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Kasimir last won the day on June 25

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About Kasimir

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  1. I think this would work better. If so, the reveal of the Elim as well would more or less be an Elim 'penalty' rather than punishment for them doing well. It's a little stronger than a one-shot Seeker because it guarantees an Elim reveal - but the Elims also get a say in who gets outed by it.
  2. Off the top of my head, I'm guessing the best way to work the randomisation would be to build it into a game simulation and then keep running the simulations until you reach a balance of probabilities you're comfortable with. The one scenario the GM'd want to avoid would be the one where that one compulsory Elim reveal just snowballs into a Village victory. It shouldn't, because teams should distance, ideally, but we do know ideal things don't always happen. Randomising which Elim is revealed could be an option but I'm not really keen on that as I feel it takes away agency from the Elim team, making it a bit of a punch to the face for an Elim team that has otherwise been faring relatively well in the game. The team shouldn't feel punished for success I guess is what I'm saying.
  3. My question would be what you need an experienced GM for. If you just want someone on speed dial / to panic dial if things go wrong or to doublecheck stuff, I can help. I'm too burned out for anything on write-ups but I don't think you'll have a problem with those. I don't think I can actively GM three games in a row, even as a co-GM, but if it's just panic dial, admin, and "how do you do X/Y" stuff, happy to help.
  4. I like this idea and it seems interesting to me for the mindgames it could foster. My question would be if you expect Elim teams to game this by appointing a fall guy beforehand and then just refusing to interact or interacting minimally? (I know, it's still data and zero interaction is sus, but just thinking aloud I suppose.)
  5. “If a made-up mind (成心) counts as a teacher, then who doesn’t have a teacher? Why should it just be the self-chosen experts on the order of things who have them? Stupid people would have them, too. But to have right and wrong before you’ve made up your mind—that’s like leaving for Yue today and getting there yesterday! That’s like saying what isn’t is. What isn’t is? Even the spiritual sage Yu couldn’t make sense of that.” (Ivanhoe & Van Norden, 2001).

  6. Sakataterihwáhten

    1. Chinkoln


      What mistake did you make?

    2. Kasimir


      Can't talk about it for reasons. But I regret violating my own ethical lines and I will hate myself for it. 

  7. Make sure you get this group and you should be fine. ...Excluding me, I'm only in the screenshot as I sent the PM.
  8. Hail, I bring you old memes from LG78 once again! If the Durian had actually stopped a kill: GMs telling me about my Durian: Everytime Kas and Wyrm brawl in thread apparently: Also:
  9. Cheers, glad it worked for you, Araris
  10. Post-Mortem/AAR: -Little extra to be said. This is essentially a vanilla game and standard distro demands a three Elim team. Given standard Village performance in QFs and especially vanilla QFs, I feel as though a two Elim team might be possible but I think that would tilt the difficulty against them a bit too much. Ultimately, as Devo said in the dead doc, it's just hard to balance for twelve or eleven players. -Village gave up a vast advantage by being low discussion early on, enabling Team Evil to grab thread control with more ease than they should have had. @Archer— in answer to your question, apart from Mat's PM to Danex, you were in all PMs. That's how little communication was going on. -While inactivity filters can unduly penalise the Village, I feel as though there was little justification for four pinch-hitters in a QF of this size, and it's often difficult to ensure timely replacement in a QF anyway. -I don't really want to have to talk about this, but as was apparent in the dead doc and Elim doc, I became aware early on that a banned player was participating in this game under an alt. It shouldn't be the GM's responsibility to vet every player participating but I will say for any prospective GM going forward who might find themselves in this same position that it is helpful to talk to your IM to ensure compliance on the GMing end, especially if you have been given cause for concern.
  11. QF54: Aftermath - The Fires of War I don’t know what King Dedelin will do. I don’t know if it was enough, for what he had planned. We succeeded, but at what cost? It wasn’t anything near the daring raid we’d all envisioned. Only a desperate one, with help and betrayal both from unexpected quarters, on a night of fire and blood. Maybe Austre was looking out for us, that night. And then there was you, Wryn. I guess you won’t remember any of this, but we lost you, too. At moonrise, the remnants of the Idrian squad crouched about the map that Kalsin had scratched into the dirt with a stick, peering at it. The results of the day’s scouting seemed painfully inadequate, in the wan light of Rrendos. Derrick had died for this, Kalsin thought. Gatemaker and Geren had died for this. If they didn’t make good on it, what were their sacrifices for? “Expect a lightly armed presence,” Wryn said, nodding to Kalsin. “The priority is to put the fields to the torch, as many as you can. You remember where we made camp two nights ago?” A chorus of quiet ‘yes’-es echoed around the map. “Good,” Wryn said. “Fallback point is at the abandoned camp site.” He drew in a deep breath. “Austre watch over you, and guide your arm. I don’t want any heroics. I want the fields torched, and I want as many of you alive as possible. Leave the packhorses behind; a man on a horse is a target out there. I’m going to divide the squad into two teams. The objective is to strike hard and fast. Kalsin will take his team past the dormitories and into the fields. My team will make our way past the other side of the lake. This should cause enough confusion that the Hallendren guards won’t be able to anticipate where to respond.” He looked at the squad. “Any questions?” “What about the Hallendren spies, sir?” Pancakes asked. “If you have a way to identify the spies,” Wryn said, dryly, “Maybe you should have shared it a few days ago.” He looked at each of them in turn, his eyes hard. “Any more questions?” No one said anything. It hadn’t been a bad question, Kalsin thought. He’d talked it over with Wryn earlier, but they just didn’t have any answer. Striking this night would force the hand of the Hallendren spies. The more they tarried, this close to the dye fields, the more chances they gave the spies to ruin the mission. You fought bears sometimes, in the Idrian highlands. When you had to. Whether with spear or bow, the trick was always to get the bear before it mauled you with its paws, a task harder than it sounded. If the spies struck while they were attacking, they’d just have to improvise and deal with them then. There was no real alternative. Kalsin just didn’t like that plan very much. Dexan grazed on a tussock of grass. The horse had been lashed to the nearby trees, in the event the teams needed to make a swift escape, with the other packhorses. A shadow fell over Dexan. “Goodnight, boy,” Jacques Noir whispered. A sword rose, and a sword fell, and the dying cries of a stricken horse were swallowed up by the darkness of death. Wryn and his team advanced around the slice of the lake. He watched the vapour rise in quiet awe. It reminded him of that day in the safehouse; of Breath, moving from one Hallendren Awakener to another. “Ware!” someone shouted. “Idrians are attacking! Ward the dye fields!” Wryn cursed, and spun about. It was Jacques Noir; already, Taidon levelled his spear at the man. “Shut up,” Taidon spat. “Traitor.” “You’re under attack!” Jacques continued to call out. His sword was already in his hand. He’d kept the squad close, and Jacques presumably had no ability to sneak off and warn the Hallendren. But he’d brought their spy back to the fold, and now Jacques had no compunctions rousing the guards. Wryn, though, had planned for this. It was why he’d intended to strike in two teams, as hard and fast as they could, under the cover of darkness. The neat rows of the dye fields stretched ahead of them, if only they could reach them before the Hallendren did. “Shut up!” Taidon shouted. A mistake, his hesitation. Perhaps it was different, killing in cold blood. Wryn had seen that shortcoming, had dismissed it. Now they all paid for it. Jacques beat aside the spear with the flat of his sword and stabbed. His sword went point-first through Taidon’s throat. The farmer gurgled as he fell to his knees, and Jacques wrested the spear from him, staring down Wryn. “Sorry,” he said, casually, “But I’ll get in trouble if you reach those dye fields. You know how it is. Hallendren! The Idrians are attacking!” The doors to the Hallendren barracks slammed open, then, and Wryn knew that they were in for it. He cursed quietly, and drew his sword. “Lieutenant,” Pancakes hissed, as they hid in the shadow of the dormitory. “What if the Hallendren spies are with us?” “You know the captain’s answer to that, Pancakes,” Kalsin said, exasperated. He leaned forward a little, trying to gauge when the Hallendren patrol would move on. The dormitories were closely watched. He hadn’t expected that. Did the Hallendren expect a fight? There was an explosion of noise and the Hallendren barracks on the far end of the clearing came to life, guardsmen clattering out. Flares lit up the night. “Austre,” Kalsin swore. The spies had been with Wryn all along. The need to flat out run, to try to save the stricken squad, warred with the knowledge that Wryn would sacrifice him if he needed to, that the integrity of the mission mattered more than one Idrian captain, no matter who he was. He ground his teeth together. There was only one direction they could go, and that was forwards. “We go on,” he told the rest of his team. Vincer nodded, tightly. Fadrian shrugged. Pancakes looked worried, strangely hesitant. Maybe it was Austre who warned him. Kalsin stepped forward, and turned around. Something felt wrong. Something seemed—maybe it was how furtive Pancakes had seemed. And then Kalsin heard the sound of drawn steel. Both of them, at once. Vincer fell, run through by Pancakes’s sword. And Fadrian advanced on Kalsin, his blade glinting in the light of Rrendos. Well, then, Kalsin thought. He was a good swordsman, but Fadrian had always been the best of the company. And there was Pancakes, which meant two against one. It was over, really, but Kalsin would be damned if he didn’t at least put up a fight. Sword against spear wasn’t much of a fight. Wryn knew that. He was pragmatic enough to understand how this would play out. Jacques would toy with him and Edrab, using the greater range of his spear to take them out. So he wasn’t interested in taking this fight. Jacques was, in the end, a distraction. The arriving Hallendren guards were a distraction. Taking the fight here and now would result in their deaths and a failed mission. And all they really needed was to burn the dye fields down. “Run for the dye fields!” he shouted. Edrab got the message and they both pelted off in the direction of the dye fields, hoping against hope that they could reach them. He heard Edrab’s cry of pain—thrown spear or arrow, Wryn didn’t know. But he kept running. As Fadrian pressed him, Kalsin retreated. Pancakes was down for the count. Vincer, it seemed, had managed to club Pancakes over the head, so at least Kalsin wasn’t having to fend off two opponents at once. Not against one such as Fadrian. Superior speed and reflexes confounded Kalsin’s attempts to attack, so instead, he kept backing away. Fadrian didn’t talk, didn’t boast. He wasn’t that sort of person. The scarred veteran was the sort you easily forgot about, until his blade was in your spine. He just advanced, his eyes intent. He let Fadrian push him on, towards the dye fields. Fadrian had gotten the better of him in the first couple of exchanges. Fadrian was better. That was all. Kalsin was bleeding from wounds to the arm and leg. Fadrian meant to slow him down and kill him, probably. A strategy Kalsin would’ve played himself, if he thought the other swordsman could give him enough trouble. He supposed he should appreciate that show of respect from the Hallendren spy. He beat aside a thrust from Fadrian and riposted, but Fadrian was already stepping aside to deliver a wicked cut at Kalsin’s side. Kalsin dodged into the dye field, trampling flowers underfoot. “Oops,” Kalsin said. Fadrian’s eyes narrowed. “You’re making it harder,” he said, merely. “I know.” A shape loomed up behind Fadrian and Kalsin stared, even as a shadow brained Fadrian over the head with a rock and the man went down. Kalsin didn’t think he was dead, just out cold. He wasn’t going to check though. “What?” Kalsin managed. “You’re not one of theirs, aren’t you?” the shadow said. He stepped forward, and Kalsin realised he was young, barely a man. And he was Pahn Kahl, and his hands showed the calluses and stains of hard labour in the dye fields. “What do you mean?” “Hallendren,” the young man said. Kalsin shook his head. “Good,” the Pahn Kahl said, his eyes flinty. “Burn it all down for me.” “Why?” “You think I chose to work these fields?” the Pahn Kahl wanted to know. Kalsin didn’t need to think about it. He nodded. “I’ll do it, then.” “Good,” the Pahn Kahl hissed, and there was a fire in those dark eyes. “But won’t you get into trouble?” The Pahn Kahl smiled crookedly. “And who will they say did it? Pahn Kahl? Or a group of rebellious Idrians?” Kalsin had to concede the point. He pulled out the oil-soaked bundle of rags and dry tinder and flung it to the ground. He pulled out flint and struck it, again and again, working with urgency. A spark caught, and the Pahn Kahl blew on it, causing it to catch. They both darted back as the flames grew, and began to spread. “What’s your name?” Kalsin asked. Courtesy, he supposed. He didn’t expect to see the Pahn Kahl ever again. “Vahr,” said the Pahn Kahl. “My name is Vahr.” The fields were already ablaze as they arrived, Wryn supporting Edrab, who had been shot in the leg by a Hallendren arrow. “Let go of me,” Edrab ground out. “I can walk.” “No,” Wryn said, firmly. “You can’t.” They both knew Edrab was lying. Kalsin was already there, bloodied and his face grim, though his expression lightened as he saw them. He nocked an arrow to his bow, wincing as the flames brushed his fingers, and then he released. It was mesmerising, almost. The arrow flew, the flames all but gone, in a bright arc. It hit the dye field, and suddenly, fire blossomed where it had fallen. How many arrows had Kalsin already shot? There were small fires everywhere. Wryn just didn’t know if that was enough. “We need to get out of here,” Wryn said, still supporting Edrab. “But is it enough?” Kalsin wanted to know, echoing the direction of Wryn’s thoughts. Wryn shook his head. “Doesn’t matter, enough is enough. We need to get out now, or we won’t make it. Edrab’s hit.” “Leave me,” Edrab said. “Don’t be ridiculous,” Kalsin said, sharply. “No,” Wryn said, at the same time. But he was thinking about it. Edrab sensed his hesitation, perhaps. “I’ll keep burning what I can. And I’m not letting them take me alive. If we all go now, I’ll only slow you down. And if I keep setting fire to the fields, I might slow them down enough to give you a window to escape. Better one than three.” A terrible thought, wasn’t it? But Wryn was a captain, and he was used to making hard, bad decisions. “It’s been an honour. Austre watch you.” “Shut up and go,” Edrab said. He took the bow and quiver from Kalsin. “Don’t make me regret this.” Fire roared around them, and Wryn felt the heat, tight and uncomfortable against his skin. He turned away. “And then?” The Idrian who called himself Kalsin looked terribly tired and haunted. Wryn thought he understood. It was barely all he could do to keep putting one foot in front of the other, to keep walking. He wondered what sort of reserves Kalsin was drawing on, what sort of steel was in that man, to keep going. Kalsin shrugged. “And then we made it out,” he said. “And we left Edrab to die. Most of their forces were still putting out fires, and I trust he sold his life as dearly as any of us might have, in his shoes. But Jacques was waiting for us, by the lake.” It should have raised some flicker of familiarity. But try as he might, Wryn remembered nothing at all. Not even an echo. “You called out,” Kalsin said. “You startled him. You saw him first; I was careless. He was about to kill me. And then he ran you through instead. And you saved my life again.” He swallowed. “I hate this, you understand? Everything about this goes against what I know, what I believe in. But damn you, you saved my life again, without thinking, and Austre curse me for it, because I should take you back to Idris, even if you’d die on me on the way.” “What are you saying?” “I’m saying that there’s a Hallendren logging camp, just down this road,” Kalsin said. They’d been travelling for days and days, with Kalsin consulting his map. Wryn had felt useless, out of his element. Now he knew what Kalsin had been aiming for. “Go down the road. They’ll find you and take care of you.” “And you?” Kalsin’s mouth tilted in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m going back.” He placed a hand on Wryn’s shoulder. “Don’t tell them anything of this. Promise me this, at least.” “Well, I’m not sure how you expect me to tell them something I don’t actually remember,” Wryn pointed out. For a brief moment, Kalsin chuckled, before he stopped short. “True,” he said. “Well then, you saved my life, you bastard, so now I’m saving yours, Austre forgive me. My life to yours. My Breath become Yours.” And then life, glorious life, flooded into him, in an ecstasy of colour, and he was alive again. “This one,” Firebearer said, slowly. He drew short at the painting, frowning at it. Ever since word got out, it seemed all the art he was required to look at was done in an impressionistic style, depicting brooding jungle scenes. Something about this one. It caught the eye, drew it in. There was the Hallendren jungle, a looming, heavy presence. But there seemed to be a smudge there; as though it was a lone figure. Part of Firebearer imagined it was a swordsman, walking alone into the murky heart of the wilderness. Perhaps he was resigned, and embracing the darkness. Or perhaps he was defying it. He did not know. “Shall I add this one to your personal collection, your Grace?” Hera asked. “Yes,” Firebearer said, absently. “Please do, Hera.” Kalsin unbuckled his sword. Let it drop, still-scabbarded, to the grassy earth. He was tired. He did not know if he had done the right thing. And now he was done with war, done with sacrifices, done with killing. He unslung Gatemaker’s bow next, left it as though it was an offering. Pushing aside an overhanging palm frond, he strode forward, into the shadowed heart of the jungle, and let the verdant darkness swallow him completely. Danex was executed! He was an Idrian Soldier! TUO was killed! He was an Idrian Soldier! The Hallendren Spies have won the game! Thoughts to follow later. Thanks for playing! It was a pleasure to GM you even if I spent a lot of time complaining to Wyrm about self-inflicted write-up pain Dossiers: Player List:
  12. Doing this feels like timing a hammer but I've never hammered, unless you count MR38, and that was sort of a reverse hammer Cycle closed!
  13. You have an hour left to rollover!
  14. I can confirm there is actually an Elim team in this game and it's not just Wyrm telling me who he wants smited. Smote? Smought? Eh whatever.
  15. Rule Clarifications: Player List: