Tyne-Wear Mafia - Where Are They Now? Special Bonus 2016 Update

[Juliette]

QTs I want to see the pain

We barely used ours and talked mostly on Skype. Too bad!

[Parrhesia]

Kirsche sighs in relief, glad to be alive by the end of the match. He finishes his move to West Bromwich Albion, immediately regrets it, and retires at the age of 38 to become a beetroot farmer.

You are Stephane Sessegnon.



A player of undoubted skill and questionable ability to make that translate to results on the pitch, you were still a great player to watch, one of our few players with genuine flair and aggressive talent. Then di Canio sold you to West Brom. Who immediately beat us 3-0 in a match in which you scored.

Your role is that of a hunter. If lynched, you must choose to kill one player with the message in the thread of #Baggies5Eva #USERNAME_Out.

Candeloro clutches his broken shoulder/ankles/arm, counting himself lucky to survive. Sadly, he died of syphilis the next day. His last words? "Well, you know. It all evens out in the end."

You are Steven Fletcher.

Apart from being the Scottish equivalent of L4D's Francis, you're also a decent bloody striker, generally knocking in one in every three matches. You enjoy the unique position of also being 'a good striker at Sunderland'. Sadly, your limbs tend to break whenever Sunderland needs you most.

Your role is that of a vanilla. As much as you'd like to help Sunderland through these dark days, your ankles are fucked. Again.

Several years after his death, Smug Brit's real identity is discovered by an excavation team lead by Kanye West. Staggered by the revelation, Kanye dedicates the rest of his music career to 'the Cat-dawg'.

You are Big Lee Cattermole.



You are without doubt the dirtiest footballer in the league, and are (mostly) beloved for it. You are the only man I've ever seen make a press statement about 'finding the thin line' between two-footed sliding tackles from behind with studs up and two-footed sliding tackles from behind with studs up that somehow don't get you sent off. You are twenty-five. People are astonished by this. You're also somehow our captain, even though di Canio hated you and shoved you in a cupboard, but it's okay, he did that to most of our best players.

Your role is that of a vigilante. As you are a Proper English Holding Midfielder, you have the unique ability of murdering people with your vicious tackles. Every night, you may choose to take someone to the fucking cleaners. They will be a dead man by morning. You may not go two nights in a row without murdering somebody.

Night One Killed Paperblade

Night Two Killed Cam

CamTech, ultimately, was destined to die forgotten. His final regret was that his win condition was spectacularly fucked beyond recognition, when any change from like 420 factors would have made it truly fully sick.

You are Yohan Kebab. For the purposes of blending in, you have adopted the pseudonym of Emanuele Giaccherini.

Yohan Kebab... or, at least, that's what Joe 'Fucking' Kinnear thinks, and nothing you say will change his mind. Fucking rosbif. Your actual surname is Cabaye, and you're really cut over the whole affair. Also you're frankly better than Newcastle, but you've told your suitors in PSG there's just one last thing you've got to do before you leave...

Your role is that of a redirector. Every night, you may leak transfer rumours about yourself, sending another player straight to another and redirecting all their actions.

You have an alternative win condition - to be the hammer on Joe Kinnear's lynch, or cause his death at night, and be the final Newcastle survivor. Your victory will be joint with the winning faction.

If you fulfil this win condition, and Newcastle as a whole still fulfil their win condition, then you will be the sole winner of the game.

Due to the nature of this win condition, you may wish to claim there are limitations on your role...

Night One Redirect BBM to SB (fun fact; original action redirected SB to Rapier. That would've been fun, but the thin man was covering him anyway).

Night Two Redirect Blitz to Refa, murder SB.

Prims' legend endures beyond his death. Rumour continues to persist that his vengeful spirit lives on, demanding ever more from Sunderland's players at training. As for the charred remnants of his physical body? As per his wishes, they were interred with his beloved Mussolini.

You are Paolo di Canio.



Congratulations. You have made more of a mark on any team in thirteen games than anyone else in that short a time. You came in at the tail end of 2012/13, and motivated our players to safety. Then ... then things turned sour. You decided you hated a lot of our players, typically our best ones. You called the players cowards and said they didn't deserve to wear the shirt. And that was fine... until you stopped winning.
And then you were sacked. But it's not too late. You'll show them... you'll show them all.

Your role is that of a serial killer. At night, you must deliver a dose of intense physical training to a player, killing them. You are compulsive. Also, as you are a fascist, the first two actions to target you will fail, as their filthy capitalist trains will fail to run on time.

You also have a Shit List of players you hate, and their roles within the side.
The town includes; Danny Graham (commuter), Phil Bardsley (compulsive insomniac), Lee Cattermole (vigilante), Stephane Sessegnon (hunter) and Jack Colback (miller). There are no bulletproof roles.

Night One Kill BBM

Night Two Kill Refa

Night Three Kill Rapier

Weapons ultimately lived to gamble and drink and womanise on until the end of time. Some say the popular folk ballad 'the Gambler' was written for him. That is a lie; Phil Bardsley does not fold, walk away or run.

You are Phil Bardsley.

You are Sunderland's best right-back, and at time of writing our second-most prolific goalscorer. If our strikers' form continues, you might well be our second-most prolific goalscorer at time of the game. Oh, and you had a picture taken of you swimming in money in a casino. Paolo di Canio didn't like this and exiled you from the team, deciding to play people who were either shit or out of position to replace you. When it turned out we were shit, you immediately went on Twitter and said how shit we were. This, sadly, got you in even more trouble.

You are an insomniac. Because you tell the truth no matter the cost, you are also compulsive. Every night, you must post at least once. You must also use hashtags extensively during these nightposts (the day is exempt).

Frosty 'Venari 'Pascal' Strigis' Firemage never played for Sunderland again. He was unlamented, and forgotten by history. He went on to become England manager, and lead them to the World Cup playing 4-4-2 hoofball and kicking the entire Brazilian national team to death.

You are the Danny Graham Experience.



A perfect example of an overpriced English player, you were Sunderland's mid-season crisis panic buy. An investment of five million pounds was returned with exactly zero goals, followed by loan deals elsewhere. Your form did not improve after loan deals elsewhere. You're a bit shit, really.

Your role is that of a commuter. As you are a useless centre-forward in a club packed with many other useless centre-forwards, you may choose one night to be sent out on loan. This will make you untargetable that night.

Night Three Loaned out.

Belisarilius, ever the enigma, was never seen again at the Stadium of Light, save for in the stands. Nobody apart from those who took part in the events that day knew he had taken part in them. Later that year, Quinn was seen taking a small boat to foreign lands. He was never heard from again.

You are Niall Quinn.

Quinn and Phillips was the last great big lad/tricky lad striker partnership, leading to countless goals for Sunderland. When you retired, you then got to see your beloved Mackems turn into a shit yo-yo club. After we beat our own record of 'pathetically getting shat on', you stepped in with the Drumaville Consortium to save the club from themselves. It worked - we were promoted that season, and haven't been relegated since.

Your role is that of the thin man. A tall, gangly man who was a club legend and subsequently saved it from ignominy, you consider it your duty to make sure your children behave. At night, you may monitor another player - what they do to others that night, you will do unto them. If they investigate someone, you investigate them, et cetera. The exception is in the event of a kill - their target will die (without other factors), you will kill them, but they will also kill you. You may not perform this on consecutive nights.

Night One Monitor Rapier

Night Three Monitor the Bear

Shin, knowing an opportunity when he saw one, spotted that most of Newcastle United was dead. Sensing more demand than supply, he swapped to Newcastle for an exorbitant fee. Fucking ginger.

You are Jack Colback.

You're literally the most ginger lad ever. You're also pretty decent, in forgettable ways. Technically you're a central midfielder, but since di Canio hated all our full-backs you get played at full-back a lot. You were pretty good there, too. You're a good lad and everyone likes you in a vague sort of way.

Also, you literally signed for Newcastle like a month before this started. You fucker.

Your role is that of a miller. You're a Geordie at heart, a literal Newcastle supporter, just signed for them IRL? People are going to view you with suspicion, especially combining that with the fact you're a fucking ginger.

Alas, poor Randa. You never knew him. As per his will, his grave was marked with a single Player of the Month award.

You are Adam Johnson.

As one of our few genuine great mercurial talents, it's inevitable that your form's a bit... streaky. Some days you just don't function. It's okay. It's expected. This is Sunderland. We're a bit shit, and we love it. We signed Titus Bramble. But some days, you're great. And we really need that greatness to shine through. Right now. Hopefully more often. Please?

Your role is that of a vanilla. You're evidently in the 70% of the year you spend totally forgettable. Pity.

Paperblade's body was seized by noted literal loan sharks, wonga. Nobody was sure what happened to the corpse, until rumours told of a legendary cyborg reluctantly shaking down people for owed money.

You are Papiss Cisse. For the purposes of blending in, you have adopted the pseudonym of Seb Larsson.



You are Newcastle's number nine. The number nine shirt goes traditionally to a centre-forward, and has particular... connotations with Newcastle. The Newcastle 9 has to be a prolific motherfucker. You ... aren't, yet, and in fact will probably never be, but you nearly lost the shirt anyway when you told wonga, the sponsors, to go and fuck themselves with 5853% interest. Eventually, you 'struck a compromise deal', but I'm not sure exactly where anything landed in your favour.

Your role is that of a watcher. The number nine is a number dear in the hearts of Newcastle fans, and you are by far the shittest one yet. You may enviously stalk another player to watch their achievements, and also find out who visits them that night.

Blitz, slightly confused as to how he'd survived, went on to live until the age of 92. He continued to improbably cheat death for the rest of his life, until he was finally done in - walking while texting on an old Nokia, he fell into a manhole.

You are Connor Wickham.

As the youngest of our stable of rubbish strikers, you are the hope of English football. This has, to date, not translated to results. You were good on loan for Sheffield Wednesday, and are probably better than Jozy Altidore, but that means fuck-all right here and now. Ironically, a couple months after I originally wrote this, you went on to score five goals in three matches and save us from relegation.

Your role is that of a tracker. Being young and envious, you may choose to jealously stalk other, better players. You will then find out who they visit that night.

Night One Stalking Bluedoom

Night Two Stalking Kirsche, redirected to Refa

Night Three Stalking Kirsche

The day of BBM's funeral, his missing announcement was finally broadcast at a piercing volume from his coffin; "FUCK YOU CUNTS". The widow burst into tears.

You are Gus Poyet.

Manager of Sunderland, you alone are responsible for lifting us from the dark times, allowing us to see the light at the end of the tunnel, and turning us into an actually decent club. Hopefully, by the time this game goes through the queue, I can add 'we went on to escape relegation' or maybe even 'we somehow won the League Cup' to that list.

Your role is that of an announcer. Once per night, you get to shout something anonymously that will be posted during the day.

Rapier's journal was found soon after his death. As it happened, Big Mig, previously thought to be a calm and easy-going sort, scrawled out notes in blood, sketched a variety of women with knives in their faces, and every five pages plotted Thibaut Courtois' death.

You are Simon Mignolet.

You are a fucking legend in my eyes. I adore you, frankly. You kept Sunderland up in 2012/13 by being really fucking amazing and saving everything on what was mostly a shitty, demoralised team. You gave us hope. You're a hero. I love you. Then you moved to Liverpool, which is fair enough, really, since you want to compete for Belgium's no. 1 role. But you're still a Sunderland man in my eyes.

Your role is that of a doctor. Every night you may choose to make a magnificent save, quite literally in this match. The man you protect cannot be killed. You are compulsive. You're simply too good a goalkeeper to just choose not to make great saves. You can't be stopped. You can't even stop yourself.

Night One Save SB

Nights Two and Three Save Blitz

Strawman rewrote the events of that faithful week as a noir thriller. Picked up by Hollywood, it was a striking commercial success. When George R.R. Martin died soon after the completion of the sixth book of ASoIaF, his will dictated that 'Sta-die-um of Night' was officially the seventh and final installment of the series.

You are Vito Mannone.

You were Arsenal's third-choice goalkeeper, inexplicably selected by di Canio to replace club legend and Belgian international Simon 'the Mig' Mignolet. Mignolet had the face of a child and the hands of an angel. You were kept out of your old first-team by two Poles who were both shit. Surprisingly, when Keiren [sic] Westwood fell over and broke every limb in his body, you turned out to be really, really good.

Your role is that of a cop. You look like a fucking Sicilian hitman, and as a result people find you rather persuasive. Every night, you may choose to glare at someone. They will then tell you their alignment.

Night One Glare at Prims (missed train)

Night Two Glare at SB

Night Three Glare at Kirsche

Scorri eventually married her beloved Josmer Volmy Altidore. However, three months into the marriage, she stabbed him to death in a violent rage, after it was suspected he was cheating on her with Snoop Lion. As the jury was picked from the city of Sunderland, she was not convicted.

You are #Altiscore2014.

You're reading the username right. I personally argued with your personification. There are many of you. You are fucking eternal.

You're not a Sunderland fan, but you're a Jozy fan. You follow every match of the United States of America's Men's National Soccer Team, and he knocked a couple in against Panama and El Salvador, so of course he'll be brilliant in the Barclaycard Premiership League!

What? You're saying he's scored one in eighteen, and is actually really fucking bad? Useless bad? Rated as the worst player on the field against a fucking Conference side bad? Of course not! He's our #Altiscore2014 and he's taking the USMNT to the World Superbowl in Brazil! Clearly the problem is his service. The issue is with Adam Johnson and Phil Bardsley. Sure, Johnson scored four and assisted two in the space of two games, compared to 'one' and 'zero' in the space of half the fucking season, but you just don't understand. He's Jozy.

Your role is that of a mason. As you are deluded, you will take the first shot directed at your hero, Jozy, who you know to be the Bear. You're also killing the club I love, and I hate you passionately.

Reinfleche and Juliette were slain before they could successfully complete their ultimate ambition - to populate England entirely with Frenchmen. They did not, however, die in vain - the surviving hired French managed to infiltrate and overtake Ukip.

You are Alan Pardew. For the purposes of blending in, you have adopted the pseudonym of Roberto di Fanti.

Manager of Newcastle United, taking them to glory, nearly relegation and it appeared more glory this season before losing like eight straight games. You once told an old man to "Shut yer noise, you fucking old cunt!" You headbutted a man for no actual reason. Oh, and you have to answer to Joe "Fucking" Kinnear. May God have mercy on your soul.

Your role is that of a gravedigger. Your ability to scout Ligue Un and buy their players on the cheap means you can observe the skills of the dead and hire Frenchmen to imitate them. You will gain abilities every night depending on the dead.

Night One

To emulate the skills of the deceased, you hire Hatem ben Arfa, a fat and diffidant Frenchman with the ability to anonymously announce a five-word sentence one night, and Massadio Haidara, a young and energetic player who can see if a player was visited one night.

Day Two

To emulate the skills of the deceased, you hire Mathieu Debuchy, a self-styled hard man who can erase the alignment of a kill, and Mapou Yanga-Mbiwa, who can be placed on guard to find out if anyone visited you one night.

Night Two

Have Hatem ben Arfa announce "NOW IT'S REIN TIME 8]"
Have Massadio Haidara check if Cam was visited
Have Mathieu Debuchy erase tonight's kill
Have Mapou Yanga-Mbiwa check if I was visited

Hire: the weak-minded Davide Santon and the ambitious Remy Cabella can each perform a mafia kill without it linking back to you.

The versatile Gabriel Obertan can redirect one player's action to another.

Refa, at least, died internet famous - not only was he Guy Who Punched A Horse, but security footage emerged of his manner of death - a horse, tamed by Paolo di Canio, punching him.

You are Guy Who Punched A Horse. For the purposes of blending in, you have adopted the pseudonym of Roy Keane.

You punched a fucking horse. You're fucking mental.

Your role is that of a grunt. A pawn in the mafia, but still possessing an informed position in the elite minority.

The Bear left one son behind after his death at the hands of his wife. Groucho Altidore joined the Sunderland academy, and in his first season in the senior team at the age of nineteen, scored two goals in the league. Were Jozy alive by then, he would've disowned his son.

You are Jozy Altidore and I fucking hate you.

You're a fucking useless dogshit American turd of a striker with the first touch of a pregnant blind elephant, we paid six and a half million fucking pounds for you. We've spent six and a half million pounds for a return of one (1) goal in the Premiership. I fucking loathe your laziness, your pathetic ball control, your bad finishing, and the fact that your entire country loves you because you were good against fucking Panama. Any argument that the Dutch league is any good is entirely countered by the fact that you were prolific in it.

Your role is that of a mason. You are in constant contact with Scorri, your American fanbase on Twitter, the only entity on the world that doesn't think you're godawful at football. Because they are insane, they will take a bullet for you.

Bluedoom's spirit lives on, unaware of the fact - or that it is even possible - that he has been killed. Eventually, the shouting matches between the ghosts of him and di Canio were televised by a canny young mystic, and turned into premium Pay-Per-View entertainment in the States.

You are Joe Kinnear. For the purposes of blending in, you have adopted the pseudonym of Ellis Short.

You're literally insane. Which is why Newcastle United decided you would be a perfect director of football. In your first press conference, you claimed to have signed all the good players in the squad (no), mispronounced about eight guys' names ('Yohan Kebab' being the most famous) and then said they were all shit. You hate your manager. You hate the press. You hate everyone. But you're the sole rock of sanity in a world of pain, and everyone else is just out to get you. The cunts!

Your role is that of the director. You have three one-shot actions.

You may choose to rewrite history, claiming things totally did not happen the way 'the media' thinks they happened. This will hide the role PM and alignment of the mafia's kill that night.

You may choose to make a megalomanic rant. Anyone protecting your kill that night will get bored and wander off, leaving your path clear.

You may choose to lash out at the world. You will perform a loud rant and mispronounce your own player's names, alienating the entire world. However, anyone who visits you will be shot on sight. You have to work yourself into a lather first, though - you cannot use this ability before night three.

Night One Megalomanic rant, kill BBM.

The Mafia topic was literally not used. This, however, is the graveyard.

GG Lads.

[riariadne]

I don't like Usurpers at all especially considering the town has a lot of great roles, and one that just denies victory for no reason doesn't really serve any purpose other than to fuck people over through no control of their own.

Other than that I think this game was a bit townsided but it wasn't too bad, we just had a really awful combination of luck the entire game so it didn't work out. In reality I shouldn't have signed up (which is why I didn't for a while...) but I did, and it went as poorly as expected.

[Prims]

for future hosts, you should be really, really conservative about adding in masons (or any townies that are confirmed town to each other at the start of the game), it makes it very easy to PoE scum lategame and on top of an actual cop / tracker it's way too much.

set-up was fine otherwise, GJ. Also the flavor was still amusing from the PoV of somebody who knows nothing about it, so GJ on that too.

Edited August 16, 2014 by Prims

[Parrhesia]

In hindsight I would've done Yohan Cambaye... differently.

Still, I do intend to make another, fully sicker mafia

[Elieson]

I have no idea what just happened

But I loved it

[Randa]

I have no idea what just happened

But I loved it

Also best line from QT

Randa

08-08-2014

05:52 PM ET (US)

Paper blade is the scum team, Marf ,Kirsche, FFM? Also calling SK Prims.

I was partily right. Somewhat. Edited August 16, 2014 by Randa

[MRDRHAWK]

I LIVED

AND I WAS RIGHT ABOUT TOWN FFM

[scorri]

BUT DARLING I'D STILL CATCH A GRENADE FOR YOU MY WONDERFUL JOZY!

[Zkirsche]

GGWP

[Bluedoom]

But Randa you guessed me once Blitz outed his track report I think.

Also I guess if I had lived I'd have pushed a Prims lynch and accidentally get the SK killed.

#Gettinganti-towneevenwhenyou'rescum

[Randa]

But Randa you guessed me once Blitz outed his track report I think.

Also I guess if I had lived I'd have pushed a Prims lynch and accidentally get the SK killed.

#Gettinganti-towneevenwhenyou'rescum

I was right about Prims wasn't i?

[Randa]

Also how does the day 1 lynch have the fourth most posts in this game?

[Bluedoom]

Yeah you were right on that. : 3

You were just that good at posting

Activity is taking a dip here ;-;

Edited August 16, 2014 by Bluedoom

[Rapier]

Prims MVP even being the SK

but I was the townest player.

[CT075]

Yeah BBM got shot by both factions

dying

also yeah, as I mentioned to furet, my alt wincon would have been FULLY SICK except that somehow the perfect combination of factors lined up to make it useless

it would have worked if a) i hadn't been redirector, b) marth hadn't been scum or c) if i was only required to hammer instead of directly kill

and after all that i still nearly got him if it weren't for RAPIER hammering marth while i was in the shower after waiting two or three hours for someone to put marth at L-1

E:

the safeguards on my role were basically put in place to stop me from driving our N1 kill into marth and peace'ing out; the clarification given to me was that "you need to survive to fulfill your extra wincon" and "if mafia wins and you've managed to sack kinnear, you will win and the rest of the scumteam cannot, otherwise you will joint with whoever else wins"

except that it isn't possible for any faction other than mafia to win with me alive so realistically the secondary wincon doesn't come into play ever

Edited August 16, 2014 by CT075

[Bluedoom]

Imo if you were the last maf alive and the sk was sacked a joint with town would be possible.

Cuz otherwise the wincon would've been useless.

[CT075]

"you must be the last maf alive" wasn't added until i complained about the wincon being useless

originally iw as told "if you sac marth you must survive to make use of your alt wincon" which is absolutely useless except in the singular (1) scenario in which I get endgamed by prims

E: and yeah i'm pretty sure i brought up something exactly like that and someone mentioned that it wouldn't count because town can't win until all mafia are dead (meaning me)

Edited August 16, 2014 by CT075

[Refa]

The only one that really got screwed over by roles was you. Blitz's track and my vig shots did what they were meant to do, it wasn't like in Healer where we drove a vig onto Vhaltz when everyone thought he was town.

Scum probably should've had a bulletproof godfather or something though.

Blitz tracked Marth because he thought Marth was scumbuddies with FFM. ;/ You're probably right about the vig but eh...if like someone incompetent was the vig town probably would've lost and also I hate vigs.

[Bluedoom]

Blitz tracked me for all the wrong reasons but luck was on his side

[Parrhesia]

look cam's alternative win condition was chosen to make maximum contrast with the other, fully sick elements of the game

[Parrhesia]

pictured: the story of cam's alternative win condition

Edited August 16, 2014 by Parrhesia

[Prims]

Blitz tracked me for all the wrong reasons but being Blitz was on his side

[eclipse]

. . .and now you people know why I put the "bastard elements" warning in there. Now, my thoughts. . .

- Jozy and his crazy fanclub had to happen. Full stop. I'd sooner take out a vanilla then break that doomed relationship up.

- Speaking of vanillas, those three town vanillas used to be power roles (oracle, something, something). Everyone turn and thank Elieson for the removal of those roles.

- The early D1 mix-up was because both town and mafia were originally going to have watchers - Blitz was changed to a tracker, but his role PM had watcher verbage.

- Props to scorri for being in-character hilarious in the masons thread, and to Furet for fueling that fire~!

- I've half a mind to name Prims town MVP for leading the lynch on one scum and shooting another (but that award goes to SB instead, for shooting two of them). . .

- . . .which leads to Refa being the mafia MVP for looking so obvtown~!

- The thin man had so much potential, but alas. . .

- Overall, I'm happy with the last-minute tweaks I made.

[Prims]

if the masonry was necessary then making the cop and miller vanillas would've been fair, imo.