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You know what? I've been half-heartedly defending this game since its release while quietly never buying it. With concessions like this, I think it's time.

Not mad about that DMC4 re-release either. Gonna have to tell my roommate, he's a huge fan.

psa Mak is telling a totally different story

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The villagers awake with a start in pitch-black darkness, making it difficult to tell at first that they've awoken at all. They curse their negligence and scramble to get their bearings; as their eyes adjust to the darkness, they fall upon the body of another lost comrade.

Midnight Star has been murdered. She was Lydia Flowers, an ordinary Townie.​

The walls around them begin to rumble. The howling from outside becomes audible once more, as though it had never really stopped. The villagers' eyes scan upward to find two of their number standing by the door with grim smiles and eyes of smoke.

One of them reaches for the door handle. Before anyone can stop it, her hand comes down upon it. The rosary flashes violently for a moment before coming apart in her fingers. The door swings open.

. . .

You've no doubt heard the old adage, small towns house great secrets. Perhaps you brushed it off, just a passing fancy of gossips... Not altogether unreasonable. Or perhaps you live in a small town yourself, and know—or hope—it to be untrue. Everyone has their secrets, to be sure, but certainly nothing so sinister.

This is what the quiet church town of Lovett believes. With a population of less than 30, there's no getting away from your neighbors there; everyone eventually gets to know everyone else.

But as the sun finally rises on the manor of Hobbe Watkins, and a host of people emerges—each looking quite like one of the villagers who entered, but with dark violet streaks over their eyes and a cruel expression—it becomes apparent that you never know your neighbor as well as you think.

With the Town's numbers critically low, there is no longer any hope for defense or retaliation. Thus Trigger and Calxiyn overrun the survivors.

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Mᴀғɪᴀ Vɪᴄᴛᴏʀʏ​

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Whew! What a nail-biter. Well played all around; considering the loss of power players on both sides, the Town's lingering suspicions, and the Mafia's looming risk of hitting the BPV, this one really could've gone either way. As usual, stay tuned to the OP for roles and QTs. In the meantime, feel free to discuss the game.

I won't be doing any commentary this time, because I'm going to offer 1-on-1 coaching to anyone who's interested instead. (And some of you don't have a choice because I've heard through the grapevine you're having self-esteem issues and I intend to tell you how fuckin' smart you are at this game.) So yeah, just PM me or something if you wanna know how you did! I'm about to go on a trip but I'll be back to tend to your questions on Sunday.

With regards to future games, I have some surprises on the horizon, so keep an eye on the Spamzone/Playground! Thanks for playing, and I hope to see you donning the pinstripe suits and fedoras again very soon...​

Silence reigns throughout the "night"—It is difficult to tell when the day breaks and fades, with the ever-present moon outside—but unlike most nights, the silence is true and pure, not filled with fear and paranoid murmurs in the dark. It is clear that whatever awaits them beyond the rosary door has not left their side, but it appears also that it cannot breach the walls, so long as the father's protection remains. And so the nightly shifts continue without incident...

...until very near the next "morning," when one of the remaining villagers is unable to be roused from sleep. On closer inspection, the reason becomes evident: The possessed have seized on this person's life as they slept, taking it swiftly and without notice. Another is lost to them.

Mish has been murdered. She was Jerolyn Knight, an ordinary Townie.​

Though the loss hangs heavy on them, their resolve is not shaken. Father Trebón's gift must not be squandered; they must purify the spirits in their midst. It is the only way forward.

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D A Y • F O U R​

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With 6 left alive, it takes 4 to lynch. Soft lynch has been abolished. Deadline is Wednesday, December 10th, at 7:00 ᴘ.ᴍ. (EST). Note also that the Town remains at risk of losing the game if they lynch one of their own.

THE SUSPENSE MUST BE KILLING YOU

BUT NOT AS BAD AS YOU'RE KILLING TUMMERRRR

...I'm really sorry everybody​

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HAMMER

• Risky Biznu - 5 (Mish, al215, Midnight Star, Zelda)
• Zelda - 2 (Calxiyn, Tummer)

. . .

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"...What?"

The accused looks incredulous, as though the thought of being suspected never entered into his mind. As the gravity of it hits him, his expression shifts from shocked to terrified. He takes a few steps away from the others, who begin closing in quickly.

"No... No, this isn't right... You can't!"

He backs into a dresser drawer, sending a vase to the floor with a loud clatter. This seems to awaken his senses, as he suddenly bolts down the hall. The group gives chase, but for a while he appears impossible to catch—Every time they get close, they round a corner or open a door only to find that it leads to somewhere it hadn't moments before, and he escapes down a passage behind them, or can be heard tromping through a different floor of the house. The wind swirls and groans around them, and the eerie blue lights flicker and sputter as the chase carries them further and further into a maze with no end.

Just as the party is about to give up the hunt, a new sound is heard from several rooms ahead: a chilling howl followed by a loud, cascading crash. Muffled shouting takes up the silence; apparently the hunted has come to a stop. The group move carefully towards the source of the noise, wary of the persistent howl, and the man's words become clearer as they approach.

"...me down, put me-aagh... Obey me! You... You're supposed to obey! Why is this... uhhg..."

Finally the group stands before an open door, and just over its threshold the accused hangs in mid-air, gasping and flailing as though held by the throat. Across from him is a sight that drains the color from everyone who lays eyes on it: a billowing, smoky silhouette in the shape of a man, featureless, "arm" outstretched towards the accused.

"You can't... do this... I... agh... I was supposed to be blessed by our lord! I was... I WAS TO BE A GOD!"

These words spark a change in the figure. A single feature appears on its face: Jagged snow-white lines slowly spreading towards its cheeks. A truly wicked grin, all malice and no humor.

In the man's last moments, his words lose coherence and become a series of gibbering screams, steadily rising in pitch. His struggles become quicker and more constrained, kicking his legs and clawing at his throat, until...

In an instant, so fast you could miss it for a blink, the man and the silhouette are gone. On one side, the faintest trace of dispersed smoke; on the other, walls drenched in blood.

Risky Biznu has been lynched. He was Hobbe Watkins, the Mafia Godfather.​

Silence floods the hall. The scene is too much to take in; the party remains frozen and numb. All their rage, their grim determination, has faded. Only the fear remains. Fear, now so grand and terrible, so wide as to swallow them whole. Then the wind comes again, cutting through the silence. The lights burst into life once more, only now instead of blue they have become dark and scarlet. The moon outside, suspended in time, follows suit and turns to a deep crimson. One word rings in the party's ears, loud enough to deafen.

F E A S T​

They run. Not knowing why, not knowing where—carried by animal impulse, in a mad flight from a danger they cannot truly escape. The wind and ringing follow behind, lapping at their heels, crossing their path through intersections and side rooms, assaulting their senses. A few among them, presumably the possessed, begin laughing, but no one has enough presence of mind to turn and identify them. They scramble for exits, throw their weight against doors, into windows, but nothing gives way. They are trapped, trapped as they ever were, though the trapper is dead and gone.

Inevitably, they come to a dead end, trapped in a room with no exits, save the door they entered through. A nameless, formless something gathers behind them. Billowing smoke; an inhuman laughter, like a resounding thunderclap; and streaks of red that slither across the walls.

The force tries to cross through the doorway, then suddenly stops. It seems to twist and convulse in its efforts, but cannot enter the room. The more it struggles, the more it is met with sudden flashes of pure, white light. And in this light, an object is illuminated, lying unassumingly upon the doorknob: the father's rosary.

Acting quickly, one of the assembled rushes forward and slams the door shut. A brief wave of light spreads across the walls, then dissipates. The sound from outside gradually fades to a low rumble. The lights in the room return to a warm, friendly yellow. The group collectively lets go of their breath.

Only moments ago they thought themselves doomed, and now it seems providence has seen their plight. The group feels a mix of great affection and crushing guilt and grief as they think of the rosary; the father's last gift, given even once they had gone astray, to lead them back home. They say a prayer in his memory, and having regained themselves somewhat they discuss what to do next.

The possessed are likely still among them, and if anything will release them from this nightmare, it's finding and exorcising the foul spirits. They must carry on the father's will. And so it seems that, for everything that's changed, nothing has: The group settle once more into sleep shifts, and resolve to bring an end to this once they wake.

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N I G H T • T H R E E​

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Night ends on Sunday, December 7th, at 7:00 ᴘ.ᴍ. (EST). AND I'M SETTING MYSELF REMINDERS THIS TIME SO I DON'T FORGET IT. Again, terribly sorry about the wait; hope it was at least somewhat worth it.

w o w

What if it was noncon play would you still go off on him I ask purely for academic reasons. yup.

YA trick YA

No I meant like a super asexual as in recoiling further from sex IT WAS A MANGLED DBZ REFERENCE GOMEN

I've actually seen that first one

And then Laurence_Fox discovered a level beyond an asexual

Not the sickest thing I've ever found attractive tbh

Here's the thing

You could get it now, and have your entire play experience tainted by guilt and anxiety over the looming finals you should be studying for, thus ruining both school and game

or you could study like a demon, take all the tests, then reward yourself with it afterward, thus having a richer experience with the game and emerging from school with confidence

You two clearly haven't been to college

I wonder if Nomura would be willing to include any of his Dissidia designs. You really couldn't go wrong with most of those as NPCs, party members, even bosses.

Added, thanks for the contribution u <u

A chill runs down your spine...​

You realize it well before the signs arrive. You've done a head count by the time the wind rushes through. You notice the brilliant glow of the moon outside just as the candles begin to flicker with the same otherworldly blue. And in time with the sudden ring of laughter, rising steadily into a deafening cackle, you know that something is not right.

Sᴏᴏɴ.​

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The Town is in danger of losing the game. If they lynch another of their own, and the Mafia scores another kill, they will be overrun.

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Soft lynch has been abolished due to the Town's proximity to overrun. Also, h y u g e will be replacing Spike.