Quisoves Potoo

I got to die, and I'm not even playing! 10/10, would die again.

A photo, painting, or other framed artwork featuring a one-eyed, emaciated circus clown with orange shoes and a cherry-red nose who was born in the month February and is therefore being executed for murder by insufficient camouflage despite absolutely positively zero evidence whatsoever, swinging by his neck from a mysterious gallows in a dark forest in southwestern Siberia, obviously.

Someone with an iota of artistic talent (i.e. not me) please paint/draw this.

It's obviously a genetically-engineered human-chameleon hybrid with a remote-control embedded in his brain.

 

 

 

I bet people would be even MORE scared to approach us than they already are!

People are afraid to approach us?

 

It's not like we regularly kill each other or something.

 

No, it's cause they're suspicious of our overly dashing looks.

 

With a beak like mine, I don't blame them!

Final Tally:

Voting is now closed. The scene will be up anon.

 

Voting Petewa.

 

Consider yourself lucky that I'm familiar with BZP's namechanging antics. A newer host might simply have ignored your vote.

Current Tally:

Current Tally:

Nato-1

Petewa-3

Shadowhawk-1

Pulse-2

Luroka-1

Correction, since someone had to go and ruin a perfectly good bloodbath, I shall vote for Pulse. There will be death.

 

Also do not question the wisdom of the RNG, if it tells you to vote an innocent, it must know something we don't.

ALL HAIL THE STATIC

Goodness, "color" is a weird word.

Current Tally:

Nato-1

Petewa-2

Shadowhawk-1

Pulse-2

Current Tally:

Nato-1

Petewa-1

Shadowhawk-1

Pulse-1

While I admire the creativity and fine taste in classical music, I sorely would appreciate a transcript of this scene, please, Mr. Quisoves. 

 

I'll vote once I've figured out what is going on. 

Alright, sorry about that. Here you go:

 

Calm down, chaps, please. Antipathy of this sort has no place in a Mafia game.

exactly why petewa constantly voting for nato is annoying.

A fair point. But perpetuating it doesn't help.

That said, as the host, I should like to remind you, Petewa, that deliberately antagonizing another member amounts to flaming, which is against the BZP guidelines.

Calm down, chaps, please. Antipathy of this sort has no place in a Mafia game.

The link won't work for me.

Snap, you're right! I've fixed it now.

I vote the Next BIONICLE Mafia Game. It's obvious, really. It needs to come into being, so it can take its place as Mafia's Champion!

 

What did MOPE and NOPE even stand for again?

 

who knows?

 

MOPE was made during Dead Sea I think

 

or maybe Tower of Trepidation

 

or maybe even later, I dunno

 

Let's see. I was around when it formed. Ah, it was during Carnival of Death (which I didn't play, oddly enough.)

Now, where was I? Oh, yes.

I LIVE! LOOK UPON MY WORK, YE MIGHTY, AND DESPAIR (of my sanity, that is.)

WARNING: Poorly Recorded Narration Ahead

We now return you to your scheduled  program

Here, with all apologies to Sergei Prokofiev, is

Night Two

Manducus and the Mafia

time to hide under a rock, methinks
 

Apologies for my tardiness. I've being experiencing increased Herxing (AKA Lyme bacteria exploding in my brain,) which has further addled my mind. The scene should be up soon.

As a result of feeling so lousy, I decided to execute an idea I'd been saving for a future game (because I've already got several silly ideas for this game's scenes.) It will probably fit snugly under the category of "Things One Looks Back on and Groans."

Day One

Or

The Hanged Man's Raider's Tale

"What are the conch-horns blowing for," said Kyle on parade.

"To turn you out, to turn you out," the Quirky Turtle said.

"For we're hanging poor Ghidora, you can hear death-march play, the village's in Hoto Square, we're hanging him to-day!"

* * *

By the time the songs of mourning had finished, the whole village had convened around the pit. The atmosphere was oppressive, like sap clogging the works of every soul.

Of the thirty assembled, twenty-one had never dirtied themselves with another's blood.  These ones stood frozen, breath forgotten, in dread anticipation of the coming taint.

Ghidora eyed the assembled throng, his mask a pattern of inconsolable terror. He made to shout at them, to curse them for their "justice," but no sound came. How could he rail at those he counted as conspirators?  Had he not been every bit as keen to see some other blighter take his leave of life?

Strong hands seized him from behind, and Shadowhawk marched him to the edge of the pit. Ghidora fell, trembling, whimpering, choking on dust and dread.

He looked once more upon his brethren, seeking mercy vainly.

Something stirred within him. Am I a coward, he thought. Will I let them remember me as one who left them like a mewling beast? Terror begets terror, does it not? I cannot save myself, but perhaps I can help to end this madness.

So thinking, he changed his bearing. He rose, doing his best to cover himself in calm. Still it was not enough.

Knees threatening to buckle, he redoubled his efforts. He opened his mouth and began to sing:

Twere' on the Planet U that we our dreaded sojourn made,

The ships were fit to crumble and we right despaired of all,

Yet to get us back to Terra, we'd a most unlikely aid,

In the ever-glowing baubles of the cavern's living wall.

Oh, the travails that confronted us, rock monster to cave-in,

Were enough to do a wretched, stranded Rock-Raider straight in!

We got by on stale sandwiches; oh the landslides that occurred!

We never 'ad a moment's rest and we didn't know relief,

And to see your brother snuffed-out by a slimey slug's absurd!

But we had a keen protector in our blessed cyborg Chief!

Oh, the travails that confronted us, rock monster to cave-in,

Were enough to do a wretched, stranded Rock-Raider straight in!

He were a funny blighter, how he mumbled every word!

And a sudden, horrid landslide were enough to make him stutter,

Yet he loved us as 'is children, our complaints he always heard,

No dissent nor angry grumblings did a Raider ever utter!

Oh, the travails that confronted us, rock monster to cave-in,

Could never do the spirit of the Rock Raiders straight in!

"Where the dickens did that come from," Ghidora muttered bemusedly, as Shadowhawk pushed him to his death.

* * *

Ghidora dead, a vale was lifted from the minds of the assembled, and they knew their ghastly error.

Ghidora, Villager, lynched Day One

Night Roles have 24 hours to act!

Final Tally:

Jed-1
Vox-1
Fishers-6
Ghidora-9
 

Voting is officially closed.

The scene will be up later.

Luroka-2
Jed-1
Vox-1
Fishers-3
Ghidora-5

I vote Luroka. Let's get a triple hang going.

 

 

~Unit#phntk#1

I regret to inform you that you are, not to put too fine a point on it, a stiff. A cadaver. Deceased. Dead.

Actual Tally:

Luroka-2

Jed-1

Vox-1

Fishers-3

Ghidora-4

Luroka-3
Jed-1
Vox-1
Fishers-3
Ghidora-4

Nevermind, the Phantom Voter strikes again.

WHY YES, YOUR VOTE TALLY!

Luroka-2
Jed-1
Vox-1
Fishers-3
Ghidora-4
 

 

 

 

 

And then there was Red Sea I suppose but I don't really remember anything from it

so

Take it from the chap with the abnormally strong memory, that's probably for the best (this isn't a slight against Xaeraz)

 

Valendale, why? *Sniff*

 

What was this about?

 

I thought Read Sea was pretty cool, wish it could have been played through all the way.

As I said, it wasn't really Xae's fault. I was just referring to my rotten luck, whereby I got fused to Voltex, then killed by you.

 

and then i won the game.

but xae never posted the final scene rip

 

That was Dead Sea, which was slightly before my time.

 

 

And then there was Red Sea I suppose but I don't really remember anything from it

so

Take it from the chap with the abnormally strong memory, that's probably for the best (this isn't a slight against Xaeraz)

 

Valendale, why? *Sniff*

 

What was this about?

 

I thought Read Sea was pretty cool, wish it could have been played through all the way.

As I said, it wasn't really Xae's fault. I was just referring to my rotten luck, whereby I got fused to Voltex, then killed by you.

Night One

Or

The Cult That Couldn't Catch

Night, draped with dread stillness, hung over the timorous village.

Normally, no one would have stirred, the villagers consigned to the realm of subconsciousness. But sleep came fleetingly now, the Matorans' slumber choked with fear.

So it was that two figures strode through the marshes of the Mind-Dim Woods. One was unremarkable, a fisherman. The other, however, was something rather more important...

* * *

"You understand, comrades, that I abhor my plan. Would that you would denounce it, call me mad! But I see, and I think you see, that we have not the luxury of heroism.

"If we die, it matters not how we are remembered, nor do I think the Great Spirit will judge us too harshly. If we live, then, at worst, we die. If our siblings denounce us as monsters, they will do so in safety from the true monster.

"We must cast aside all ephemeralities. The compassion that would keep us from fratricide must subsumed by that which would see our brethren saved. We must treat them as beasts, yet love them as we have never loved before. We must become villains, that we might be the greatest Mafia of all!"

So saying, the speaker had sunk to ground, smothered with weariness. The others had said nothing, but their sad silence had been as potent as any word. Faced with two madnesses, they had chosen that which would might usher sanity back in.

* * *

So it was that the fisherman was stalked amongst the dingy trees.

His pursuer, trembling, tripped. The sound made was soft, but distinct against the chorus of nocturnal Rahi. The fisherman halted, spooked.

He turned, and with a cry, sighted the hunter.
"Oh, it's you," he said, relieved.

His relief died as quickly as it came, as an obsidian club shattered his mask.

His breath fugitive, his mind fogged, Unit made to run with wild frenzy. But he never had a chance. With a sound as of pottery, his skull shattered, its shards littering the weed-choked pathway.

His killer, seeing his handiwork, fled, resisting the urge to drown himself in the noisome murk.

* * *

Upon a thin hilltop, beneath a canvas of dying stars, sat a twisted Matoran. He was clearing his mind, preparing to venture into the world of dreams. At last, with consummate quiet, the Voodoo Master began to mutter eldritch words.

With each verse, his consciousness shifted, until he beheld not an island, but the phantom of one, woven from memories and fancies and fears.

His chanting did not cease, but changed. But one word escaped his mouth: A name.

It sped through the mental labyrinth, undeterred, until at last it reached the mind of its bearer. But entrance was denied it.

With a jolt, the Voodoo Master awoke. He hurried down the hill, as fast as his wretched form would allow, cursing his fortune. It had not been a compete waste, though. He might yet make something of it...

* * *

Meanwhile, strange bird-songs echoed through the night. One was primal, alien, and yet frightened. The other was ghastly, dissonant, and brimming with hate.

Each weaved its way into the mind of a hapless villager...

* * *

"Oh dear," muttered the castaway, "I am losing my touch. What am I, a frightened Rahi? Still, they'll not realize they've been nerve-pinched. That's something."

* * *

Morn came, and Unit's absence was discovered, then his corpse, in short succession.

Aghast, the Villagers called for their protectors, only to realize they had forgotten which those were..

Its horror accentuated, the Village proved itself to be every bit as ruthless as the Mafia had dreaded being. A pit was dug, awaiting the victim of the tyrant majority.

The following Matoran were proved not to have ventured into the Mind-Dim woods:

• Tiragath
• Amazetastical Lynn
• Petewa
• FF the Forgotten
• Jed1ndy
• Underscore

Unit, Villager, killed by the Mafia, Night 1.

You have 24 hours to vote.

Nulling is allowed, and you may switch from a player to null.

You may vote for a player on the Innocent list (duh.)