Kasimir
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Everything posted by Kasimir
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No issues, welcome back Reminder to anyone on the fence that you have just about an hour and six minutes before sign-ups close. Unless you're Wyrm. In which case, just no >>
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No worries, I have a distro, and two back-up distros, and they are all capable of accommodating last-minute sign-ups. And I will never say no to more players ...Unless you're Wyrm. In which case:
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One rule clarification: If you are making any kinds of PMs, please be reminded not to include the IM, @little wilson. The resulting inbox carnage is my burden alone to bear The general rules have been updated to reflect the fact Wilson doesn't want to see exactly what messaging horrors y'all capable of. This clarification should not be taken as a guarantee that you will have PMs. RNGesus is merciful.
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The Guild of Classic Rock Fans
Kasimir replied to Random Bystander's topic in Social Groups, Clans, & Guilds
All excellent choices Currently running through The Wall again though because that was my introduction to Pink Floyd and it's pretty good. I'm really too much of an opportunistic listener to be a solid classic rock fan, but I've got good memories of being intro-ed to it by my ex and my dad, so I've got some playlists that count -
Removed from player list, as requested. Reminder that sign-ups close at 2300hrs SGT (GMT+8), which is in under 24 hours - after which, stand by for role PMs, and prepare to PM me back your character's dirty secret/skeleton in the closet.
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Credit to @Wyrmhero for this, I just did light editing and am posting this at his behest because apparently he's allergic to posting it himself, but if you like it, go give that madlad some imaginary Internet points. (Hey Chief, if you see this, we really need to talk about the recent expansion of my job scope from analyst duties to PR / High Priest duties...) The Sound of Silence
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Just to confirm: you are withdrawing from the game and would like to be removed from the player list? Or are you requesting to be killed in a write-up? For clarity's sake, I will remove you from the player list unless you tell me otherwise before sign-ups close tomorrow.
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As @Mailliw73 said, there's white text in the "Day 0" post confirming I'm just trolling and the game is scheduled to begin an hour after rollover tomorrow. Voting on the GM is a time-honoured tradition and each GM responds in different ways. But the key is to offer some response as it generally gets boring if your GM completely ignores your vote If this happens during the game proper, can't guarantee as fun a response
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What is dead may never die But rises again, harder and stronger
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I'm allowing you to have one more kill of me under your belt When was the last time you murdered me, LG7?
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While Khas died in the game you first GMed me for, and thus was a character in your story Storyception time!
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Maybe y'all shouldn't have voted on him then, eh. Also, Ctrl + A is your best friend This guy gets it
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Ctrl + A is your best friend I'll let him know You all and white text, I swear...
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Day 0 - Interlude: Prelude for the Straying Stars “Well, some nights I wish that this all would end ‘Cause I could use some friends for a change [...] But I still wake up, I still see your ghost Oh Lord, I’m still not sure what I stand for, oh.” —’Some Nights’, Fun Fallion’s Tears turned on Kast. Perhaps he should have seen it coming. After all, he seemed to know something about the spikes. And one of them had read a novel where one of the detectives was the murderer, and if evil lurked beneath the tired and worn faces of the private investigators, it was surely the surly and bitter Kast Spiers, rather than the charismatic Wyl Sharpe… “Right,” said Wurum. “I’m going to have to stop you right there.” Khas sighed. “Are you storming serious?” he wanted to know. “You wanted a story. I was, mind, under absolutely no obligation to entertain you, but I obliged out of the goodness of my heart—” Wurum held up one finger. “It’s a bad story,” he said, bluntly. And then he held up a second. “I’m not interested in entertaining your martyr complex again.” “It’s my story,” Khas replied. “You asked for a story. You didn’t specify exactly what kind of story you wanted. I wanted something a little dark, a tale of murders in a rural Scadrian village. You said that was fine with you, and now you’ve got exactly what you asked for. I can’t see what reason you could possibly have to object to this.” Wurum stared judgementally at Khas from across the battered table. “I can see every possible reason to object to this. I’ve sampled a broad selection of Alethi literature, and I don’t think I’ve heard anything as appallingly bad before. The private investigators are obviously a thinly-veiled attempt at self-insertion, a hallmark of bad writing if I’ve ever heard one.” Khas dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “Ah yes, your heretical reading pursuits. You ever get worried you’d be strung up if someone caught you actually reading?” Wurum raised an eyebrow. “If anyone ever finds me reading in the safehouse, I’ll have bigger problems than whether reading is the proper pursuit for an Alethi male. In other words, no.” “You’ve got a point there,” Khas admitted. “Don’t I always?” “But,” Khas continued, “What I was really saying was that your pursuit of trashy detective novellas, a couple of adventure books, that forty-book Saucerworld series, and garnishing that selection with a half-hearted read of the Way of Kings is pretty damned heretical, if you ask me.” “No one asked for your opinion.” Khas grinned. “I know. I offer it freely regardless. It’s part of my charm.” “It’s...something,” Wurum said. He sighed and pushed half-heartedly at the assortment of papers on the table. “You still haven’t learned to clean up properly.” Khas shrugged. “I have a lot of side projects,” he said, unrepentant. “I’m currently working on a short paper for submission to Silverlight. Applying Menzi’s ethical framework to the practical problems of working as a Ghostblood operative—” Wurum stared at him, aghast. “You can’t possibly publish that!” he hissed. “Your superior will—” “Gotcha,” Khas smirked. “Had you going there for a bit, didn’t I? No, I understand opsec. Probably a little better than you, even, what with that one time you revealed yourself in a Scadrian village on the first night.” Wurum sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. “Fine. Get back to your story.” The villagers of Fallion’s Tears turned among themselves. The killer—or killers, as it were—clearly lurked among them, but who could it be? Dr. Aliker turned on Lasalen, the alchemist who had procured far too many ducks than was reasonable for a sane person. After all, what manner of reasonable person would wrangle so many ducks? Clearly, only such a depraved individual would be capable of the horrific murders of Leas Fel and Bartholomew. Meanwhile, Lasalen had quickly stepped up to accuse Dr. Aliker in return. Where had he gotten his medical credentials? Why would a doctor even retire to Fallion’s Tears, if not to hide some dark secrets—perhaps even to practice murder? The cobbler, Marll joined in. According to him, Dr. Aliker was suspicious for jumping so swiftly to accuse Lasalen. Perhaps Dr. Aliker knew more than he was letting on? It was at that point that calamity struck. A seemingly ordinary villager who went by the peculiar name of Obliteration decided for reasons unfathomable to all that evil lurked in the heart of the surly and bitter Kast Speirs. Probably read too many detective novels, like the trashy Scadrian murder-at-a-mansion paperback, Death Comes At The End where the narrator was the killer after all. Of course, his partner, Wyl Sharpe, might have been considered guilty, but Wyl was charismatic, and suspicion seemed to slide off him like water off a duck— “It takes skill,” Wurum interjected. “Well, that and a basic understanding of human psychology.” Khas let out an irritated sigh. “I thought you had decided to let me tell my story?” he asked, pointedly. “I’m regretting it.” “Not as much as I’m regretting letting you in,” said Khas. “You barge into my safehouse, demand to be entertained, and tell me you left your last posting because you were bored—” “Ah, and your story is most certainly not sufficiently entertaining. Check and mate.” Khas’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “I could tell you that a Shardblade duel broke out,” he said, ominously. “That Kast summoned a Shardblade and fought his way free of the gathered mob, just like in those trashy Blanch novels you used to follow.” “A Shardblade? In a Scadrian murder tale? I think you’re godmodding here. That’s way too overpowered.” “You like Shardblade duels, as I recall. Eighty Splendid Suns was full of them.” “Yes, and it isn’t exactly what I’d consider a prime example of Selish literature,” Wurum retorted. “Your point, being?” Khas heaved a long-suffering sigh. “After imposing yourself on me, and demanding a story, the very least you could do is to hear me out.” “Very well,” Wurum conceded. “Carry on with your tale, then.” Once Obliteration had decided that Kast must be the murderer who was merely pretending to investigate the killings, other voices soon joined in. The storyteller, Variel, recalled that he’d seen Kast at the scene of the crime a few days ago. The fact that Kast was supposed to be investigating Leas Fel’s death seemed to have conveniently eluded him. Perhaps because they’d gone entirely quackers, Lasalen joined in, insisting that if they rid themselves of Kast, there would be no investigation and therefore no more murders. One had to believe Lasalen had a weak grasp of the concept of causation— “What are you storming doing?” Khas snapped. Wurum had been peeling an orange, but at that point, he’d simply lobbed it straight at Khas. Fortunately, Khas’s reflexes saved him, as he snatched it out of the air before impact. “Common decency,” Wurum said, with a shrug. “That pun was awful. Did you know that in Natanatan of old, they used to lob rotten fruit at performers who were doing a seriously sloppy job? No? Well, consider that your free fact of the day.” “You make worse ones,” Khas sneered. “I’m confiscating your orange.” “But what will I throw at you then, if not an orange?” “You’ll figure something out, I’m sure,” Khas said, with a long-suffering sigh. He set down the orange, and Wurum promptly snagged it, even as Khas rescued his papers and shuffled them hurriedly into a stack before harm could come to them. “For the last time, Wurum. Listen to the damned story or get out of my safehouse.” “Fine. When you put it that way…” “I most certainly do. Are you going to behave yourself?” “Under objection and under duress, certainly.” “Well, then.” Nevertheless, others joined in. Roko the Basilisk, who was gazing at a photograph. No, Wurum, don’t you bloody dare. Something about the photograph told Roko that Kast was most likely the villain blighting the benighted village of Fallion’s Tears. Illwei though, hesitated. Was there something suspicious about Obliteration’s insistence that Kast was evil? (The answer, obviously, was yes.) A random bystander joined in, and voiced suspicion of Obliteration. Who would even bear such a name? Clearly, no one with good intentions. Niru, the village’s resident ash watcher took his eyes off Bartholomew’s ashes and the most suspicious ‘Derrick’ who very certainly did not have literal skeletons in his closet to mention half-heartedly that he had no idea what was going on but probably Variel the Storyteller was suspicious. No one had the faintest idea why. As Kast tried to interject and bring some semblance of order and common sense to the mess, Wyl simply stood there and whistled. It was as though he had not a care in the world, especially for the welfare of his business partner— “What is it now,” Khas sighed. “I didn’t say anything,” said Wurum, serenely. “You were thinking it. I know you were. Out with it.” “What if I don’t want to say what I’m thinking anymore? I’m a sensitive person, and you’ve been silencing me so strenuously.” “You expect me to take that seriously?” “Yes?” It was Khas who cracked first. It usually was. “Fine,” he sighed. “I’m sorry for shushing you so aggressively. Please share with the class, Wurum. What exactly is on your mind?” “Have you tried seeing anyone for that PTSD of yours?” Khas blinked. “I have talked with El a couple of times, but I think I’m making good progress?” “I mean, it’s obvious to me that you’re still holding on to a great deal of repressed trauma from those riots on Kholinar, Khas. I don’t think that’s very healthy, frankly.” “It is not trauma, it’s a healthy distrust of you and your motives!” Wurum clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “Exactly. Since when have I had anything except your best interests at heart?” “Pretty sure shooting me with an arrow from a storming Grandbow doesn’t count,” Khas snapped. “Nor does stabbing me five times and leaving me for dead.” “Ah, but I’m on your side now, and you’re not dead, so clearly it worked out for the better. Aren’t you happy? Didn’t I promote your best interests after all?” “God, I hate you.” “The retort of a man who knows he can’t argue with logic,” said Wurum. The last straw was when Tesse Mourn, resident metallurgist, voiced her suspicions of Kast. He’d come to her store to purchase metals a few times, after all, and something about that was innately suspicious. The villagers advanced on Kast, and he most certainly did not pull out a Shardblade. He attempted to defend himself, of course. He wasn’t reckless, and he wasn’t out of his mind. But his reasoned words fell on deaf ears. There was a powerful undercurrent of fear running through Fallion’s Tears, and now that they had determined that Kast was guilty, the villagers could not be dissuaded. He fought back. But he was getting long in the tooth, and his leg had never recovered from that night on duty in Tremredare. And Wyl did not lift a hand to help him, merely watched as they beat his erstwhile partner to death with his own walking cane. “That’s how it ends?” Wurum demanded, incredulously. Khas nodded. “That’s how it ends,” he confirmed. “God, I take it back. This isn’t a bad story, it’s outright awful. Worse than the one with the falling rocks where everyone dies. There’s no sense of plot, nothing. The villagers turn on Kast, he dies, and everything ends. Fade to black. You could’ve just told me that in a single line and saved us all the effort.” “That’s how life is sometimes, isn’t it?” Khas retorted. “Sometimes we make the wrong decision, and everything ends. We trust someone we shouldn’t have, eat the wrong orange—” Wurum’s eyes narrowed as he looked down at the orange he was pulling apart. “Yesterday, one of the recruits made a bad call and was killed by an incipient Skybreaker. Panicked, of course. But these things happen.” “Are you appealing to a tragedy in the organisation to justify your appalling storytelling skills?” “No, I’m saying that you wanted a story, and sometimes, stories are just unsatisfying. That’s just how life is. Art reflects life, and all that. In real life, sometimes the private investigator dies rather than finding out the villain. Sometimes, the innocent are killed, or arrested. Sometimes, the emperor dies of fever rather than conquers the known world, or a famous general is thrown from his Ryshadium and cracks his skull and dies and a kingdom is saved, all entirely by the caprice of chance.” “Don’t you bring your philosophy into this.” “Well, you came to me and asked for a story. If you didn’t want one that was even a little philosophical, maybe you found the wrong man.” “You know, you’ve been insufferable ever since you earned that degree at Silverlight.” “It’s called lifelong learning, Wurum. As I recall, you’re a proponent of it yourself.” “Bah,” scoffed Wurum. “You have far too much time on your hands.” “The privileges of seniority,” said Khas. “As you yourself undoubtedly are aware. So come on then. Show me how it’s done, Master Storyteller. You never did tell me about what happened on Notemos all those years ago. As I recall, we lost an entire cell in practically a week.” Wurum’s eyes narrowed. “Notemos? That entire affair? How did you come to hear of it? You were away on Silverlight finishing up your second degree, as I recall." Khas tapped the side of his nose with a finger. “Sources, old friend. I have my sources. Spill it.” Wurum stretched out his legs and reached for a carafe of water. “Very well then…” he said. “So, our story begins this way: Footsteps on the dusty floor alerted Wurum to the presence of someone else within the room…” Books (1): Danex Danex (1): Maili Experience (1): Experience Kas (5): Order, Striker, Books, Gears, Quinn Order (2): Illwei, Randby Striker (1): Ventyl Kast was a Veteran Private Investigator in Khas's story! Unfortunately, neither the Village nor the Spiked have won this game. The only winner has turned out to be Wurum Heron/Wyrmhero, for offering Khas a thorough tongue-lashing for telling a bad story! And for letting me drag him repeatedly in/into the write-up >> Thanks for playing LG74! You guys have been astonishingly energetic and fun players, and I hope to GM you all sometime again. I'll post GM thoughts on the game format sometime soon, after I finish drowning my sorrows over failing as a GM again with some alcohol.... #MR7 #neverforget #neverforgive #atonement [Lolnope get ready, don't forget your dirty secrets/skeletons, sign-ups close as announced at 2300hrs GMT+8 on Friday, and I aim to get the game up and running an hour after. See you then!]
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I'll admit, old friend, it's a little tempting. But it's not Ruin you're talking to, and if it's Ruin you're looking for, you'll want my bro Axl ( @Matrim's Dice) over there. I am and have always been only Kasimir. In LG5, the Village drowned in blood as they slew their brethren to get to me. They never saw me coming. Not until Wyrm stopped me, with a well-placed arrow. In MR1, they killed me three times in fear and still I lived. Wyrm had to stick the knife in twice more before I would die. I descended to the lands of the dead and rooted out every single last one of his kin, and had the living send his wretched soul to the underworld to explain himself to me and Awes. In LG6, I died through a bargain poorly-struck with Maili, rather than because my Evil was discovered. I was in their deepest circle of trust and Alv, too, claimed to me as security against Wilson and Awes. In QF2, I died early, valiantly trying to hunt the mutineers, as my bro Wyrm sought to avenge me. In MR3, I was the Forgotten everyone forgot existed, and together, Wyrm and I tirelessly rooted out every Villager and had them executed. I was the King's Wit in MR4, rallying Dalinar's loyalists against the perfidy of the spies. I tricked the spying Ser Wolf into conversation and worked out his identity. I crossed wits with Meta several times and lived to tell the tale. Meta did not. I survived every single one of the multiple attempts to slay me, that game. I was the Prophet in LG7, the Ironborn who did not protect, the one who stood between the coalition of Villagers and the Skaa we slew. I was the Speaker for Elantris in LG12, the foe of the Jeskeri, the bane of the Gyorn, Wilson's Lover, and Wyrm's Dula brother, connecting two cities sundered by the will of Hreo and Tulir. In QF6, I was the Cryptologist, and I came out swinging for Team Stephen as we executed Nightmare Aspect after Nightmare Aspect. We could not speak, so I spoke for them, and connected separate PM groups. Heedless of death, I revealed myself recklessly to Maili and Aonar in order to provide the Village with the one advantage we needed: a language. A code. A way to bridge the distance. Together, Joe and I wreaked havoc and we slaughtered the Evil ones without mercy. I was Aranmir, who hammered to save the Village. I was Tenth of the Dusk, intrepid trapper, exacting a bloodprice for the death of STINK. I was Duncan Kerr, who sought to die meaningfully, by leaving the Village with whatever help I could give them. I am Kasimir, brother to Wyrmhero, Philosopher-Analyst of the Inquisition, King's Wit, Good Guy Fain, and the Last Son of House Urbain. I am the Keeper of King's Laws, the Village Renegade, the Loresinger, the Namegiver, the Ironborn, and the Kingkiller. I am one of the last of a dying generation and when I fade into the dark, the names I bear, the memories I carry will go with me. It is not me you need to ask blessings from, old friend. I am who I am. I am what I am. Go pray to the gods of luck and chance for your boon. I will remain. For my watch has not yet ended. For I am your GM. And I have a job to do.
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There is no Mercy in this game, little one. No mercy. No Shard to save you now. Just your votes, your choices. And me
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Been telling y'all my timezone is SGT/GMT+8, which is why it's a bit awkward for stateside players. @TJ Shade knows this pain, am I right, Dark Bro? But my hours have been really awful so there's that. You wound me, Burntling After all these years? I gave you a knife and let you slaughter your way through guests at a party. I led you to the gathering of conspirators and let you and Elan have your murderous way with them. Was all that blood not enough to satiate you? I'm not responsible for the darkness in the human heart, Burntling, nor your choices - all I did was give you exactly what you wanted. Victims. People to toy with, betray, and murder. And you call me evil incarnate? I, who have bled for the Village and died for the Village, and who have, by your own words, not been Evil in millennia? I am disappoint. Ladies, gentlespren - I take my leave. You have, by my reckoning, slightly under twelve hours to get your votes in before rollover.
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Little old me, Elan? In a field with Wilson, Bloodthirsty Goddess, Jeskeri-foe, she who made Gamma and Aonar dance to her tune? She who routed the spies in Dalinar's army and rallied the Village against the Darkfriends? She who deceived Tyrian Falls and damned the village yet a third time? Or what about Wyrm Kaskiller, traitor always, who hoodwinked the Rithmatists, all but single-handedly routed the Ghostbloods, stabbed me in the back five times over two cycles, and got me to kill myself? He who has never lost as Evil, with Ironeyes' own luck, who always seems to survive whatever suspicion comes his way? He who won a perfect, bloodless victory against Meta himself? Woe to the foes of the Wyrm Inquisition for his wrath is great and his cunning far subtler than mine. Shall we speak of the Great Lord of Urbain, Gamma, who shot an Evil Mistborn Wilson in the face N1 and killed her, and then took over her Evil team? Who concealed the Pahn Kahl from the village and bore the Awakened sword Cuddles for them? He wields the sword Slaughter, tempered in the blood of his own teammates from the Merchants, and red was the sunrise the day the factions of Kholinar fell before him. His rivalry with Meta is the work of legend and his caprice and paranoia knows no bounds. If they ever tell my story, let them say I lived and played in the time of giants. Men rise and fall like the winter wheat but these names will never die. Let them say I lived in the time of Gamma, Butcher of Kholinar. Let them say I lived in the time of Wyrm'alor.
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Please remember when depending on me for mid-cycle votecounts that: 1. My policy is that the Kas helps those who help themselves 2. My timezone is very off compared to everyone except the Australians, so if I don't reply and you need a fast votecount, I'm probably sleeping. That being said: Books (1): Danex Danex (1): Maili, Books<1> Kas (4): Order, Striker, Books<2>, Gears Order (2): Illwei, Randby Striker (1): Ventyl Man, I haven't seen this much of a train materialise on me in forever Remember to get your votes in, ladies and gentlespren! Oh come on, Wilson's the bloodthirsty wrathful one, Wyrm's the handsome one, and I'm the suave one And Gamma locked a bunch of Darkfriends who sassed him out of the doc for a couple minutes, just to assert his authority. What did I even do to players who gave me trouble? I certainly didn't send Wilson and Aonar against them. Nor did I give Evil the legendary Awakened Sword, bathed in the blood of Merchants and Nobles, Slaughter.... I don't see why you could have any cause for concern after all!
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You know, when I said the game would begin on D1 instead of N0 so one player wouldn't need to die before the game properly began, I didn't expect y'all would create your own N0 Don't let me stop you from pre-lynching Evil though
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My ex introduced me to it, and I think I appreciate it more now that I'm older. Agreed with Briar King - the other five are good, in my view, but Dune holds a special place in my heart, of the lot of them. I don't really bother with the Brian Herbert and KJA books but you do you: certainly, checking them out of the library hurts no-one.
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I wouldn't want to steal your thing, old man
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Yeah, my general conclusion from this game is my Evil meta is very off - what I look for isn't really how this gen plays. I agreed with your reasoning on Lotus, but it worked for Burnt, is the thing. Anyway, as I've said, not for the first time, my brain seems locked on LG15b and has stopped after that, so I'll need to either learn to finetune to new community meta/norms, or get washed out with the tide. In more ways, I think, than just finding Team Evil.
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I would say that I definitely don't expect poor Evil play out of you, yeah. Which is why your point about busing TUO was the first crack in my suspicion wall that got me to sit up and relook at you. Agreed telling the difference poor play versus Evil play is definitely key, IMO. I went over that about a few other players a couple of times.
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I feel like you suffered a lot from your Evil rep this game, honestly. A lot of the indecision even after your actions seemed to be rep-based. I certainly know part of my thoughts were, "But this is Araris and we know he is Capable of Things according to others," before realising that rep should really not override the evidence. Or rather, as a player who has suffered from my own rep-based issues, and known others with rep problems, I should know better than to let rep override the possibility space when considering evidence.
