Long Game 96: KKC in the Modern Age

[Kasimir he/him]

[TAG: RP, 389 words]

xxxiv. pain

Pain knotted itself about his head and squeezed, and it was all Kevan could do to weather it out, to sit through it, ebb and flow, like the great tides of the Centhe Sea.

Pain squeezed, winding itself into tight, thick red-black knots of thorns about his skull like crusted blood, throbbing through his skull, and every shuddering breath he drew in was filmed over with the red lightning in his skull.

“You look like hell,” Jarvik had said bluntly, a few moments before Kevan dry-heaved—he hadn’t been able to manage dinner—and slumped back into the corner (climbing into bed was too much effort, he’d tried and the movement had brought the nausea surging to the front of his skull, pain blooming in bright pinpoint starflowers behind his eye sockets.)

At some point, Jarvik had come back with—“Talin,” Kevan croaked, because Talin had insisted he was Talin, and not ‘Re’lar Talin’, had in fact insisted even before Kevan’s elevation, and Kevan hadn’t been minded to fight him, not on that.

Talin felt for his forehead, and frowned. “You’re burning up,” he said, and Kevan hadn’t realised, hadn’t been shivering, the tightness in his head and the pain had at some point taken over everything. 

“Could it be malfeasance?” someone not Jarvik nor Talin was asking, Kevan wasn’t sure who.

“Unlikely,” Talin said. “I think he’s just sick. But I’d like to get him to the Medica for monitoring, just in case.” 

He peeled back one of Kevan’s eyelids, and Kevan shrank back from the bright glow that briefly covered Talin’s outstretched hand. “Pupillary response is normal,” Talin said briskly, checking both eyes. Pain hammered through Kevan’s eyes at the light, redoubling its efforts to crush his head. “Any sign of bruising?”

“No,” that someone else said.

“Unlikely to be concussion from a fall then. Help me get him to the Medica,” Talin instructed, and Jarvik was saying something, Kevan wasn’t paying attention, not through the haze of pain, but they tried moving him, and he thought he was about to be violently sick again—the room pitched and shuddered and the knots of thick, heavy wire, the sort they used in the Fishery, convulsed about his skull.

He closed his eyes and wondered how long it would take for the pain to go.

It followed him into the dark.

Edited August 2, 2023 by Kasimir

[Mat he/him]

10 minutes ago, Sart said:

• Francis (Matrim's Dice) was a terrible cook. Salt was meant to be used as a preservative, or a component in alchemy. It was not meant to drown out all other flavors, and lead to a desperate desire for water. She glared at him. "Are you trying to poison us?" she accused. Matrim's Dice.

 

14 hours ago, Matrim's Dice said:

In his cooking, you could taste the salt, but it wasn't bad by any means. It was there, supporting the other flavors, an unsung culinary hero.

...

His food was fine.

1. Voting purely for RP related reasons is bad. If you're going to vote, vote on someone you actually suspect, not because I gave my character a quirk.
2. If you are going to vote for RP related reasons, at least make those reasons accurate. Francis is a "fine" cook, and the salt "isn't bad" and "supports the other flavors". Calling him terrible and saying it drowns the other flavors is mischaracterizing my RP which isn't even related to anything anyway, why are we even having this conversation xD
3. Francis never shared his food with anybody, so there's no way you'd know what it tastes like, nor an incentive or evidence of poison.

Tempted to double vote Sart again here but I can never tell the difference between e!Sart and v!Sart when I can't get inside his head regardless. Will probably just stay split here, hopefully he either unvotes or I get lucky because if I go on the horns again I legitimately don't think I'll be able to pay rent

Other misc notes and things that have been on my mind

--Mostly feel Kas is probably village but that doesn't stop me from getting serious e/e vibes from his early interactions with TKN from today. I think those come from a difference I see in how he treated TKN's vote on him compared to Wonko/others from last turn; he contested the latter while giving TKN a pass even before he goes out of his way to explain himself.

--Disagree with Archer re:Araris if that wasn't clear, I don't like how he's parking himself on a relatively lazy read when I think there is more, if not a lot more, to go on and about.

@Szeth_Pancakes-- One I could eventually destroy, why?

---

Feeling far more nervous than he should have, Francis swung himself into a barstool at a nice place called the Eolian. The name rang a bell, though he couldn't quite place it. He hadn't chosen it out of recognition, anyway; instead it had seemed a good balance between something affordable and something enjoyable. Though, given he'd been forced to fork over a jot to just get in the place, he could be wrong about that.

As he sat, the man next to him turned to greet him, sipping a drink. "So," he said, "are you here for the pipes as well?" The man gestured to a band of musicians playing in the center of the room, who Francis hadn't missed, for they were very skilled.

'Pipes?' Francis thought. Then it dawned on him. The legendary talent pipes, a mark given by this very tavern to declare the bearer one of prodigious musical skill. Now that he looked closer, Francis could see a sort of stringed instrument under the man's stool.

"No," he said with a small chuckle. "I'm an aspiring chef, not a musician." 

The man nodded. "Just here for the music, then. I can appreciate that."

Francis returned the nod as he ordered a drink, but his thoughts again turned to his youth, where his mother had trained him on multiple instruments, a few of which he'd shown aptitude for. He hadn't played in quite some time, yet had brought along a few of his cases out of habit. He hadn't thought about those for, well... at least a month.

A crazy dream spawned in his head, an imagination of a world where he performed for the Eolian and earned his talent pipes. Such a world would surely be one where he wouldn't have to worry about paying tuition. But he was just a chef, albeit a chef with some musical experience and natural talent. He was too out of practice.

Right?

Francis soon found that the idea wouldn't leave his head, and he went back to his room that night with the resolve to practice, practice, practice.

[Kasimir he/him]

[TAG: RP, 630 words, DISCUSSION, 300 words]

4 hours ago, Matrim's Dice said:

Mostly feel Kas is probably village but that doesn't stop me from getting serious e/e vibes from his early interactions with TKN from today. I think those come from a difference I see in how he treated TKN's vote on him compared to Wonko/others from last turn; he contested the latter while giving TKN a pass even before he goes out of his way to explain himself.

[OOC: I didn't object to the votes—I objected to really bad reasons. TKN being pretty honest about being mercenary is fine with me and he clearly states as much at the end of M2. Perhaps if I'd been hardKasing I'd care about the lack of discussion but too bad I don't. Wonko arguing I'm suspicious for RPing and thus being untargetable in a landscape where early Village lacks kills should raise eyebrows since the obvious question is—why are you thinking about targeting? Is this a perspective slip? Sart trying to justify a vote on me by blaming me for not including other players in RP is rich from a guy who hasn't really been posting anyway.

And of course, after LG95 and repeatedly agonising about murdering Drake and insisting Drake win with JNV, these are the two players I'd let my teammates target, sure. Let me put it this way: a blatantly "for reduction" vote is understandable and I even noted earlier on M2 that I V!read TJN very lightly for blatantly mercenary voting. But nonsensical claims deserve to be called out. Even if Sart hadn't voted me, if he had made the same claims and voted Ash, I would still @ him because that's simply nonsensical and a touch hypocritical that players CBA to be the change they want but are expecting me to do it for them. I am not the Village donkey and I am going to loudly say no, it's not my problem, too bad.]

RP tag to be fixed later.

xxxv. stress

Kevan woke up in a cot in the Medica with a start. There was something he was missing, he couldn’t remember what it was, and for an unnecessarily long moment of panic, he was terrified he’d fallen asleep on shift. Master Bob had been quite clear that he expected his Re’lar to take turns working shifts at the Medica. The E’lir didn’t have what it took to lead a shift—and Kevan, so newly-promoted, so painfully aware of how little he still knew felt fear surge through him; the idea of being presented with a patient he didn’t know how to treat—while the Re’lar were expected to both step up as well as to acquire experience as physickers.

Pain throbbed in his head; light prickling, residual flashes of knots cording about his skull and temples, and then he remembered in vague, smeared flashes: Jarvik and someone else, Talin coming by and checking in on him, and the intense pain in his head.

Jarvik. He’d been supposed to have a study session with Jarvik and the others.

The realisation had him sitting bolt upright; a move Kevan immediately regretted as the residual throbbing became a sudden sharp burst of pain and nausea banding about his head.

Message received, loud and clear. He carefully lowered himself down flat again and tried to ride out the abrupt tidal surge of pain. He pressed a hand gingerly to his head, trying to rub away the warm tightness he felt there. 

There was water in a stoppered bottle by the cot. Kevan reached out for it carefully and unstoppered it. He had to force himself to lean upright, just enough to drink slowly. Dehydration would just make the pain worse, and he’d enough to deal with.

“Oh, there you are,” Idris said, standing in the doorway. She was another Re’lar in the Medica, the most recently-elevated before he had come along, and Kevan expected she was relieved not to have to carry that weight any longer.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Talin and two of your friends brought you in,” she said briskly, coming over and checking his vitals. “Your friend—the loud one, with the scruffy beard—thought maybe you were being attacked by malfeasance or something. I know Percyl’s crocking has the entire University on edge, but really.”

“It wasn’t then?”

Idris snorted. “Of course not. You’ve been under a lot of pressure lately, haven’t you?”

Was he? Kevan didn’t know. He gave the idea some careful thought, but concluded that he at least didn’t feel stressed, which had to count for something. He felt, he supposed, a powerful sense of obligation. But he didn’t feel as though he was drowning under it. (But he wasn’t the best at knowing, wasn’t he? You saw more clearly, in others. Easier to diagnose someone else than yourself.)

“I don’t think so,” he said. And then concession: “But Admissions are looming after all. It’s that time of the term again..”

Idris rolled her eyes. “Admissions, of course. And you didn’t remotely think about taking a break.”

He had. In fact, he’d felt as though he’d spent a decent amount of time slacking off, really. From what he could tell, other students were more sidetracked by the hunt for the skindancers than to care for their studies. 

“I did take a break,” Kevan muttered.

“Well, it looks like you didn’t take enough of one,” Idris said. “From the looks of it, you came in with a pretty awful tension headache. I’ll write you a script for a bottle of pain relievers. Take it when you need, and don’t overdo it. And for Tehlu’s sake, you’ve already made Re’lar this term, they’re not going to throw you out on your ear during Admissions. Learn to take a break and stop stressing out!”

Edited to add:

[OOC: Kind of wanted to say this but felt it was too combative but whatever:

Don't want me to engage you? That's easy, don't say drek that's so sus or so hypocritical or ridiculous that I can't force myself to ignore it despite chilling :eyes: ]

Edited August 2, 2023 by Kasimir

[The Unknown Medallion he/him]

16 minutes ago, Matrim's Dice said:

-Mostly feel Kas is probably village but that doesn't stop me from getting serious e/e vibes from his early interactions with TKN from today. I think those come from a difference I see in how he treated TKN's vote on him compared to Wonko/others from last turn; he contested the latter while giving TKN a pass even before he goes out of his way to explain himself.

It is probably relevant that I can pretty consistently read Kas since that Devo Alcatraz game, so he probably was more ready to believe that I was just scrambling for the TR. In a v!Kas world at least, which I find pretty likely.

[Kasimir he/him]

[TAG: RP, 332 words]

3 hours ago, The Known Novel said:

It is probably relevant that I can pretty consistently read Kas since that Devo Alcatraz game, so he probably was more ready to believe that I was just scrambling for the TR. In a v!Kas world at least, which I find pretty likely.

[OOC: As I stated a couple posts and on D2 as I was putting down my thoughts to decide who to vote, I felt your mercenary D1 skewed a bit more Village. Drake mentioned this and I agreed with it. That's probably also a part of the mindset with which I approached your vote. But that being said, I can't say I strongly V read you but even had I suspected you for it, I also didn't have a strong incentive to push you since again, I kind of need to be alive to hit 50k. 

Fundamentally it's so far been a balancing act of chill and not being very chill the moment something too egregiously weird or bad or wrongheaded as a take shows up but we know I’m very good at staying completely uninvolved and switching off hard Village mind >> Which probably explains my frustration or explosion in the Commoner+Ruh group PM when TJ just seemed to ignore all my arguments and I didn't know where he was pulling his Steel read from.]

RP tag fixed later.

xxxvi. crash

Kevan wasn’t surprised when he received the grade for his midterm oral exams for Siaru, printed neatly on a slip of paper bearing his name in Master Isaak’s neat handwriting.

He’d passed. It could’ve been worse, he told himself, and he certainly hadn’t expected anything more after the disaster that was the oral exams, having been set a group of tasks that he struggled with. Writing essays in Siaru was one thing, however tentative his grasp of the Cealdish language really was. Translating a simple text was doable, if touch-and-go at points. His grades for the translation and essay midterms were at least gratifyingly acceptable, which was to say, decent.

The bloody oral exams however had Master Isaak set them the task of describing a painting, except that Kevan hadn’t the faintest idea what was going on in the painting or what the painting was about and doubted he would have been able to hold forth on it in an illuminating way, even had the exam been set in Aturan, which it most certainly was not.

Master Isaak simply raised an eyebrow as he handed the neatly-folded slip over. There was a clear question there, even if it was unasked. What happened?

Not that it was something Kevan really wanted to have to say too much about. He merely shrugged.

Some of the other students were whispering. He…disliked that new distance that had opened up. Wondered if he would get used to it. Still, the unspoken name hung over him. So far removed from the University. So long ago. And still, his name cast such a long and deep shadow.

He wasn’t a second Bloodless, damn it all. If the others wanted to spread those sorts of whispers about Isaal, they were more than welcome to. He didn’t want people to look at him, talk about him as though he was the latest morning star, risen to glory, crashed down to earth at the first light of the sun, damned and doomed.

Edited August 2, 2023 by Kasimir

[The Unknown Medallion he/him]

12 minutes ago, Kasimir said:

Commoner+Ruh group PM

So everyone but me, Archer and Szeth? Sounds a little prejudiced to me.

[Kasimir he/him]

3 hours ago, The Known Novel said:

So everyone but me, Archer and Szeth? Sounds a little prejudiced to me.

[OOC: Ask Drake and Mat—Drake made it, Mat renewed it. Something about overthrowing the nobles and developing class consciousness. Given Archer claimed you made a Nobles PM, I’m not sure you have a leg to stand on here :eyes: 

RIP I have run out of pre-stashed RP time to write more in conference :sob: ]

Edited August 2, 2023 by Kasimir

[Ashbringer he/him]

Issal had heard of Kevan, a little.

The other Re'lar. The... logician, Issal thought. He'd seen him during the first few introductory classes but they'd both specialized by now. At least what little Archives time they had wasn't shared, and Issal spent so long with Alchemy that it was hard to tell. But he heard the whispers, surrounding them both. A little more distant now, with Percyl... the whispers didn't seem to carry so far anymore.

But Kevan was in Medica. Or had been, for something like burnout. Gathering information by listening to other students walk below from the higher eaves of the library he was sitting in was a slow method. But Issal couldn't be the only one doing this. He couldn't.

How was he doing this? In Latria he could barely do anything, always someone with a quicker eye or a better word, even if his insight helped with the cat situation. But now he was a Re'lar, based on half a knowledge of the wrong kind of alchemy and a drive to find a myth. He couldn't understand half the words in his textbooks, half of what his professors said. But he just kept trying, and it just kept working. Was he just good at asking the right questions? He'd done that several times in some classes, asked a question that was at worst a direct lead into the professor's next topic or a different thing that drew praise. His work grades were average - for working alone - but it still felt... wrong.

Everyone said they felt like they were one false step away from failing down a long cliff. Issal felt that too. He just didn't understand how he'd walked that edge for so long without taking that step.

Maybe he should go talk to Kevan. Maybe another Re'lar would understand. But perhaps he should wait on that, wait until he had recovered, or wait if he wanted to find him. And blast, Issal could talk to anybody. Solitude was only going to get him so far, Percyl had proved that, and his exams were still threatening to.

Besides, Issal thought as he cracked open another book. I'm finding leads on my own.

 

(Might edit in some analysis, might post again, might just go to bed. idk.)

[Kasimir he/him]

[TAG: RP, 435 words]

2 hours ago, Ashbringer said:

Issal had heard of Kevan, a little.

The other Re'lar. The... logician, Issal thought. He'd seen him during the first few introductory classes but they'd both specialized by now. At least what little Archives time they had wasn't shared, and Issal spent so long with Alchemy that it was hard to tell. But he heard the whispers, surrounding them both. A little more distant now, with Percyl... the whispers didn't seem to carry so far anymore.

But Kevan was in Medica. Or had been, for something like burnout. Gathering information by listening to other students walk below from the higher eaves of the library he was sitting in was a slow method. But Issal couldn't be the only one doing this. He couldn't.

How was he doing this? In Latria he could barely do anything, always someone with a quicker eye or a better word, even if his insight helped with the cat situation. But now he was a Re'lar, based on half a knowledge of the wrong kind of alchemy and a drive to find a myth. He couldn't understand half the words in his textbooks, half of what his professors said. But he just kept trying, and it just kept working. Was he just good at asking the right questions? He'd done that several times in some classes, asked a question that was at worst a direct lead into the professor's next topic or a different thing that drew praise. His work grades were average - for working alone - but it still felt... wrong.

Everyone said they felt like they were one false step away from failing down a long cliff. Issal felt that too. He just didn't understand how he'd walked that edge for so long without taking that step.

Maybe he should go talk to Kevan. Maybe another Re'lar would understand. But perhaps he should wait on that, wait until he had recovered, or wait if he wanted to find him. And blast, Issal could talk to anybody. Solitude was only going to get him so far, Percyl had proved that, and his exams were still threatening to.

Besides, Issal thought as he cracked open another book. I'm finding leads on my own.

 

(Might edit in some analysis, might post again, might just go to bed. idk.)

xxxvii. distance

He saw Isaal around, sometimes.

Whispers followed Issal as well. Kevan was beginning to think there were only so many things the students at the University talked about: who was sleeping with whom (Eamen and Rethis weren’t any longer, and that really didn’t matter, shouldn’t matter), who the skindancers might be, who their next target likely was, the latest major accident the Fishery, the chemists, and the Alchemists had collectively managed to cook up, and the newest two Re’lar at the University, always accompanied by the chorus of how they’d managed it so fast, within a month of promotion to E’lir, within the same term.

(And always, the name. The shadow of the name. Kevan was beginning to detest Kvothe.)

In truth, he found Issal’s achievements much more impressive. Kevan had only worked hard, had only gone from a failing E’lir in Artificery to a passable E’lir in Rhetoric and Logic and Master Bob had, for inscrutable reasons, decided to elevate him in Physicking for that incident at the Medica, even though Kevan knew nothing (leaving all commentary by Kratan of Vagrus about how this was the beginnings of wisdom—set it aside for the moment as sophistry; he really did know nothing, or at least just enough to be aware of his many inadequacies), whereas the Latrian had swept his way up to E’lir and then Re’lar in the same term, barely a month apart.

Did Issal struggle beneath the weight of those unarticulated expectations? Kevan didn’t know. 

They moved in different circles, the Alchemist and he. He’d told the Masters as much in his appeal for readmission: he wanted nothing to do with the Arcanum. Felt that people were too quick to place such a high level of prestige on arcane subjects, too quick to dismiss anything that a University student could study without ever being admitted to the ranks of the Arcanum.

Did Issal struggle? How did he breathe, or move, beneath the weight of whispers, the weight of expectations?

Sometimes, Kevan wanted to find Issal, and just sit down and say, “Percyl talked to me about you,” as though that was some kind of introduction (a terrible one, in his view) and ask him how he dealt with all of this, because it was driving Kevan up the wall.

Next, he thought wryly, they’d crock him too. Maybe they wouldn’t even need a skindancer to go after him.

One way or another, you didn’t just go up to another Re’lar you didn’t know and start talking about how it felt.

Kevan watched, from a distance, and wondered about other minds, other lives.

[|TJ| he/him]

Three months had whizzed by and Salva had done nothing. Of course, he was diligent in his studies and was an exemplary student, not deviating from an ideal pupil but he hadn't done anything he had set out to do. He had just gone through the first term just by keeping to himself. He had promised himself things would be different. That he'd try to make friends but he felt he was a bit paradoxical in nature. He wanted friends, of course he did. A man is a social being after all. Anyone who says anything different is a liar. But he also reveled and relished solitude quite possibly like no other person. There was something absolutely calming about being completely at peace with oneself. He wasn't 'settling' to be a loner, it was that he enjoyed it at times. He wished he could have both. He wished he was outgoing and social while also enjoying his alone time. But with friends and connections come expectations and when expectations are not met, it inevitably leads to heartbreak. 

Perhaps today would be the day it changes. Perhaps it doesn't have to be a drastic change either. It could start with a single person. And perhaps, no matter how absurd it sounded, he could find someone just like him, someone who doesn't feel the pressure to fill every silence with words or assume every gap in a conversation is awkward. Someone would be happy that they're sad. Someone who could experience joyful melancholy. 

---

Quick, pure gut reads - 

mat - lately i been reading mat and archer evil by default at the beginning of the game idk why. feels a bit too worried about money but worry feels genuine. unsure.

kas - rp heavy but also not budging from village duty, doesn't feel like hiding behind rp, helpful player analysis. village.

tkn - dont really recall a lot of posts but apology for voting on kas felt genuine.

steel - started with gut evil m1 post. but really non-existent activity and kas reminded me dgaf!steel is high evidence for v!steel

wonko - don't recall posts. mark to re-read.

archer - felt quite evil till last cycle but posts this cycle make me feel quite better. unsure. 

ashbringer - don't remember non-rp posts. leaning more towards rp in rp-analysis scale. shades of dingo because of it. but much more active here compared to dingo which is giving me pause. leaning evil though.

araris valerian - unsure. don't recall being activity prior this cycle. seems engaging this cycle. might have to reread posts from earlier cycles.  

szeth pancakes - don't recall posts. mark to re-read.

stink - gut evil from that vote on araris this cycle. 

sart - gut evil from posts this cycle. also not seeing how my votes were opportunistic last cycle. 

sidenote - this is to prevent a loss by field destruction. i see myself agreeing with kas' earlier comments that he assumed elims will go for straight win rather than field destruction, more obvious because we can keep an eye on players with multiple elevations and it'd be easier to pinpoint them if there indeed is a field destruction. 

[STINK he/him]

There's no way you had gut reads on like everyone in this game your gut is working overtime give it a rest

[Kasimir he/him]

[TAG: RP, 763 words, ANALYSIS, 416 words ]

[OOC: K. I may not be hard-Kasing this but I also won't vote for someone I feel okay about as that's counterproductive and #feelsbad. If that gets me crocked, put me in a cell next to Drakebro. Sometimes we just can't bring ourselves to vote on a player we think is Village even in pursuit of personal lulz/50k (sorry TKN) and that's ok.

No: Archer
No but maybe ok no: TKN, Steel, TJ, Mat, Szeth
No Opinion: Araris, Ash, Sart, Wonko, STINK

I note that No Opinion has some suspicions mixed in and in some cases, players I am deliberately trying to avoid having an opinion about because if I felt they were Evil, I might feel obligated to go hard against them which is counterproductive for me as I plod on in my chill, RPful game.

I will, I think, go for Sart here. Sart, Sart. I think I've yo-yoed quite a bit on Sart and Wonko. I feel quasi-CC voting is a bit more of a Sart tell, while weird takes are more of a V!Sart tell. I don't really know how I'd read Sart's votes in this game - the vote on me IMO is a fairly CC vote, and the TJ vote had a one-liner behind it, so...eh whatever Sart can take dual pressure I guess. 

Part of me just wants to double up on Ash but my gut isn't down with the Ash vote somehow and IDK why I need to go back and re-read. I guess I can see TJ's complaint about Dingo vibes but honestly am feeling LG93/LG94 Ash more where he got dinged for being there quite a bit. IDK. At the same time I feel mechsegue Ash can be E!Ash so I'm all over the place rn. Honestly I don't have a good reason to V!read Szeth it's basically gut off that one utterance and it's clear Szeth is around and looking at the thread but not really showing up? @Szeth_Pancakes Yo bruh you still there? Stay alive my dude.

Ngl low key wanna vote Wonko again but also not sure that's wise. Just - urgh. I feel it comes down to whether you feel Wonko's mech clarification is V or not, and I thought so at that point, it was a fairly stable vibe/tone read, but at the same time, still bothered by the time I let Mat's perspective slip go by without challenge and then he was Evil...

@Araris Valerian Yo what's your Wonko case]

xxxviii. sense of touch

The Omethi flowed on, beneath the Stonebridge.

Kevan sat by the bank of the river, leaning back against the bole of the ageing willow, beneath the shower of weeping leaves. He’d brought with him the assigned text on predicate logic, he just felt—tired. (A memory of a conversation, a sinking tiredness in his bones. His father, and the last time Kevan ever spoke to him.)

(“I swear we don’t see each other very much anymore,” Soren muttered.

“Sorry,” Kevan said. “I don’t like the slots I have at the Medica, either. You’re taking a history class next term though, aren’t you?”

Soren nodded. “Maybe. I liked it.” Archives, of course. He didn’t comment about Kevan’s new schedule, or make any reference to his elevation. But it hung there, between them, unspoken. Soren was happy for him, of course. Kevan just hadn’t counted on how much it felt like he was leaving his friends behind. Re’lar work at the Medica was exhausting and demanding.

“Well, let’s take something together. Drag Val in as well, if she’s down for it.”)

He found himself thinking about that argument again, to Soren and Valerra and Jarvik, all arguing about the records left over from the time of the last incursion, the time of Master Namer Solon. You wondered, in the absence of records, about the lives of the students in those times: what they studied, what they wrote about. You wondered about the original text, Devan Lochees’s manuscript, Kvothe’s own story told in his own words, if such a thing was possible, if it wasn’t just a conceit by the man named Chronicler, and what had been lost with the text and what had entered the story through careful pruning, careful insertion by the arcanist Rothfuss.

You wondered about what any account, any student’s account of these times would say. Perhaps he wouldn’t enter into them at all. Perhaps he would be but a footnote as the students battled the skindancers, Admissions, and just tried to survive and graduate with their guilders. As they learned and loved, and encountered all those sorts of events that happened to you, in the course of a life lived.

He wondered again, about what was left unsaid (excised) in Egert’s ledger, where it crossed paths with E’lir Devare’s account. 

Watched as the Omethi flowed onward, towards and past Imre, and ever onward, where it would eventually criss-cross with other rivers, flow into lakes, and at long last, at the very end, merge and spill out into the sea.

Two students were crossing the Stonebridge, laughing. He saw the woman take the man into her arms and lean forward.

How flesh intersected with flesh. Newer languages digging themselves into older ones, running together. Aturan spilling into what was left of Yllish, and Eithne’s doomed attempts to resurrect a language mostly-dead from the barest of bones.

A complaint of the devastating unfairness of the Advanced Sympathy midterms written into an account of a skindancer incursion at the University.

How they were writing, written all the time, one into each other. 

How this was history.

(“It’s the sense of touch,” Jarvik opined, after a night with too much scutten. 

Enough drink, Kevan thought, seemed to bring out the philosopher in just about anyone. This was not always a change for the better.

“What?” Soren wanted to know.

“You know,” Jarvik gestured, vaguely, with the hand holding his glass. “That’s driving everyone in this place nuts.”

“Jarvik, you’re drunk,” Kevan said. He’d started to decline more drinks by the time he felt the rush of heat, the hint of numbness and disconnection.

“You know I’m right,” Jarvik insisted. “It’s the sense of touch, I’m telling you. We scurry around, here and there. Name this. Sympathy that.”

“I don’t think sympathy is a verb,” Soren observed.

“Do you think it’s stopping him?” Kevan wanted to know.

“We spend so much time locked away in our own private worlds, I think we miss that sense of touch, of…you know. Connection. Belonging. Whatever you call that crap. Sometimes we just crash into each other to feel something.” Jarvik reached over to pour himself another glass of scutten, and Soren and Kevan reached out at the same time, to stop him.

Brushed past each other.

Connection, Kevan thought. The knowledge someone else was there, real; otherwise we’re locked in our own private worlds.

Heading home in the dark, stumbling, Soren reaching out a hand to steady him.

We’re each of us alone, Kevan found himself thinking. What else could you do but hold out a hand in the dark?)

Edited August 2, 2023 by Kasimir
grammar

[Archer he/him]

8 hours ago, Matrim's Dice said:

 

1. Voting purely for RP related reasons is bad. If you're going to vote, vote on someone you actually suspect, not because I gave my character a quirk.
2. If you are going to vote for RP related reasons, at least make those reasons accurate. Francis is a "fine" cook, and the salt "isn't bad" and "supports the other flavors". Calling him terrible and saying it drowns the other flavors is mischaracterizing my RP which isn't even related to anything anyway, why are we even having this conversation xD
3. Francis never shared his food with anybody, so there's no way you'd know what it tastes like, nor an incentive or evidence of poison.

Tempted to double vote Sart again here but I can never tell the difference between e!Sart and v!Sart when I can't get inside his head regardless. Will probably just stay split here, hopefully he either unvotes or I get lucky because if I go on the horns again I legitimately don't think I'll be able to pay rent

Other misc notes and things that have been on my mind

--Mostly feel Kas is probably village but that doesn't stop me from getting serious e/e vibes from his early interactions with TKN from today. I think those come from a difference I see in how he treated TKN's vote on him compared to Wonko/others from last turn; he contested the latter while giving TKN a pass even before he goes out of his way to explain himself.

--Disagree with Archer re:Araris if that wasn't clear, I don't like how he's parking himself on a relatively lazy read when I think there is more, if not a lot more, to go on and about.

@Szeth_Pancakes-- One I could eventually destroy, why

Mat mat ash ash 

Why would you make those points. That's the weirdest defense I've ever seen

Fair enough on Araris. I'm actually re thinking that one, might be leaning more evil than village on him now

2 hours ago, STINK said:

There's no way you had gut reads on like everyone in this game your gut is working overtime give it a rest

Agreed. But it might be a language holdover from last game where he framed everything as a gut read for a bit. 

*

Jincs was smarter than everybody else.
That wasn't just their opinion, it was a quantifiable fact. They were top three in all of their classes. Their tutor kept telling them that if they studied their teachers' marking styles more, they could be first even.
The commoners made stupid decisions. Like wasting their energy on part time jobs. Jincs liked to prod classmates who fell asleep during lessons and remind them, "you can't achieve class consciousness if you can't stay conscious during class!"
They were fools for thinking they could achieve any subversion of the world order anyway by attending the University. At best, they were trading the hierarchy of class relations for a lowly spot in the hierarchy of academia. Frankly, being poor was probably easier than being the apprentice to grumpy Master whatshisface in Alchemy.
Whatshisface wasn't actually that bad a guy. He coached the rowing team, which Jincs had landed a place on thanks to their impressive performances for their preparatory school's travel team last year. Which was another reason they were smarter than everyone else: forward thinking extracurriculars and a willingness to network. People who didn't do high level sports deserved their lower profiles. If, no, when, Jincs got promoted, it'd be thanks to the hard work they'd put in to get that far.
"Poverty mindset is a choice," they helpfully informed their peers. Peers sounded wrong, it made it seem like they were equals. Classmates. Eh, that sounded like they shared a social class. Whatever. "But I don't blame you for giving up on getting to my level. I'm just smarter than everybody else."

[STINK he/him]

Anyone got a vote count by any chance?

[Kasimir he/him]

[TAG: RP, 562 words]

6 minutes ago, Archer said:

Mat mat ash ash 

[OOC: A small point in Mat's defense, which I'll agree isn't decisive but felt should be said anyway - I liked Mat's callout of the inactivity here on p1. You can argue it's performative, because it is, but I also feel E!Mat has generally been content to just sit there and let the Village die with lowered activity. I think it matters he didn't call it out in LG94 and LG95, for instance, because his team benefited from it, and E!Mat tends to be more reactive, so he also gets to blend in with his reduced WiM. 

I also say this isn't decisive because IMO, pointing out inactivity is one thing - I'd rather give credit for going out there to actually do something about it. But credit where credit is due, anyway.]

xxix. sarcasm

Kevan was fairly certain this assigned passage in Siaru had it out for him. He glared down at the text that Master Isaak had assigned. The Master Linguist had announced two weeks ago that he felt they were beginning to be able to wrestle with higher level texts now.

“This is after the midterms,” Master Isaak had said, almost-cheerfully. Far too cheerfully, Eamen had subsequently commented, as the disheartened students gathered to glare at their new assigned reading materials. “After the first half of the semester, all the weaker students, the ones who were treating this as a class meant to fill out foundational requirements for credit, something you can just smoke your way through, have all been culled out.”

Kevan blinked incredulously.

“Well, not literally culled,” Master Isaak corrected himself, and then promptly undid that reassurance by saying, “Not yet. Anyway, out of the thirty students taking Basic Siaru, you are the twenty-one survivors! So naturally the final exam will be more difficult, and you can start to handle some slightly higher level texts now.”

Kevan glanced around the classroom and was gratified to see everyone wore the same variance of expression: from looking as though they were seals Master Isaak had hit over the head with a club, to being utterly stunned and poleaxed, to increasing incredulity and complete horror.

Master Isaak smiled.

It was the most terrifying thing Kevan had ever seen in his life.

“Your true education begins now,” he said, in Siaru.

And Tehlu help him, Kevan understood it.

The rumours that Master Isaak had been possessed in his sleep by skindancers soon circulated the University after that, spreading like wildfire. 

“It’s utter rubbish of course,” Deon told him. “You new students are all so dramatic. Master Isaak loves to pull that one every once in a while, keep the classes on their toes. But he doesn’t do it if he doesn’t think you can handle it. And—he has a very strange sense of humour. I sometimes wonder if it is a Vintish thing.”

“Tuan volgen oketh ama,” Kevan replied.

“I should be telling you that!”

The assigned text of the week, however, was supposed to be a simplified primer to Cealdish politics, which Master Isaak had insisted was within their capabilities, though Kevan was beginning to doubt that most severely.

He glared at it. The grammatical forms, he had to admit, were not too difficult. Master Isaak was right in assessing it to be within their capabilities, though he struggled at points to decipher the sentence structures and there were words that just didn’t make sense to him at all, and he had to thumb through his worn copy of an Aturan-Siaru dictionary just to puzzle things out.

It was a puzzle he was slowly deciphering, but the process was painstakingly slow. Master Isaak seemed to like flinging students into the deep end, occasionally wading in to retrieve one of them.

Master Isaak was walking around, peering at their work, and checking in on their progress. Occasionally, he corrected a student who needed help.

He paused by Kevan’s desk.

“This passage is a bit difficult for your level,” he admitted, in Siaru. “How are you finding it?”

“Very easy, sir,” Kevan said, unthinking, in the same language. He hesitated. “Is it possible to be sarcastic in Siaru?”

“Re’lar, you are sarcastic all the time in Siaru!”

[STINK he/him]

So also how many of you lot are just straight up scheming and being all shadowy in PMs 'cause some of you talk like there's loads of that and I know for a fact I got like no PMs so you guys clearly all don't think I have anything to offer which is kinda rude tbh

[Mat he/him]

Wait a minute, the thread didn’t close two hours ago? This is great news for me :P.

@Archer it’s a weird defense because it’s a weird vote. Sart voted me because I gave my character a quirk about liking salt more than most. I called him out on it. I don’t see what is out of hand about that. Point 3 is a joke, point 2 half is.

[Kasimir he/him]

[TAG: RP, 1309 words]

19 minutes ago, STINK said:

So also how many of you lot are just straight up scheming and being all shadowy in PMs 'cause some of you talk like there's loads of that and I know for a fact I got like no PMs so you guys clearly all don't think I have anything to offer which is kinda rude tbh

[OOC: Wow, is our PM on AI not good enough for you, should we start talking about superconductors too :eyes:

Anyway not me people just added me to a few of them which is pretty annoying as I'm just here to RP and chill.]

13 minutes ago, Matrim's Dice said:

@Archer it’s a weird defense because it’s a weird vote. Sart voted me because I gave my character a quirk about liking salt more than most. I called him out on it. I don’t see what is out of hand about that. Point 3 is a joke, point 2 half is.

[OOC: Half my brain kind of wants to say that's E!Mat but at the same time I also kind of believe V!Mat D: And I don't feel that tell is useful anymore because I think it's clear to everyone Mat gamed the hell out of it previously.]

14 minutes ago, Matrim's Dice said:

Wait a minute, the thread didn’t close two hours ago? This is great news for me :P.

[OOC: Cycles are now 45 hours, likely due to everything stabilising on the GMs's end. Rollover is at 7PM MST, or 9AM in GMT+8.]

xl. first

First, there is Eithne, descending, with her hair aflame, tied back, and the knotted necklace about her neck, wire from the Fishery, but he knows the knots, knows the time their fingers have spent making each loop. He taught her on rope, but she moved on to wire, working the loops in with pliers, and why wouldn’t she, why wouldn’t she wear their shared history proudly around her neck like a torc worn by Yllish kings and nobles of old?

They are throwing him a party, all of them, all his friends, meant to celebrate his elevation to Re’lar. 

Kevan doesn’t know how to feel. It doesn’t feel real, being elevated. Not so fresh off being Master Artificer’s despair, and the walking disaster of the Fishery. He can’t bring himself to believe that there is a kind of light at the end, after all.

Being competent at something. (Even if the elevation feels undeserved, even now. Not like that. It doesn’t feel earned. He knows Master Bob would point to the patient, would emphasise every life saved in his Medica is a victory. But it doesn’t feel earned, and Kevan isn’t sure there’s anything Master Bob can say about this that would take away that lingering sense of wrongness.)

There is Eithne, descending, with her hair aflame, in the lights of the tavern. 

More people than Kevan thinks he knows are crashing the small party; most of them drop by to shake his hand and congratulate him, make some small talk, and move on. 

(He doesn’t like being fussed over.)

Jahan doesn’t seem to realise that, as he moves in, crowding Kevan, talking to him amiably about Moore’s paradox and while Kevan appreciates the discussion of the paradox, the room is shrinking on him, or he is moving back, his back pressing against the wood-panelled corner of the room, and Jahan is between him and the way out.

And there is Soren, loudly talking to Jahan, steering him towards the drinks. He flashes a quick apologetic look over his shoulder, a quick wink. The party was meant to be a small one, but somehow it got out of hand, Kevan supposes.

He doesn’t know that he knows that many people. He has always felt as though their lives briefly touched, and then drifted apart again, like boats on the Omethi at night, drifting down past the Stonebridge. (Some of the students do this, pole down the river on narrow boats. Part of Kevan has always wanted to try, but he’s never had the time, lately.)

Deon congratulates him in Yllish. He laughs (he can laugh, at how terrible Deon’s accent is) and thanks him in Siaru.

Valerra and Jarvik are determined to drown everyone in alcohol, and Soren stares suspiciously at the metheglin Valerra has procured. “In our Re’lar’s honour,” she says. “As if I’d let you touch one of my own brews.”

“You do Alchemy,” Soren retorts. “I think any reasonable person would run far, far away from your brews.”

Soren and Jarvik are determined to drown everyone in alcohol and the toasts get steadily more bawdy, and the poetic references become steadily more crass, the more they drink. Kevan feels the rush in his veins, the world slipping away, receding, the emptiness numbed about the edges for the moment, and reaches for the metheglin again and then stops short.

He can’t drink metheglin without thinking of home, really. For no particular reason, the home-longing wells up in him again, at this very moment, and he mutters an excuse and says he needs to get some air, and heads out for a moment. Get some air, compose himself.

The revelry had crept up on him, but most of it has dissolved away; perhaps something about that particular blend has jarred something loose in his head, stirring memories and the home-longing with it. (It never fully goes away, does it?)

First, there is Eithne, descending, with her hair aflame, but this is earlier; now, he leans against the porch of the inn and takes in long, steadying gulps of cool night air. He can feel the heady buzz in his veins. It’s still there, just…faded. Receded into the backdrop, the noise of the world for the moment.

He’ll have to go back in soon. This party is for him, and for a moment, Kevan powerfully hates himself, hates the fact the emptiness is still there, hates how he can’t seem to let go and relax into the moment. He’s supposed to be having fun. And he was, sort of.

As much as he knows how to.

Later, there is Eithne, and the metheglin, he likes to think it is the metheglin, both of them not quite sober, and she is kissing him, in the light of the moon on the porch, and Kevan’s damned mind just goes blank, and then jars askew onto a tangent. The knots are pressing against him, and he thinks he can make out what they are, probably peace, his mind latching onto that, the feel of the knots in his fingers, the way you craft apologies in Siaru—Eamen apologising in Siaru when Master Isaak remarked he’d recovered; either wit, or just utter folly, Eamen’s Siaru was never that strong, one way or another—the twenty-nine arguments against finite frequentism they’d covered in Master Anders’s classes, and logical syllogisms.

They speak at the same time, having separated.

“I’m sorry—”

“Sorry, I don’t know—”

He smiles, weakly. They’re both past sobriety but not exactly drunk and maybe it makes things worse, or better, depending on your point of view. “You look wonderful tonight,” Kevan manages. A striking figure. He can appreciate that much.

“I know,” Eithne says, shakily. 

He lives too much in his head, too little in the world. He knows this. The words don’t always come out right, and he doesn’t—doesn’t want things to end badly.

“I’m not good with people,” Kevan says, at last. “But…I’d like to think we’re friends?”

A question, at the end. Pleading, perhaps for clarity. Or, oh, feck, he’s not finding the words he wants. Whatever they were, before this.

“Of course,” says Eithne, in Yllish. “Of course.”

In Yllish, certainty is not expressed literally: “The sky will fall,” she says, a non-sequitur. 

First, there is Eithne, descending, with her hair aflame.

Later, there is Eithne, leaving. Kevan doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what to do about this. He should understand this, but he doesn’t: all he knows is that his mind went blank, and he froze, and all the knowledge, all the Rhetoric and Logic classes in the world can’t provide him with a map or compass in this terrain.

Later, they’ll ask him if anything happened. They go back to the room, separately, one after another. Renlin will ask him what happened, will make a suggestive whistle; Valerra will read the strain in Eithne’s smile and the edge to Kevan’s, and shut down that line of jokes.

It doesn’t cast a shadow on the rest of the night. But how could something like this not overlay his memories of the party, the night?

Later, Jarvik and a few others are playing; a simple mix of lute and drum and flute, Valerra is pulling him into the dance. Soren is laughing, whirling about with Idris, and Kevan feels a surge of raw envy, doesn’t know what to do with the emptiness inside.

He’s touched, grateful that they went out of their way to hold a party. (“An excuse,” Jarvik says and winks. “Merciful Tehlu, this has been one hell of a stressful term, and I think everyone just wanted an excuse to cut loose and have fun.”)

He’s determined not to ruin it for anyone, if he possibly can. (Too late, the guilt whispers. But he doesn’t know, will revisit the moment, but he can’t change it.)

[Mat he/him]

4 minutes ago, Kasimir said:

[OOC: Half my brain kind of wants to say that's E!Mat but at the same time I also kind of believe V!Mat D: And I don't feel that tell is useful anymore because I think it's clear to everyone Mat gamed the hell out of it previously.]

What is this tell you speak of, I have forgotten  

[Kasimir he/him]

[TAG: RP, 844 words, CW: implied death/abandonment, also pretty dark.]

52 minutes ago, Matrim's Dice said:

What is this tell you speak of, I have forgotten  

[OOC: I wondered if Archer felt you were being defensive. But I don't feel the lack thereof is a very good you tell anymore - it's clear you've learned to control it in the last couple games. I think there are other, more relevant factors to look at  ]

xli. kenosis

There are nights, still, even now, when Kevan dreams of his father.

When he was younger, young enough to understand what it meant, when his mother said he wasn’t coming back, that “not now” meant something longer than the next month, or the next summer, he’d dream of his father, trailing kelp-draggled footprints and the salty scent of the sea in his tiny room.

Dreamed his father sat on the edge of the bed, ran his fingers through the tangles of his hair.

But his father never said a word, in those dreams, and when he’d told his grandmother, she made him do some ritual that Kevan couldn’t quite remember, all those Yllish words and superstitions (things that had fled, had been quashed with the onset of empire, of civilisation), and laid boughs of holly, the fireside poker, and salt across his window-sill and the threshold.

When he was older, Kevan dreamed of his father, standing knee-deep in water.

They’d lived by the shore of the Centhe Sea, when he was very young. He remembers collecting shells, running in the sand. He remembers tasks, interspersed with play.

They moved, some time later. He doesn’t remember why, only that his grandmother was ailing, and so they went, and came to Tirnagh in the rolling green hills, Tirnagh with the sheep, and it’s Tirnagh that Kevan thinks of when he speaks of home, even now. (Sometimes, he dreams of the Centhe Sea, and he dreams of his father and the two are one.)

He dreamed his father was walking into the ocean in the night, each step taking him deeper, where the sand gradually gave way to blackness. In his dreams, he chases after his father, always, calling out, wanting to understand, and Jair never answers, never looks back.

(In some dreams, his father holds him under the water, and in others, he’s holding his father under, and they struggle, and Kevan asks why and his father looks down at him, solemnly, water sluicing through his cupped hands like a blessing, like a strange benediction and says, “Just as I cannot tell you the answer, so you cannot ask me the questions,” and he wakes up with the sharp tang of brine in his nose and wonders what the hell kind of dream that was anyway and feels the ache in his chest anew.)

Even now, even at the University, in the Commonwealth, he discovers that old sorrows don’t ever leave you, not quite. The first time he had the dream again, he startled awake, and nearly woke both Jarvis and Soren up when he almost kicked free the small step ladder leading to his bunk.

The dream came and went over the years. What he knows is what his mother says—“Lost at sea,”—and his mind fills in the gaps (his father was a mariner), asks the questions his child-self was too young to ask, re-examines the things he was too young to understand, as though having the answers here and now can change the past, as though it can somehow fill that gaping void his father’s absence has opened up in him. (They suspect, of course. Neither he nor his mother nor his grandmother say it aloud. He was old enough to understand there was a terrible sadness to his father’s eyes, when he thought Kevan wasn’t looking, sometimes even when Kevan was looking, when the mask slipped, and young enough not to understand how to name it.)

There are nights, still, when Kevan dreams of his father. Even now, even with the song of the Omethi drowning out all memory, all thought. (Sometimes, he’d like to walk into the Omethi, let it wash him clean of all thought, all emptiness. All of this terrible sorrow and brokenness.)

There are nights, more often now, where he can’t sleep, because the emptiness inside is welling up, threatening to engulf him, and sometimes Kevan wonders. His father’d never really spoken of it, but the more Kevan remembered, the more Kevan wondered, the more he wanted to know, even though there were no answers now, even though there never would be.

Sometimes, it’s too much to bear, even to give to sleep. Sometimes his mind throws smears of the day back at him, reminders of where he’s failed, where he wasn’t enough, where he wasn’t very good at people, where he wonders sometimes if there’s something broken in him, because he doesn’t even know how you can screw up this whole business of being human, and he can’t stop all of it from flooding his mind, can’t run from it.

(Sometimes, he dreams of his father, of asking his father, “How did you bear it,” and there is no answer, and Kevan wonders if this is because there is no answer to give, only the water, as his father pushes and holds him under and he can’t breathe until he wakes up, taking in great heaving breaths of air, until his body remembers he’s in his bed, on land, and his father is lost at sea.)

[Mat he/him]

Ok so it is just that

Yeah idk, that definitely used to be a tell but no one has mentioned it recently for good reason I think. I should be able to point out the faults in an argument as faulted as Sart’s, surely

It kind of feels like Archer is deliberately trying to screw over my tuition but I also think I’m just overly paranoid in that regard :P. #RuhLife

[Kasimir he/him]

[TAG: RP, 472 words]

1 minute ago, Matrim's Dice said:

I should be able to point out the faults in an argument as faulted as Sart’s, surely

12 hours ago, Matrim's Dice said:

I think those come from a difference I see in how he treated TKN's vote on him compared to Wonko/others from last turn; he contested the latter while giving TKN a pass even before he goes out of his way to explain himself.

[OOC: I am consistent :eyes: ]

[OOC: 30k :'D I am making Progress!  I am a god! I am starting to go insane from the amount of writing and am starting to cheat because who needs tense consistency or quality just write!]

xlii. chicken soup

“You look like hell,” Jarvik said bluntly, as Kevan set his satchel down on the table and then flopped into the empty seat and leaned forward, resting his head on the table.

“You and half the University,” Kevan muttered, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

“What?”

Kevan raised his head and stared at Jarvik. “Telling me I look like hell. I know I look like hell. I feel like death warmed over, and I haven’t been able to get much sleep.”

“Why aren’t you sleeping, then?” Jarvik asked, matter-of-factly.

As if it was so simply solved, Kevan thought. Not for the first time, his mind went to the bottle of pain relievers that Idris had written him a scrip for. Half a spoon did knock him out for a good few hours, alongside relieving any pain he felt.

But you had to be careful, with these things, to avoid dependency, or abusing them. He knew that. He allowed himself the momentary temptation, but then reminded himself he knew better.

“Shifts,” he muttered. “Every Re’lar in the Medica swears it’ll get better. I don’t know if they’re telling the truth or if we’re all telling each other comforting lies in the hopes we’ll make it to the end of the term. And have you seen the El’the? They’re jumping as soon as their alerter goes off. Sometimes they even swear they’ve felt it go off when there’s nothing there.”

He flopped back down again, bonelessly, and closed his eyes. “And I got caught dozing off in the Archives the other day by Master Alys and merciful Tehlu, you never want to get caught falling asleep by Master Alys. She read me a long lecture about my health, and then some, and I swear her scrivs were covering their mouths to hide the fact they were laughing at me, by the time she got into the chicken soup. Tehlu, if you’ve ever loved me, please end the term already.”

“What chicken soup?”

Of all the things, Kevan thought, Jarvik had to fixate on the chicken soup. “It’s just soup, Jarvik.” He lowered his voice, hastily. Despite the privacy of a study carrel, they were still in the Archives, and the Archives were still Master Alys’s domain. “But don’t ever let Master Alys catch you saying it’s just chicken soup or she’ll explain why her chicken soup will solve anything and everything from measles, exhaustion, an immune system that’s been fried to hell and back, amputation, infections, colds, and the plague itself.”

“That’s…some chicken soup,” Jarvik said, hesitantly.

“Listen,” Kevan growled. “She’ll tell you everything about the herbs and the cilantro and the lemon juice and the stock and each step of preparation and making the soup in excruciating detail, why don’t you go ask her?”

“...I’ll pass. But you’re looking more lively already.”

[Archer he/him]

1 hour ago, Matrim's Dice said:

Ok so it is just that

Yeah idk, that definitely used to be a tell but no one has mentioned it recently for good reason I think. I should be able to point out the faults in an argument as faulted as Sart’s, surely

It kind of feels like Archer is deliberately trying to screw over my tuition but I also think I’m just overly paranoid in that regard :P. #RuhLife

Have you tried being less poor? It really does solve a lot of problems :P. 

I'm village reading you for other reasons, but this is a known tell of yours. E!Mat has a victim mindset. You get screwed by wrong formula, right answer, then you try to argue out of it by pointing out the logical flaws in the formula used. 

Sart's vote is arbitrary. You trying to reason with unreasonableness to such a high degree is strange. It's weird that you're appealing to a sense of, for lack of a better word, fairness over this arbitrary vote - your character wouldn't know that, don't hurt me because I'm poor. Numbering your responses reminds me of my elim defense mode which is defensive and pedantic. 

Overall, it feels like an overreaction. If we factor in your suspicion of Sart, I feel like you'd be more open to accepting the arbitrariness of the vote and the fact you can't sway it with weak counter points about RP, not less. 

*

@Szeth_Pancakes I'll continue our conversation here because it's in both of our best interests to avoid excessive PMing. (There's a penalty for PMing more than you post). My general assumption is that people have just dumped EP into the stat they wrote an essay about pre game, if they did, so that's NAI. Those who went for pipes got to pick, but I haven't looked into the options enough to know what's best for elims.

I suspect the elims avoided overlapping choices, so it's unlikely there was a situation where Elim 1 went for say Naming and Elim 2 also went for Naming, meaning only Elim 1 got Naming. Instead, E1 would do Naming and E2 would do Archives or something. Those who failed to elevate C1 are therefore slightly less likely to be e-e with someone who did elevate than people who did elevate are to those who also elevated.  That has contributed to my positive read of TKN.

Which leads me to my thought that 1 of 3 nobles being evil is a reasonable distro. Making you a decent suspect. Thoughts? 

[Kasimir he/him]

[TAG: DISCUSSION, 210 words]

10 minutes ago, Archer said:

Those who failed to elevate C1 are therefore slightly less likely to be e-e with someone who did elevate than people who did elevate are to those who also elevated.

[OOC: Does your line of reasoning account for/include the fact that C1 elevations are determined by your pre-game submissions, if not GM RNG? C2 elevations are the ones based on EP submissions. EP submissions lag elevations by one Month/Turn. I swear to Tehlu I've explained this to y'all multiple times >>]

Edited to add:

10 minutes ago, Archer said:

Those who went for pipes got to pick, but I haven't looked into the options enough to know what's best for elims.

[OOC: My understanding is they don't - if you go for Pipes, you get the standard 2 EP boost determined at random. If you have other information from the GMs on this, I'd like to hear it.]

10 minutes ago, Archer said:

There's a penalty for PMing more than you post).

[OOC: Honestly I've given up and am just eating the penalty if I have to, though IDK if I am being penalised.]

Edited to add 2:

[OOC: Notice that it's either/or. You only control your starting EP - at least off the rules - if you have submitted an essay. You do not choose it otherwise. Either way, since EP submitted during Term 1 Month 1 only affects Term 1 Month 2, you simply cannot draw any conclusions based off the elevations announced in the write-up of T1M2 because those are just based off RNG and pre-game submissions, all of which are based on the player side in a state of ignorance about the game distro. Good luck if you want to guess El and Wilson.]

Edited August 2, 2023 by Kasimir

[The Unknown Medallion he/him]

12 hours ago, Kasimir said:

[OOC: Ask Drake and Mat—Drake made it, Mat renewed it. Something about overthrowing the nobles and developing class consciousness. Given Archer claimed you made a Nobles PM, I’m not sure you have a leg to stand on here :eyes: 

RIP I have run out of pre-stashed RP time to write more in conference :sob: ]

Well, the Nobles PM consists purely of emoticons (mostly ninjas), evil laughter (mostly me), and white text (mostly comparing how rich we are and how annoyed at Szeth we are). So not exactly the most threatening thing.