Mid-Range Game 7: Eighty Splendid Suns

[Tulir]

Apologies for this late realiation, but as much as it hurts, I think I have to withdraw from this game.  I really want to play it, but I will be leave July 1st and get back July 5th, which I feel is too early and too much to be gone for.  I was eagerly anticipating this game, and I am sorry I have to leave.

[Aonar]

Ashim considered himself a simple man. Only a minor functionary, a Grand belonging to a relatively unimportant faction; he didn’t have much stake in the events surrounding the Emperor’s decline. He just did his job, organized what he was supposed to organize, paid off who he was supposed to pay off, and occasionally, when the mood struck him, went out for a spot of tea.

 

And so, on this particular summer night Ashim found himself at the Frozen Moon; hoping, as usual, to have his tea in peace; remaining unnoticed and unbothered by the other patrons. And it seemed, for once, he might get his wish.

 

The storm outside had muted conversation, and what little was going on was quiet, private, most likely revolving around the various plots for ascension after the Emperor’s fall.

 

It had been a long day, and Ashim was very nearly falling asleep over his cup. In fact, his head was slowly drifting towards the table. But just as his nose was about to take a dip in his now lukewarm tea, a glass shattered, startling him back into alertness. Groaning slightly and bringing himself upright, he took a look around.

 

The room had changed. An unspoken tension had formed around the tables towards the opposite wall, as Arbiter Frava made veiled threats towards anyone intending to take Yazad’s throne. Which, given the location, was just about everyone in the room.

 

Most surprisingly, however, was that the seat across from him, empty a moment before, had been filled. A slight woman wearing the greens of a minor bureaucrat; yet something about her suggested there was more there than met the eye. Ashim rubbed his eyes to ensure that she wasn’t some insomnia-induced hallucination. “...Hello?”

 

“Hello. Interested in a game?”

 

Blinking, Ashim noticed now the board that had been set out on the table in front of him. Thirty-two pieces, white and black, were arranged in even lines upon it.

 

“I hope you’ll pardon the interruption of your nap,” she said, making a few final adjustments to the board. “I trust you recognize the game? I can never remember the name, myself. Some odd Svordish word.”

 

“Yes, but I really must be going. It’s rather late,” Ashim said, looking around nervously. The woman appeared to be alone, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t dangerous.

 

“Really?” She affected a tone of seemingly sincere disappointment. “I heard you were very good. I was looking forward to the challenge.”

 

Nothing about her words of expression suggested any threat, but something told Ashim that leaving wasn’t an option. He slumped slightly, trying to force his bleary eyes to focus on the pieces. “Fine. What’s your name?”

 

The woman smiled slightly. “I don’t believe that’s important to the game, Ashim”

 

His eyes narrowed. Ashim had been hoping his feelings were just paranoia, but this seemed to confirm them. “What should I call you then?”

 

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “If you must, you may call me Sheo.” A common enough name among the MaiPon or Jindo… And Aonic for death, ending or destruction. He shivered. Of course.

 

“Now, let us play. You first.”

 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The teahouse had long since emptied. Only Wenshon and a bare handful of patrons remain, most of whom were asleep at their seats. Two however, were still very much awake.

 

“Arbiter to E7. Arbiter takes Forger. Game in six.” Sheo spoke with a slight frown on her face. She seemed disappointed. “Good game, Ashim, but it seems you aren’t quite as good as you were made out to be.”

 

Despite himself, Ashim had let himself get invested in the game. Sheo was a masterful player. One of the best he’d ever played against. He studied the board with intense interest. “Here. Let me help you out,” he said, ignoring her last comment. “Striker to B7. Check. Game in four.”

 

Sheo’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “You insist on playing this out? And then avoid the best move? Why?”

 

“On the contrary,” Ashim said, flashing a brief smile. “You are the one insisting we continue.”

 

“What?”

 

“Take a look at the board.”

 

Puzzled, Sheo looked closer. “I’m not seeing it.”

 

“Arbiter takes Striker. Grand is Elevated to Arbiter. Check. Emperor flees.” A wolfish grin spread across his face as he spoke.

 

Her eyebrows rose in surprised realization. “Oh.”

 

“Arbiter takes Arbiter. Check. Emperor flees. Bloodsealer takes Grand. Checkmate, with the Emperor trapped by his own pieces.”

 

“Masterfully done,” Sheo said, expression carefully neutral. “The game has changed, however.” She carefully reached out and twisted the board a hundred and eighty degrees. “It is your turn.”

 

“...What? This is childish, Sheo.”

 

“Perhaps it is. But this is my game, and you will play by my rules.”

 

“Rules that I am not aware of?”

 

“I’ve always found those are the only kind that really matter.”

 

“And if I refuse to play?”

 

“Both you and I know that’s not an option, Ashim.”

 

He swallowed nervously. Nights, but this woman is insane. He took a deep breath, and let it out shakily. Okay. Think fast, Ashim. Even if you don’t know the game’s rules, at least they exist. More likely than not, they do have some logic. But what?

 

Let’s try the obvious first. “How about we change the game back?”

 

As he reached out to spin the board again, Sheo let out a high, cold laugh. “Not so fast. Only I can do that. I’ll have you know, Ashim, if you continue to stall, I will consider you to have forfeit. You won’t like what happens next.”

 

Nights. Seeing no other option, he played his only move. “Arbiter takes Striker.”

 

“Grand is Elevated to Arbiter. Check.” So what do I know? One of the rules is that the players can switch sides. ...Which tells me all of nothing.

 

“Emperor moves to the only available square,” Ashim said distractedly.

 

“Arbiter takes Arbiter. Check.” When can people change their whole point of view at the drop of a hat? Their whole ideology? ...Maybe when they were never truly who they seemed? He shook his head, confused. What sort of game is this?

 

“Empe-” Sudden realization cut Ashim’s words short. It isn’t. This was never a game. It’s an assessment. For suitability in the political machinations surrounding the Emperor. “Emperor flees.”

 

“You accept your defeat, then?” Sheo asked with a bored tone. “Bloodsealer takes-”

 

“No.” Okay. If I’m right, there has to be some way to win, or else we wouldn’t be playing. This game is some sort of allegory for the political situation among the Factions. What can I do?

 

I can change the game.

 

“Don’t try my patience, Ashim. Please do try to retain your dignity. You’ve lost. Now lose gracefully.”

 

“Wait. Nothing here is as it seems,” he began. “So, it stands to reason that the game cannot really change. All one can ever do then, is reveal the truth.” Without waiting for her to respond, he plucked a single Grand from her side of the board, one directly adjacent to her Emperor, and dropped it in his now cold cup of tea.

 

Doing his best not to wither under Sheo’s glare, he fished the piece out. The white paint had flaked away in places, revealing the dark hardwood beneath. He placed it back in front of the Emperor.

 

“Checkmate.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I may have gone a tad overboard with that. Anyways, Ashim, however reluctantly, is in. (Hopefully I die before my game starts.)

Edited June 29, 2015 by Aonar Faileas

[Kipper]

*content*

Some people....

This is why I don't RP in SE games. I would be so completely overshadowed by Aonar, Meta, Wilson, and all of the others. Keep it up, guys. RP like this is truly a joy to read.

[Bort]

There was a flash of light, concealed from most people by the fact that it appeared in an alleyway, and when is dissipated, a tiny person was standing there. He wore robes that were dusty from travel, and had an arm in a sling. He also had a beard that was long enough to trail on the floor behind him, and giant fluffy eyebrows that rose into the air above his shiny, bald head.

 

He pulled a notebook from his beard and flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for, a briefing on this location, what was happening at the moment, and finally, the clue he hoped would lead him to a Shardmark. Ah, here it was. The Rose Empire... Emperor dying (just once, Bortholemew the Blind would like to visit somewhere peaceful, in the middle of summer)...Factions about to battle it out to see who becomes Emperor next.

 

That wasn't good news, as the clue Bortholemew was seeking was somewhere in the palace, and he would need the Emperor's blessing to reach it. If he hurried, he might be able to reach the old Emperor before he died, so, Bortholemew picked up his beard, and shuffled off in the direction of the palace.

 

When he arrived, a guard singled him out, and asked him which faction he belonged to. When Bortholemew answered that he didn't belong to any, the guard led him away and shoved him into a room with a number of other 'neutrals', all waiting to be assigned to a faction. This was odd, Bortholemew though, although he could see one advantage. By bullying people into representing their faction, the leaders of those factions could keep their own, loyal people safer, using the 'recruits' as cannon fodder.

 

Still, he had just been shot, so Bortholemew wasn't best pleased at being forced into playing this new game, but what other choice was there? If he wanted his quest to continue, he had to see this through.

Edited June 29, 2015 by Bort

[Paranoid King]

So if a striker captain targets another character to strike back at, but that character is also protected by a striker captain, would the second striker captain get to kill the first?

[Kasimir]

So if a striker captain targets another character to strike back at, but that character is also protected by a striker captain, would the second striker captain get to kill the first?

A Striker Captain cannot protect at all. They can only make a kill. Now, the question you might have had in mind is: what happens if a Striker Captain targets a player protected by the Teullu Warrior? (Doesn't matter whether the kill is with their kill ability or kill-with-me ability.)

If that is the case, then the Striker Captain dies, as long as the Teullu hasn't already used up their protection ability. If it is the Striker Captain's 'kill-with-me' ability in use, then the Teullu kill just double-taps the Striker Captain, effectively wasting their protection ability.

 

-

 

At this point in time, it is 24 hours from when the game is scheduled to begin. So, this is a general announcement: thank you to all who have signed up so far! As of this point in time, with 27 players, barring any sudden mass withdrawals, this game will be a 4-faction game and I have accordingly edited the rules post to reflect this. Similarly, the impartial mod for this game will be Gamma. I have also edited the rules post to reflect this.

 

Due to my need to create some buffer-time for myself, and to be a little more friendly to the Stateside players, cycles will now begin (and end) at 11PM SGT [=GMT+8].

 

Once again, this is a last reminder to those who have not yet PMed me the emails they will be using to play this game. Please do so ASAP, in order to facilitate a smooth start to the game tomorrow. Thank you!

 

To any people still vacillating about whether to join, I should note that I intend to close sign-ups anywhere between half-an-hour to an hour before the game is scheduled to begin (i.e. between 10-10.30PM.) This is to ensure that everything gets done in good time (without last minute changes) und alles in Ordnung ist.

 

Thank you.

Edited June 29, 2015 by Kasimir

[Emerald101]

und alles in Ordnung ist.

 

Sprechen Sie Duetsch? Oder ist das nur spas?

 

Edit: Farbe

Edited June 29, 2015 by Emerald101

[Bort]

I'm going to miss out on the last 7-9 hours of every cycle with this starting time.

[phattemer]

Ich auch spreche ein bisschen Deutsch! Aber nicht so gut.

[Kasimir]

Sprechen Sie Duetsch? Oder ist das nur spas?

Edit: Farbe

Leider spreche ich kein Deutsch und allerdings war es nur zum Spaß. Deswegen sollten alle Spieler/Innen mir die Befehle bitte auf Englisch schicken Damit können wir zusammen irgendwas problematisches (bzw. "Kommunikationsprobleme") vermeiden. Alles klar?

To players negatively affected by this starting time (particularly the Aussies and Kiwis!), I apologise Ultimately, as a GM, I have to be a moderately self-interested altruistic hedonist. So, I'm trying to generally minimise the impact for the large pool of Stateside players, given the clash of timezones. This is pretty much the best I can do, alas.

 

"Unfortunately, I do not speak any German, and in any case, that was just a joke. For this reason, all players should send me their orders in English. Through this, we can avoid anything problematic (or rather, communications problems) together. All clear?"

Edited June 29, 2015 by Kasimir

[Herowannabe]

To players negatively affected by this starting time (particularly the Aussies and Kiwis!), I apologise Ultimately, as a GM, I have to be a moderately self-interested altruistic hedonist. So, I'm trying to generally minimise the impact for the large pool of Stateside players, given the clash of timezones. This is pretty much the best I can do, alas.[/color]

Just pick whatever rollover time works best for you. The whole point of having cycles that last 24+ hours is that it gives everyone a chance to post/vote at some point during the cycle, no matter where they are in the world. I would much rather have a rollover time that was awkward for me, but convenient for the GM, because this will help ensure smoother and more reliable rollovers between cycles.

Besides, with the setup of this game (all votes being made via PM) it shouldn't make much of a difference when during the cycle you vote or declare your actions.

Edited June 29, 2015 by Herowannabe

[Kasimir]

Sign-ups are now closed and PMs will be sent out shortly. People who cannot access your docs, please inform me in the role PM, not in-thread.

 

Also, please note that I've made a slight mistake with the Order of Actions/Stack and forgotten to include the Diplomat Scan as an action, which takes place last. This issue has been rectified and the rules post correctly updated. Thank you.

Please enjoy some soothing music to make the wait more bearable.

Edited June 30, 2015 by Kasimir

[Adamir]

Please enjoy some soothing music to make the wait more bearable.

via Imgflip Meme Maker

[phattemer]

Edited June 30, 2015 by phattemer

[Adamir]

via Imgflip Meme Maker

[phattemer]

[Emerald101]

I just had to ask, because I've found German-speaking people in the most unlikely of places. I mean, who expects the random Arabian dude at their American fencing club to speak German?

 

Edit: Color

Edited June 30, 2015 by Emerald101

[Adamir]

via Imgflip Meme Maker

[phattemer]

[Kasimir]

MR7: Cycle One - The Last Painting
 
Eighty suns rose and set over the Rose Empire, changing with the passage of the days. The dawn of a new day brought with it a different sun in the heavens, or so the citizens believed. Kwai knelt in the light of the new sun, tugged his shirt sleeve firmly down over his arm, and began the finishing touches to the bottom of the painting.

Light, that was important, Kwai thought. A good painter knew how to take that light—that rich, golden light spilling in through the silk-screened window like honey, and to subtly employ it in his paintings, emphasising objects, bringing a distant pavilion on a mist-shrouded mountain into sharper focus.

He drew on that memory of dawnlight now, worked it into the various panels. Here, a heron, wading in the rushes of the River Naidian. Here, the towering mountains and pine forests of Mount Taigu. In the centre of all things was, of course, the splendour of the Rose Palace; that went without saying. The Emperor of the Eighty Suns anchored the painting, for all that Kwai had only a mere outline. He hadn’t yet begun work on the man’s features, much less decided how he would be depicted.

He was touching up the edges of the lone pavilion when he heard a soft cough. Kwai turned about, paintbrush still in hand, and offered obeisance to the man who had stepped into the room, leaning on a bamboo stick.

Now that they were no longer bothering to hide it, Kwai noticed the unhealthy pallour of Yazad’s face; the way the deferential Striker trailed him, as if to guard him—or to steady him, if he stumbled. He was, as well, far too thin: a trembling sketch of a man in the golden brocade coat of Emperor, stitched with the flaring sun Imperial symbol.

“Shi KwaiRan,” Yazad said, in greeting. He coughed again, leaning heavily on the cane; the white handkerchief that came out of his pocket to cover his lips came back flecked with blood. “I see you are hard at work, as usual.”

“That I am, your Majesty,” Kwai replied. The Striker helped the Emperor into a chair of polished wood. The entire study had been done up in neutral, earthen tones, Kwai thought. The wooden furnishings were no difference; they intended to speak of privacy and comfort, rather than imperial grandeur.

Yazad’s pale eyes flicked over the length and breadth of the mural painting, and then turned back to Kwai. “Eat with me,” he said. “And talk to me, for a time.”

A sharp gesture and the Striker retreated to a safe distance; presumably, to summon one of the servants. “As your Majesty wishes,” Kwai said. He collected his brushes, cleaned them off, and began to allow the rest of the freshly-applied paint to dry.

“No comment, painter?” Yazad said, “I’d almost expected to hear something about my current state of health. Frava greeted me just last night, informing me that I looked a lot more well-rested than I previously had. Pity that they’re all already starting to plan who will succeed the throne after my death. Kaleva’s kept me entertained with tales of their latest plots and schemes.”

Kwai said, “I don’t flatter, your Majesty. You know that.”

Yazad gazed pointedly at the mural taking shape on the panelling of the study. “I disagree,” he said, simply. “You are a painter. Your entire task is to create works that flatter the deeds and egos of great men.” A person less familiar with the Emperor’s mannerisms, Kwai thought, might’ve missed the self-deprecatory twist to the man’s lips as he spoke.

“Unfortunately,” Kwai said, “I am, first and foremost, an artist.”

“I fail to see the difference,” Yazad said, at last.

Kwai approached the lacquered wooden desk—cleared of the papers that had once cluttered it, back when Yazad had been in good health—and sat down on the proferred chair. “I believe,” he said, “Or I would like to believe that my profession requires a healthy respect for the truth.”

“But phoenixes,” Yazad said. “You consider them to be truthful subjects of art, then?”

Kwai shook his head. “Apologies, your Majesty. Truth is…” he struggled for the words. “The relationship between the artist and truth is complicated, at best. Do you know of Xu DuLin’s poem about the cypresses of Sogdian Forest?”

Yazad nodded. “I have often read his Book of Songs to myself,” he said. “When craving some form of respite.”

“Perhaps there was an old cypress, somewhere in the depths of Sogdian Forest,” Kwai said. “By the bank of the River Dian. Or perhaps there was none at all; perhaps those who sit themselves by the foot of a cypress in Sogdian must content themselves with the supposition that this tree, this is the tree that DuLin wrote his famous ‘By the River on a Lonely Night’ about.” He shrugged, apologetically. “Perhaps DuLin was really writing about the lone cypress that grew by the riverbank in his home province of Ukurgi.”

“We do not know, then,” Yazad said. “And we never will. DuLin was an excellent poet, if a little pastoral in his writings.”

“Exactly so, your Majesty,” Kwai agreed. “Truth is the first and last refuge of the artist. But more than anything else, an artist creates truth; distills it, drop by precious drop and then refines it. Now, an old cypress stands where none did before by the River Dian, touched by the first light. And so it is with the humblest painting.”

Yazad made a noncommittal sound in response to that. He was glancing searchingly, once more, at the expansive mural taking shape before his eyes. “How long will you take, do you think?” he asked.

Kwai followed the direction of his gaze. “At least three more months, your Majesty,” he replied. “Perhaps two more, at best.”

“The Resealers inform me I will be fortunate to have one more month to live,” Yazad said, bluntly.

“Your Majesty,” Kwai acknowledged. “I am sorry.”

Yazad dismissed it with a gesture from his trembling hand. “No matter,” he said. “I’ve long come to accept that few are…fortunate enough to have access to the best Resealers the Empire has to offer. If I weren’t an Emperor, I’d have been dead three months ago.”

Kwai said nothing. He wasn’t sure he was meant to.

“Yes,” Yazad said, almost to himself. “Perhaps it is better this way…time things reached an ending.” His shoulders shook as he coughed again; uncontrollably. When he drew them away from his lips, his fingers were wet with blood. He looked at Kwai. “It…gives me cause for sorrow, to know I may not see the final painting. To know what you will make of me. Much less what sort of legacy I will leave behind.” He smiled, carefully; it was filmed over with pain. Not, Kwai thought, entirely physical, at that. “In truth, perhaps it is a good thing. Too much honesty, painter, can break a man.”

Kwai looked at the Emperor. For the first time, touched by that dawn light, he thought he saw: more clearly, and more deeply into the heart of the man than he had, back when Yazad had first sat for a portrait in this very same study.

We only truly realise what precious things we behold when they are about to shatter, he found himself thinking. Aloud, he said, “Your Majesty, I assure you that the painting will not displease.”

Yazad shook his head in admonishment. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Kwai.” His shrug was resigned. “If it is to be an artist painting my mural, then be an artist. Be truthful. The truth, I think, is a commodity I’ve only…recently come to value.” He sighed.

“I understand, your Majesty.”
 

---

Cycle One begins now, and will last for 24 hours, ending at 11PM SGT [=GMT+8] tomorrow. Please be reminded that no kills will go through on cycle one, and be sure to check the updated rules post!

Player List:

 

 

1. Ableah Edr (Haelbarde)
2. Bortholemew the Blind (Bort)
3. Cang Lu (Wyrmhero)
4. Baatar Zaofu (Adamir)
5. Jain (Jain)
6. Seixa (phattemer)
7. Wai ZhierSen (little wilson)
8. Cation Vinid (Shallan)
9. Sir Edonar (Paranoid King)
10. Hreo (Herowannabe)
11. Waimin (Mailliw73)
12. Locke (OrlokTsubodai)
13. Sei Nis (Seonid)
14. Arandar (Araris Valerian)
15. Dow (dowanx)
16. The Green Xienbei (Emerald101)
17. Kartesh (Zephrer)
18. Jeno (The Only Joe)
19. Eo (spooky Eowyn)
20. Neo (neodymium)
21. Pixie (Pixie)
22. Ishtar (zas678)
23. Asterion (Alvron)
24. Ynla Ka (Clanky)
25. Slave (Bridge Boy)
26. Kip Sturm (Kipper)
27. Ashim (Aonar Faileas)

Edited July 5, 2021 by Kasimir

[Kipper]

It's my birthday today...would be excellent if someone could give me a present this cycle...

[Adamir]

via Imgflip Meme Maker

 

via Imgflip Meme Maker

[Elithanathile]

*present*

 

Happy birthday! And there's no better way to spend it, I'd say.

[Haelbarde]

It's my birthday today...would be excellent if someone could give me a present this cycle...

I will see what I can do...

[phattemer]

Sorry, already used up all my upvotes on the sign-up thread(shameless plug).

But here is a meme: