge of exhaustion; every sensation that had been blocked that would have detracted from the operation was now rushing back to him.

"Mycroft?"
 

---

Posted by Rev per Minute (# 69) on :
 
Minuto was more than a little concerned that he had barely got up before it was night again - and with all that coffee in his system he wasn't going to sleep any time soon. He began to explore the bars, cafes and speakeasies of the lower decks, taking care to avoid the gravity-free swimming pool (never having liked swimming, he couldn't imagine that it was a nicer experience without water) and the strange men selling small furry creatures from Alpha Centauri. Whether these were real small furry creatures from Alpha Centauri or cunningly-disguised Tribbles was hard to tell. Minuto shivered and moved on, memories of a nasty bite from a Jovian hamster fresh in his mind (basically, Jupiter is just one giant hanster wheel - why else would the surface swirl like that?)

Minuto reflected on his brush with death. Was the Red Cat Goddess simply bad at counting or was she up to something more sinister? What was this 'role-blocking' business and could anyone prove to have been such a person? What was the role of the silent passengers, who didn't even turn up to vote for a lynching? Did he have enough question marks to keep going?

Minuto had heard tell of computers with huge memories and the ability to solve such problems. A shifty man called Avon had told him of a computer called Orac, but that had turned out to be an annoying little machine which seemed to have swallowed Christmas lights for its lunch. A better option was the legendary Zen, but that was apparently lost with the equally-mythical Liberator. A night of searching was called for...
 

---

Posted by AristonAstuanax (# 10894) on :
 
Day 2: Where the Twist Flops

Sometimes, even the deadly assasin meets his match. During the night, Obble-42 was murdered--but, as the ship's security officer, he made his assailant pay. It turns out that Ruby was right--Reverse Minuto, a man whose very unremarkability went unnoticed, was given his just reward.
Nominations are now being accepted. Please defend yourself as you are accused.
 

---

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :
 
Boa Languina opened two of her four eyes. Two more dead, in a real duel to the death? Without the entertainment crew being allowed to notify passengers? What an opportunity missed, just when such a spectacle could have lifted everyone's spirits.

Very unusual. She wondered about those who had actively supported Reverso's call to lynch the burlesque cat. Astraea Alcyone had seemed keen to see some blood spilled. Let's see how the priestess defends herself, shall we?
 

---

Posted by Dafyd (# 5549) on :
 
I think that shows that the Red Cat goddess is almost certainly on our side.
I would tentatively clear everyone who voted to lynch Reverse Minuto. The mafia might have decided to clear themselves in case anyone ever found them out in future on the assumption that they knew it was safe, but I think it's a bit early for them to try playing those games. They always feel clever when you're not mafia, but should one ever be mafia I think it feels better to play safe.
That clears:
The Red Cat Goddess (La Vie en Rouge).
Herodartus (Hart) (who voted before the vote was decided)
and probably also Jorfh the Moose (JFH).
and Grstamjualt (Imaginary Friend).
I personally also trust Rudi (Sylvander).

I think that's enough probable innocents for us to start lynching people. I agree Astraea (Antisocial Alto) is looking suspicious at this point.
 

---

Posted by la vie en rouge (# 10688) on :
 
Purrrrrrrrr. That's a turn-up for the books. Right, hopefully you all believe me now (about the role-blocking, and my own innocence).

Random thoughts:

On role-blocking:

I don't really regret blocking the rat. I agree that he is reasoning; I disagreed about the usefulness of said reasoning, however And honestly, I sometimes get the impression that rat likes to disagree with me just to be contrary. That "we should lynch her just for blocking me, even if she is innocent" thing is probably just sour grapes about the nasty bout of Xhoronos that he now knows is headed his way. (Sorry mate). Of course, shutting him up also proves that I'm telling the truth about being a roleblocker.

Providing that I have been contacted by a real psionic, I obviously won't be blocking him/her/it because I know who he/she/it is. I am also going know who he/she/it has investigated, which narrows my field of potentially guilty blockees. The only danger is that I have been lied to and played for a sucker. But I don't think so. I can't block the security guard because he is unfortunately deceased (which I'm expecting to mean that my life expectancy is getting perilously short : ).

On blocking murderers: I'm actually not sure how far my powers extend in this direction, actually, the Power That Is didn't really make it clear. I'm guessing that I can probably block a murder if I infect the individual who actually orders the hit. Of course if we can get the killers down to one, I can obviously block forever providing I get the right person.

On the psionic:

I am being made party to all of the psionic's findings. I'm not sure whether these ought to be revealed to the public at large or not. I see a great advantage in publicly declaring innocents, because it makes those individuals unlynchable by anyone except the very, very stupid, but it's true that it moves them up the MAFIA hitlist. OTOH, these people are secondary targets compared to the psionic and me. (Should I buy the farm in the near future, the psionic will choose another innocent to pass along the information along to.) Not sure what's for the best here.

The psionic has told me he/she/it doesn't intend to contact everyone he/she/it finds innocent, in order to reduce the number of people in the know and the chances of someone inadvertently letting something slip before investigations are complete. He/she/it is also concerned about revealing his/her/its identity to a potential traitor. This means you should give up on "secret web of knowledge via the psionic" plans, because the psionic isn't interested.

The Red Cat
 

---

Posted by Surfing Madness (# 11087) on :
 
Zoink wondered if she would ever learn that cider wasn't the answer! One day maybe!! Also she really work on learning to tell lies from truth. Problem was that in life she spent so much time by herself, maybe interacting with others would improve her abilities, on the other hand the boxes wouldn't unpack themselves.
 

---

Posted by Dafyd (# 5549) on :
 
Harrumph. Much as I assume the Red Cat Goddess is telling the truth, if she were playing a devious game I think she would be doing exactly what she's doing now. (The detective investigates her, let's her know who he or she is, and then decides not to tell anybody else? It's possible I suppose. Also, she says that the detective is keeping quiet until he or she finishes her investigations - but the detective can't possibly finish her investigations faster than the mafia kill everyone off.)

I'm proposing to continue for the next couple of rounds on the assumption that the Red Cat Goddess is telling the truth; but if anyone can contradict her story could they please find a way of passing that knowledge onto the general public?
 

---

Posted by The Great Gumby (# 10989) on :
 

quote:

---

Originally posted by Dafyd:
I think that shows that the Red Cat goddess is almost certainly on our side.

---

quote:

---

I would tentatively clear everyone who voted to lynch Reverse Minuto. The mafia might have decided to clear themselves in case anyone ever found them out in future on the assumption that they knew it was safe, but I think it's a bit early for them to try playing those games. They always feel clever when you're not mafia, but should one ever be mafia I think it feels better to play safe.

---

quote:

---

Originally posted by la vie en rouge:
At any rate, the securitybot never contacted me prior to getting done in.

---

quote:

---

Voting for your own when there is no chance of lynching seems like a good tactic to me, which makes me suspicious of Grstamjuarlt and Jorfh.

---

quote:

---

Originally posted by la vie en rouge:
Ahem. I have it on good authority that Jorfh the Moose is innocent.

---

quote:

---

Originally posted by Dafyd:
I'm more suspicious of Gumblor, Leox and Miss Smudgeson than of Jorfh myself.

---

quote:

---

Originally posted by la vie en rouge:
On role-blocking: I don't really regret blocking the rat.

---

Well, I hope not! At least YOU should have enjoyed it. This was a very nasty bug indeed and if you don't behave from now on, I'll tell everybody all the little details of what you inflicted on me. Believe me, the mere description will make the more fainthearted passengers sick to the point of rocking this boat with their convulsions!

quote:

---

Originally posted by la vie en rouge: I sometimes get the impression that rat likes to disagree with me just to be contrary.

---

quote:

---

is probably just sour grapes about the nasty bout of Xhoronos that he now knows is headed his way. (Sorry mate).

---

Sour grapes? Wouldn't I have had to know in advance you were going to make me sick? Instead I went to bed unsuspecting of any impending doom. Just as I was in the middle of the sweetest dream full of nubile rats that give delight and hurt not, a thousand dangling instruments humming about mine ears when I abruptly awoke and found myself in the process of dying an agonising death ... and things got worse from there.

quote:

---

our security guard is unfortunately deceased

---

quote:

---

The psionic has told me he/she/it doesn't intend to contact everyone he/she/it finds innocent, in order to reduce the number of people in the know and the chances of someone inadvertently letting something slip before investigations are complete.

---

quote:

---

The psionic is also concerned about revealing his/her/its identity to a potential traitor.

---

quote:

---

Originally posted by Sylvander:
Is there such a role? As I said in that case my (or rather: originally Dafyd's) idea won't work.

---

I'm not worried about the traitor for the time being.
 

---

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :
 
Well if Reverse Minuto was MAFIA; and if Astraea Alcyone is lynched and proves also to be MAFIA; and if there are only two MAFIA, then the chances are that the traitor will not have had time to connect with either of them. In which case the MAFIA lose. If, however, there were three MAFIA to begin with, then the possibility is that the traitor may well connect with them and the game is on again.

Then there is the tantalizing suggestion from our host that strange things may occur along the way. We have already had an instance of an 'automated defense lawyer program'. Voices and characters thought gone seem to have a way of transmogrifying - I suspect it ain't over yet by a long shot....

Boa Languina closed all but one of her bright purple eyes, and settled back into the gentle froth of her warm cappucino bath. She could really get used to this level of luxury, and happily contemplated trying the other 488 blends of coffee on offer at Miss Smudgeson's in the near future.
 

---

Posted by AristonAstuanax (# 10894) on :
 
"Well, that pretty much settles it. Eight to three, who cares about abstentions; Astrea Alcyone, you have been condemned by the LUNCHMOB. Any suggestions on how the guilty should be introduced to the next world?"

Mycroft blinked in the moment before he expected chaos to reign.

Nothing happened.


.


Then everything did.

Passengers of the Starship Ariston: all active members of the MAFIA have been eliminated. Complete, unqualified victory is yours

The Power That Is made Its presence known. Its power was exceeded only by its wisdom, Its wisdom only by its power . . . and for one infinitely long flash of a demimoment, even that made sense.

We are slightly disappointed in how quickly this "game" we played with you mortals lasted. In retrospect, we see we might have wished to have gone with Predestination Plan Number Two—More Badnicks, This Time At Each Other's Throats! Our cunning Plans and Ideas? Our ways of making you wonder what in Acratlatia was going on in our ineffable head? To be implemented after *another* lynching . . . or any lynching at all, for that matter. But we didn't do that, and you all got smart, so good work.

But!

BUT!!!

The Fun Doesn't Have To End Now.
We have Powers. Plot holes are Nothings to us.
It can all be retconned in the sequel . . .

As the exterior appearance of motion by which the passage of time can be measured by the power of judgment of sensible beings paused (don't ask), a pair of options appeared before each and every member of the LUNCHMOB:


.


DO YOU WISH TO CONTINUE?
————{Y}————{N}————

[ 09. March 2011, 07:03: Message edited by: AristonAstuanax ]
 

---

Posted by Sylvander (# 12857) on :
 
Awww. All over. Winning by lucky punch on day two is rather anti-climactic
Rudi Rattelschneck hoped that from now on this boat would steer in calmer waters. Or any waters for that matter. He was space-sick and longed for a sea-breeze.
 

---

Posted by la vie en rouge (# 10688) on :
 
Oh. It's finished already…

The psionic (I'll let him reveal who he is) and I were just having a big strategic discussion about what to do next. I'd taken it for granted there was a third killer.

And truth be told, the Red Cat had just made a rather embarassing tactical blunder. I'd just blocked Gumby (because I suspected him of being the third murderer) and it turns out that he had limited keeping-alive powers and was planning to use them to save me. (It was to my advantage to get my pick in ASAP because of actions that would cancel each other out. Whoever got in first would have their action counted.) Whoops

What do we think of unlimited communication? I think it was a worthwhile experiment but probably makes it too hard for the mob, if you once work out how to get round the "being sure someone is telling the truth" problem. A third mobster or a defector might have evened things out a bit.

OTOH I got to Reverse the old-fashioned way - decide how you think the killers would have voted, analyse the votes, make the best pick on the available evidence. Eliab has said in the past that he thinks it's more satisfactory to win the game by deduction than detection, and I agree with him. That's the other reason I was never keen on the "secret web of knowledge" idea (that, and the problems with liars - if I'd been mafia, I think I almost certainly would have tried it on just for kicks - and the possibility of a traitor). It seemed to me to be producing a rather dull game. I'd thought about declaring as a useful strategy already, and being nominated made me decide to do it earlier than I'd planned. But I have to confess: I was getting bored waiting around. So I decided to set the Red Cat among the pigeons (as I said at the time, to pep the game up) and see what happened.

That said, I do think the MAFIA were spectacularly unlucky.

Would it be wrong of me to use this as a new sig?

quote:

---

Originally posted by Demosthenes 0.9:
But, hey, check out the cat chick! Is she smooth or what? I mean, we are talking FRICTIONLESS BEARINGS here. If the beer here were that smooth, I'd be in the bar ALL DAY, dude, and I'm an AI construct, man!

---

Coming from the mighty Eliab himself, I'm pretty proud of that one

Much as I love this game, I think I might be in favour of a brief rest before we start it up again. I guess we should see how the Circus hosts feel about it as well.
 

---

Posted by The Great Gumby (# 10989) on :
 

quote:

---

Originally posted by la vie en rouge:
And truth be told, the Red Cat had just made a rather embarassing tactical blunder. I'd just blocked Gumby (because I suspected him of being the third murderer) and it turns out that he had limited keeping-alive powers and was planning to use them to save me. (It was to my advantage to get my pick in ASAP because of actions that would cancel each other out. Whoever got in first would have their action counted.) Whoops

---

That's fair enough - how were you to know? But I'm a little hurt you thought I was a bad guy. I didn't reveal myself before that point because I didn't have a vital role, and I wanted to wait long enough to be sure you were who you claimed. Even then, I held out on you a little - as well as being able to "protect" people, at least as far as temporarily being able to speak from beyond the grave, I could (if I chose) turn someone else into me (my role, my alignment) but at the expense of my own life. That was my fallback if I came under too much suspicion or became too obvious a target for the MAFIA.

As Dafyd was openly suspicious of me, I decided the best option was to try to buy a day by "protecting" you, then (having been effectively declared innocent, and with no protection) to commit that strange form of suicide the next day. Fortunately, it didn't come to that.

[ETA: speling]

[ 09. March 2011, 11:45: Message edited by: The Great Gumby ]
 

---

Posted by Antisocial Alto (# 13810) on :
 

quote:

---

Originally posted by la vie en rouge:

The psionic (I'll let him reveal who he is) and I were just having a big strategic discussion about what to do next. I'd taken it for granted there was a third killer.

---

quote:

---

Originally posted by Dafyd:
Question: one person contacted me privately to out themselves as the traitor and expressed a wish to keep playing on the innocents team. (They can identify themselves if they wish.) The mafia were weaker than they might have been given that the traitor was actively trying for an innocent victory. What do people think? Is this fair?

---

Possibly fair, depending on the drafting of the rules and roles for this game by mine host, but a typical Traitor should only achieve a win in the event of both a successful defection and a victory for the mafia, to prevent just this sort of situation.

The Traitor's meant to provide balance (as well as a slight check on the knowledge gleaned by a straight detective), but if you allow them this sort of option, it tends to make the game more unbalanced in one direction or the other, as it effectively allows them to bolster the winning side.
 

---

Posted by AristonAstuanax (# 10894) on :
 
*sigh*
Alright, it's over. Time for the shroud to be lifted, our thought process to be revealed, and who won/lost . . .

That's as decisive a loss by the MAFIA as I could have ever imagined. Furthermore, as the turncoat (yes, there was one) never met up with the MAFIA—and, it seems, was even working against them—she lost as well.

Reverse Minuto, Astrea Alcyone, and Boa Languina, we hereby condemn you to an eternity of eternal horror—watching the Black-Eyed Peas Superbowl Halftime show with people who think it's amazing . . . until the moment it seems so-bad-it's-good. At that point, we'll force you to listen to seminarians delivering theologically-based sermons, with no chance of sleep.

Enjoy.

The rest of you . . . well, we should be arriving soon. In the meantime, enjoy the following revelations:

We deliberately left the roles in play vague; as much as anything else, we wanted to see you discover what was really going on amongst yourselves as who was working for whom. Some of the roles were guessed at, some were self-identified, some were misappropriated, and others were never even mentioned . . . which is just fine, since a couple of them were weird. From our Power's Oculus Vantage, here's who you all were:

Their Netua———————-Empath (is aware that they are being investigated, as well as who is doing the investigation; cannot, however, tell what the investigator's role is)
Jorfh "The Moose"————-Psionic Adept (once per night, can determine guilt or innocence of one target)
Obble-42————————-Security Officer (if targeted by MAFIA, is killed, but takes one assailant along for the ride; if investigated by turncoat, kills her)
Eliabus Dautius Zurcon——Inscrutable (all investigations fail; alignment remains unknown at death)
Ruby/Red Cat Goddess——Bioweapon Smuggler (from nightfall to voting phase, target can neither act nor speak)
Neversaid A.I.——————-Clairvoyant (can determine role of target, but not alignment)
Gumblor————————-Medium/Conditioned (chooses two targets; if either of these two are killed during the night, they get an extra day to reveal anything they might have witnessed. In addition, the conditioned may choose to sacrifice her/him/itself, giving their role and alignment to any other player [e.g., a MAFIA-aligned turncoat would become an innocent medium])

We almost thought about making the conditioned role MAFIA-specific, but decided at the last minute that it would give the baddies too much of an advantage, so we assigned it at random. Additionally, we seriously thought about eliminating the turncoat and going with two MAFIA factions—one Presa, one Caadran—who had no knowledge of the other's existence, and only won when the other side was eliminated. Of course, we'd only take kill orders from whomever messaged me first, so it might take a little while for even the killers to figure out that there was something going on . . .

We also thought about not revealing any roles at all and seeing what you figured out. That seemed slightly cruel though, as did not revealing the guilt or innocence of anyone who was killed (or not revealing it after Jorfh died).

And now, for the Strange Things we were planning on. First, the Lockdown—divide the players into two random groups and spend a night phase that way. If the MAFIA get split up, each faction can act independently, albeit with something of a penalty due to the security restrictions. We've been playing with this idea for a while under different guises and settings. Second, A Masked Ball—there's a chance that your investigations/assassinations accidentally (but successfully) target the wrong person. Third (and in the list of things we kinda wish we'd included), a recruitment/cultist faction—each day someone gets the chance to convert someone to The Cult. The new convert, filled with missionary zeal, converts someone else. That new person does the same—and so on. Of course, the cultists don't know until the end who the others are, so there's a good chance that someone gets "converted" more than once. The cultists win, regardless of faction, if a majority of those left standing are members.

That, by the way, was the inspiration for my little card trick—we mostly just wanted to see who was talking to whom. It's what we would have done if we were playing—though, of course, the possibility of someone lying out their ass was something we were counting on. Just a little experiment, nothing more.

Thank you all,
The Power That Was
 

---

Posted by Sylvander (# 12857) on :
 

quote:

---

Originally posted by Imaginary Friend:
What was with the round-robin letter by the way?

---

I was given the letter by the Master of the Universe with the instruction to add my name to the list and send it on to whom I liked. Once it came back to me I was to give it back to where I got it from with the list of names at the bottom.
I was not allowed to tell from whom I got it.
It never made it back to me.
As to its purpose Ariston best can tell.
 

---

Posted by Banner Lady (# 10505) on :
 
Well, by the great god Insinuous, the rainbow serpent and his spirit Belinda, I did not expect the ride to finish so quickly.

Yes, yes, I was the snake who was really a snake. I was allowed to investigate the role of one person each night. On the first night I investigated Eliab, simply because he's a combative player and I wanted to find out whose side he was on. At the same time he was obviously targeted by the Mafia, so that was really a wasted night.

On the second night I decided to investigate either obble or Zoink, as they were laying low in below deck service roles. Typical mafia behaviour, methought. I went for Zoink, and discovered Zoink was innocent, while obble was killed along with Reverse Minuto. Obble proved to be the security-bot. So for the second night I failed to find any felons.

I decided that I would try to make use of the free contact rule, and carefully chose Dafyd. Dafyd got knocked out very early in the last game of Mafia, so I thought he might make a keen ally. His voting pattern indicated he might be innocent, and possibly in private contact with the Red Cat, who I also assumed to be innocent. At the back of my mind was Gumby's last game plan where he held off contacting mafia until right at the end, which made for an extremely interesting game.

I was prepared to be incredibly traitorous. To play for no-one but my self. To get Dafyd believing I didn't want to be a traitor, to play the part of the 'good' snake, and then quietly pick people off. I nominated AA in order to make myself look extremely innocent, not realizing she was the last mafioso - but then, most everyone else also thought she had to be mafia by the way the votes fell out. Had the game gone two more turns, I think my strategy might have paid off; but it didn't.

It was an interesting scenario, Ariston, and I really think the mafia had quite bad luck very early on. It's always a huge gamble as to how many mafia to appoint - perhaps, given the free contact rule, it should have been three. That would be my only suggestion.

BL. Failed traitor.
 

---

Posted by Hart (# 4991) on :
 
It was a fun game. We haven't really had one decided by luck recently, so I guess we were due for one. I'd probably be up for a mafia rest too, but at some point I'd like to go on another outing as the clueless-but-keen historian who ended up being rather fun to play.
 

---

Posted by JFH (# 14794) on :
 
I thought I'd change my strategy from the rather unsuccessful one last game. At first I was somewhat disappointed with getting the psionic abilities - it means you have to be careful and stay alive and lots of responsibilities to the team. To play it well takes some skill. I first thought of researching Eliab the first night, but changed that to La Vie when he outed his ability. Good choice. I didn't trust him - I still thought of investigating him the next night - but it seemed reasonable to go with what he said for at least the first night. La Vie proved to be a lucky stroke, as I got to know for certain that she was innocent and thus could use her as my mouthpiece - and what a mouthpiece! I contacted her and she trusted me immediately, possibly because I quoted AristonAstuanax's rather vivid depiction of her.

quote:

---

Though this is probably the only time it's ever been (or will be) said about her, Ruby the Red Cat Goddess is innocent.

---

quote:

---

Originally posted by Banner Lady:


On the second night I decided to investigate either obble or Zoink, as they were laying low in below deck service roles. Typical mafia behaviour, methought. I went for Zoink, and discovered Zoink was innocent, while obble was killed along with Reverse Minuto. Obble proved to be the security-bot. So for the second night I failed to find any felons.

---

quote:

---

Originally posted by Sylvander:

quote:

---

Originally posted by Imaginary Friend:
What was with the round-robin letter by the way?

---

I was given the letter by the Master of the Universe with the instruction to add my name to the list and send it on to whom I liked. Once it came back to me I was to give it back to where I got it from with the list of names at the bottom.
I was not allowed to tell from whom I got it.
It never made it back to me.
As to its purpose Ariston best can tell.

---

quote:

---

Originally posted by JFH:
Therefore I picked Smudgie for the second investigation... She's rather quiet, which in my mind made her somewhat expendable

---

I reckon I am getting old. I love a puzzle and I love sci-fi but I think lack of time to commit to this plus a gently mouldering brain made it hard to keep track of something so much more complex than the basic Mafia game. (Not a criticism - I think it was an amazing thread and would have had me rivetted a couple of years ago!) Thank goodness I was innocent - by far the easiest role to play. Expendable, though? Expendable?? Where else would you get a decent cup of coffee?
 

---

Posted by The Great Gumby (# 10989) on :
 

quote:

---

Originally posted by Hart:
I'd probably be up for a mafia rest too, but at some point I'd like to go on another outing as the clueless-but-keen historian who ended up being rather fun to play.

---

© Ship of Fools 2016


UBB.classic^TM 6.5.0