Szeth Pancakes
-
Posts
2371 -
Joined
-
Last visited
-
Days Won
18
Content Type
Profiles
News
Forums
Blogs
Gallery
Events
Everything posted by Szeth Pancakes
-
The Battle for the Sandwich
Szeth Pancakes replied to AltonicKeys's topic in Forum Games & Random Stuff
I call up my friend Space-Age Rysn and your chasmfiend does battle with Chiri-Chiri. Chiri-Chiri wins, because of course. I take the sandwich. -
[The “not sharing my vote” thing was an experiment that didn’t work out. Currently, my vote is on xino, because of the two posts above yours. The first one is okay on its own, but both of them together feel like xino is deliberately twisting my words to get out of answering my question.]
-
If I join, do I get a spike?
-
Randen was tired. As the water trickled down the clock, so too did his energy — fading away like a dream after waking. He wished for the night to be over. He wished that none of his friends were traitorous murderers. He wished for many things. He shifted anxiously in his chair as he stared at his hand of cards. His eyes kept returning to the stamp. Yuen… Traitors… He wanted to scream; he wanted to let the rage that simmered inside him to burn with the fire of a thousand suns. I must stay calm. I am a protector of the Empire. I must keep a level head. He repeated the words to himself over and over, but somehow, he couldn’t believe them. What if he was wrong? What if the traitors had a point? What if the battle he was fighting was for naught? The sides seemed indistinguishable. He had no doubt that the Discovery faction would resort to assassination if it suited their goals. What, then, was the difference? Why did good soldiers die for meaningless causes? Why did hard-working men die, but arrogant, conceited poets live? A thousand questions, yet none had an answer. Be rational, Randen thought. And yet he was not.
-
Isn’t it weird when you get a rep notification for a really old post? Like, you wonder how the upvoted stumbled across it in the first place, let alone what compelled them to do such a thing.
Anyway, hi, Fadran.
-
[Right. Sometimes I forget you live on the other side of the world. It’s 9 PM here >>]
-
[*much rejoicing*]
-
[I don’t like how you joke-answered my question, for one thing (the “I don’t like poets” thing). It feels like derailing discussion, which elims are sometimes wont to do C1, especially in a game of this nature. It’s super mild. But I don’t have much else to go on, so there you go.]
-
Rosharan native lost in shadesmar
Szeth Pancakes replied to alisaholypriest's topic in Introduce Yourself!
Welcome to the Shard! -
[I’m really worried about that kid’s brother.] Whenever he was conflicted about something, Randen had always found jotting down notes helpful. He grabbed a piece of paper and began to write: Maybe traitorous: Mallard, Krow In the clear: Georg Mallard didn’t seem to want to talk about anything to do with the traitors, and Krow was dodging Randen’s question like nobody’s business. Georg had commiserated with Randen privately, and Randen determined that he likely wasn’t a traitor (though the next hour could change that, depending on how things unfolded). Randen sighed. That was a depressingly short list. Secrets and lies. Lies and secrets. The deceit wasn’t getting them anywhere.
-
[I have a rare lapse in rl activity rn, so I’m making the most of it :P] [Answered in PMs]
-
“Discord and conflict are a weapon for our side, if used correctly. Besides, I don’t want to know who you have a grudge on. I want to know who you think the traitors would have a grudge on.”
-
[Randen is a high-level bodyguard. What do you think he has? A knife?]
-
Randen’s eyes fill with bright, malevolent rage. “You do not speak of my brother that way.” He draws his sword, holding it to Georg’s throat. “I swear. I don’t care how old and dignified you are, or how important your business is in the agriculture industry. If you speak in that manner again, I will cut out your tongue and pull whatever teeth you have left, so that you may never sully another good man’s reputation.” Randen sheathed his sword, breathing heavily. He’d lost control of his temper again. He knew, rationally, that if he did that he was liable to lose his position; then, he’d be back on the streets. It was like a game of lidan. If you played your hand, your cards were at risk of being exploited by others. And in real life, there was no Dor card; no way to wipe the slate clean of your mistakes. He calmed himself. “I apologize, Georg,” Randen said through gritted teeth. What kind of name was “Georg,” anyway? It sounded vaguely Svordish. “I acted rashly.” Changing the subject, he asked the room: “If you were a traitor, who would you… dispatch? Which one of us would you kill to further their goals?” It was a gruesome question, but one he believed needed to be asked.
-
“First of all,” said Randen, standing up and facing Ripling, “I am right here. And secondly, that which we call life is itself a gamble. Don’t you see? We are all prisoners of chance. “Let me tell you a story, Ripling — though it may not be a story you want to hear. About fifteen years ago, there were two boys living in the Orei slums. Both of them were dealt a poor hand in life. Their parents were dead; they had no money. Still, however, they did not give up. They worked from before the sun awoke to after it slipped beneath the horizon, every day, for five years. “One of those boys died of hypothermia in the Great Frost ten years back. One of them found a position in the palace guard, and worked his way up to the position he is in now. “Do not speak to me of gambling, poet; for you have never had to gamble with your life.” Randen sat down with a hmph. “Beggars’ deaths may not ‘blaze forth the heavens’ for you, but they do for the people they love. And the deaths of princes matter not to those they oppress. Keep that in your mind before you quote from your long-dead philosophers.”
-
Randen draws a card, his mind racing. “I’d say three,” he replied to the old man, ignoring his rude diatribe. “What organization would plant just two traitors in a group of eleven guards? They would surely be found out and crushed before the end of the night. Plus, the captain’s signet is a powerful advantage. The traitors don’t have anything like that. “It’s like a game of riideo — have you heard of it? It’s Arelish. You get dealt a hand, and some hands are better and more likely to win than others. If you have a good hand, you can bet on it winning. If you have a bad hand, you have to fold, or you’ll lose more money than is necessary. We must assume that the traitors are smart, and will act in their best interests. If they only have two spies, they won’t dare act this rashly. If one of the spies breaks under interrogation, they would be ruined. But if they have three — or more — it makes sense that they would kill the ambassador.” He stared at the stamp card in his hand. Could the traitors have a Forger on their side? If so, how much advantage would that give them? They weren’t omnipotent creatures, but they were powerful. Then again, the Forger couldn’t work quickly. If they had one, it would probably only have time to forge one stamp… “Three,” he said decisively. “Three traitors.” Hand:
-
“First of all, I’m not a gal,” said Randen, bemused. “And second, I made a mistake and then apologized. We need to treat newbies with respect. Otherwise, they’ll quit the guard and never come back! “Also, I believe you made the same mistake I did.”
-
“That’s… not always true,” Randen replied. “It’s generally considered bad strategy to play six cards at once, unless you have the Dor. It gives your opponent an advantage, and makes no difference to you: after all, you can play as many cards as you wish on your turn.” Randen would wait. Yes… that was the strategy that befit the game. If he played his hand too early, his opponents would capitalize on his rashness; using his cards to build their web of sets and runs. Better not to voice your truth until you were sure you could win. After all, the game ran on secrets, didn’t it? If he revealed his own, that gave the traitors no incentive to show theirs. Instead, he could draw; let them think he had naught when he was one lucky card away from winning. Then, when he went out, it would be glorious; the kind of game spoken of in legend. He flicked the cards in his hand, considering his options. Deceit would save him where truths would not. Covert messages; hidden lies. That was how the game was played. Water trickled through the clock. Mallard looked at him expectantly. “I’ll draw,” he said, smiling ruefully. Hand:
-
Whoops. Sorry Hoid.
-
hmmmmmm Welcome to SE, Hoid
-
“Useless” isn’t one word. It’s “use less.” I am Groot.
-
Long Game 95: The Fire of Ado's Light
Szeth Pancakes replied to Ashbringer's topic in Sanderson Elimination
*glances at rules* *dies* Y’know what, sure. I’m next in line for the MR, but I’ll probably be dead here before then. I’ll sign up as Liene, a cranky Elantrian. -
Randen draws. Hand:
