(See here for the rules; if you have not received a PM, you are a rellyw - a vanilla townie. All rules questions should either be PMed or placed in the signup thread.)
The sky is slate grey as winter hems in, and the nights have grown longer - especially since the last experiments from the Conclave of Magic. Ever since martial law was declared by the Ard-Dhasani, the pinch has been keenly felt. The rellyw have worked longer and harder in the fields, with barely scraps left for them to eat. Inside the Citadel, forbidden to all but the Ankyreans, they feast well into the night, staring down upon their slave labor from their high balconies.
Rumors always fly thick, especially when there is little else to do; rumors of why the outer gates have been closed and placed under guard. Rumors of southern Corruption, rumors of yet more experiments up in the Citadel, and rumors of men who have been transformed into giant stirges, sucking the blood dry from their victims. This is especially impressive, given that the Kalsu word for stirge is remarkably difficult to pronounce, and that is the language you all must speak in service to Ankyrean masters.
Last night passed quiet and cold, and when dawn rose, the clouds drifted from the nearby Taren peaks and begin to let fall the first snows of autumn. It was two rellyw farmers, in the middle of one of the fields, who found him, so pale that he could scarcely be distinguished from the snow and every bit as cold. The Ard-Dhasani - dead and flung some distance from the Inner Citadel's balcony. Two questions loomed: what sort of creature has the strength to do such a thing, and why were there bite marks on his neck?
The last straw came when the Syssin were sent out to find the culprit among the rellyw; for they all knew it had been someone inside the Citadel that had committed the murder, not one of their own. After one too many pointed questions from the Defenders, the peasants retaliated as one, using pitchforks, torches and bar-brawling to subdue the Ankyrean guard and storm the Basilica.
It is here, amid crushed vendors' stalls and marketplaces, that camp has been made; members of the Conclaves that are holed up within the Citadel have disguised themselves and gone among their slaves in a last-ditch effort to turn the rebellious sentiment against itself. What none of them reckoned with, however, were the three southerners who had capitalized upon the chaos within to sneak past the gates, tear the hearts from the guards, and infiltrate the peasants as Chakrasulian agents of corruption.
Within the ruined fields and the wrecked Basilica, four factions will play out a political drama in miniature, as each of them seeks to claim power over the unruly mob and gain control. Which will win?
ROUND ONE - DAYTIME
25 surviving players:
FOURTEEN VOTES needed for a lynch!