Tarot Mafia Rules and Peanuts

[Feck]

Oblivion this is a terrible game you are off my Christmas card list

Well you most auspiciously lynched the seer on the first day, despite my pleading

Keep telling you I'm shit at townplay .

[charlou]

You were a good mayor last time.

[oblivion]

Zombie gameplay...

Let's save the Monday morning quarterbacking for after the game ends, please.

[charlou]

yes'm

[Mantisdreamz]

Dammit. Sorry Ani.

[higgs2]

wow.

[oblivion]

Just a reminder - after I post "Nightfall" the game day is over, even though it sometimes takes me a few minutes to post the day's results. Please don't make any more gameplay posts after Nightfall.

Thanks!

[DennyB]

Sorry OB

I was typing and working on my list before night fall was posted.
I will double check next time

[DennyB]

OB,
Are you an admin where you can lock the thread and still post on it?

If so that might be an option...just thinking

[Uselesstwit]

Don't apologize denny, oblivion is famous for posting after nightfall over at TR.

[oblivion]

lol, yeah, the same thing has happened to me once or twice at TR. I can post in closed threads there most of the time.

DP set me up with the ability to close a thread that I start, but I can't post in it after I close it, so I have to leave it open while I work on the nightfall post. I try to have the results post all but ready to go, but the final votes caught me out today.

[Zigmen]

wow.

Double wow~

[irretating]

[normal]

[Feck]

The moon Never good

She is uncleanliness and sorcery. Upon the hills are the black towers of nameless mystery, of horror and of fear. All prejudice, all superstition, dead tradition - and ancestral loathing, all combine to darken her face before the eyes of men. It needs unconquerable courage to begin to tread this path. Here is a weird, deceptive life. The fiery sense is baulked. The moon has no air. The knight upon this quest has to rely on the three lower senses: touch, taste and smell.1 Such light as there may be is deadlier than darkness, and the silence is wounded by the howling of wild beasts.
To what god shall we appeal for aid? It is Anubis, the watcher in the twilight, the god that stands upon the threshold, the jackal god of Khem, who stands in double form between the Ways. At his feet, on watch, wait the jackals themselves, to devour the carcasses of those who have not seen Him, or who have not known His Name.
This is the threshold of life; this is the threshold of death.* All is

doubtful, all is mysterious, all is intoxicating. Not the benign, solar intoxication of Dionysus, but the dreadful madness of pernicious drugs; this is a drunkenness of sense, after the mind has been abolished by the venom of this Moon.





*(See the Book of Lies , Bortsch.)


BORTSCH
Witch-moon that turnest all the streams to blood,
I take this hazel rod, and stand, and swear
An Oath—beneath this blasted Oak and bare
That rears its agony above the flood
Whose swollen mask mutters an atheist’s prayer.
What oath may stand the shock of this offence:
“There is no I, no joy, no permanence”?
Witch-moon of blood, eternal ebb and flow
Of baffled birth, in death still lurks a change;
And all the leopards in thy woods that range,
And all the vampires in their boughs that glow,
Brooding on blood-thirst-these are not so strange
And fierce as life’s unfailing shower. These die,
Yet time rebears them through eternity.
Hear then the Oath, with-moon of blood, dread
moon!
Let all thy stryges and thy ghouls attend!
He that endureth even to the end
Hath sworn that Love’s own corpse shall lie at noon
Even in the coffin of its hopes, and spend
All the force won by its old woe and stress
In now annihilating Nothingness.