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Found 51 results

  1. The title says it all! ask me any question you want. (I reserve the right to ignore any questions I don't want to answer.)
  2. Seriously ask anything! Let’s have some fun.
  3. All right... so this is a thing, apparently. So, I guess, ask me anything! Disclaimer: I reserve the right to refuse to answer any questions. However, most questions I do not want to answer will indeed be answered sarcastically.
  4. Because these seem like fun, AMA! I'd prefer something more random, but hey, you pick. Also, I'd be great if you would mention me or quote me so I don't forget about this thread, but if you don't I will try to fix my memories.
  5. This looks like fun, and I'm procrastinating. Anyone want to ask me pointless questions?
  6. Ask my anything! Except for what my secret plans are, or there will be grave consequences . . .
  7. Um, hello! Just saw this topic lying around, thought I might post something. Um, I'm not really sure how much attention this is going to get, but if you happen to venture onto this post, then I'll grant you the privilege of asking me anything! Anything. Ok, um, time for you to ask.
  8. Ask me anything. I don’t really care at this point. But the sad truth is, nobody will.
  9. Hello! I've read some of these, (Mostly Ene's) and thought it would be fun to do one. So uh, ask away?
  10. Cycle Five So Close [Insert cycle text here. There was supposed to be a write-up but I am dead tired and also I just got an email from my uni telling me my thesis has been accepted! I am the Master of Philosophy now! Or, I would be but I might have to make some urgent minor edits! Or not! I am now contacting my supervisor, deliriously happy, and also visibly confused. As a result, the write-up will be delayed but please accept your results from me while you're at it] The shadows crept about the Frozen Moon as the sun was swallowed by the hungry horizon. Today was the seventy-ninth sun; yesterday was the seventy-eighth. Tomorrow would be the eightieth sun, before the cycle would repeat, as it always had. As it surely always would. Joon tucked away his cosmetics kit and flashed a smile at Ellira. Fool, Ellira thought, and wondered if she should make a break for it soon. If tonight was the night. Her master had sent the same message, over and over again. Watch and report. Watch and report. Watch and report. Watch what, Ellira wondered, but it was not hers to comprehend why her master was interested in the goings-on of a group of a group of disgruntled arbiters and academics and bleeding hearts and even the occasional ambitious citizen, looking to move up in the world. The answer came to her almost at once, in response to the thought, in his usual soft voice. People often thought her master was weak for that, but Ellira knew better. She had seen him bleed, and she had seen his steel. Perhaps, she thought, not for the first time, one day he would let down his guard around her. He would put aside that terrible knife he carried, and he would let her close, and then she would put her knife in his stomach and twist it, just so. She had never killed one such as him before. She wondered how it would feel to have his blood on her hands. It would look a little like this sunset, Ellira decided. It was all blood and fire, and she smiled at the sight. She scratched her master’s seal into the dust, surreptitiously: three interlocked diamonds, overlapping, and then brushed it out with a swift gesture. ㄢㄋㄌ Not everyone watched the dying of the light. STINK gurgled, hands scrabbling desperately at his throat, struggling to breathe. His name wasn’t STINK, of course. Or rather, it was, in a manner of speaking. Stefan Trent Isle Nathan Kilkreath was very far from home indeed, where the various syllables of his name only served to elicit an eye roll from the citizens of the Rose Empire, rather than any sort of respect or flattery. He’d joined the conspiracy largely because he was no stranger to intrigue. The idea of a secret gathering against the oppressive Emperor had amused him, and he’d dreamed of spies and missions, and a resistance. There were none to be found, in the Frozen Moon. This game, after all, had turned out to be the end of him. “It’s nothing personal,” his assailant said, unsmiling. “In fact, it’s just good business.” STINK would have said something, anything, but then he was dead, and then he said nothing at all. ㄢㄋㄌ Kwai, too, did not watch the going down of the sun and the start of the evening. He dragged himself further into the saferoom. There were rations there, set aside for a rainy day. Wenshon had believed in being prepared, and had set aside a cache of rations, armour, disguises, a weatherproof cloak, and a small but generous array of weapons, just in case his past caught up with him one day. It had, of course. Kwai had written the letters. And Wenshon had died anyway, stabbed by a Striker and left to bleed out, in order to make a point. Two points. The first: that you didn’t walk away. You never did. The second: that Gamman had held all the cards and he’d willingly thrown one of them away. He didn’t need Kwai any longer. That Kwai was as disposable as Wenshon was, especially if he crossed Gamman. Even if he didn’t. He’d arrived far too late to do anything about Wenshon. He hadn’t had the chance to say anything, any final words. Something. The last thing Wenshon had said was that he was leaving to pick up supplies. They were running short. And then he was dead, bled out long before Kwai could have done anything about the matter. A helpless fury had overtaken Kwai, at the utter, unutterable waste of it all. He sat there on the wooden steps to the Frozen Moon, and tried to reconcile himself to a universe that had, all of a sudden, turned so very empty. He wanted to kill Gamman. He would have, if he could, but he was not Seo Doriye, who was the famous Sleeve of White Snow, who had killed fifteen men in various duels over the years, and who was faster than the blink of an eye on the draw. Not even Soul Forgery could give him Seo Doriye’s skills, and his handlers in the Reform Faction, back in Kaleva’s day, had insisted that he earn any skill he might have had with the blade the hard way. With painful bruises, a broken arm, and sweat stinging his eyes, even with his hair tied back behind him. He wasn’t going to kill his way to Gamman. Not through an entire army of Strikers; not with Gamman, who was renowned for both cunning and paranoia, who had taken increasing amounts of various poisons in order to build a resistance to them. Instead, Kwai had dug deep. He’d put out feelers, and carefully asked questions. Approached the right contact at the right time. It’d been five years. In the end, it had been the truth of Wenshon’s death that had bought him exactly what he needed. A few more letters slipped into the pile that Gamman had demanded he write, and then Kwai dispatched them. Worded just right, in most cases; hooked with exactly the right bait. He contacted the seditious, the ambitious, the fools, and the dreamers. He contacted everyone that Gamman had wanted: all of Gamman’s enemies gathered behind the flimsy walls of a single old teahouse. And then he contacted the Discovery Faction. Fallen from grace and bleeding a slow death since the Succession Riots, it had taken one name from his contact before the outcast remnants of the Discovery Faction would even consider granting him a meeting. Shuos KanSeun, scholar, desposed arbiter, historian, and sometime general of the Rose Empire. Kwai paused and rifled through a bag that had only recently been moved into the saferoom. There was a bolt extractor there, though it would hurt. There were bandages, clean enough that he would not risk woundrot or infection. There was painwort, which was unbearably bitter, but the better of the two options. And there was bloodstanch, ground into powder a month ago, and fresh enough to form a slow seal over the wound. There was soapstone as well; he’d hoarded just enough for an emergency, and a bottle of squid ink, though it was not fresh enough. He left those alone; Flesh Forgery was difficult and dangerous under the best of conditions, and Kwai was not that desperate yet. He ground his teeth together and began. ㄢㄋㄌ Bad enough, Faitren thought, that Lawrence Scholdei had been sent out to negotiate with the Strikers and had gotten killed. She grimaced. Her tongue felt thick and caked in dust. The remaining water had been saved to soothe their parched throats, a little at a time. They could not hold out much longer. The others must know that. Joon sat on the floor, cross-legged, his eyes almost glazed over. Ellira was nearby, a dull flush in her cheeks. Yes was sluggish, barely stirring from her curled up position on the floor to make a halting comment or to answer a question. Somi had yet to budge from under the table, while Marzia leaned against the wall, blacksmith’s arms folded across her chest. Her eyes were narrowed in distrust. Kavela stood opposite Marzia, readiness in her posture. Her lips, though, were chapped and dry. “We need a better plan,” Faitren whispered. Croaked, rather. “We’re running out of water.” Itiah had died, they’d learned later, after his body was dumped in front of the teahouse, his eyes strangely burned out, without a single mark on him. She shuddered at the thought of what foul blasphemies Emperor Gamman’s Strikers now employed on their enemies. Itiah had died trying to bring them water. There was half a waterskin in his pocket, and Kavela had wasted precious moisture crying out in horror as they watched the waterskin spill some of its contents into the dust. The swift action of Ellira had salvaged the rest of the waterskin, and they added its miserable contents to their dwindling stores of water. “How much longer can we hold out without water?” Faitren continued. “They’re happy to kill us all—or wait us out.” She didn’t want to die. Not like this. Not with the thirst a constant, nagging irritation that she couldn’t ignore at all. She glared at the rest of them, especially Ellira. Her eyes felt gummy and stung. She tried to push past the sensation. “Say I’m selling out if you want. There’s nothing we can do now that the well’s fouled.” “Then you go alone,” Marzia told her, firmly. “We’re not having any of this.” Ellira’s shoulders shook, as though she was trying to cry, and Joon did his best to soothe her. Kavela simply glared at her. “Go then,” Kavela said. “Go there and die, if you want to.” She didn’t look away until Faitren had left. ㄢㄋㄌ Faitren crossed the courtyard, nervously expecting a Striker’s crossbow to find her any second. There was nothing. No hum of crossbow bolts, no sound of blades. Nothing at all. The back of her neck prickled, as though she was being watched, although she hadn’t the faintest idea where her watcher might be. She crossed into the picket line of Strikers without incident. They looked scornfully at her condition but accepted her surrender. Her arms were bound at the wrist with rawhide and she was escorted into a tent with a single Striker—a young woman who wore bright silver charms in her curling hair, and whose equipment was so fanatically polished you might have expected to see her coming several yards away. And they gave her water. She nearly gave herself a stomachache, drinking greedily until she felt her stomach would burst. The Striker took away her waterskin, and gave her another. And another. Sweet, clean, pure water, and all Faitren could think of was the relief, that all the others had to do was to surrender. She wondered what had gone wrong with Lawrence. She heard a strange sound, almost as though something was ripping apart, and then she realised that the silken walls of the tent were falling, as someone sawed a blade through the material, cutting an opening. A man poked his head in. And then she saw the head of a crossbow, nocked with vicious bolts. The Striker drew her sword and lunged, and suddenly fell to the ground, dead, the knife that had cut the tent silk now protruding from her eye, sunk hilt-deep. “So much for Glory,” said the man. He had a pleasant voice, with the hint of a burr to it, the sort that snagged and became sharp when you least expected it. “Goodnight.” Pain ripped through her, and the last thing Faitren saw was the man shaking his head and turning away. ㄢㄋㄌ STINK (STINK) was killed! He was from the Heritage Faction and aligned with the Conspirators! Devotary of Spontaneity (Faitren) was lynched! He was from the Glory Faction and aligned with the Conspirators! The cycle will end at 9PM tomorrow, on the 23rd of October, GMT+8! Vote Tally Player List
  11. Hey all, come ask me any stupid question that comes to your brilliant minds.
  12. Here is post number 2000. To commemorate this milestone my AMA returns. All questions withing reason (Whatever that means) are fair game! Bring on the questions!!
  13. Ask a question and don't expect a satisfactory answer.
  14. Fire away with your questions! That being said I reserve the rights to YPNFO any and all questions I choose. YPNFO (You’ll probably never find out) = I am not going to answer this question. So unless I become famous and my life gets broadcast by reporters you’ll never know the answer to it.
  15. Exactly what it sounds like.* I’ve always wanted to do one of these and I figured my birthday was a good day to start. *disclaimer: I will not give out porpoises.
  16. Why hello, and woomy to all! You can ask your questions here. I'll answer a few common ones right away yes. no. maybe. DONT YOU DARE SPEAK OF THAT UNHOLY THING HERE.
  17. Now that I'm slowly approaching 4000 posts and 2 years on the Shard, I figured I could finally make my own AMA (it seems to be all the rage right now). So, here I am. And you. You are also here. And since you're here, I figure you want to ask me something
  18. I'm Shqueeves! Ask me anything!
  19. Well I embraced my self and the winter is coming. Therefore Ask anything my body (and my cognitive aspect) is ready !
  20. Ask and Ye shall receive.
  21. Well, you know what to do. Figure it's about time to make one of these. You ask, I answer to the best of my ability. There has been a 84% questioner satisfaction rating, but only because my pet dog is a harsh critic. So, commence the questions.
  22. So, I saw this whole AMA thing, and I thought to myself: Gee, self, you should probably make one. Just so that the 3 Sharders who have embarrassingly personal questions about you can ask them there. It's all about them, of course. Nothing to do with you. But if you do have questions, embarrassingly personal or otherwise, this would be the place to ask them. -Seonid Keeper of the Edassan Tomes Lorekeeper of the Worldways He Who Stands and Watches Servant of the Light
  23. Well, I thought I'd jump on this new trend. Ask me anything- about food. I won't turn away other questions, though, if you have any.
  24. Well now that we have our own AMA subforum I might as well make a personal one as well so go ahead, ask me anything from my favourite type of cookie to how I come up with so many thousands of Epic ideas to whether or not I am currently wearing socks.
  25. So I'm pretty new around the Shard, but I thought I should start a thread here (Not because I'm trying to take over every board in the forum or anything ) So, Ask me anything!