RNP
Despite everything, it's still you.
- Pronoun
- he/him
A frigid wind blows over the small town of Arctos. The snowfall ceases for the first time in weeks as the residents shuffle miserably to their daily tasks. The sealed windows and frozen streetlamps offer no respite from the dreary atmosphere - the power has been out for three days, now. The townsfolk stack wood in the town center, and gather what food and water they can. The firekeeper stands watch, eyes flicking to and fro, daring any of the half-frozen residents to question his authority. Eventually, he nods, satisfied by the pile of wood and kindling, and bends over to strike his flint.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
The sparks catch on the kindling, as the firekeeper fans the flame. Eventually, a roaring bonfire rises, granting the residents the warmth they’d so desperately been craving. They all huddle around the fire, desperate for the heat. Food is cooked, water is boiled, life begins anew in the village. The firekeeper looks to the sky, at the clouds which have draped their city all winter. This was the worst winter in decades. The role of firekeeper had been mere ceremony for decades, but now, he’d been called upon to keep the frigid night at bay once more.
“This shouldn’t be possible,” he muttered to himself. “The cold ought to be receding by now.”
One of the townspeople curses as they drop the pot they were holding. The boiling water seeps through the thick snow, to the ground below. Among the monochrome snow and flagstones, a bright cyan draws the eye of all around. The firekeeper, stern as ever, tromps over to the patch of exposed ground. The resident looked at him meekly. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to waste the water…”
But the mask on his face was not one of rage. It was one of fear. He began brushing aside more of the snow, and the townsfolk soon joined him as they saw the patch begin to glow, and the snow resumed in earnest. Finally, lit by the vermilion glow of the bonfire, a glowing glyph lay bare. The older, more knowledgeable townsfolk recognized the symbol of the ancient frostkin, a rune used to summon forth the power of ice and snow. The frostkin had besieged the village for centuries, only being beaten back by the firekeepers of yore. Now, the sole remaining firekeeper looked down at the grim portent of freezing death.
“A glyph of this size would have taken days to fully transcribe. The frostkin would need direct access to this area for a prolonged period.”
“What does that mean?” asked the mayor. The firekeeper raised his head to look over the formed crowd.
“The frostkin have infiltrated the city. Their magic plagues us once more.” He takes a deep breath, thinking back to his training. Of all the different magics the frostkin once used to besiege the city. One spell in particular came to mind.
“They have taken human form. They are hiding among our ranks.”
Been a while, hasn't it? The last mafia game here was in 2022, huh. Well, no time like the present to start anew.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
The sparks catch on the kindling, as the firekeeper fans the flame. Eventually, a roaring bonfire rises, granting the residents the warmth they’d so desperately been craving. They all huddle around the fire, desperate for the heat. Food is cooked, water is boiled, life begins anew in the village. The firekeeper looks to the sky, at the clouds which have draped their city all winter. This was the worst winter in decades. The role of firekeeper had been mere ceremony for decades, but now, he’d been called upon to keep the frigid night at bay once more.
“This shouldn’t be possible,” he muttered to himself. “The cold ought to be receding by now.”
One of the townspeople curses as they drop the pot they were holding. The boiling water seeps through the thick snow, to the ground below. Among the monochrome snow and flagstones, a bright cyan draws the eye of all around. The firekeeper, stern as ever, tromps over to the patch of exposed ground. The resident looked at him meekly. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to waste the water…”
But the mask on his face was not one of rage. It was one of fear. He began brushing aside more of the snow, and the townsfolk soon joined him as they saw the patch begin to glow, and the snow resumed in earnest. Finally, lit by the vermilion glow of the bonfire, a glowing glyph lay bare. The older, more knowledgeable townsfolk recognized the symbol of the ancient frostkin, a rune used to summon forth the power of ice and snow. The frostkin had besieged the village for centuries, only being beaten back by the firekeepers of yore. Now, the sole remaining firekeeper looked down at the grim portent of freezing death.
“A glyph of this size would have taken days to fully transcribe. The frostkin would need direct access to this area for a prolonged period.”
“What does that mean?” asked the mayor. The firekeeper raised his head to look over the formed crowd.
“The frostkin have infiltrated the city. Their magic plagues us once more.” He takes a deep breath, thinking back to his training. Of all the different magics the frostkin once used to besiege the city. One spell in particular came to mind.
“They have taken human form. They are hiding among our ranks.”
Been a while, hasn't it? The last mafia game here was in 2022, huh. Well, no time like the present to start anew.
- We're looking at 48 hour nights and 72 hour days, with phase changes at 19:00 UTC, unless anyone has any objections.
- The factions of this game will be Residents (Town) and Frostkin (Mafia).
- This is not a bastard game. In fact, most of the roles I have in mind are directly from the Mafia Rules thread.
- I'm looking for 10 players, though I'm flexible with the playercount if there's more or less players than that.
- No out-of-thread discussion, unless specifically authorized by the GM. Private chats granted by roles/faction will be in a DM created specifically for that purpose.
- Don't copy/paste directly from role PM's. Don't post a screenshot, either. Paraphrasing is fine.
- Flavor is pretty relevant.
