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follow these directions. If you don't, he'll break your legs! Hahaha! Seriously though.
[Mini-Phalla] of Brass: The Philosopher Kings (God Save The Queen: Cultist/Templar Win)
Posts
Note that for this I will go with most recent signups - so i.e. I still have TRV down as withdrawn and MrT as reserve and so forth. Please specify if you want to rejoin.
Amazon Wishlist for any secret santa hintings
Ashe Swiftclaw in Jdarksun's World's Largest Dungeon 4e Campaign
Now that I'm back, everyone will be flooding in. I'm basically the main reason people play these games anyways
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BradicusMaximus
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BradicusMaximus
I neglected to add this to the OP, I will do so.
your game is almost over anyway
Sorry, a bunch of RL shit has come up and I'm not going to have time to keep up with this game or be online that much.
(or is it?)
Amazon Wishlist for any secret santa hintings
Ashe Swiftclaw in Jdarksun's World's Largest Dungeon 4e Campaign
G....giggity?
Amazon Wishlist for any secret santa hintings
Ashe Swiftclaw in Jdarksun's World's Largest Dungeon 4e Campaign
Having control over which roles are cut for balance is preferable to some roles randomly being cut because the people who have them Inactivus out because they hated to see a game not fill up but didn't actually have time for it. :P
I don't remember host counter-debate being allowed in the rules. 8-)
Amazon Wishlist for any secret santa hintings
Ashe Swiftclaw in Jdarksun's World's Largest Dungeon 4e Campaign
Amazon Wishlist for any secret santa hintings
Ashe Swiftclaw in Jdarksun's World's Largest Dungeon 4e Campaign
Saber, Void, Baidol, Doe, Stever, Kime was, Anialos, OL, etc, etc, etc.
This is the early summer slow down. It'll hopefully pick back up late summer, early fall.
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BradicusMaximus
Man had no need for kings. This King Passeridae had determined, and this marked the story of his reign. Democracy, he told his people, was the future. Representation not by birthright but by the faith of a society and culture. Though the Eternal Grace had determined that he would sit upon the throne the Divine Right of Kings needed no longer be enforced. Man was wiser now than that. He had shed the prepubescence of monarchy and was ready to grow old. Thus it was that Skybarrow Keep became Skybarrow University, and King became Headmaster.
“Headmaster-King is such a boisterous title,” he had told the newsmen when Parliament was empowered, “But it seems Vernland has grown fond of lords and ladies.” In humility he found a fame that no king before him had approached. The people were not yet ready to let him go, but he was content to teach. New generations of philosopher would be necessary, for none had yet demonstrated the capability he had. Vernland needed philosophers. Without them the nation's soul withered, the heart of its ingenuity beating slower and slower until its ultimate cessation. It was as core to being Vernish as tea or industry.
“The colour of the alleged tea,” the student continued, “Is clearly blue to my eyes. As we have already established the capability of my vision and the reliability of my eyesight, we must then trust that they are relaying correct information to my being. I must therefore conclude that the tea is blue.” The cup on Passeridae's desk did not wobble as an alien shade began to overtake the steeped liquid.
“Ah,” Passeridae nodded calmly, “But while I do not doubt the confidence of your eyesight, I clearly observe the colour brown. Though it is somewhat of an anecdote on my part I must also note that I have commonly heard others refer to this liquid as brown as well. As this differs from your experiences there must be an unshared step between our observations and our statements. Perhaps, Mr. Irons, your definition of blue has been misled from the common nomenclature at some point and your interpretation of frequently used names for colours has suffered as a result.” Headmaster-King Richard Passeridae took his cup and sipped confidently from the clearly brown liquid. “I recommend calling upon a tutor to go over your vocabulary and ensure that everything is in the proper place.”
The student bit his lip, glancing quickly around Passeridae's office for inspiration, before letting out an expletive under his breath. Passeridae let the language slide on this occasion. “Therein lies the problem,” he chuckled amicably, “Of relying upon the gimmick of redefinition. I'm afraid you'll need sounder foundations than that.”
Behind the young student, the door to the office opened slowly. A wariness seized Passeridae involuntarily, carried in the back of his mind since that encounter mere hours ago. It was mercifully needless – Vice-Chancellor Daniel Mason entered the room. “Apologies for interrupting, headmaster,” he nodded politely, “When you are done with Jeremy here I would have a moment of your time.”
“We were just finishing up,” Passeridae said cheerfully, stepping around the desk and patting the new student's shoulder. “He is certainly a first-year – no insult meant, my boy – but his willingness to step forward and take the initiative to book time to debate already tells me he'll go far. Now, remember what I told you. Philosophy isn't about arguing – it's about proving.” Thanking him for the private time, the student hurried quickly from the room. Daniel Mason waited for him to be some distance down the hall before closing the door and turning to the king.
“The rumours are quickly spreading throughout the school,” he said in quiet tones, “It is the worst kept secret in Skybarrow. The attack that did not happen is as a hound biting at the back of everyone's minds.” Daniel stepped to the headmaster's desk, lifting the ring and looking gravely at it. The skull of a horse and the jaws of a shark seemed to leer back. “Some are even claiming to have sensed the Argument in your haste.”
“Yes,” Passeridae said wearily, returning to his chair. His right forefinger pressed neurotically into a small liver spot. “It was not my most...eloquent work. I suppose I shall have to address the faculty.”
“I think more than that shall have to be informed,” Daniel spoke grimly, returning the ring to its place on the desk. An oppressive silence lasted for a terrible amount of time as he chose his next words. “He will not have been alone.”
The knowledge unspoken in the sentence hung around Passeridae's neck. “Yes,” the Headmaster-King eventually said again. “We cannot let rumour commandeer knowledge.” Attempting to feed a habit that had grown in the last several hours, Passeridae reached for the ring on the desk. His hand found only air, and no ornament remained.
“Where'd you nick that from?” the girl asked with uncharacteristic fright. Aleister turned the ring slowly over in his gloved hand, examining the skull before using it to scratch the shag of his beard.
“Arrogance and hubris,” the pilot responded, plucking a grape from the bowl. He did not bother to stop the gush of juices over his chin. “A sparrow's dead man's trophy.” Aleister grinned wide, pulling the tail of his coat out from under him as he grew more comfortable in his seat. “You worry that I know more than I tell you.”
His female companion bit her lip not in shyness or trepidation but frustration, crossing her arms and pacing in the small alcove. “A preposterous worry,” Aleister continued, “You already know I do.” An aged and forgotten wooden box sat on a shelf, where his female companion had ignored it up until the moment he took it from its resting place. A board was produced, and then twenty-five carved wooden pieces, symmetrically flat on both ends.
“Tch,” Aleister murmured, “One too many, don't you think?” He tossed one aside into the clutter of the dusty storage. His student ignored him, walking out to the window of their alcove and looking down at the main hall below.
“You're sure they're not going to see this place?” she called back to him. The student body was assembling, and the king conferred with his vice-chancellor.
“The Dadushe house lays claim to the invention of the game of Yomi,” Aleister explained, setting up the board, “But the game is actually Hassanite in origin – appropriated by their usurpers. I believe the original name translated roughly to 'lie rock', owing to the game's nature of deception.” He bit into another grape while holding the ring to candle flame, burning the skull into the bottom of five of the wooden figures. “Five marked, like so,” he continued, “Then placed on the board with the other pieces in any configuration. Come!” Aleister beckoned his associate over, pulling goggles over his eyes and turning in his seat. “Arrange the board how you like. Remember your marked pieces.”
Though she ground her teeth in quiet agitation at his manners, Aleister's guest regarded the board thoughtfully. “Play alternates between the two players,” the old man continued, “Both capable of moving any piece they wish on their own turn. Pieces move to escape or close ground on others, or to capture them outright. Through reading which pieces the mark player moves and where – and which they don't – the other player seeks to eliminate all of his pieces. Play continues until one piece remains – though of course it is polite for the marked player to bow out should he lose – and then the winner is revealed. A game of cleverness, quite the attraction for young philosophers, no?”
“Yeah, I get it,” his partner said, “Bullshit til the guy kills himself. I'm obvs'ly not getting anything outta you til we have a go so let's go.” Aleister turned back around to the board and smiled wide.
“I go first,” he said.
Headmaster-King Richard Passeridae looked at the assembled body and felt a profound sense of failure, the first in many years. Despite all his efforts, these young minds were in danger because of him. They deserved better than this, and Skybarrow deserved better than this.
“As some of you are aware,” he began at the lectern, “I was not attacked this morning. No assassin sought to end my life. However had he done so, I would note that he garbed himself in the regalia of a cult sometimes whispered of in high society. A rumour and antagonist for the penny dreadfuls.” Passeridae adjusted his glasses, looking once more at the faces gathered before him.
“I must inform you that they are no rumour, nor have I thought them to be for some time. The cult of Bel Hazan does exist in the cracks of proud Vernland streets, vulgar and ugly in their greed. I do not know why they have moved to attack me, but I know this: They are here.” Confidence in his words displayed itself in his demeanor, but Passeridae could still sense the fear in the crowd before him. Whispers slowly grew in volume. “I tell you this now not to instill terror or anxiety, but to inform you of the reality of the situation. No one will think lesser of those of you who seek to leave the premises before you are at risk. It is in many ways the move of a rational actor.”
“Do you know the best way to win a game?” Aleister smiled as his accomplice moved her piece with conviction. She simply smirked.
Passeridae rose his chin high. “I shall not see Skybarrow fall to such treachery in my lifetime,” he pronounced. Not as an opinion, nor a hope, but a fact and conviction from a king. “Nor will I forsake my values to keep it strong. This shall be resolved, and it shall be resolved peacefully. Should any student be found to be or be suspected of collaborating with these individuals they will be immediately expelled, with readmittance forbidden until a thorough investigation has concluded. Classes will be temporarily suspended, but the full facility shall remain available.”
Gripping the head of the lectern with confidence, Passeridae nodded. “I am the father of modern Vernland, of this proud nation, and I shall not be dethroned by treacherous children on this day.”
The last piece stood uplifted, and his comrade fumed. How had she lost track of it? There was no way, she had every position memorized, every movement made with intent! It should not have been blank!
Patiently, Aleister took every captured piece and one by one turned them over, revealing a barren and unmarked surface.
“We could make a real difference, you know,” the student suggested. “We are all of us philosophers. We could expose the cultists, stop their plans.” The others gathered in the library murmured quietly.
Mouth agape in anger, she stared at Aleister as though daring him to justify himself, to explain his insult.
Vice-Chancellor Daniel Mason glanced at the figures around him. Each one wore a cloak obscuring their body, and perhaps more ominous than that a mask. It bore the visage of the skull of a horse upon it, with the jaws of a shark. They stood between him and his office door.
“Well then,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “Has our package arrived yet?”
“Change the rules,” Aleister grinned.
In a small gaslight lamp set in the common room of Ozymandias House, a wax seal slowly melted. The rays of the sun dripped into a thick red pool.
Day 1 has begun.
Please vote to inform the faculty of any suspicious individuals you believe to be members of the treacherous cult infiltrating Skybarrow.
You may propose a debate with another player or support such a debate, but you will not receive extra credit at the end of term.
Day 1 will end Thursday, at 8 PM Pacific. Debates end an hour beforehand, but as it is day 1 there will be no debates today.
Grace be with you all.
For your convenience, a sample role PM is included below.
At this point you'll be told who your character is. You'll get a bit more backstory but this is pretty matter of fact rather than flavour. Then you'll get told your goal.
Hint: It's kill cultists!
TEACHING: If you have a Teaching, this is where it would appear! A Teaching is an ability that can be used, typically through giving private orders to the host. Some people would call a Teaching a power. They have no flair for flavour.
EPHIPHANY: An Epiphany is a special kind of ability which can only be used in a debate. When used your Epiphany will typically immediately (or at least as immediately as the host sees it) end a debate, and activate some kind of effect beneficial to the user. Ephipanies must be used by dramatically shouting the name of the ability in-thread.
PHILOSOPHY: This is where your personal philosophy goes. Your philosophy informs what kinds of arguments give you bonus points in debates.
VICTORY CONDITION: You win when all of the cultists have been eliminated.
Unless that's not your victory condition of course. But generally speaking example role PMs are provided so you can lie.
Please inform me if you were supposed to receive a PM but did not do so.
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BradicusMaximus
Please note: Vote close is 24 hours from this time.
I propose that all cultists should be forced to post the phrase "I am a cultist" once every day in this thread, and challenge TheRoadVirus to prove otherwise.
Skyrim
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