Kasimir

Water trickles through the clock. Yet another Hour has passed and come to an end!

Watched Aftersun. Took me a while especially because the trailer made me think it was a holiday film. Nope, was pretty wrong there. The film absolutely wrecked me. I cried for an hour after it and felt so empty. And I think so much of the film just hits home for anyone who gets what's going on in there. I really loved the subtlety of the cinematography: the way it doesn't want to hold your hand (though IMO it does become increasingly obvious in a slow burn way), so the film is unremarkable until you pick up one of the hints and suddenly it's transmuted into the incredible and the sublime. There's some poetry in that as well, I think. Spoiler comments: Mescal definitely deserved the nomination for this one. So much of what he's supposed to convey is never quite shown in plain sight but he managed it anyway.

Smh it's called a no spoilers run #4 bright blades of deep green like leaves on the vine we fall so easily divided. At last Village green has become canon! But don't forget this can be exchanged for steamy Kaladin/Moash as well as Shallan/Adolin/Kaladin!

Sorry, you asked me to say that louder, for people in the next galaxy to hear, right?

Sure. So killing our team helps them more. 'If there are enough convert actions, and I piss into the wind, it might fly about and hit someone I want dead because hope is absolutely a strategy' I'm not disputing that people will be kill hungry. I'm disputing that it's the smart or rational thing to do. Again, I point to Hael's Canim game - to put it bluntly, players are gonna player. Frankly if they lose as a result of just being bloodthirsty, it's well-deserved. But I can't say I won't be put out to lose again to teammates deciding to do things of which the kindest can be said is: 'questionable judgement.'

Rule Clarifications: Player List:

Hour Three: Falling How much like lightning! Bright sheen of sword-blade Falling —Dumuzi of Ukurgi Water trickled through the clock. Kudyard Ripling watched the flow of the water. The couplet would not come. What did you liken a life to? A candle in the wind? The image didn’t stay, refused to be caught by the mind’s eye. What remained: Randen kneeling, proud, defiant. He hadn’t really liked the boy (because the fact remained, Randen was a boy, given credit for his meritorious and loyal service to the Emperor, himself a reflection of the glorious radiance of the eighty suns in this world. Randen had been prone to fighting, to not remotely comprehending the beauty of order, of the way their world worked and was structured. How did you see such light, and not find yourself moved to virtue?) Even then, Ripling admitted, there was something about the sweep of the Captain’s sword that caught the breath in his throat, and he fought the instinct to look away. Death had come to the compound, and death was here to stay. Compose a couplet, they said. In memorial, as it were. But the words would not come. The images faded, and the thought of imperial glory—no. It would not do for an epitaph, not here. Rambleton. Not much of a poet. They seemed to be going through the ‘R’s at the moment. Ripling hoped that didn’t bode ill for him. But you accepted, as it were, that you were not going to be eternal. No one was. Only the Emperor. Only ever the Emperor. He’d looked forward to a contest of wits. But you didn’t mourn a lost opportunity in poetry: it simply would not do. It was too personal. Too…rambly. A paper rustled in the breeze from the mess left in the sleeping quarters. Spectres from the past Once wronged in life Now haunt the present. Ripling frowned down at it. Rambleton’s hand, of course. And just about as rambly as usual, he knew that disregard for proper poetic form or structure, even without recognising the brush strokes. They were all haunted, in the present. Water trickled through the clock. “Won’t you play with me, Deputy Ambassador?” It was not, Leky thought, however politely-phrased, a request. She sat back down, scrutinising the board. Stones, Leky had learned, was popular on both continents: the Rose Empire seemed to play it as well, made popular by the small thriving JinDo enclave in the Imperial Seat. Strange, to see a game she knew well in her homeland spread this far north. But then again, she saw a group of Imperial guardsmen playing leky stick when their delegation visited the Rose Palace (under conditions of secrecy, their hosts insisted: the visit was downplayed, even if the Emperor received them personally, flanked by his Arbiters, and she thought she could see the flesh melting from his bones, and the tremor in his arm and knew they would be negotiating with a new Emperor soon.) Havon had felt the Rose Empire had to be dealt with. There was the matter of the raids (not quite Svordish policy, but you could not admit as much—you were caught between what the current Wyrn wanted, and the grand posturing of the Rose Empire), and the Rose Empire was dealing with rebellions centred around MaiPon. Never forget our mountains and rivers lost. She’d seen that scrawled in blood. Words worth killing for. She placed the first stone. Senior Arbiter Wuzhi smiled, and scooped up a polished black stone. He took his time, considering his move, before he placed his own marker down. “Accept, again, our sincere apologies for Ambassador Havon’s unfortunate death,” Wuzhi said. “We are doing our best to ensure your security while my soldiers deal with the killers.” Havon had warned of this man. You could find someone mild, likeable even. Then you remembered it was his job to be, just as it was her job to support Havon, to exist in his shadow. Then you remembered that Senior Arbiter Wuzhi did not attain his position by being nice. The men and women he’d destroyed to get there. The ruthlessness. Senior Arbiter Wuzhi set down the next stone. “The killers?” Leky asked. So much could change in a single word. He’d used Svordish. There was a strange fact that few Svordish knew about the common language of the Rose Empire: not unless you were a Deputy Ambassador assigned to smooth relations with that very Empire. Killers, he’d said. Confident in the fact there were several of them. The Rose Empire used the same word for a single killer as they did for a group of them. Senior Arbiter Wuzhi smiled. “An internal dispute,” he said, quietly, as though he read her train of thoughts. “More wine, Deputy Ambassador?” Water trickled through the clock. Captain Kezin stood beneath the light of the torches, waiting. The servants he’d interrogated all yielded the same answer, whether put calmly or harshly, and Fade knew a great many methods of extracting answers. No, the compromise had come from among the soldiers. Who else? Kezin wondered, ironically. The damnable affair would never stop haunting them. What did servants care for the General, after all? Lieutenant Jiang Zhangrong strode towards him, and the thought surfaced once again, like a leaping heron. It darted down, picked up a quick treacherous flicker, and then flapped off again. “Answers, Lieutenant. The killer’s identity. Do you bring me that?” His lieutenant saluted, smartly. “Sir. Krow Nelcaf has had multiple connections to soldiers identified as those who served under Yuen. Left and Right have gathered reports, indicating that Nelcaf is a known sympathiser—” “And you think this drove him to kill the Svordish Ambassador?” Kezin asked. “I think he’s the most promising suspect we currently have, sir.” Kezin looked to the side. A brief gesture, an invitation. Georg Wasintown stepped forward. “So,” the farmer-turned-soldier said. “I figured I’d kicked over a right anthill with this one, or at least, tipped a bunch of anteaters, and believe me, the last thing you want to do is to tip an anteater, they’re heavy as all hells, though cows are worse—” Kezin cleared his throat. “—and anyway, I thought to myself, where would a killer hide?” “You dare?” Lieutenant Jiang’s voice sharpened, grew cold like killing steel. Kezin held up a hand. “Sir, he dares question my integrity—” “You will suffer it,” Kezin said. Brooked no dissent. He could see the flash in Jiang’s eyes, the moment the lieutenant tamped down on that anger, held it inside. He’d seen the resentment enough times. He just hadn’t thought Jiang would become a problem. He’d been wrong. So very wrong. “There’s a saying in the countryside,” Georg said, peaceably. “Well, more of a story, really, about a wolf that disguises himself as a sheep in order to kill and eat his fill of sheep. And I was thinking, by the suns, do we not know enough about you, Lieutenant. So I asked the good Captain for his signet—” Kezin grunted. “—And…recognise this?” Georg held out a piece of paper. A letter. “So, I figure maybe this is too small for everyone to read. Nights, with my old eyes, even I’m struggling to read it. But I’ll do you all a favour—” he raised his voice here; theatrics, of course. “—And read this aloud for everyone in this courtyard to hear. ‘Wuzhi is relaxing his guard. We have managed to infiltrate the guards posted to the compound, and Kezin will never suspect his faithful lieutenant. Killing the Svordish Ambassador will accomplish two things—’” Lieutenant Jiang moved, with the speed of a striking snake. Kezin went for his sword, but it was a dagger that Jiang went for, flicked it into Georg’s throat. Silenced, Georg collapsed weakly in a welter of gushing blood. He made a choking, gurgling noise. Kezin’s slash laid the lieutenant open from collarbone to stomach. Jiang’s movement to draw was too late, too slow, delayed by the attack on Georg. They collapsed to the ground, weakly glaring at Kezin. Kezin looked down at Jiang, impassively. “You were late,” he remarked, quietly. “That first time. Hiding evidence. Why else did you think I allowed Georg’s search?” Jiang drew a last, ragged breath. “How could I continue to serve,” they asked, quietly, “When men like you saw fit to betray your own General in the name of politics?” “I don’t care to explain my decisions to the likes of you,” Kezin said. He wiped the blade off, briskly, and turned his back on the dying lieutenant. “Nelcaf, you’re in charge now.” Probably an unexpected decision: Jiang was likely not the only one who harboured resentment over Yuen’s death, but Nelcaf had the benefit of being experienced enough to assume the position, and he really couldn’t do worse than a second backstabbing traitor at this point. “Continue the search. And someone take the damned bodies away and throw them into a pit.” “Captain,” Krow Nelcaf said. “You believe there to be more of them, then?” “Of course there are more,” Kezin said, calmly. “The letter said we, Nelcaf. Now the rest of you go back to your searching. I will report on this development to the Senior Arbiter.” Jiang Zhangrong / @JNV was executed! They were a Yuen Loyalist! Georg Wasintown / @Archer was killed! He was a Discovery Soldier! Hour Three has begun! It will end at 0000hrs on Friday, 26th May 2023, at 0000hrs SGT (GMT +8). Remember to let me know if you notice a discrepancy in your SP! Due to inactivity, Son_of_Hoid has been replaced. Please remember to give @Amanuensis a warm SE welcome!

Water trickled through the clock. Another Hour has ended!

Killing early in a conversion game puts down more of your allies than enemies. This isn't a no exe argument, this is an argument about accuracy and kills do not typically promote discussion. Fifth shot Village Lurchers. I challenge you to show me a vig apart from Alv or Illwei with a good accuracy rate. Until then, it's wishful thinking. Sure about the sudden death but it's not a necessary route there either. Pressuring Hoid and Khriss matters more. Again, your assertion. Wherefrom arises this accuracy? Where was this keen sense of discernment in every Village game I have played since the beginning of this year? Perhaps you simply don't care how many allies you kill. I do. @DrakeMarshall #3: Voting at lylo Another Villager dead. O world, o broken world.

That's basically the assertion I disagree with, but I'm also not a fan of blindly killing and treat Village Coinshots as a necessary evil.

ilu u r best bro <3

U HAVE BECOME THAT WHICH U SOUGHT TO EXPLOIT sir so u r a Skybreaker then? #2 opening PM joy overflowing, heart full forest green, always green

Probably moderately; I'm just questioning the extent to which that's a significant strategy or worry because that still reads like you'd do much more damage to the 17th than to the other factions, going into the next cycle drastically reduced. Knowing who the others are doesn't help you if you have lost your main advantage, which is numeric strength. There's a separate question which is how realistic is it that players will care when they can get a kill (see: Hael's social experiment Cursor game) but I'm not really buying that it's a beneficial strat for 17th, which most of us are likely to start as. pleasure doing crypto with u sir #1 beautifully green evildoers must perish come we exe them all The Law??? Sir. This is a Division-fearing, honest, Crypto institution here. You have become that which you sought to destroy!!! why would u do something like that did u learn nothing from $SCAMCOIN

then u will get 5 pro-Village haikus instead >:( forest green pls Memes r not evil how dare u >:( then u have nothing to fear do u damn right they'd better not be *cries in who shorted my broams* i find this very disturbing of course i can this is not the black market only the finest, premium quality [THIS WORD HAS BEEN CENSORED FOR NOT BEING FAMILY-FRIENDLY ENOUGH FOR SE! STAB A FRIEND WITH YOUR FRIENDS TODAY IN SE! MINT SE-STABCOIN TODAY!] palpatine meme NFTs minted here sir If they can all defend better, it just sort of reads Pyrrhic for 17th, isn't it? As a strat you're basically shooting blindly and hoping to Red Wedding as many people as possible, but that's more likely to hurt your faction wincon than help it.

sir u have to pick ur currency but also u won't know the True Value(TM) of ur NFT unless u flip it BUT u could make a profit on it :eyes: unfortunately sir if u don't want volatility u shld play with fiat memes r volatile too no because division is evil >:(

r u talking kaladin/moash fanfics or shallan/adolin/kaladin fanfics & how steamy diff conversion rate applies

Sir, I am interested in joining, but inquire why the name looks so Evil and red. Request a change to forest green. Please accept: -1 DarthPlagueisNOTASCAM NFT as a token of appreciation. -Kas

Warning @Son_of_Hoid for inactivity. If you do not post within this cycle, you will be removed or replaced.

Rule Clarifications: Player List:

Hour Two: Glory Eighty eternal suns, accept my dying vow, Never forget our mountains and rivers lost. –Couplet is of unknown provenance but authorship is traditionally ascribed to General Yuen. Water trickled through the clock. Lee wrapped the strip of paper about the scytale. Senior Arbiter Wuzhi was the de facto head of the Discovery Faction, second only to the Emperor of the Eighty Suns. (Some said this was a lie. Sahagun was weak; terribly weak, and preoccupied with propping up his shaky throne. And now he was ailing and everyone sensed blood in the water. The Glory Faction spoke of the need for change, for a Faction that actually understood a path forwards, for the glory of the Empire. Lee understood that.) Being Senior Arbiter, second among equals, meant that everyone who was anyone or who aspired to be anyone took a certain amount of interest in what the Senior Arbiter did and thought, especially in private. Particularly in private. He picked up the brush, dipped it swiftly, and scribbled the characters he needed. They weren’t letting anyone in and out of the compound. Lee’d tried already. He’d almost gotten caught, but managed to slip aside in the ruckus as the soldiers arrested the senior servant who’d stationed himself at the secret exit. Lee hissed in frustration. Word had already spread about the compound: the Senior Arbiter’s dire threats, and that the Captain would execute every last one of them if the killer wasn’t found. Lee hadn’t done it, and for their sake, he hoped that the soldiers on their search would outrun the clock. He very much preferred to live. But in the event he did not, he had a report that needed to be composed and then enciphered for the Senior Arbiter of the Glory Faction. Water trickled through the clock. Georg “Grandpa” Wasintown swore on his best bull that he could hear it, counting down the time to when they had to present someone to the Captain. A sacrificial goat, no doubt. Some of the farmers back in his home province staked them out for the wolves in a bad season. You hoped to buy yourself a little time for things to change. The situation right now felt the same: bad all around, and bloody. He didn’t remotely think they were going to find the killer this easily. One thing he did know though, was people. Figured they couldn’t all be that difficult to read, the way you got used to handling farm animals. There was unease there. One of the gamblers, fiddling with his cards. Randen, the name was. Did a pretty dance, but backed down, the way one of his cows did when she saw something new to her. Maybe that was something worth noting. He tucked that away in a corner of his mind. Nevermind that the cow was years dead. Been a good while since he’d seen his farm, too. The flood years had been bad for everyone. Mallard too. Talked a good show about her duck wrangling skills. Georg could respect that. Too many of the soldiers in this outfit seemed to think all that mattered was stabbing people. They were dead wrong. Still, he took note of that too. Skittish, staying hard on that fence like that time his goat didn’t want to budge. Maybe that was what killers did. Water trickled through the clock. The searchers ran, hard and fast, through the compound, bearing torches. Georg kept watching. Maybe that was why he saw the moment the next body turned up. You saw enough death, whether soldier or farmer. Especially when you lived (or so you claimed to the world) to be a hundred and thirty years. Long enough to wade in blood. Shouts in the darkness, and a squad peeled off, half-dragging a limp, bloodied figure into the flickering light of the torches. Georg recognised that soldier. Rambleton. His hands were still ink-stained: no doubt he’d been writing poetry over the last hour. Already, there were whispers that Rambleton’s poetry was a little too flattering to the deceased General Yuen. Difficult to question Rambleton’s loyalties when the poet was dead, however. Water trickled through the clock. Captain Kezin stared at it. Strange to think that the lives of so many dwelled on the little running stream, tied in turn to another river, five years ago, and that river to yet another, previously. As though all rivers ran into each other, eventually, and then onward to the sea. The soldiers had come to him, speaking privately, even as they searched. Trying to win his ear, confiding in him their suspicions, and requests for authorisation to conduct a search. He studied them, each in turn. Behind one of those masks lurked a killer. Someone was lying to him, trying to deceive him. Maybe more than one of them. Fade had been clear on that point. Kezin felt his lips curl in a snarl. Fade had been clear on multiple points, none of which Kezin had remotely wanted to hear, or to be involved in. So many rivers. It was what the contemporaries of Yuen had said, hadn’t they? Never forget our mountains and rivers lost. The MaiPon rebellion, and provinces sundered from, lost to the Empire. Enough to make the patriots weep. Kezin wasn’t a patriot, though. He was a pragmatist. He glared down at the knife—now cleaned—in his hand. The one that had struck down the Svordish Ambassador. Cord-wrapped, perfectly standard-issue. He hefted it. Difficult to see one of the servants acquiring it. Which meant the first suspects were the soldiers. Servants had greater access, but not to the armoury, and the quartermaster had pressed his forehead to the ground and swore blind on his ancestors to the tenth generation and years of endless night if he spoke untruly: every single blade drawn was accounted for. He had called for a kit inspection, thrown soldiers out of the sleeping quarters. No sign of any missing knives. Which meant…what? Kezin didn’t know. Fade probably did, damn that man. Contraband, Kezin thought. That, and the fact they’d found the couplet, supposedly penned by General Yuen himself, painted in the Ambassador’s blood on the walls. Never forget our mountains and rivers lost. Enough to be worth killing for? He strode out into the courtyard, under the light of the blazing torches. “There’s been a second murder, Captain,” Lieutenant Jiang said, their face composed. Exactly as Fade had predicted, Kezin thought, sourly. Not for the first time, he wished to be free of this. He had no use for this tangle of complicated plot-and-counterplot, no matter how clever Fade and Senior Arbiter Wuzhi seemed to think themselves. Sometimes, you could feel as though you were drowning in darkness. Wading thigh-deep in a river of blood. There weren’t right decisions. Kezin had never expected there to be any. “Who?” “Rambleton. We’ve identified two suspects.” The poet, Kezin thought. Though sometimes, he questioned the other Discovery recruiters. These days, it seemed half his command were insane one way or another, with poetry merely being one flavour of insanity. The lieutenant gestured, and two squads dragged in Mallard and Randen. Jiang summarised the cases against them: Mallard, for whatever reason, seemed to have gotten on the nerves of enough of the company, and had been spending the time playing cards, as though she wasn’t particularly interested in identifying the killer. Randen…now that was interesting. A brother killed in the Great Frost. A bodyguard with an impeccable record of service to the Emperor himself, transferred to factional service for the importance of this meeting. “And you think someone with just such a record is a traitor?” Kezin asked, sceptically. Lieutenant Jiang shrugged, their face impassive. “Sir, no one thought General Yuen could be a traitor either.” So, so very dangerous, this game they played, Kezin thought. He stepped closer to the bound soldiers. Mallard on the left, Randen on the right. “You are accused of treachery and the murder of the Svordish Ambassador.” “That duck is too big for me to wring!” Mallard protested. “I am a loyal servant of the Emperor,” Randen said, calmly, eyes on him. “I will die a loyal servant of the Emperor, if I must, but no one will taint it with lies or false accusations.” Which Kezin took as a no. To be honest, he didn’t particularly care at this point. Kezin drew his sword. A single, sharp stroke, textbook-perfect. Turned his head aside from the spray of blood. Some of the soldiers flinched, as the blood splattered them. As though they hadn’t done this sort of work before. Mallard in particular gasped but also looked terribly shaken. Death had come far too close to her today. Better a sword in the dark, kneeling, than a silken cord. But you never chose, did you. “Sir,” gasped one of the runners, drawing up short in the courtyard. “We finished searching Randen’s belongings. Doesn’t seem likely he’s the killer. We found a citation for valour, sent from the palace.” Every last soldier and servant in the compound, Kezin thought, grimly. They were all expendable. Maybe especially him. “Then keep looking!” he ordered. “And for the sake of the suns, next time at least tell me you’ve searched them before you bring them up on charges of murder!” All around us Lie secrets buried –Rambleton, poet-soldier Randen / @Szeth_Pancakes was executed! He was a Discovery Soldier! Rambleton / @The Wandering Wizard was killed! He was a Discovery Soldier! Hour Two has begun! It will end at 0000hrs on Thursday, 25th May 2023, at 0000hrs SGT (GMT +8).

Water trickled through the clock. The Hour had ended!

Last set of clarifications: Please re-read the rules for the signet bids carefully. A signet request needs a scan target. There is no actions economy, so players can both scan and kill at the same time.

Well technically it's nearly half an hour past Rollovet but I just got out of class, so

The water trickled through the clock. Halfway past the Hour. GM Announcement: Es ist Rollovet, the halfway mark between rollovers. Happy Rollovet, meine Duden!

I'll try to maintain a lighter thread presence on these clarifications from next cycle onwards as I dislike proactive clarifications. But once again citing the mechanic issue, and the fact that from a GMing perspective, I dislike leaving players to work on false information, and also hope that by giving instances of what does and doesn't count, people will be better prepared for the next cycle: I do draw the line for IC RP here. This post doesn't count to SP. It's a bit too perfunctory about the core conceit of the role. (Sorry.) I've also been asked if having 400 words in a single RP post counts for 2 SP. Answer is it does not. Split it into two separate posts.