Posts from Mafia 75. The Mystery of the Ancient Ruins.

You are undoubtedly talented, and no one denies that. In reality, you will be silenced tomorrow as well.

You are undoubtedly talented. In fact, you will be voiceless tomorrow as well.

No, but if you want a draw, then by all means, I won't insist. I was just suggesting we make the night more interesting. If you don't want to, that's fine.

I mean – today is the first day.

Yes, Rita, you won’t have a voice tomorrow either, and just sitting around and doing nothing is pointless.

Shall we call it a day, gentlemen? Early finish?

Added 5 minutes later
I won't be awarding any Modkilla in this situation; everything is clear to everyone.

Yes, for early completion.

Execute Soledad - 3 votes (Neira, Morning, Vesper).
Execute Morning - 1 vote (Soledad).

With the public and exemplary execution of Soledad, all of Alamantia will be able to breathe a sigh of relief, for as the folk say, cut off the snake's head and it will die.
And in the forest, not far from Mirod, the Archivist breathed a sigh of relief. Over these six days, she had finally managed to crack the code. Now all that remained was to decrypt the message - and the mystery would finally be revealed...

The seventh night begins!

Added after 51 seconds
Come now, gentlemen, I would be glad if you hurry, we still have an unsolved mystery. :3

Added after 46 minutes
So...
Bets are accepted, no more bets.
Everything is decided tonight.



Added after 26 minutes

Chapter Seven. The Mageess, the Mage, and the Champion.

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Neira knew that nothing good awaited her in this cursed place. However, she believed in the success of her mission until the very end. Even though everything was blurring before her eyes and she could not utter a word. Neira recovered as much as she could and was preparing to leave when there was a knock at the door. "Hello! A little drawing for you!" - said the girl standing on the threshold with a smile, and handed the paper to the warrior. This was followed by a bright flash of light. Not even her armor, famous throughout the kingdom, could save Neira from the deadly discharge.

***

Vesper fell to her knees. It was a powerful spell that drained much of her strength. The Artist could not believe her luck. She had won. She had proven to everyone what she was capable of, that she was no worse than the Academy, the criminal cartel, or even the Guard itself.

– And what now? – a soft voice sounded behind her.

Sheron turned around and saw Morning standing with his arms crossed. A powerful magical energy emanated from this man, which gave the Artist goosebumps. Vesper stood up and, gathering all her courage, asked insolently:

– Now, kind sir, I ask you to leave. Or do you also wish for me to draw something for you?

– I fear neither your drawings, nor your primitive spells, girl. Let me give you a useful piece of advice, – Morni smiled softly. – Run. The ruins are mine.

– I will not run. Forgive me, sir, but this riddle is intended for Sheron…

Immediately after these words, Patrick attacked. But his spell shattered against the girl's defense, and a ball lightning flew toward Morning… only to shatter against his own shield. Both mages did not even bother to continue their attempts and lowered their hands. A single demonstration was enough to make everything clear.

– Well, wonderful. It is as primitive as it is ingenious, – the Count of Veridian clapped mockingly. – A simple reflecting energy field, of immense power, I admit, but still so primitive... I am disappointed.

– Thank you for the compliment, sir, but please note that it is equally effective.

Morning looked carefully into the eyes of his young opponent. He saw no fear in them, only audacity and a small spark of madness.

– Then I will ask my first question once more, "Artist"...

Patrick took a step toward Sheron and repeated:

– And what now?

Waiting for the secret of the ruins to be revealed:
7. Morning
9. VesperLindt

Will never know the answer to the riddle:
1. Soledad
2. Heroist
3. Драккошка
4. Arandor
5. Нефела
6. Гур
8. Ment
10. WishmasteR
11. 0xFF
12. Naver Leengard
13. Alexeagle
14. Нэйра Дрейк
15. Злобный Ящур
16. Freud
17. WisTrit
18. Олам Хэвэл

I think I'm full of energy and fresh, while Vesper is tired and exhausted. So I'll wait until she loses consciousness.

So, what's the point of all this? What are we going to do? Personally, as the host, I think Morning should be declared the winner. I have four reasons for this: First, I think he simply deserves it. Second, I believe that if a killer is left alone, he logically wins. Third, if we imagine that all the characters are forced to move every night, rather than skip a turn, then Patrick will win, and Sharon has no chance. Fourth, I found the original draft of the setting in a pile of papers. I was very careless and forgot the fact that Sharon's ability to stay at home originally had a note: "once every three nights." But I successfully forgot about this when I was recalling the setting and writing it down in Word. Yes, it's my mistake, but you can see that in this case, the killer definitely wins. Basically, if Vesper comes, reads this, and agrees to declare Patrick the winner, then we'll end it there. At least, I hope so. If not... then we'll figure something out. I strongly request that NO ONE write anything here. Not even in private messages. I want to hear from Vesper and Morning, and no one else.

Congratulations to Morni on his victory! He was really awesome in this game!

Vesper, do you agree that Patrick is the one who wins?

Yes, I agree, that would be fair.

Thank you.
The day is over.

Okay, the Goddess prevails.

The Final Chapter.

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– And so, my dear. I shall tell you what happens now. Very soon the Archivist will provide the answer to the riddle. And I will be there, – Patrick smiled politely but coldly. – While you stay here.

With these words, the count snapped his fingers. The room was enclosed by a magical dome, and Patrick himself vanished without a trace. However, the sound of receding footsteps from the corridor convinced Sharon that it had merely been short-distance teleportation; she had seen such things herself. "It's just a pity I can't do that..." – thought the artist. Fortunately, even the barrier of Count Veridian himself could be broken by brute force. And Sharon was full of own raw magical power. On the fourth attempt, her lightning shattered the barrier, and the girl ran from the house as fast as she could. Patrick couldn't have gone far; she had to catch him. Running outside, she looked around and caught a glimpse of a man's silhouette fleeing toward the ruins. "Forward! After him! This is my secret!" – The artist encouraged herself mentally and was about to give chase, but... But her legs gave way, and she discovered with surprise magical shackles upon her shins. Furthermore, the ground around her began to glow with a faint bluish light. "No... Fool, not like this... Not so stupidly..." – that was all Artist Sharon had time to think before her demise.

Patrick, meanwhile, was already near the ruins. A simple invisibility spell – and he is without much trouble close enough to hear the Archivist pronouncing words in an ancient language. Words that would reveal the secret. The answer to the riddle. Catching a glimpse of bluish light from the direction of Mirod, Patrick smiled thinly. The trap had worked. It's a pity that nothing remains of the victim after the death rune. He liked Sharon; he would have been glad to conduct research on her. He felt even more sorry for Markelius, whose charred corpse was certainly not fit for any self-respecting Necromancer. What a shame, the resurrection of the Champion would have been an epochal event. However, the moment more important than all this was about to arrive. The Archivist finished speaking. The mysterious symbols on the door glowed and vanished. Finally, the entrance to the Dokelian ruins was open. Which meant it was time for another trap.

The Archivist was an old fool who hadn't bothered to secure himself with reliable guards. You see, it was more important for him to work in peace. Well, that is what will destroy him. In the blink of an eye, a powerful magical barrier covered the Archivist and the few people surrounding him. Patrick rubbed his hands and deactivated his invisibility.

– What?.. You?.. – asked the Archivist in his disgusting creaky voice. – How?.. Why you?..

– Because you do not know me, Mr. Archivist. And you never will. But these ruins are mine.

– Seize him! What are you standing there for like idiots?! – the old man shouted to two men in hooded robes.

But they did not react. They looked at each other with empty eyes – and fell to the ground. Patrick almost burst out laughing. These two were the Archivist's personal guards, powerful mages – and here they are dying of a heart attack right next to the one they swore to protect. Indeed, this "anatomical" magic, an ancient art of the witches of the Lonches marshes, produced striking results. Patrick had not spent his time studying and practicing it in vain. Nor had he wasted time preparing this brilliant barrier. God, what cretins these Mirodians are; no one even thought to guard the ruins themselves at night. Count Veridian had prepared a complex and powerful trap using artifacts – and now the Archivist and his retinue are powerless, like spiders under a dome.

– Gentlemen, allow me to briefly explain why you are still alive. It's simple, – Patrick spread his arms, – if the ruins hide some ancient monster, I will feed you to it and escape. An excellent plan, is it not? Now, farewell. You may reflect on your lives, pray, or whatever you wish. And do not even try to escape; it is impossible. Archivist, you must understand this.

Winking in farewell to the prisoners of the sorcerous prison, Patrick unhurriedly entered the temple. Well, he was not very surprised. A tomb. Of some chieftain or king, it doesn't matter. The count had opened the grave more as a formality; the body had long since ceased to be fit for work. The gold coin placed in the skull's mouth also didn't particularly impress him. Far more important was what the next room concealed. Apparently, the people who lived in Dokelia in those ancient times were among those who believed that the dead depart to another world to continue living there. And they accompanied them worthily. The room was full of gold, jewelry, precious stones, and chests. Patrick lingered here. In the glow of lighting spells, he could easily discern the items. Having examined the contents of this room, the count produced two bags hidden under his cloak. One of them he filled with the most expensive and valuable items in the room that could be easily carried away. For what he planned, he needed finances, even as a backup plan. As for the second... Oh, what he filled the second bag with brought Patrick incredible joy. Scrolls! Dozens of scrolls in this ancient language; judging by their perfect condition, they were clearly magical. Who knows, perhaps they contained the revelation of another secret? The very one that concerned Patrick most: the riddle of life and death?

Leaving the bags in the room, the count became invisible again and went outside. The barrier was perfect; the prisoners could not even see what lay beyond it, but Patrick decided to be safe. Trying to make minimal noise, he approached the Archivist's bags where his notes were kept and carefully carried them back inside. Well, now he too would know the language of the ancient Dokelians. Only one small thing remained. Patrick took a small amulet from his pocket. He was not particularly strong in teleportation, but with the help of artifacts, the matter was simplified many times over. Opening a portal to his secret refuge in Veridian, he entered it and returned with a load on his shoulders. His perfect creation. Himself. Dead.

Of course, it was a doll made from corpses. And not very similar, but who would bother to check? To everyone, Count Patrick Veridian must be dead. That is why he needed to steal the treasures of the treasury, for he would no longer have the opportunity to use the treasury of Veridian. And although he had some... "investments" abroad, it never hurt to be safe. Dropping his copy on the floor, Patrick proceeded to the next step. He took out a small vial and read a spell, breaking it. Seeing the vortex of red energy that began to form in place of the shards, the count quickly produced another amulet, larger than the first, and opened a portal. Although the desert dwellers who taught him to summon the Spirit of Retribution swore that it would not turn on the one who summoned it, Patrick did not wish to risk it. Convinced that his spell was working, he smiled and mentally praised himself. It was not for nothing that he studied the magic of another overseas people. The Spirit of Retribution was a most dangerous creature, an embodiment of wrath ready to kill any living being it encountered. When its essence had almost formed, Patrick decided the time had come. Easily lifting his bags and the Archivist's satchels with telekinesis, he stepped into the portal, which closed immediately behind him...

The old scholar understood that there was no way out of the barrier. All that remained was to hope that someone would save them. And just as he was ready to sit on the ground and fall asleep from exhaustion and anxiety, the magical prison shattered from the blow of a red paw. The old man opened his eyes. Before him stood the most terrible and disgusting creature he had ever seen in his life. And it clearly wished nothing good for him and his companions.

– Goddess, save our souls... – was all the Archivist managed to utter.

Epilogue.

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The Vizier was slowly savoring his grapes when a counselor entered his tent, bowing.

– O Lord, whose gaze is clearer than the sun, pray listen to the news from your humble servant, – said the latter, falling to his knees.

– I am listening.

– News has arrived from neighboring Alamantia, my Sovereign. They say those very ruins, rumors of which reached even distant island Nihondia at the edge of the world, have finally opened. They concealed an ancient evil, a monster that destroyed both the temple and the village located nearby. Only through the strength of many brave heroes was this demon subdued. Rumor has it that many people perished in the thick of these events. They speak of the head of the largest criminal cartel, of the count of the wealthiest Alamantian county, and even of the champion himself – Markelius. I beat my forehead against the ground before you, Lord, asking forgiveness for taking so much of your time, which is richer than the waters of the sacred river Repda.

– Thank you, my faithful servant. Go in peace.

The counselor left, bowing once more. The Vizier slowly plucked another branch of grapes and smiled broadly. His plan had worked. Now Count Patrick Veridian, now the vizier of the great city Siverr'Leif, Rik'Taap, had won. He had prevailed over them all, even over the king. Now only one enemy remained, awaiting its turn. Death. And the vizier was ready to fight.