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Topic: Omelas: Day 4 (Read 1047 times) previous topic - next topic

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  • ravenscape
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Re: Omelas: Day 4
Reply #25
Vote Count

laughing dog - 3 (ksen, borealis, Y.B)
ksen - 2.5 (MikeS, Nostrum)
MikeS - 1 (nesb)

Nightfall is 45 minutes from the time of this post.

CORRECTED
  • Last Edit: December 09, 2017, 08:54:34 AM by ravenscape

  • Y.B
Re: Omelas: Day 4
Reply #26
Ksen also voted for LD, no?

  • ravenscape
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Re: Omelas: Day 4
Reply #27
fixt

Re: Omelas: Day 4
Reply #28
##VOTE ksen##

  • ravenscape
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Re: Omelas: Day 4
Reply #29
NIGHTFALL!

  • ravenscape
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Re: Omelas: Day 4
Reply #30
Vote Count

ksen - 3.5 (MikeS, Nostrum, divagreen)
laughing dog - 3 (ksen, borealis, Y.B)
MikeS - 1 (nesb)

If you disagree with this post count, please let me know in the PG within 5 minutes.

  • ravenscape
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Re: Omelas: Day 4
Reply #31
The races and festival has been a joyously exhausting few days for ksen.  With ribbons and tambourines, he, like many others, took to the streets to dance themselves into an almost trancelike state, stopping only for water and food from morning until sunset.

This sunset is obscured by clouds, but bright rays flash through to cast a net of sparkles on the sea and to pierce the high hills.  ksen stops and looks around.  The other dancers move onward, but after hours of spinning and leaping they look somewhat the worse for wear.

The crowd follow the dancers, leaving ksen alone on the suddenly cold street.

He feels empty.  Alone.  And he realizes he doesn't belong here, and perhaps never has.

The tambourine forgotten in his hand, he walks toward the hills.

ksen was a


Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Spoiler (click to show/hide)
  • Last Edit: December 09, 2017, 09:54:14 AM by ravenscape

  • ravenscape
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Re: Omelas: Day 4
Reply #32
Do you believe? Do you accept the festival, the city, the joy? No? Then let me describe
one more thing.
In a basement under one of the beautiful public buildings of Omelas, or perhaps in the
cellar of one of its spacious private homes, there is a room. It has one locked door, and no
window. A little light seeps in dustily between cracks in the boards, secondhand from a
cobwebbed window somewhere across the cellar. In one corner of the little room a couple of
mops, with stiff, clotted, foul-smelling heads, stand near a rusty bucket. The floor is dirt, a little
damp to the touch, as cellar dirt usually is. The room is about three paces long and two wide: a
mere broom closet or disused tool room. In the room a child is sitting. It could be a boy or a girl.
It looks about six, but actually is nearly ten. It is feeble-minded. Perhaps it was born defective or
perhaps it has become imbecile through fear, malnutrition, and neglect. It picks its nose and
occasionally fumbles vaguely with its toes or genitals, as it sits haunched in the corner farthest
from the bucket and the two mops. It is afraid of the mops. It finds them horrible. It shuts its
eyes, but it knows the mops are still standing there; and the door is locked; and nobody will
come. The door is always locked; and nobody ever comes, except that sometimes-the child has
no understanding of time or interval - sometimes the door rattles terribly and opens, and a
person, or several people, are there. One of them may come and kick the child to make it stand
up. The others never come close, but peer in at it with frightened, disgusted eyes. The food bowl
and the water jug are hastily filled, the door is locked, the eyes disappear. The people at the door
never say anything, but the child, who has not always lived in the tool room, and can remember
sunlight and its mother's voice, sometimes speaks. "I will be good," it says. "Please let me out. I
will be good!" They never answer. The child used to scream for help at night, and cry a good
deal, but now it only makes a kind of whining, "eh-haa, eh-haa," and it speaks less and less often.
It is so thin there are no calves to its legs; its belly protrudes; it lives on a half-bowl of corn meal
and grease a day. It is naked. Its buttocks and thighs are a mass of festered sores, as it sits in its
own excrement continually.
They all know it is there, all the people of Omelas. Some of them have come to see it,
others are content merely to know it is there. They all know that it has to be there. Some of them
understand why, and some do not, but they all understand that their happiness, the beauty of their
city, the tenderness of their friendships, the health of their children, the wisdom of their scholars,
the skill of their makers, even the abundance of their harvest and the kindly weathers of their
skies, depend wholly on this child's abominable misery.
This is usually explained to children when they are between eight and twelve, whenever
they seem capable of understanding; and most of those who come to see the child are young
people, though often enough an adult comes, or comes back, to see the child. No matter how well
the matter has been explained to them, these young spectators are always shocked and sickened
at the sight. They feel disgust, which they had thought themselves superior to. They feel anger,
outrage, impotence, despite all the explanations. They would like to do something for the child.
But there is nothing they can do. If the child were brought up into the sunlight out of that vile
place, if it were cleaned and fed and comforted, that would be a good thing, indeed; but if it were
done, in that day and hour all the prosperity and beauty and delight of Omelas would wither and
be destroyed. Those are the terms. To exchange all the goodness and grace of every life in
Omelas for that single, small improvement: to throw away the happiness of thousands for the
chance of the happiness of one: that would be to let guilt within the walls indeed.
The terms are strict and absolute; there may not even be a kind word spoken to the child.
Often the young people go home in tears, or in a tearless rage, when they have seen the
child and faced this terrible paradox. They may brood over it for weeks or years. But as time
goes on they begin to realize that even if the child could be released, it would not get much good
of its freedom: a little vague pleasure of warmth and food, no doubt, but little more. It is too
degraded and imbecile to know any real joy. It has been afraid too long ever to be free of fear. Its
habits are too uncouth for it to respond to humane treatment. Indeed, after so long it would
probably be wretched without walls about it to protect it, and darkness for its eyes, and its own
excrement to sit in. Their tears at the bitter injustice dry when they begin to perceive the terrible
justice of reality, and to accept it. Yet it is their tears and anger, the trying of their generosity and
the acceptance of their helplessness, which are perhaps the true source of the splendor of their
lives. Theirs is no vapid, irresponsible happiness. They know that they, like the child, are not
free. They know compassion. It is the existence of the child, and their knowledge of its existence,
that makes possible the nobility of their architecture, the poignancy of their music, the profundity
of their science. It is because of the child that they are so gentle with children. They know that if
the wretched one were not there snivelling in the dark, the other one, the flute-player, could
make no joyful music as the young riders line up in their beauty for the race in the sunlight of the
first morning of summer.
Now do you believe in them? Are they not more credible? But there is one more thing to
tell, and this is quite incredible.
At times one of the adolescent girls or boys who go to see the child does not go home to
weep or rage, does not, in fact, go home at all. Sometimes also a man or woman much older falls
silent for a day or two, and then leaves home. These people go out into the street, and walk down
the street alone. They keep walking, and walk straight out of the city of Omelas, through the
beautiful gates. They keep walking across the farmlands of Omelas. Each one goes alone, youth
or girl man or woman. Night falls; the traveler must pass down village streets, between the
houses with yellow-lit windows, and on out into the darkness of the fields. Each alone, they go
west or north, towards the mountains. They go on. They leave Omelas, they walk ahead into the
darkness, and they do not come back. The place they go towards is a place even less imaginable
to most of us than the city of happiness. I cannot describe it at all. It is possible that it does not
exist. But they seem to know where they are going, the ones who walk away from Omelas.


The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas have prevailed


Thread reopened.

  • ravenscape
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Re: Omelas: Day 4
Reply #33
divagreen, Nostrum and Y.B are the winners.  Congrats Y.B for winning your first mafia game!


Setup and Night Actions:  https://www.quicktopic.com/52/H/ULp6vP5rL5h

Mafia chat: https://www.quicktopic.com/52/H/vZkHZWpzsshS

Neighborhood chat: https://www.quicktopic.com/52/H/Nct3z2yB6W4

Zombie chat:  https://www.quicktopic.com/52/H/VwLj4LVwvup

  • ravenscape
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Re: Omelas: Day 4
Reply #34
A few thoughts about the game design and how things played out:

I decided almost immediately that this would be a sort of through the looking glass design.  The "good guys" would be the scum team, and the town flavor would be riddled with self-doubt without revealing the rot at the core of Omelan society.

To fit that, the Child in the Basement was an Innocent Child role, as well as inarticulate.  At any point, borealis could PM me and I would announce in the game thread that she was an inno child (which is by definition, confirmed town).

The Ones roles were all identical - 3 shot joats with the same abiities.  If lynched, their flip would list only the abilities they had used.  It was wise choice to have only one person use the neighborize.  Y.B and Nostrum used the rest of their shots and divagreen used only the neighborize.

I thought it was interesting that the Ones Who Walk Away were worried about a redirector on thie 4th game day.  I thought about letting the game go to night phase so I could watch that sweet, sweet scum paranoia, but decided I'm not a bastard GM (usually).

I hope you enjoyed the game!  I hope you liked the flavor!  This is one of my favorite LeGuin stories and has been a sort of parable for our global village since I first read it. I had been thinking about reprising the flavor of the very first mafia game I ran, based on LeGuin's The Dispossessed.  I knew so little about game design back then! Testy's request for an Omelas-based game came at the perfect moment!

  • Last Edit: December 09, 2017, 09:47:31 AM by ravenscape

  • borealis
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Re: Omelas: Day 4
Reply #35
Thank you for the game, raven.

I wish it could have gone a bit longer - I was about to denounce diva, damnit.

But Nos and YB were completely off my radar.

Re: Omelas: Day 4
Reply #36
Dear God teeth I will never doubt your reads again.
Love is like a magic penny
 if you hold it tight you won't have any
if you give it away you'll have so many
they'll be rolling all over the floor

Re: Omelas: Day 4
Reply #37
I thought it was interesting that the Ones Who Walk Away were worried about a redirector on thie 4th game day.  I thought about letting the game go to night phase so I could watch that sweet, sweet scum paranoia, but decided I'm not a bastard GM (usually).

raven reveals her inner sadist ITT  :ohmy:

thank you for the game raven  :]

  • borealis
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Re: Omelas: Day 4
Reply #38
Diva you scum!

I quit talking to you in the Neighbourhood because you were so obviously scum but I thought maybe I was just paranoid.  :hug:

Re: Omelas: Day 4
Reply #39
Thank you for the game, raven.

I wish it could have gone a bit longer - I was about to denounce diva, damnit.

But Nos and YB were completely off my radar.

I knew you wld get there, it was only a matter of time. I neighbourized cos I figured you wld be the 1 to least likely to get mad at me :hug:


Re: Omelas: Day 4
Reply #40
Dear God teeth I will never doubt your reads again.

rip me

resignation that I will be lynched d1 in all future games

playing scum with nostrum was pretty boss. yb has an unnatural gift for flying under the radar. 10/10 wld have this team again.

Re: Omelas: Day 4
Reply #41
So, if I was viewed night one, how come I didn't get a message? Also, afaiac, scum had the game in the bag because I never would have voted yb or diva.
Love is like a magic penny
 if you hold it tight you won't have any
if you give it away you'll have so many
they'll be rolling all over the floor

  • borealis
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Re: Omelas: Day 4
Reply #42
Lol, no mad Diva, just get evensies if we had time.  :yes:

  • borealis
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Re: Omelas: Day 4
Reply #43
So, if I was viewed night one, how come I didn't get a message? Also, afaiac, scum had the game in the bag because I never would have voted yb or diva.

You don't usually get a message if you've been viewed - only if you've been blocked or moved for example.

  • ravenscape
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Re: Omelas: Day 4
Reply #44
So, if I was viewed night one, how come I didn't get a message? Also, afaiac, scum had the game in the bag because I never would have voted yb or diva.

I only gave messages if you were blocked/jailkept or visited by the Woman With a Flower Basket (fruit vendor role).  This is semi-standard for mafia.  TR and TR-influenced sites make roleblocks obvious to players who don't have a night action that should return information (investigative, neighborize, etc), but it's not exactly a universal interpretation of how those roles should interact.

The scum night actions, except for the neighborize, would never notify the target.

Re: Omelas: Day 4
Reply #45
Well, it was a great game. Thanks.
Love is like a magic penny
 if you hold it tight you won't have any
if you give it away you'll have so many
they'll be rolling all over the floor

Re: Omelas: Day 4
Reply #46
testy plz forgive me <3


  • Y.B
Re: Omelas: Day 4
Reply #47
You guys shoulda listened to teeth lol.

Diva, I flew under the radar partly because of my n00b status.

This was pretty fun.

Re: Omelas: Day 4
Reply #48
Love is like a magic penny
 if you hold it tight you won't have any
if you give it away you'll have so many
they'll be rolling all over the floor