Files
General
Other members of High Command are mystified at how this man became a General. Surely, even being Winston Churchillās nephewās second cousin shouldnāt counterbalance believing that the Germans are gaurenteed to lose because they are, and I quote āliberalsā. Of course, nepotism knows no bounds.
As the highest ranking officer, and as a pompous middle-class general, the Generalās vote counts twice when it comes to suggesting stupid ideas, such as throwing random people off the ship in case they are a German Spy.
Captain
This Captain, while being mostly efficient, is on this ship because of his disturbing habit of hanging around with arrogant Belgians with ridiculous moustaches to solve murders instead of actually fighting on the front lines. Itās not like heās even that good at doing anything but occasionally locking people in their rooms.
The Captain knows where the room keys are, and isnāt telling anybody. Each night, they may lock a player in their room, preventing anybody from going in there and killing them. This excellent method of protecting the innnocent comes at the slight cost that it prevents that player from leaving their room, stopping them from using their night actions.
Technician
The Technician was a close colleague of Reginald Nervingbang, before it was revealed that the unbelievably powerful weapon he was working on was in fact some kind of weird TV screen with the words āRedditā on the screen. We sealed this invention in cryogenic storage, fearing that it was a bomb, and placed the Technician on this ship in case he finished his next invention, which he calls āTumblrā.
Each night, the Technician may use his grammaphone to record the accent of another player, then compare it to the previous accent, learning if they are the same allignment or not. For some reason, he canāt even recognise a slight tinge of a German accent that a spy would have, which proves that heās dangerously stupid.
Colonel
The Colonel isnāt really that funny of a concept. Heās just a loose cannon. When we sent him on this mission instead of to the front lines, he said that he wanted 24 hours to solve a case, which clearly proved that the man was a small bit crazy, considering that this is the Army. We felt a bit bad for the chap, so we told him he could keep two personal possessions on this mission. The personal possessions he chose were his familyās ceremonial rifle and the ceremonial silver bullet.
Once per game, at night, the Colonel may ceremonially shoot a player, cermonially killing them.
Engineer
To be frank, we got rid of this man because he suggested placing armour everywhere but the engines since none of the planes we got back from the Battle of Britain had bulletholes in the engine. Still, he understands German ciphers (if not German) due to his admiration of SUPERIOR GERMAN ENGINEERING, so Iām sure heāll be fine.
The Engineer learns whether or not each dead player was German or not.
Hypnotist
This officer was a private, but we āāpromotedāā him to Colonel so he could go on this mission. He seems to be under the impression that he can āhypnotiseā other people using really shit magic tricks. Weāve stopped him from marching idiots to their death by replacing their grenades with avocados by putting him with a bunch of idiots who are going to die anyway.
Each night, the Hypnotist may āuse his magicā to switch the signs on the rooms of two other officers, switching which person each one targets. After the second time he does this, everybody will catch on to the obvious trick, and this ability will no longer work.
Lookout
Apparently, this man believes that his job is āboringā, and has been seen writing what he calls a āwillā, which he flashes in the face of anybody who asks who he is, which documents the exact movements of several random people. He was placed on the airship after he claimed that Private Willikins was in fact a āConsortā, proving that he has no skills in watching whatsoever as he completely missed the cannibal who ate Willikinsā corpse that night.
Each night, the Lookout may hide in somebodyās room, and learn who visted them at night, noting down meaningless numbers to record his results.
Radio Operative
The Radio Operative is a misnomer, as it happens. It is more accurate to say that he blasted at top volume in the briefing room for this mission a song that he calls āThe Sound Of Silenceā, which has paritally deafened all other members of the mission. He appears to be somehow unaffected by his habit of playing what he calls āfunny dank earrapeā.
The Radio Operative is not partially deafened, and thus can hear guns, doors being locked, barbed wire being dropped, signs being switched and motivational seminars through the airshipās walls. They also have surprisingly good directional hearing, and know exactly which person each of these abilities were used on, although not who by.
A giant sticker is slapped on this file, grey text on a biege background. It reads: āSample Night Results:
The Technician targeted [x] last night.
The Facilitator targeted [y] last night.
etc.ā
Private
This private is very private indeed, and has been sent on this ship due to his unbearably infuiriating habit of refusing to obey orders unless they are whispered into his ear. On the plus side, due to some other moron fucking humouring him for some reason, he has become an expert at private communications, so I suppose it canāt all be bad.
Each day, the Private may whisper āpsst come out into the kitchenā into someobdyās ear. The next night, they may freely talk with that person in a hoarse whisper, which is too quiet for anybody to hear or detect in any way. And nobody comes into the kitchen anyway, since we took away all the biscuits there for fear of the General choking on them.
Supervisor
This guy is actually perfectly sane, and heās not even an idiot. We sent him here so he can figure out how the various other morons on the missions do their incredibly fucked up actions each night. We wouldnāt even send him to his death if he hadnāt confessed to writing his diary in white ink, proving that he is in fact a filthy light themer.
The Supervisor can use his expertise to figure out the tricks of a dead player at any time, and can from that point onwards use their abiltiies as if he were that player.
a giant sticker with puke-green text on a orange and brown background with flecks of blue irregularly spaced throughout it says: āThis guy dosenāt have the best memory, so once heās learnt somebodyās tricks he must act as that role for the rest of the voyage.ā
Lieutenant
At first we had no idea where he was getting all the barbed wire from. Then we found out that he was getting it from the Technicianās warehouse, which is what put us onto THAT moron. Then we found out that he had a lot of shares in a German barbed wire company who had come to him pretending to be British. A few days after that, we looked in his room to check on him and found it filled to the brim with barbed wire. With any luck, he only managed to smuggle a few coils of it on here.
Each night, the Lieutenant may drop Barbed Wire outside of somebodyās room, killing anybody who tries to enter after heās been there. He only has two coils in his wardrobe (and no clothing whatsoever, so donāt be surprised if you see him in his underwear soon) so he can only do this twice.
A giant red sticker is slapped onto this file, with the text " It reflexively roleblocks + kills all visitors" in sans-serif font on it.
Facilitator
The Facilitator is a deserter. Itās in his blood. But he dosenāt think he is, as a matter of fact. Rather, he deserted from the front lines only to burst into a meeting at High Command (back in England from Africa!) and started screaming something about us āJUST DOING ITā. To be frank, if the trauma of this experience shocks whatever the fuck made him like that out of his arse heād probably have enough determination to just walk all the way to goddamn Berlin, so him somehow surviving might be bearable for High Command.
Each night, you may go Shia Lebouf on a playerās arse, making them run away from you and perform their action before anybody else, the sheer adrenaline caused by your egregious presentation making them impossible to kill that night, followed by them coming back in order to slap you in the face. Even your lungs have a limit, however, and thus you may only do this twice per game.
It looks like your intentions should be encoded in your diaries in a mysterious language called āEnglishā. With any luck, you should know exactly what you need to do. Unless you donāt, in which case you are royally fucked up in the head or you just donāt read your rolecards. Or both.
