Czernobog's Bin
Re: Kamin's Bin
Berlin
‘WHAT?!’ Hitler screams. ‘Tell me, what is happening at Austerlitz? Why is Rommel falling back, after only six weeks of struggle? Why is he faltering? Why, I say, why is he failing?’
‘He’s outnumbered,’ the aide, terrified, says. ‘The Austrians have fresh troops, they’re pushing relentlessly. He simply can’t win.’
‘Impossible!'
‘It...is the case.’
‘Enough,’ the former Corporal replies. ‘Goering, eliminate him.’
A blast of black lightning comes from the tall figure’s hand, the aide screams before he crumbles to dust in an instant. Nothing remains.
‘My inferiors should never fail,’ Hitler says. ‘Tell Rommel to push for Vienna, send all our forces there – it is the pivotal point, it must fall.’
‘Yes,’ Himmler says. ‘Mein...Fuhrer.’
New York Air Force Base
The skyship Manifest Destiny prepares to fly, the mighty airborne aircraft carrier is a mile long, containing immense numbers of fighter and bomber planes. It is weakly armed, with only AA turrets, but has so many planes aboard that such a distinction, between armed and unarmed, is pedantry at best. The might of the Manifest Destiny lies not just in bombs and missiles and machine-guns, but in the Liberty Projectors, immense constructs built into its superstructure that provoke hope and a stubborn will to fight to the utmost in America’s soldiers and their allies, and a feeling of mind-numbing doubt and fear in their multitudinous enemies.
Far, far away the Walküre is being readied to obliterate Austria-Hungary if the assault on Vienna planned already fails, but the Manifest Destiny is being readied in turn to preserve liberty and happiness. It remains to be seen, which of the two shall triumph.
Washington DC
The Statue of Columbia stands high. 80 feet tall, a powerful symbol of American industrial and military might, it stands also as a war-machine, powered by fusion and given life by thaumaturgy. It carries a sword, a blade of the keenest steel thaumaturgically sharpened, and from its eyes come flashes of terrible destructive light. It also bears a shield, the Aegis of Liberty, said to be able to endure even the terrific might of the Godkiller Cannon. Then there is the Dimensional Gateway, able to cut through space-time to create portals to any place on Earth. The weeks-long procedure to awaken the statue’s guiding spirits is beginning just now.
And when it is over, the Germans will learn the true meaning of fear.
Venice
Rezzio Germanotta is angry. If only his subordinates had been smarter, had not insisted upon useless – senseless – frontal assaults, then Trentino might now be his. As it is, his forces cannot break into the Tyrol; they’ve lost so many, too many, men. The Artefact didn’t help much either – somebody stole it, unaware of its true significance to the war effort – or perhaps he did, which means that his forces are riddled with spies. Regardless, he knows only that the Austrians can’t muster a counter-attack; they’ve sent forces from the Tyrol into Vienna in an effort to defend it.
He will stay in Venice, and he will fight to the last if he is attacked.
Nuremberg
The lights of Nuremberg shine over the land, marking the city. Skarsgård checks his flight instruments, the German planes are flying towards the city, just as planned. He’s an ace pilot; he took seventeen kills at the Vienna raid alone, 55 in total since this war began. A few missiles, and three German planes are destroyed. The AA fire is anaemic – all the better, because only one bomb needs to be dropped – the Aurora Bomb.
He hears the music over his radio –
“...When you're alone and life is making you lonely
You can always go - downtown
When you've got worries, all the noise and the hurry
Seems to help, I know - downtown
Just listen to the music of the traffic in the city
Linger on the sidewalk where the neon signs are pretty
How can you lose?
The lights are much brighter there
You can forget all your troubles, forget all your cares
So go downtown, things'll be great when you're
Downtown - no finer place, for sure
Downtown - everything's waiting for you...”
The Austrian planes are disengaging, and so does his mercenary squadron, his plane at the lead. They’re out of the range of the Aurora when it detonates, turning night into day in a brilliant flash of bright white light.
Far below, the Aurora bomb explodes. Strands of electricity pulse through the air, following an electro-magnetic pulse that turns off all lights, leaving the populace of the city helpless in the dark when the real threat strikes. The lightning blasts melt metal and set everything organic they strike aflame. Concrete that they touch literally explodes, so does stone.
Factories explode and burn as more and more lightning bolts pour from the point of detonation with building-shattering force. The great skyscraper built to celebrate Nazism, still under construction, literally falls apart.
Nuremberg is soon lit not only by flames that rise and burn as if pressed onward by a supernatural force, but by a ghostly aurora of light that discharges lightning like the wrath of some vengeful sky-god. Then, the aurora disintegrates, in a massive pulse of energy that discharges a pressure pulse that obliterates everything it touches, humans and vehicles sent flying like ants kicked by some immense foot.
When it is over, Nuremberg has been simply obliterated. Not a single structure remains standing.
‘WHAT?!’ Hitler screams. ‘Tell me, what is happening at Austerlitz? Why is Rommel falling back, after only six weeks of struggle? Why is he faltering? Why, I say, why is he failing?’
‘He’s outnumbered,’ the aide, terrified, says. ‘The Austrians have fresh troops, they’re pushing relentlessly. He simply can’t win.’
‘Impossible!'
‘It...is the case.’
‘Enough,’ the former Corporal replies. ‘Goering, eliminate him.’
A blast of black lightning comes from the tall figure’s hand, the aide screams before he crumbles to dust in an instant. Nothing remains.
‘My inferiors should never fail,’ Hitler says. ‘Tell Rommel to push for Vienna, send all our forces there – it is the pivotal point, it must fall.’
‘Yes,’ Himmler says. ‘Mein...Fuhrer.’
New York Air Force Base
The skyship Manifest Destiny prepares to fly, the mighty airborne aircraft carrier is a mile long, containing immense numbers of fighter and bomber planes. It is weakly armed, with only AA turrets, but has so many planes aboard that such a distinction, between armed and unarmed, is pedantry at best. The might of the Manifest Destiny lies not just in bombs and missiles and machine-guns, but in the Liberty Projectors, immense constructs built into its superstructure that provoke hope and a stubborn will to fight to the utmost in America’s soldiers and their allies, and a feeling of mind-numbing doubt and fear in their multitudinous enemies.
Far, far away the Walküre is being readied to obliterate Austria-Hungary if the assault on Vienna planned already fails, but the Manifest Destiny is being readied in turn to preserve liberty and happiness. It remains to be seen, which of the two shall triumph.
Washington DC
The Statue of Columbia stands high. 80 feet tall, a powerful symbol of American industrial and military might, it stands also as a war-machine, powered by fusion and given life by thaumaturgy. It carries a sword, a blade of the keenest steel thaumaturgically sharpened, and from its eyes come flashes of terrible destructive light. It also bears a shield, the Aegis of Liberty, said to be able to endure even the terrific might of the Godkiller Cannon. Then there is the Dimensional Gateway, able to cut through space-time to create portals to any place on Earth. The weeks-long procedure to awaken the statue’s guiding spirits is beginning just now.
And when it is over, the Germans will learn the true meaning of fear.
Venice
Rezzio Germanotta is angry. If only his subordinates had been smarter, had not insisted upon useless – senseless – frontal assaults, then Trentino might now be his. As it is, his forces cannot break into the Tyrol; they’ve lost so many, too many, men. The Artefact didn’t help much either – somebody stole it, unaware of its true significance to the war effort – or perhaps he did, which means that his forces are riddled with spies. Regardless, he knows only that the Austrians can’t muster a counter-attack; they’ve sent forces from the Tyrol into Vienna in an effort to defend it.
He will stay in Venice, and he will fight to the last if he is attacked.
Nuremberg
The lights of Nuremberg shine over the land, marking the city. Skarsgård checks his flight instruments, the German planes are flying towards the city, just as planned. He’s an ace pilot; he took seventeen kills at the Vienna raid alone, 55 in total since this war began. A few missiles, and three German planes are destroyed. The AA fire is anaemic – all the better, because only one bomb needs to be dropped – the Aurora Bomb.
He hears the music over his radio –
“...When you're alone and life is making you lonely
You can always go - downtown
When you've got worries, all the noise and the hurry
Seems to help, I know - downtown
Just listen to the music of the traffic in the city
Linger on the sidewalk where the neon signs are pretty
How can you lose?
The lights are much brighter there
You can forget all your troubles, forget all your cares
So go downtown, things'll be great when you're
Downtown - no finer place, for sure
Downtown - everything's waiting for you...”
The Austrian planes are disengaging, and so does his mercenary squadron, his plane at the lead. They’re out of the range of the Aurora when it detonates, turning night into day in a brilliant flash of bright white light.
Far below, the Aurora bomb explodes. Strands of electricity pulse through the air, following an electro-magnetic pulse that turns off all lights, leaving the populace of the city helpless in the dark when the real threat strikes. The lightning blasts melt metal and set everything organic they strike aflame. Concrete that they touch literally explodes, so does stone.
Factories explode and burn as more and more lightning bolts pour from the point of detonation with building-shattering force. The great skyscraper built to celebrate Nazism, still under construction, literally falls apart.
Nuremberg is soon lit not only by flames that rise and burn as if pressed onward by a supernatural force, but by a ghostly aurora of light that discharges lightning like the wrath of some vengeful sky-god. Then, the aurora disintegrates, in a massive pulse of energy that discharges a pressure pulse that obliterates everything it touches, humans and vehicles sent flying like ants kicked by some immense foot.
When it is over, Nuremberg has been simply obliterated. Not a single structure remains standing.
You have ruled this galaxy for ten thousand years.
You have little of account to show for your efforts.
Order. Unity. Obedience.
We taught the galaxy these things.
And we shall do so again.
You have little of account to show for your efforts.
Order. Unity. Obedience.
We taught the galaxy these things.
And we shall do so again.
Re: Kamin's Bin
So here's the next update. Somewhat Wolfenstein-ish, but then that's one of the major inspirations.
Berlin
The news has just reached the Fuhrer; Rommel has been driven back from Austerlitz, his armies devastated, losing three-quarters of his men. Not that he cares that much – Allied victory must simply be delayed until the ritual to transform him into a living god has been prepared. Still, if this is to happen, then everything must be sent into the attack on Vienna – Barbarossa, the Artefacts, everything short of the Walküre. And so he is waiting, for the arrival of Thamaturgie-Doktor Ludwig Schrödinger, SS. He is the man behind Projekt Resurrektion, the creation of a true übermensch, a mighty example of the Aryan Herrenvolk.
The door opens, the proud SS officers stand to attention, waiting for the man who created the übermensch. Ludwig Schrödinger. He walks through, and it is obvious what happened to the good doctor. He tested the thaumaturgical formulae and bizarre radiations on himself, and now he has...changed. A charred skeleton clad in an SS uniform and peaked cap, burning with eternal orange-red hellfire. Smoke rises from him, forming a kind of cloak.
It is he who will deactivate the master seals on the cryogenic pod, he who will open the way for the man once called Otto Skorzeny, now only the foremost soldier of Nazi Germany. Schrödinger walks proudly, regally even. And then he touches the pod, activating the sigils of waking and thawing, and then the rune of opening. The pod opens around the figure inside, the redoubtable Otto Skorzeny, almost like a flower. Blue eyes flicker with unholy power, the thaumaturgical energies within have put runes of power inside his very DNA. The faint smell of ozone is sensed, blue lightning crackles on his skin. Skorzeny’s blond hair is short, impeccably clean, and crew-cut.
‘Who are you?’ Hitler asks.
‘There is no more Skorzeny,’ the figure replies. ‘There is only...the Übersoldat.’
‘Very well,’ the Fuhrer replies. ‘Now test your loyalty. There is a girl on the altar behind me. She is guilty of crimes against the German nation. Obliterate her!’
‘Good.’
Hitler moves aside, there is a teenage girl on an altar behind him, blonde, blue-eyed and chained to it in the manner of some pagan sacrifice. Skorzeny looks at her with no emotion, only loyalty. He raises his arm, pointing his hand to her as she closes her eyes in absolute terror. A bolt of cobalt lightning reaches from his hand, obliterating her in an instant, blasting her to atoms of dust. Nothing remains.
‘Excellent.’
Skorzeny walks into another chamber, where he receives his armour. Then, he walks back in, clad in heavy, thick power-armour, which is bright red with a white circle on his chest, in the centre of this circle the black Hakenkreuz of Nazism, which is painted over the heaviest armour. He has no weapons but a machine-gun, which he lifts one- handed, although it is obviously heavy for him. The other hand is free to unleash energy-blasts.
‘Mein Fuhrer, what do you think?’
‘It’s perfect.’
Austerlitz
The scene is a vision of Hell.
The town itself is a series of overlapping craters wrought by sunbombs. The area for miles around is a quagmire of mud churned by guns. Broken tanks (some on their sides) and soldiers charred to little more than bones litter the battlefield. The fighting has been going on for months on end. Spearhead after spearhead has broken, flanking manoeuvres and enfilades degenerated into massed frontal assaults. Thaumaturgical fires, oily flames, burn in the ruins of dugouts and trenches. The Austrians lost far less – only 75,000 compared to 150,000 Germans that will never return home.
If ever there was proof that war is hell, the aftermath of the Second Battle of Austerlitz is that proof.
Yet, Roderich Blitzhalten observes, it was a victory of sorts. Rommel was prevented from wreaking further mischief in Moravia and possibly beyond. Of course, Roderich’s men will have to assist in defending Vienna – even the none-Thaumaturgically inclined now know where Hitler means to strikes next, but Roderich will do his best to defend Kaiser and nation.
He will, or he will die trying.
Budapest
The sky is grim. Kaiser Otto looks to it, wondering if he should fight. The lightning flashes like explosions in the midst of the sky, the thunder like the sound of guns. If only there was a better way, a better solution...Otto is young, born in 1912. He’s heard of war and rumours of war from his earliest moments, seen the great morass, the abominable quagmire of the trenches, long after the fact of their use. But there is no better solution where Hitler is involved; Otto knows that for a fact. So, he resolves himself, he will fight at Vienna.
He walks to the armoury, deep underground, each step doleful and tremendous to him. He looks, at the innumerable weapons and armours (powered and non-powered), but they are worthless, pathetic to him, and in any case they will not protect him against the Artefacts the Germans are undoubtedly going to use. He knows of one thing though, the ultimate in Austrian craftsmanship and power-armour, the Armour Imperator. It is a class-Beta Artefact, recently built, never wielded in anger, but powerful nonetheless.
He enters the chamber of the Imperator, and looks, at its wondrous craftsmanship, wrought of pure golden orichalcum and silvery star-iron, nodes of flawless diamond set into it, managing the mighty thaumaturgical energies that give it power, give it life. The Imperator is heavy armour, larger than human, levels of artificial muscle, of orichalcum armour, making it far broader. Its weapons are mighty, missile-launchers on the shoulders, a mighty claw with crackling lightning between its fingers, like an eagle’s talon with a thaumaturgical cannon welded to its wrist, on the left hand, leaving the other, right hand free to wield the Seraph Blade. On its back are gravimetric motors, enabling it to fly despite its weight. The angel wings are a mere decoration.
The Seraph Blade is in itself a wonder of art and thaumaturgy and weapons technology. It is a three-foot long longsword, the star-iron blade designed specifically to cut through both physical and thaumaturgical defences. Its crossguard is made to look like the wings of an eagle, and when wielded in battle it will burn with white, almost angelic flame. Even now, in the hands of no-one, energy courses along the diamond in the centre of the crossguard and through the lattice of carefully-wrought star-iron that forms the blade.
He touches the chestplate of the armour, at the exact centre of the double-headed eagle. It opens, unfolding, letting him enter. he goes in. It’s oddly cool inside, the helmet’s faceless front is opaque from the outside but transparent from the inside looking out. Data is overlaid on the image of the world outside, armour segments, what it can discern about his health, and other things, such as a tactical map of the area, with his position noted.
A sharp pain at the base of his neck – he feels the cool metal enter his body there, then he becomes one with the machine. No need for joysticks or voice controls – mere thought and movement will make it due what he commands. He is the master, not the slave.
He’s going to teach the Luftwaffe force the radar says is heading for Budapest a very terminal lesson.
Vienna
Lukas Edelstein is back home at Vienna, but still...fear has set in, the Germans are pressing toward Vienna with what they say are three million men. Their thaumaturges are weaving storms to disrupt air transport and damage morale – literal Blitzkrieg. And so the black storm-clouds spread across half the sky, the sun dimmed, like the dread power of some dark god threatening to swallow up the sun and plunge this island Earth into eternal night.
The air-raids are happening every night now, but are not so great as the mighty assault that finished the end of the Phony War, nor as terrible, for many are the flak-cannons and anti-air batteries put into place to prevent them from trying again.
If Vienna should fall, then the Germans will spend great quantities of men and ordinance in doing so. And even in death, every Austrian soldier is going to fight to the utmost against the foe.
Tokyo
Kido Butai prepares to sail for Pearl Harbour for anything but peaceful reasons, assisted by one of Japan’s extraordinary assets, the Obliterator. The Obliterator is an immense creature, black as the void, with eyes glowing with the light of Red Giant stars. It is the height of the skyscraper, it is not evolutionarily logical; the most intelligent of the world’s scientists simply believe and theorise that it came from another dimension. Nevertheless, high-level thaumaturgy can control it, bend it to the will of the Land of the Rising Sun. And it shall be the weapon that, if everything works out, destroys San Francisco in the name of the Emperor of Japan.
Berlin
The news has just reached the Fuhrer; Rommel has been driven back from Austerlitz, his armies devastated, losing three-quarters of his men. Not that he cares that much – Allied victory must simply be delayed until the ritual to transform him into a living god has been prepared. Still, if this is to happen, then everything must be sent into the attack on Vienna – Barbarossa, the Artefacts, everything short of the Walküre. And so he is waiting, for the arrival of Thamaturgie-Doktor Ludwig Schrödinger, SS. He is the man behind Projekt Resurrektion, the creation of a true übermensch, a mighty example of the Aryan Herrenvolk.
The door opens, the proud SS officers stand to attention, waiting for the man who created the übermensch. Ludwig Schrödinger. He walks through, and it is obvious what happened to the good doctor. He tested the thaumaturgical formulae and bizarre radiations on himself, and now he has...changed. A charred skeleton clad in an SS uniform and peaked cap, burning with eternal orange-red hellfire. Smoke rises from him, forming a kind of cloak.
It is he who will deactivate the master seals on the cryogenic pod, he who will open the way for the man once called Otto Skorzeny, now only the foremost soldier of Nazi Germany. Schrödinger walks proudly, regally even. And then he touches the pod, activating the sigils of waking and thawing, and then the rune of opening. The pod opens around the figure inside, the redoubtable Otto Skorzeny, almost like a flower. Blue eyes flicker with unholy power, the thaumaturgical energies within have put runes of power inside his very DNA. The faint smell of ozone is sensed, blue lightning crackles on his skin. Skorzeny’s blond hair is short, impeccably clean, and crew-cut.
‘Who are you?’ Hitler asks.
‘There is no more Skorzeny,’ the figure replies. ‘There is only...the Übersoldat.’
‘Very well,’ the Fuhrer replies. ‘Now test your loyalty. There is a girl on the altar behind me. She is guilty of crimes against the German nation. Obliterate her!’
‘Good.’
Hitler moves aside, there is a teenage girl on an altar behind him, blonde, blue-eyed and chained to it in the manner of some pagan sacrifice. Skorzeny looks at her with no emotion, only loyalty. He raises his arm, pointing his hand to her as she closes her eyes in absolute terror. A bolt of cobalt lightning reaches from his hand, obliterating her in an instant, blasting her to atoms of dust. Nothing remains.
‘Excellent.’
Skorzeny walks into another chamber, where he receives his armour. Then, he walks back in, clad in heavy, thick power-armour, which is bright red with a white circle on his chest, in the centre of this circle the black Hakenkreuz of Nazism, which is painted over the heaviest armour. He has no weapons but a machine-gun, which he lifts one- handed, although it is obviously heavy for him. The other hand is free to unleash energy-blasts.
‘Mein Fuhrer, what do you think?’
‘It’s perfect.’
Austerlitz
The scene is a vision of Hell.
The town itself is a series of overlapping craters wrought by sunbombs. The area for miles around is a quagmire of mud churned by guns. Broken tanks (some on their sides) and soldiers charred to little more than bones litter the battlefield. The fighting has been going on for months on end. Spearhead after spearhead has broken, flanking manoeuvres and enfilades degenerated into massed frontal assaults. Thaumaturgical fires, oily flames, burn in the ruins of dugouts and trenches. The Austrians lost far less – only 75,000 compared to 150,000 Germans that will never return home.
If ever there was proof that war is hell, the aftermath of the Second Battle of Austerlitz is that proof.
Yet, Roderich Blitzhalten observes, it was a victory of sorts. Rommel was prevented from wreaking further mischief in Moravia and possibly beyond. Of course, Roderich’s men will have to assist in defending Vienna – even the none-Thaumaturgically inclined now know where Hitler means to strikes next, but Roderich will do his best to defend Kaiser and nation.
He will, or he will die trying.
Budapest
The sky is grim. Kaiser Otto looks to it, wondering if he should fight. The lightning flashes like explosions in the midst of the sky, the thunder like the sound of guns. If only there was a better way, a better solution...Otto is young, born in 1912. He’s heard of war and rumours of war from his earliest moments, seen the great morass, the abominable quagmire of the trenches, long after the fact of their use. But there is no better solution where Hitler is involved; Otto knows that for a fact. So, he resolves himself, he will fight at Vienna.
He walks to the armoury, deep underground, each step doleful and tremendous to him. He looks, at the innumerable weapons and armours (powered and non-powered), but they are worthless, pathetic to him, and in any case they will not protect him against the Artefacts the Germans are undoubtedly going to use. He knows of one thing though, the ultimate in Austrian craftsmanship and power-armour, the Armour Imperator. It is a class-Beta Artefact, recently built, never wielded in anger, but powerful nonetheless.
He enters the chamber of the Imperator, and looks, at its wondrous craftsmanship, wrought of pure golden orichalcum and silvery star-iron, nodes of flawless diamond set into it, managing the mighty thaumaturgical energies that give it power, give it life. The Imperator is heavy armour, larger than human, levels of artificial muscle, of orichalcum armour, making it far broader. Its weapons are mighty, missile-launchers on the shoulders, a mighty claw with crackling lightning between its fingers, like an eagle’s talon with a thaumaturgical cannon welded to its wrist, on the left hand, leaving the other, right hand free to wield the Seraph Blade. On its back are gravimetric motors, enabling it to fly despite its weight. The angel wings are a mere decoration.
The Seraph Blade is in itself a wonder of art and thaumaturgy and weapons technology. It is a three-foot long longsword, the star-iron blade designed specifically to cut through both physical and thaumaturgical defences. Its crossguard is made to look like the wings of an eagle, and when wielded in battle it will burn with white, almost angelic flame. Even now, in the hands of no-one, energy courses along the diamond in the centre of the crossguard and through the lattice of carefully-wrought star-iron that forms the blade.
He touches the chestplate of the armour, at the exact centre of the double-headed eagle. It opens, unfolding, letting him enter. he goes in. It’s oddly cool inside, the helmet’s faceless front is opaque from the outside but transparent from the inside looking out. Data is overlaid on the image of the world outside, armour segments, what it can discern about his health, and other things, such as a tactical map of the area, with his position noted.
A sharp pain at the base of his neck – he feels the cool metal enter his body there, then he becomes one with the machine. No need for joysticks or voice controls – mere thought and movement will make it due what he commands. He is the master, not the slave.
He’s going to teach the Luftwaffe force the radar says is heading for Budapest a very terminal lesson.
Vienna
Lukas Edelstein is back home at Vienna, but still...fear has set in, the Germans are pressing toward Vienna with what they say are three million men. Their thaumaturges are weaving storms to disrupt air transport and damage morale – literal Blitzkrieg. And so the black storm-clouds spread across half the sky, the sun dimmed, like the dread power of some dark god threatening to swallow up the sun and plunge this island Earth into eternal night.
The air-raids are happening every night now, but are not so great as the mighty assault that finished the end of the Phony War, nor as terrible, for many are the flak-cannons and anti-air batteries put into place to prevent them from trying again.
If Vienna should fall, then the Germans will spend great quantities of men and ordinance in doing so. And even in death, every Austrian soldier is going to fight to the utmost against the foe.
Tokyo
Kido Butai prepares to sail for Pearl Harbour for anything but peaceful reasons, assisted by one of Japan’s extraordinary assets, the Obliterator. The Obliterator is an immense creature, black as the void, with eyes glowing with the light of Red Giant stars. It is the height of the skyscraper, it is not evolutionarily logical; the most intelligent of the world’s scientists simply believe and theorise that it came from another dimension. Nevertheless, high-level thaumaturgy can control it, bend it to the will of the Land of the Rising Sun. And it shall be the weapon that, if everything works out, destroys San Francisco in the name of the Emperor of Japan.
You have ruled this galaxy for ten thousand years.
You have little of account to show for your efforts.
Order. Unity. Obedience.
We taught the galaxy these things.
And we shall do so again.
You have little of account to show for your efforts.
Order. Unity. Obedience.
We taught the galaxy these things.
And we shall do so again.
Re: Kamin's Bin
Bohemia
The troops stand around him, Major General Erich Wagner, ready to hear. In fact they do not hear his speech, or at least they are not physically present. They will however hear his words as he speaks, due to the radios they have. The leaders of Operation Charlemagne are around him, Rommel, commander of the Panzer Korps, Von Mannstein, commander of the 1st and 2nd Army Groups, Jaeger of the Kyborgtruppen Waffen S.S, and several other SS commanders, ready to listen.
He prepares to speak, and begins.
‘Gentlemen,’ he says. ‘Let me say one thing first – War is Glorious! From the lowliest skirmish to the greatest Blitzkrieg, I love every second of it, every action, every campaign, every battle from greatest to smallest. And why, why is Mars superior to petty Jupiter and Aphrodite? For one reason among many – war is an exercise of Will. War strips everything from a man, all his petty ‘civilisation’ and pathetic ‘virtue’, transforming him into what he was born to be, with no more between him and his naked will than a predator has. War, in short, creates the Übermensch. And yet it is more glorious even than that, for war is a mighty struggle in which each man must do his utmost to destroy his counterpart in the enemy nation.’
‘I like war, no; I love every instant of it. The whine of artillery shells is music to my ears; the sound of bombs exploding is the most beautiful sound on Earth. The screams of the civilians, the electricity-blasts of Tesla-cannons, I don’t care, doesn’t matter, I take pleasure in death. When Cain killed Abel, when a whole generation died in the trenches, when Blitzkrieg was first unleashed upon Poland, it was GLORIOUS to me. Let men die, let bodies form hills of slain, let skulls be piled in pyramids reaching to the blood-red skies, and I will rejoice in it, the annihilation of all wicked Untermenschen in the glorious name of sacred, holy, glorious War!’
‘War is my church, my temple, made of the carcasses of all those brought low by my hand. And it is a glorious temple indeed, for war is sacred, is it not? My prayer is battle, my catechism is the tank and the machine-gun, my Bible is my smoking pistol. And I will bring you all a glorious Krieg.’
‘So let Operation Charlemagne come to its glorious conclusion, let Austria fall, let the Blue Danube be made red with the blood of the fallen, let the weak fall so that the strong may ascend. Let us be victorious in the glory of war, in its beauty and its power and its utter ascendancy over all things peaceful!’
Vienna
In the absence of Kaiser Otto, Duke Konrad Maximilian Von Eisenstadt is going to speak.
‘They shall not pass,’ he says. ‘That was what they said at Madrid, at Paris, at many other places. And they failed there, to stop the march of fascism, but we shall not! The enemy outnumbers us greatly, so we shall fight as if we equal them in numbers. The odds of victory are low, so we shall fight as if they are zero. Not one step we will take back, and we will make the enemy pay in men and bullets for every last step they take forwards. Let them come, we will endure and fight to the very last before they take one more step on the soil of sacred Austria.’
‘If they have artillery shells firing at us, we will send artillery back to shatter their sky. If they send in tanks, we’ll send in our own. If they try to drown us in men, we’ll set up machine-guns. And so will our enemies meet death. However men, I must ask you some questions. Will you hold the barricades? Will you give all you can give so that our banner may advance? Some will fall and some will live; will you stand up and take your chance? Will you make their blood water our meadows?’
‘YES!’ comes the proud answer.
‘Let them try and cross our beautiful blue Danube, let it run red with their foul blood. Let them try and take the Kahlenberg, let it become a hill of their slain. Let them die at the Hofburg, at the Schönbrunn, at the Belvedere and the bridges. Enemies of Austria, I say this to you – you have all come here to die! Our God is with us, and he is invincible. Our war-machines are ready to crush you under their treads. Our weapons are ready and loaded. You shall never be victorious, never in a thousand worlds. Advance to Vienna, and die at its gates! We cannot lose, Austrians, for we have already earned victory!’
The cheering continues as Austria’s finest prepare to fight to the very last.
The troops stand around him, Major General Erich Wagner, ready to hear. In fact they do not hear his speech, or at least they are not physically present. They will however hear his words as he speaks, due to the radios they have. The leaders of Operation Charlemagne are around him, Rommel, commander of the Panzer Korps, Von Mannstein, commander of the 1st and 2nd Army Groups, Jaeger of the Kyborgtruppen Waffen S.S, and several other SS commanders, ready to listen.
He prepares to speak, and begins.
‘Gentlemen,’ he says. ‘Let me say one thing first – War is Glorious! From the lowliest skirmish to the greatest Blitzkrieg, I love every second of it, every action, every campaign, every battle from greatest to smallest. And why, why is Mars superior to petty Jupiter and Aphrodite? For one reason among many – war is an exercise of Will. War strips everything from a man, all his petty ‘civilisation’ and pathetic ‘virtue’, transforming him into what he was born to be, with no more between him and his naked will than a predator has. War, in short, creates the Übermensch. And yet it is more glorious even than that, for war is a mighty struggle in which each man must do his utmost to destroy his counterpart in the enemy nation.’
‘I like war, no; I love every instant of it. The whine of artillery shells is music to my ears; the sound of bombs exploding is the most beautiful sound on Earth. The screams of the civilians, the electricity-blasts of Tesla-cannons, I don’t care, doesn’t matter, I take pleasure in death. When Cain killed Abel, when a whole generation died in the trenches, when Blitzkrieg was first unleashed upon Poland, it was GLORIOUS to me. Let men die, let bodies form hills of slain, let skulls be piled in pyramids reaching to the blood-red skies, and I will rejoice in it, the annihilation of all wicked Untermenschen in the glorious name of sacred, holy, glorious War!’
‘War is my church, my temple, made of the carcasses of all those brought low by my hand. And it is a glorious temple indeed, for war is sacred, is it not? My prayer is battle, my catechism is the tank and the machine-gun, my Bible is my smoking pistol. And I will bring you all a glorious Krieg.’
‘So let Operation Charlemagne come to its glorious conclusion, let Austria fall, let the Blue Danube be made red with the blood of the fallen, let the weak fall so that the strong may ascend. Let us be victorious in the glory of war, in its beauty and its power and its utter ascendancy over all things peaceful!’
Vienna
In the absence of Kaiser Otto, Duke Konrad Maximilian Von Eisenstadt is going to speak.
‘They shall not pass,’ he says. ‘That was what they said at Madrid, at Paris, at many other places. And they failed there, to stop the march of fascism, but we shall not! The enemy outnumbers us greatly, so we shall fight as if we equal them in numbers. The odds of victory are low, so we shall fight as if they are zero. Not one step we will take back, and we will make the enemy pay in men and bullets for every last step they take forwards. Let them come, we will endure and fight to the very last before they take one more step on the soil of sacred Austria.’
‘If they have artillery shells firing at us, we will send artillery back to shatter their sky. If they send in tanks, we’ll send in our own. If they try to drown us in men, we’ll set up machine-guns. And so will our enemies meet death. However men, I must ask you some questions. Will you hold the barricades? Will you give all you can give so that our banner may advance? Some will fall and some will live; will you stand up and take your chance? Will you make their blood water our meadows?’
‘YES!’ comes the proud answer.
‘Let them try and cross our beautiful blue Danube, let it run red with their foul blood. Let them try and take the Kahlenberg, let it become a hill of their slain. Let them die at the Hofburg, at the Schönbrunn, at the Belvedere and the bridges. Enemies of Austria, I say this to you – you have all come here to die! Our God is with us, and he is invincible. Our war-machines are ready to crush you under their treads. Our weapons are ready and loaded. You shall never be victorious, never in a thousand worlds. Advance to Vienna, and die at its gates! We cannot lose, Austrians, for we have already earned victory!’
The cheering continues as Austria’s finest prepare to fight to the very last.
You have ruled this galaxy for ten thousand years.
You have little of account to show for your efforts.
Order. Unity. Obedience.
We taught the galaxy these things.
And we shall do so again.
You have little of account to show for your efforts.
Order. Unity. Obedience.
We taught the galaxy these things.
And we shall do so again.
Re: Kamin's Bin
Pannonian Plain
He stands, waiting. He’s young, 21 or so, yet was promoted to Lieutenant specifically to go on this mission. He volunteered despite knowing that there was little chance of survival. Idly, he remembers Pressburg, where he grew up, but the fury of his blood, burning with adrenaline, quintessence like molten fire flowing through his body, blocks them, dims them. There is only the now. His mission is to do as much damage to Germany as possible, and he knows what to do.
He knows an old line, a couplet part of a 19th Century poem –
And how can man die better, than facing fearful odds
For the ashes of his fathers, and the temples of his gods
– It matches the situation perfectly, yet he does not stop. The enemy are coming fast; they have broken the fortresses built to block an assault from Bohemia, they have Panzers and walkers and much worse. But he feels no fear. Die or not, his parents and country will be proud. He notes a group of planes coming towards him from the north, hundreds at the very least. The red glow overlaid over them marks them as enemies. Instantly, at his thought, the Artefact-walker he is piloting projects rays of blinding white fire, striking the planes from the sky in seconds, reducing them to mere free-floating atoms. This is a tiny foreshadowing of the wrath he is going to unleash.
Tendrils of white light, looking vaguely like wings, project from the walker, 32 feet high, and propel it into the atmosphere. Sheer manifest will moves him forward, the air around the walker booms as he begins to move beyond the speed of sound. The semi-viscous fluid he is breathing begins to stiffen, and he slows down, beginning to rise above the clouds. Faster, as he meets less air resistance, the sky grows dark and he can see the curvature of the Earth, then he reaches the top of the atmosphere and he can see the stars in the daytime. There is a brief moment of total serenity, the proverbial calm before the storm.
He descends. The fires of re-entry burn around him like those of the depths of Hell, causing a slight pain, as he descends upon Germany, upon the Rhineland. Like a meteorite he falls, stopping suddenly at the top of the Troposphere, above the city of Cologne. Anti-air fire stings him, and he strikes back with three fusion missiles.
There is a flash below, like a new sun being born upon the surface of the earth, and Cologne vanishes in smoke and fire and destroying light. The burning wind, the fireball, the immense pressure wave that flattens everything in its path, they all remove Cologne from existence. Not a single stone stands on another, it is like divine wrath.
A second later, he moves toward a major military base, large as a small city. Three fusion missiles later, the place is a smoking crater. Such glory...if ten thousand suns burst into the sky at once, it would be nothing like the destruction, the utter devastation he is unleashing now.
He drives toward the Ruhr, the old factory-area of Prussia. If the Ruhr falls, then Germany’s industry will be devastated. They try and destroy him, but fusion missiles sweep them aside in terrible explosions that blast away fields and vaporise hills in explosions of terrific power.
They did well to name this machine Thanatos, for that is what he is now, the reaper of souls and men. Explosions damage the machine; he feels them as wounds on his body, agony everywhere as he struggles to activate the damage control machines.
I am become death, he thinks, the destroyer of worlds.
He continues the relentless assault, whole divisions of Panzers rush at him only to be obliterated by rays of white fire. It’s a pity he wasted his fusion missiles, but there are others, many more missiles he has. New missiles spring from extra-dimensional storages, launching, unleashing a veritable hell that makes World War One pale in comparison to it. More explosions, swarms of missiles detach from large ones, incendiaries sweep over forests and towns, burning them to rubble. Poison gases obliterate whole formations of infantry that dare to stand against him.
He yells out the words he has longed to say.
'I am the god of death!' he screams. 'BOW DOWN BEFORE THE GOD OF DEATH!'
He reaches Essen. He’s out of fusion missiles, out of incendiaries, out of chemical warheads, what is there left? Ah, he knows – vortex missiles! They glare like dark suns, building size vortices that devour life and light and matter, disintegrating in blasts of gamma radiation when they are sated. They blossom over Essen, and then he begins unleashing those terrible blasts of white fire which destroy all in their path. In a matter of hours, the city of Essen is smoking rubble.
He moves to Dortmund, but they overwhelm him there. The reactor is overwhelmed, and even as white fire sweeps the sky, the reactor becomes unstable. More missiles weaken him, more tank rounds and artillery, he begins to fail. So, he decides to do one last heroic act for Austria.
‘Overload reactor,’ he says. In a terrible flash, white fire reduces him and the machine to component atoms in one terrible, powerful instant and rains down on Dortmund, starting a raging inferno that burns every last building to the ground.
Such is the cost of victory.
He stands, waiting. He’s young, 21 or so, yet was promoted to Lieutenant specifically to go on this mission. He volunteered despite knowing that there was little chance of survival. Idly, he remembers Pressburg, where he grew up, but the fury of his blood, burning with adrenaline, quintessence like molten fire flowing through his body, blocks them, dims them. There is only the now. His mission is to do as much damage to Germany as possible, and he knows what to do.
He knows an old line, a couplet part of a 19th Century poem –
And how can man die better, than facing fearful odds
For the ashes of his fathers, and the temples of his gods
– It matches the situation perfectly, yet he does not stop. The enemy are coming fast; they have broken the fortresses built to block an assault from Bohemia, they have Panzers and walkers and much worse. But he feels no fear. Die or not, his parents and country will be proud. He notes a group of planes coming towards him from the north, hundreds at the very least. The red glow overlaid over them marks them as enemies. Instantly, at his thought, the Artefact-walker he is piloting projects rays of blinding white fire, striking the planes from the sky in seconds, reducing them to mere free-floating atoms. This is a tiny foreshadowing of the wrath he is going to unleash.
Tendrils of white light, looking vaguely like wings, project from the walker, 32 feet high, and propel it into the atmosphere. Sheer manifest will moves him forward, the air around the walker booms as he begins to move beyond the speed of sound. The semi-viscous fluid he is breathing begins to stiffen, and he slows down, beginning to rise above the clouds. Faster, as he meets less air resistance, the sky grows dark and he can see the curvature of the Earth, then he reaches the top of the atmosphere and he can see the stars in the daytime. There is a brief moment of total serenity, the proverbial calm before the storm.
He descends. The fires of re-entry burn around him like those of the depths of Hell, causing a slight pain, as he descends upon Germany, upon the Rhineland. Like a meteorite he falls, stopping suddenly at the top of the Troposphere, above the city of Cologne. Anti-air fire stings him, and he strikes back with three fusion missiles.
There is a flash below, like a new sun being born upon the surface of the earth, and Cologne vanishes in smoke and fire and destroying light. The burning wind, the fireball, the immense pressure wave that flattens everything in its path, they all remove Cologne from existence. Not a single stone stands on another, it is like divine wrath.
A second later, he moves toward a major military base, large as a small city. Three fusion missiles later, the place is a smoking crater. Such glory...if ten thousand suns burst into the sky at once, it would be nothing like the destruction, the utter devastation he is unleashing now.
He drives toward the Ruhr, the old factory-area of Prussia. If the Ruhr falls, then Germany’s industry will be devastated. They try and destroy him, but fusion missiles sweep them aside in terrible explosions that blast away fields and vaporise hills in explosions of terrific power.
They did well to name this machine Thanatos, for that is what he is now, the reaper of souls and men. Explosions damage the machine; he feels them as wounds on his body, agony everywhere as he struggles to activate the damage control machines.
I am become death, he thinks, the destroyer of worlds.
He continues the relentless assault, whole divisions of Panzers rush at him only to be obliterated by rays of white fire. It’s a pity he wasted his fusion missiles, but there are others, many more missiles he has. New missiles spring from extra-dimensional storages, launching, unleashing a veritable hell that makes World War One pale in comparison to it. More explosions, swarms of missiles detach from large ones, incendiaries sweep over forests and towns, burning them to rubble. Poison gases obliterate whole formations of infantry that dare to stand against him.
He yells out the words he has longed to say.
'I am the god of death!' he screams. 'BOW DOWN BEFORE THE GOD OF DEATH!'
He reaches Essen. He’s out of fusion missiles, out of incendiaries, out of chemical warheads, what is there left? Ah, he knows – vortex missiles! They glare like dark suns, building size vortices that devour life and light and matter, disintegrating in blasts of gamma radiation when they are sated. They blossom over Essen, and then he begins unleashing those terrible blasts of white fire which destroy all in their path. In a matter of hours, the city of Essen is smoking rubble.
He moves to Dortmund, but they overwhelm him there. The reactor is overwhelmed, and even as white fire sweeps the sky, the reactor becomes unstable. More missiles weaken him, more tank rounds and artillery, he begins to fail. So, he decides to do one last heroic act for Austria.
‘Overload reactor,’ he says. In a terrible flash, white fire reduces him and the machine to component atoms in one terrible, powerful instant and rains down on Dortmund, starting a raging inferno that burns every last building to the ground.
Such is the cost of victory.
You have ruled this galaxy for ten thousand years.
You have little of account to show for your efforts.
Order. Unity. Obedience.
We taught the galaxy these things.
And we shall do so again.
You have little of account to show for your efforts.
Order. Unity. Obedience.
We taught the galaxy these things.
And we shall do so again.
Re: Kamin's Bin
Berlin
Hitler is angered by the Austrian attack on the Ruhr, the utter daring, how they dared to strike back at his beloved Deutschland. He knows however, that they wasted a Strategic Artefact in the attack, and as such they have one less to throw at him. For that he is glad, they wasted an Artefact foolishly. But still, three cities – Essen, Dortmund, Cologne – thirty-two towns and seventeen military bases were destroyed in the assault. The devastation wrecked is unbelievable.
But still, Berlin is safe; he has the Reich Defence Grid to help him with that. If anybody could breach it, he is unaware of who exactly could. No, the Defence Grid is impenetrable. He looks at the map, then at the papers, the plans for Operation Charlemagne. It is all going as he has designed.
It is all going according to plan.
~~~~~
Outskirts of Vienna
The Kyborgtruppen advance in a phalanx formation. Scalpel-fingers clutch guns tightly; skeletal eyes shine with an evil, sickly green glow. The brains of the Reich’s greatest soldiers, placed in mechanical bodies to fight for eternity. The science that crafted them was utterly insane, but it provided the Reich a good thing – these undying warriors of steel, their metallic feet crashing on the ground. They advance steadily, feeling no pain as bullets crash off their armoured forms.
~~~~~
Unit 747 advances, targeting data reaching him. Seeing in several varieties of light simultaneously, the thermal radiation all life emits gives him the ability to see the enemy no matter where they hide. He sends some Tesla-blasts from his rifle, obliterating three enemies in an instant. A solitary enemy is left, and fires a plasma blast towards him from its rifle.
The message comes as everything goes black.
VISION IMPAIRED. VISION IMPAIRED.
~~~~~
Sergeant Hoffmann can’t believe it, he took out the...thing’s vision by the looks of it, and now it’s virtually helpless. He fires a three-shot burst from his plasma rifle, right at the centre of mass, and the metal monster literally explodes, flaming chunks of metal scrap flying from what’s left of its chest. A flaming head rolls down towards him, eyes dead. More soldiers arrive, keeping up the pressure on the machines, killing several with blasts of plasma and rockets.
There are too many to hold back however, and so the Austrians keep up a fighting retreat, falling back to the defences further into the city.
~~~~~
Heinrich Schmidt, one of the elite Germaniatruppen, checks the corner. No Austrians. That’s good, his squad will advance. Skorzeny is in the thick of the fighting some roads away, from the looks of it taking on Austrian tanks single-handed. A small café nearby has been ruined, the whole facade ripped apart by explosions. A Ratte Landkreuzer is following behind them, more than equal to any Austrian tank.
They go into the street, anti-tank fire narrowly missing some of them; a Tesla-blast takes that gun out. The Austrian positions are obliterated by massed Tesla-fire, multiple explosions blasting away sandbags and various other components of the barricade. They keep pushing, but a figure suddenly drops from the sky in their path.
The golden armour shines like the sun, thaumaturgical defences making the air around shimmer with energy. The helm is faceless, like a medieval knight’s helmet, without a visor. Schmidt raises his Tesla-rifle, firing it with a force sufficient to penetrate tank armour; the Tesla-blast it projects suddenly stops in mid-air, unable to breach the defences, both physical and thaumaturgical, of the armoured figure. Then he retaliates, sending a blast of pure energy right at a squad member, who is simply atomised by the power of the thaumaturgical cannon.
Seconds later, he’s right at them, sword slashing, cutting through power-armour with the pathetic ease of a master. The sword he wields burns with white flame, setting them on fire as well, cauterising their wounds with sheer heat. Seconds later, Kaiser Otto has killed the entire squad of Germaniatruppen.
~~~~~
Otto Skorzeny laughs psychotically as another Austrian tank is destroyed. Germaniatruppen follow him, armed with their Tesla-rifles, but none can match the sheer natural power of the übermensch. More explosions occur, blasts of cobalt lightning striking from Skorzeny’s hand and his eyes, disintegrating men and melting metal.
The Austrians fall around him in the dozens as he continues his maniacal assault, reducing them to charred skeletons or atoms of dust with each blast of deathly cobalt lightning. The relentless assault of the Germaniatruppen continues as they fight with an utterly insane fury, ignoring casualties and the cries of their own wounded, marching straight into plasma-cannon and anti-tank fire.
If Skorzeny will fall, he will definitely do so fighting.
Hitler is angered by the Austrian attack on the Ruhr, the utter daring, how they dared to strike back at his beloved Deutschland. He knows however, that they wasted a Strategic Artefact in the attack, and as such they have one less to throw at him. For that he is glad, they wasted an Artefact foolishly. But still, three cities – Essen, Dortmund, Cologne – thirty-two towns and seventeen military bases were destroyed in the assault. The devastation wrecked is unbelievable.
But still, Berlin is safe; he has the Reich Defence Grid to help him with that. If anybody could breach it, he is unaware of who exactly could. No, the Defence Grid is impenetrable. He looks at the map, then at the papers, the plans for Operation Charlemagne. It is all going as he has designed.
It is all going according to plan.
~~~~~
Outskirts of Vienna
The Kyborgtruppen advance in a phalanx formation. Scalpel-fingers clutch guns tightly; skeletal eyes shine with an evil, sickly green glow. The brains of the Reich’s greatest soldiers, placed in mechanical bodies to fight for eternity. The science that crafted them was utterly insane, but it provided the Reich a good thing – these undying warriors of steel, their metallic feet crashing on the ground. They advance steadily, feeling no pain as bullets crash off their armoured forms.
~~~~~
Unit 747 advances, targeting data reaching him. Seeing in several varieties of light simultaneously, the thermal radiation all life emits gives him the ability to see the enemy no matter where they hide. He sends some Tesla-blasts from his rifle, obliterating three enemies in an instant. A solitary enemy is left, and fires a plasma blast towards him from its rifle.
The message comes as everything goes black.
VISION IMPAIRED. VISION IMPAIRED.
~~~~~
Sergeant Hoffmann can’t believe it, he took out the...thing’s vision by the looks of it, and now it’s virtually helpless. He fires a three-shot burst from his plasma rifle, right at the centre of mass, and the metal monster literally explodes, flaming chunks of metal scrap flying from what’s left of its chest. A flaming head rolls down towards him, eyes dead. More soldiers arrive, keeping up the pressure on the machines, killing several with blasts of plasma and rockets.
There are too many to hold back however, and so the Austrians keep up a fighting retreat, falling back to the defences further into the city.
~~~~~
Heinrich Schmidt, one of the elite Germaniatruppen, checks the corner. No Austrians. That’s good, his squad will advance. Skorzeny is in the thick of the fighting some roads away, from the looks of it taking on Austrian tanks single-handed. A small café nearby has been ruined, the whole facade ripped apart by explosions. A Ratte Landkreuzer is following behind them, more than equal to any Austrian tank.
They go into the street, anti-tank fire narrowly missing some of them; a Tesla-blast takes that gun out. The Austrian positions are obliterated by massed Tesla-fire, multiple explosions blasting away sandbags and various other components of the barricade. They keep pushing, but a figure suddenly drops from the sky in their path.
The golden armour shines like the sun, thaumaturgical defences making the air around shimmer with energy. The helm is faceless, like a medieval knight’s helmet, without a visor. Schmidt raises his Tesla-rifle, firing it with a force sufficient to penetrate tank armour; the Tesla-blast it projects suddenly stops in mid-air, unable to breach the defences, both physical and thaumaturgical, of the armoured figure. Then he retaliates, sending a blast of pure energy right at a squad member, who is simply atomised by the power of the thaumaturgical cannon.
Seconds later, he’s right at them, sword slashing, cutting through power-armour with the pathetic ease of a master. The sword he wields burns with white flame, setting them on fire as well, cauterising their wounds with sheer heat. Seconds later, Kaiser Otto has killed the entire squad of Germaniatruppen.
~~~~~
Otto Skorzeny laughs psychotically as another Austrian tank is destroyed. Germaniatruppen follow him, armed with their Tesla-rifles, but none can match the sheer natural power of the übermensch. More explosions occur, blasts of cobalt lightning striking from Skorzeny’s hand and his eyes, disintegrating men and melting metal.
The Austrians fall around him in the dozens as he continues his maniacal assault, reducing them to charred skeletons or atoms of dust with each blast of deathly cobalt lightning. The relentless assault of the Germaniatruppen continues as they fight with an utterly insane fury, ignoring casualties and the cries of their own wounded, marching straight into plasma-cannon and anti-tank fire.
If Skorzeny will fall, he will definitely do so fighting.
You have ruled this galaxy for ten thousand years.
You have little of account to show for your efforts.
Order. Unity. Obedience.
We taught the galaxy these things.
And we shall do so again.
You have little of account to show for your efforts.
Order. Unity. Obedience.
We taught the galaxy these things.
And we shall do so again.
Re: Kamin's Bin
Okay, somewhat short but this is just the teaser, if you will.
The Valkyrie Weapon
April 10, 1945
Project Valkyrie Base (Thuringia)
The scientist looked at the papers one last time, and then broke into a run. He couldn’t...couldn’t stay here. Germany was in its death throes, there was no chance....Perhaps the Allies would show him mercy, but after what he’d done here, there wasn’t much chance of that. This was a black project, only the Fuhrer and those involved had the slightest hint that it even existed. He rushed toward the great steel doors, but they were closed tight, the Sonnenrad sigil etched on them glowing a malevolent red.
He remembered what he had done, the experiments...those that had gibbered insanely, those that had simply bled and bled from the eyes until they died, screaming in a combination of agony and insanity all the while. And yet that had not been sufficient, sufficient to fully activate the Machine, to bring it to full and terrible life. He grimaced; he didn’t even want to think about it...
That was when he heard footsteps behind him, the quiet, almost imperceptible footsteps he had learned to associate with one man in particular. Sturmbannfuhrer, commander of the Waffen-SS Division Nachtsonne, and a name he had heard all too often in recent years. Siegfried Adlerssohn. He turned round, seeing the gaunt face, the blond hair and blue eyes, the duelling scars on the cheek, the leather coat and the high-peaked cap.
‘So,’ Adlerssohn said cool and unhurried, like he always was. ‘What did you expect to do?’
‘Run,’ he admitted honestly. What use was lying now?
‘Very well,’ was the reply. ‘You will die here unmourned and I, I will live forever. The Thousand Year Reich is not dead as you believed.’
He paused.
‘With the Machine, it will be reborn.’
Adlerssohn raised his pistol.
A sound like thunder filled the chamber, echoed by a muzzle-flash. A hot pain filled the scientist as the bullet hit his chest, followed by a spreading cold that swept over him as he fell on his knees and lost all consciousness.
He was the luckiest one.
The Valkyrie Weapon
April 10, 1945
Project Valkyrie Base (Thuringia)
The scientist looked at the papers one last time, and then broke into a run. He couldn’t...couldn’t stay here. Germany was in its death throes, there was no chance....Perhaps the Allies would show him mercy, but after what he’d done here, there wasn’t much chance of that. This was a black project, only the Fuhrer and those involved had the slightest hint that it even existed. He rushed toward the great steel doors, but they were closed tight, the Sonnenrad sigil etched on them glowing a malevolent red.
He remembered what he had done, the experiments...those that had gibbered insanely, those that had simply bled and bled from the eyes until they died, screaming in a combination of agony and insanity all the while. And yet that had not been sufficient, sufficient to fully activate the Machine, to bring it to full and terrible life. He grimaced; he didn’t even want to think about it...
That was when he heard footsteps behind him, the quiet, almost imperceptible footsteps he had learned to associate with one man in particular. Sturmbannfuhrer, commander of the Waffen-SS Division Nachtsonne, and a name he had heard all too often in recent years. Siegfried Adlerssohn. He turned round, seeing the gaunt face, the blond hair and blue eyes, the duelling scars on the cheek, the leather coat and the high-peaked cap.
‘So,’ Adlerssohn said cool and unhurried, like he always was. ‘What did you expect to do?’
‘Run,’ he admitted honestly. What use was lying now?
‘Very well,’ was the reply. ‘You will die here unmourned and I, I will live forever. The Thousand Year Reich is not dead as you believed.’
He paused.
‘With the Machine, it will be reborn.’
Adlerssohn raised his pistol.
A sound like thunder filled the chamber, echoed by a muzzle-flash. A hot pain filled the scientist as the bullet hit his chest, followed by a spreading cold that swept over him as he fell on his knees and lost all consciousness.
He was the luckiest one.
You have ruled this galaxy for ten thousand years.
You have little of account to show for your efforts.
Order. Unity. Obedience.
We taught the galaxy these things.
And we shall do so again.
You have little of account to show for your efforts.
Order. Unity. Obedience.
We taught the galaxy these things.
And we shall do so again.
Re: Kamin's Bin
June 12, 2011
Politecnico di Milano
Rezzio Cremona, Professor of Quantum Physics at the University of Milan, looked on at his office. It overlooked the street; a black van was parked outside. Two men walked out of it, looking Germanic, wearing menacing leather coats and black mirrored shades. They walked into the university, and Rezzio felt apprehensive. Who were these people? Then, one of them opened the door. The man was bulky, almost thuggish. His hair was black and his eyes were hidden behind those mirrored sunglasses. He looked at the Italian scientist with the uttermost contempt.
‘Who...who are you?’ Rezzio asked, frightfully. The man could overpower him, kill him, easily.
‘We need you for something very important,’ the man replied. ‘You’re free to come of your own will, but if you refuse, we’ll take you by force.’
The man’s English was hard to place, his accent sounded German but was slightly...off, then he realised that the man was talking like he was a German officer in a World War 2 movie. He showed him his ring – it was a stylised, silver eagle, carrying something he couldn’t quite place. Then he realised, it was a wreathed Hakenkreuz symbol. The man was a Nazi.
Apparently tired of waiting, the man spoke again.
‘I gave you your choice. Come freely or be taken. Your decision.’
‘I’ll go with you,’ he said meekly. He didn’t want to be taken by the likes of these people, but he had no choice.
The man spoke one last time.
‘They’ll never find you where you’re going.’
July 21, 2011
Langley, Virginia
‘What is this?’ the CIA agent, Thaddeus Jones, asked.
‘Your mission,’ the man replied.
Thaddeus was a rookie. He hadn’t participated in many missions, but still...this was a simple observation mission. Three scientists had gone missing lately, one German, one Italian, and one British. And there was the matter of the vanished agent, who had been in Thuringia en route to an undisclosed location and then had vanished without a trace. Thuringia gave a lead, if the agent and the scientists were connected – something his superiors evidently believed. Thaddeus didn’t believe there was much there, but if there was, he would find out what it was.
WIKIPEDIA: SIEGFRIED ADLERSSOHN
Siegfried Adlerssohn was an officer in the Waffen-SS during World War Two, commander of the SS Division Nachtsonne, which was noted for having a particular delight, above and beyond the usual levels of the Waffen-SS, in performing atrocities. The entire Nachtsonne division was recalled from the Eastern Front in late 1943, and was last sighted in mid-1944. Despite this, sightings of Adlerssohn (or a figure matching his description) continued until 1989 (see the Magdeburg Photograph article for more information), providing much speculation for conspiracy-theorists...
Unknown Place and Time
She was screaming, but she remained silent. She barely had any knowledge of a divide between fantasy and reality anymore, save when she was hooked up to the Machine, and everything became pain and didn’t matter. She could barely remember a time without such pain, a time when things had been better, but now she was in darkness and misery and filth and behind bars. She could feel her sanity ebbing away as long as she was hooked up; the waking nightmares were happening more often, more and more. Her heart beat slowly, her very life-force being constantly drained to fuel and power the infernal device.
Oh, the men talked about Sonnenrads and Schattenlicht Projectors and Vril-energies, but it was clear that the device, whatever it was, whatever its purpose, was pure, unadulterated evil. And they thought they could harness it.
They were fools.
She was one of the most unlucky people alive.
August 1 2011
LaGuardia Airport, New York
Thaddeus Jones was making his final preparations in the boarding gate. This whole mission was low-profile, so he was taking a civilian flight (Lufthansa) to Frankfurt, then to an air-force base in eastern Hesse, a legacy of the Cold War, and then via train to Weimar in Thuringia. The announcement for boarding took place, and Jones – under his assumed name of Alexis Smith, of course – moved to the plane. He was in Business Class, his snappy suit and tie was utterly unremarkable there. He wasn’t scared – this was a simple observation mission, what could possibly go wrong?
The plane took off, and in a matter of minutes he was over the Atlantic. Little did he know that plans far longer in the making were reaching ultimate fulfilment.
Politecnico di Milano
Rezzio Cremona, Professor of Quantum Physics at the University of Milan, looked on at his office. It overlooked the street; a black van was parked outside. Two men walked out of it, looking Germanic, wearing menacing leather coats and black mirrored shades. They walked into the university, and Rezzio felt apprehensive. Who were these people? Then, one of them opened the door. The man was bulky, almost thuggish. His hair was black and his eyes were hidden behind those mirrored sunglasses. He looked at the Italian scientist with the uttermost contempt.
‘Who...who are you?’ Rezzio asked, frightfully. The man could overpower him, kill him, easily.
‘We need you for something very important,’ the man replied. ‘You’re free to come of your own will, but if you refuse, we’ll take you by force.’
The man’s English was hard to place, his accent sounded German but was slightly...off, then he realised that the man was talking like he was a German officer in a World War 2 movie. He showed him his ring – it was a stylised, silver eagle, carrying something he couldn’t quite place. Then he realised, it was a wreathed Hakenkreuz symbol. The man was a Nazi.
Apparently tired of waiting, the man spoke again.
‘I gave you your choice. Come freely or be taken. Your decision.’
‘I’ll go with you,’ he said meekly. He didn’t want to be taken by the likes of these people, but he had no choice.
The man spoke one last time.
‘They’ll never find you where you’re going.’
July 21, 2011
Langley, Virginia
‘What is this?’ the CIA agent, Thaddeus Jones, asked.
‘Your mission,’ the man replied.
Thaddeus was a rookie. He hadn’t participated in many missions, but still...this was a simple observation mission. Three scientists had gone missing lately, one German, one Italian, and one British. And there was the matter of the vanished agent, who had been in Thuringia en route to an undisclosed location and then had vanished without a trace. Thuringia gave a lead, if the agent and the scientists were connected – something his superiors evidently believed. Thaddeus didn’t believe there was much there, but if there was, he would find out what it was.
WIKIPEDIA: SIEGFRIED ADLERSSOHN
Siegfried Adlerssohn was an officer in the Waffen-SS during World War Two, commander of the SS Division Nachtsonne, which was noted for having a particular delight, above and beyond the usual levels of the Waffen-SS, in performing atrocities. The entire Nachtsonne division was recalled from the Eastern Front in late 1943, and was last sighted in mid-1944. Despite this, sightings of Adlerssohn (or a figure matching his description) continued until 1989 (see the Magdeburg Photograph article for more information), providing much speculation for conspiracy-theorists...
Unknown Place and Time
She was screaming, but she remained silent. She barely had any knowledge of a divide between fantasy and reality anymore, save when she was hooked up to the Machine, and everything became pain and didn’t matter. She could barely remember a time without such pain, a time when things had been better, but now she was in darkness and misery and filth and behind bars. She could feel her sanity ebbing away as long as she was hooked up; the waking nightmares were happening more often, more and more. Her heart beat slowly, her very life-force being constantly drained to fuel and power the infernal device.
Oh, the men talked about Sonnenrads and Schattenlicht Projectors and Vril-energies, but it was clear that the device, whatever it was, whatever its purpose, was pure, unadulterated evil. And they thought they could harness it.
They were fools.
She was one of the most unlucky people alive.
August 1 2011
LaGuardia Airport, New York
Thaddeus Jones was making his final preparations in the boarding gate. This whole mission was low-profile, so he was taking a civilian flight (Lufthansa) to Frankfurt, then to an air-force base in eastern Hesse, a legacy of the Cold War, and then via train to Weimar in Thuringia. The announcement for boarding took place, and Jones – under his assumed name of Alexis Smith, of course – moved to the plane. He was in Business Class, his snappy suit and tie was utterly unremarkable there. He wasn’t scared – this was a simple observation mission, what could possibly go wrong?
The plane took off, and in a matter of minutes he was over the Atlantic. Little did he know that plans far longer in the making were reaching ultimate fulfilment.
You have ruled this galaxy for ten thousand years.
You have little of account to show for your efforts.
Order. Unity. Obedience.
We taught the galaxy these things.
And we shall do so again.
You have little of account to show for your efforts.
Order. Unity. Obedience.
We taught the galaxy these things.
And we shall do so again.
Re: Kamin's Bin
August 1 2011
Frankfurt
Thaddeus didn’t like the look of this place at all. It was dark and grimy under the moonlit sky, a narrow alleyway he was walking through on his way to the rendezvous point. So many potential spots for an ambush, but it was the shortest way. That was when he heard the sound of soft footsteps. Who? Definitely somebody trying to sneak up on him, anybody not doing so would walk normally. He whirled round, the figure raised a weapon, looking like a concealed rifle, and fired. In an instant, there was a sudden flash of white-red directed light emanating from the muzzle of the weapon, a cracking sound, and then a trash can exploded in fire.
What the hell had that been? Some kind of laser gun or something? Well, Thaddeus definitely didn’t want to chance being hit by it, so he charged the mysterious assailant, adrenaline taking over, and wrenched the gun from the enemy’s hands, in a sudden, lightning-quick manoeuvre. The enemy responded with a series of clumsy punches, but Thaddeus dodged them easily and responded with some of his own, somehow not managing to faze the attacker at all.
There was no time to think right now, only action as Thaddeus kept punching, seeking to wear his enemy down. Seconds seemed like hours as punches were traded, but the enemy didn’t seem to care. Suddenly, the figure grasped his neck with both hands, but Thaddeus kept kicking him, wrenching himself loose from the enemy’s grasp.
Okay, time to put his knowledge of martial arts into practice. A series of kicks and blows sent his opponent stumbling back before he, evidently realising that Thaddeus was holding out and the police were coming, ran away. Over the caterwauling of the police sirens, Thaddeus didn’t hear the black van’s engines starting. He looked at the rifle on the ground; it looked like a Stg-44 with some unusual modifications. There was something else – a silver ring, with an eagle carrying a wreathed Nazi swastika engraved on it. Thaddeus knew, from the moment he saw that eagle, this would be not an easy observation mission.
Unknown location
‘Otto failed,’ the shadowed figure said to the mastermind behind all this, in a dry voice.
‘That is immaterial,’ the mastermind said, cool and unhurried. ‘His actions may yet bear fruit.’
‘Very well,’ the shadowed figure replied.
‘Very soon...’ the mastermind stated in the same tone. ‘The Reich will be...reborn!’
Frankfurt
Thaddeus didn’t like the look of this place at all. It was dark and grimy under the moonlit sky, a narrow alleyway he was walking through on his way to the rendezvous point. So many potential spots for an ambush, but it was the shortest way. That was when he heard the sound of soft footsteps. Who? Definitely somebody trying to sneak up on him, anybody not doing so would walk normally. He whirled round, the figure raised a weapon, looking like a concealed rifle, and fired. In an instant, there was a sudden flash of white-red directed light emanating from the muzzle of the weapon, a cracking sound, and then a trash can exploded in fire.
What the hell had that been? Some kind of laser gun or something? Well, Thaddeus definitely didn’t want to chance being hit by it, so he charged the mysterious assailant, adrenaline taking over, and wrenched the gun from the enemy’s hands, in a sudden, lightning-quick manoeuvre. The enemy responded with a series of clumsy punches, but Thaddeus dodged them easily and responded with some of his own, somehow not managing to faze the attacker at all.
There was no time to think right now, only action as Thaddeus kept punching, seeking to wear his enemy down. Seconds seemed like hours as punches were traded, but the enemy didn’t seem to care. Suddenly, the figure grasped his neck with both hands, but Thaddeus kept kicking him, wrenching himself loose from the enemy’s grasp.
Okay, time to put his knowledge of martial arts into practice. A series of kicks and blows sent his opponent stumbling back before he, evidently realising that Thaddeus was holding out and the police were coming, ran away. Over the caterwauling of the police sirens, Thaddeus didn’t hear the black van’s engines starting. He looked at the rifle on the ground; it looked like a Stg-44 with some unusual modifications. There was something else – a silver ring, with an eagle carrying a wreathed Nazi swastika engraved on it. Thaddeus knew, from the moment he saw that eagle, this would be not an easy observation mission.
Unknown location
‘Otto failed,’ the shadowed figure said to the mastermind behind all this, in a dry voice.
‘That is immaterial,’ the mastermind said, cool and unhurried. ‘His actions may yet bear fruit.’
‘Very well,’ the shadowed figure replied.
‘Very soon...’ the mastermind stated in the same tone. ‘The Reich will be...reborn!’
You have ruled this galaxy for ten thousand years.
You have little of account to show for your efforts.
Order. Unity. Obedience.
We taught the galaxy these things.
And we shall do so again.
You have little of account to show for your efforts.
Order. Unity. Obedience.
We taught the galaxy these things.
And we shall do so again.
Re: Kamin's Bin
A Thousand Earths: An RPG Idea
So, I've created this. A bit different from most nation games, in that you do not play as countries or similar; rather, you play as differing Earths in the multiverse. Yes, this means that instead of playing as one country, you play as several.
How do you connect with each other? Well, you either start with or gain as the game progresses, the technology to create portals from one parallel world to another. A smallish nuclear reactor generates enough power to open a gate 1.5 kilometres wide and high.
Feel free to create bizarre parallel worlds, but remember - no blatantly magic(al technology) allowed other than portals!
Also, do not give your world technology more than 9 years in advance of our own (the 2020 rule). If it couldn't be done today or in the reasonably near future, it's not permissible.
So, what do you people think?
So, I've created this. A bit different from most nation games, in that you do not play as countries or similar; rather, you play as differing Earths in the multiverse. Yes, this means that instead of playing as one country, you play as several.
How do you connect with each other? Well, you either start with or gain as the game progresses, the technology to create portals from one parallel world to another. A smallish nuclear reactor generates enough power to open a gate 1.5 kilometres wide and high.
Feel free to create bizarre parallel worlds, but remember - no blatantly magic(al technology) allowed other than portals!
Also, do not give your world technology more than 9 years in advance of our own (the 2020 rule). If it couldn't be done today or in the reasonably near future, it's not permissible.
So, what do you people think?
You have ruled this galaxy for ten thousand years.
You have little of account to show for your efforts.
Order. Unity. Obedience.
We taught the galaxy these things.
And we shall do so again.
You have little of account to show for your efforts.
Order. Unity. Obedience.
We taught the galaxy these things.
And we shall do so again.
Re: Kamin's Bin
I think that's an interesting concept, but how are we going to interact? Feud over 'neutral' Earths that developed without any life on them? Fight each other with portal terror attacks? What did you have in mind?
"Nick Fury. Old-school cold warrior. The original black ops hardcase. Long before I stepped off a C-130 at Da Nang, Fury and his team had set fire to half of Asia." - Frank Castle
For, now De Ruyter's topsails
Off naked Chatham show,
We dare not meet him with our fleet -
And this the Dutchmen know!
For, now De Ruyter's topsails
Off naked Chatham show,
We dare not meet him with our fleet -
And this the Dutchmen know!
Re: Kamin's Bin
I was thinking feuding over both neutral Earths without humans and NPC Earths where humanity developed, but has not developed portal technology.Siege wrote:I think that's an interesting concept, but how are we going to interact? Feud over 'neutral' Earths that developed without any life on them? Fight each other with portal terror attacks? What did you have in mind?
Also, thinking of this rule to minimise war god-modding:
Describe only your own losses and actions in wars and battles. Do NOT describe the enemy's.
You have ruled this galaxy for ten thousand years.
You have little of account to show for your efforts.
Order. Unity. Obedience.
We taught the galaxy these things.
And we shall do so again.
You have little of account to show for your efforts.
Order. Unity. Obedience.
We taught the galaxy these things.
And we shall do so again.
- Malchus
- Posts: 1257
- Joined: Wed May 21, 2008 7:05 am
- Location: In a chibi-land, eating the brains of H. P. Wuvcwaft.
- Contact:
Re: Kamin's Bin
My old Points of Intersection universe had a similar premise. There were 12 parallel Earths which had mastered the use of naturally-occuring intersection points. There was a treaty between the Twelve, and they set up a sort of neutral diplomacy area on an Earth with an unusually large concentration of uncontrolled intersection points -- the Bermuda Triangle of an Earth similar to ours. They pretty much just waltzed in and set up around the Yucatan, and the natives could do nothing about it since they invaded in the middle of the 1860s. They didn't take over, just fortified the area around the Bermuda triangle into a diplomacy site and left the natives to their own devices since the locals couldn't threaten them.Siege wrote:I think that's an interesting concept, but how are we going to interact? Feud over 'neutral' Earths that developed without any life on them? Fight each other with portal terror attacks? What did you have in mind?
Maybe a similar idea could work for this setting?
Re: Kamin's Bin
Man, that's a blast from the truly ancient past. Care to remind us what the twelve parallel earths entailed? I hope it will further inspire any potential players, since right now I'm not seeing much possibilities except for yet more alternate history here.Malchus wrote:My old Points of Intersection universe had a similar premise. There were 12 parallel Earths which had mastered the use of naturally-occuring intersection points. There was a treaty between the Twelve, and they set up a sort of neutral diplomacy area on an Earth with an unusually large concentration of uncontrolled intersection points -- the Bermuda Triangle of an Earth similar to ours. They pretty much just waltzed in and set up around the Yucatan, and the natives could do nothing about it since they invaded in the middle of the 1860s. They didn't take over, just fortified the area around the Bermuda triangle into a diplomacy site and left the natives to their own devices since the locals couldn't threaten them.
Maybe a similar idea could work for this setting?
"This explanation posits that external observation leads to the collapse of the quantum wave function. This is another expression of reactionary idealism, and it's indeed the most brazen expression."
-
REBUILD OF COMIX STAGE 1 - Rey Quirino Versus the Dark Heart of the Philippines
"...a literary atrocity against the senses..." - Ford
REBUILD OF COMIX STAGE 2 - Advent Rey Returns: REVERGELTUNG
Coming NEVER
-
REBUILD OF COMIX STAGE 1 - Rey Quirino Versus the Dark Heart of the Philippines
"...a literary atrocity against the senses..." - Ford
REBUILD OF COMIX STAGE 2 - Advent Rey Returns: REVERGELTUNG
Coming NEVER
- Malchus
- Posts: 1257
- Joined: Wed May 21, 2008 7:05 am
- Location: In a chibi-land, eating the brains of H. P. Wuvcwaft.
- Contact:
Re: Kamin's Bin
Well, it died before I could truly flesh it out. I really only fleshed out these two (spoilering so as not to take too much size):
I also had plans for one of the Twelve to be from a paraller Earth where Atlantis was a dominant hi-tech civilization; two of the Twelve would share a world (an alternate Earth where all the overly-optimistic 50s sci-fi came true and the world is split between atomic raygun chic NATO and retro Soviet sci-fi inspired WarPac); one of the Twelve was a world where the Chinese managed to expand to the American continent; and another was from an Earth where Neanderthals became dominant.
I've pretty much forgotten all the rest.
I've pretty much forgotten all the rest.
Re: Kamin's Bin
Huh. Evolutionary divergence giving rise to entirely different sentient species would be quite fun to play with. It would basically be federation space opera without the "space", and everyone would conveniently share the same biosphere requirements.
"This explanation posits that external observation leads to the collapse of the quantum wave function. This is another expression of reactionary idealism, and it's indeed the most brazen expression."
-
REBUILD OF COMIX STAGE 1 - Rey Quirino Versus the Dark Heart of the Philippines
"...a literary atrocity against the senses..." - Ford
REBUILD OF COMIX STAGE 2 - Advent Rey Returns: REVERGELTUNG
Coming NEVER
-
REBUILD OF COMIX STAGE 1 - Rey Quirino Versus the Dark Heart of the Philippines
"...a literary atrocity against the senses..." - Ford
REBUILD OF COMIX STAGE 2 - Advent Rey Returns: REVERGELTUNG
Coming NEVER
Re: Kamin's Bin
I'm beginning to really love this idea. We can have totally different races and/or societies, and one Earth where this League of Universes type organization has set up, and an undetermined number of parallel Earths to do our grand intercosmic warring on... It's totally sweet. I'd give this a try, yeah. Man, you could play Victorian Grand-Indonesia, you could even play with aliens insteada humans!
"Nick Fury. Old-school cold warrior. The original black ops hardcase. Long before I stepped off a C-130 at Da Nang, Fury and his team had set fire to half of Asia." - Frank Castle
For, now De Ruyter's topsails
Off naked Chatham show,
We dare not meet him with our fleet -
And this the Dutchmen know!
For, now De Ruyter's topsails
Off naked Chatham show,
We dare not meet him with our fleet -
And this the Dutchmen know!
Re: Kamin's Bin
There's been a similar version floating around this site for ages, where the parallel earths are just different OZ verses.
SHADOW TEMPEST BLACK || STB2: MIDNIGHT PARADOX
The day our skys fe||, the heavens split to create new skies.
Re: Kamin's Bin
I've never heard of it...Mobius 1 wrote:There's been a similar version floating around this site for ages, where the parallel earths are just different OZ verses.
You have ruled this galaxy for ten thousand years.
You have little of account to show for your efforts.
Order. Unity. Obedience.
We taught the galaxy these things.
And we shall do so again.
You have little of account to show for your efforts.
Order. Unity. Obedience.
We taught the galaxy these things.
And we shall do so again.
Re: Kamin's Bin
Yeah, with those two different OZ crossover RPGs you've participated in, the Ask Olympic thread you've read, and two different crossover fics Siege wrote (Sliding Doors, IIRC).
So you aren't more of an ass, the above was sarcasm.
So you aren't more of an ass, the above was sarcasm.
SHADOW TEMPEST BLACK || STB2: MIDNIGHT PARADOX
The day our skys fe||, the heavens split to create new skies.
Re: Kamin's Bin
Ye-es but I always thought that idea suffered of one-up-itis. As in, for most of the time I myself for example really didn't like the idea that Westworlds and OF and TE and TLW for example were part of one singular setting. During the last character-based universe cross-over it already appeared to me as if some of us were trying to one-up the others, and the different "power-levels" (for want of a better term) don't work very well together. Besides, brand new polities would bring to the setting a kind of nonpartisanship that would encourage the sort of crazy sillyness that IMO a game like this needs.
"Nick Fury. Old-school cold warrior. The original black ops hardcase. Long before I stepped off a C-130 at Da Nang, Fury and his team had set fire to half of Asia." - Frank Castle
For, now De Ruyter's topsails
Off naked Chatham show,
We dare not meet him with our fleet -
And this the Dutchmen know!
For, now De Ruyter's topsails
Off naked Chatham show,
We dare not meet him with our fleet -
And this the Dutchmen know!
Re: Kamin's Bin
Wouldn't that just make it a universal-scale OZ World? Wasn't half the reason we've been moving OzW back - from near future to fifties to turn of the last century - was to avoid the technological fights earlier games were associated with? You're essentially going in the other direction with this idea. If the worlds are vastly differently, boom, tech fights and wanking; if they're all the same tech base (whatever that tech level is), then what's gained by dimensional portals?
If I remember the conflict of the last OZU correctly, we were at a park with Teague incoming bombers and shit. Dak's character wanted to fly up, do her superwoman schtick, beat all the bombers, and keep fighting. I think I mentioned that the Tyrax might survive a missile strike but his temporary allies wouldn't so he voted for pulpit back Everyone else was squashily and sittig on a tank and was ready to pull out when the game collapsed. This game and the crossover before it were brought down by the usual reason OZ games die- we're all lazy and posting peters out after some point.
If I remember the conflict of the last OZU correctly, we were at a park with Teague incoming bombers and shit. Dak's character wanted to fly up, do her superwoman schtick, beat all the bombers, and keep fighting. I think I mentioned that the Tyrax might survive a missile strike but his temporary allies wouldn't so he voted for pulpit back Everyone else was squashily and sittig on a tank and was ready to pull out when the game collapsed. This game and the crossover before it were brought down by the usual reason OZ games die- we're all lazy and posting peters out after some point.
SHADOW TEMPEST BLACK || STB2: MIDNIGHT PARADOX
The day our skys fe||, the heavens split to create new skies.
Re: Kamin's Bin
To expand on the last paragraph, the character focused RPGs are different from polity-focused games- they're usually cooperative instead of antagonistic. So they need an actual plot that the players have an idea of, since they're basically writing a joint story. The past couple character based RPs had rough ideas of plots - OZU, for example, had the Bragulan assassin squad sent to chase down Baylors and would clash with the heroes as they traveled around saving (or failing to save) different Baylors - but they weren't really railroaded enough, so to speak. With enough of an idea about and agreement over the plot before them players won't be fumbling around like in other RPs.
SHADOW TEMPEST BLACK || STB2: MIDNIGHT PARADOX
The day our skys fe||, the heavens split to create new skies.
Re: Kamin's Bin
Multiverse, even .Mobius 1 wrote:Wouldn't that just make it a universal-scale OZ World?
I'm not sure that was the primary reason (since we could still have steampunk robot armies and so on), but Kamin did propose '2020 tech' as a hard limit to what we'd be allowed to do. Well, minus the whole hopping of realities, obviously.Wasn't half the reason we've been moving OzW back - from near future to fifties to turn of the last century - was to avoid the technological fights earlier games were associated with?
Just 'cause they're at roughly the same tech level doesn't mean they're the same period. You might go for bleeding-edge drone warfare guys with free electron lasers and whatnot... And I could play as a Soviet steamroller army with 1980s tech coming to plow through your portal with a thousand tanks at a time. Dimensional portals would allow more diversity (why even play as humans? Might as well play as an Earth where dinosaurs or Neanderthals are dominant!) and more technological differences as well.You're essentially going in the other direction with this idea. If the worlds are vastly differently, boom, tech fights and wanking; if they're all the same tech base (whatever that tech level is), then what's gained by dimensional portals?
I agree, and I think this is why recently the polity-based games have on average done better than the character-based games. As much as I like joint storywriting, it's just bloody hard to do with more than two or three people involved, especially when everyone has pet characters and the tech differences are so massive we might as well be playing a game where medieval knights are teamed with airborne guys in modern helicopter gunships. I mean, how useful can the former really be in what will inevitably seems to end up a conflict-centered story?To expand on the last paragraph, the character focused RPGs are different from polity-focused games- they're usually cooperative instead of antagonistic. So they need an actual plot that the players have an idea of, since they're basically writing a joint story.
"Nick Fury. Old-school cold warrior. The original black ops hardcase. Long before I stepped off a C-130 at Da Nang, Fury and his team had set fire to half of Asia." - Frank Castle
For, now De Ruyter's topsails
Off naked Chatham show,
We dare not meet him with our fleet -
And this the Dutchmen know!
For, now De Ruyter's topsails
Off naked Chatham show,
We dare not meet him with our fleet -
And this the Dutchmen know!
Re: Kamin's Bin
A character-based game might work better if it's centred around something which allows for the following caveats;
- All characters are made from scratch, and are both from the same technological level and genre focus.
- The technological level, genre focus and tone are all fully-established from the opening post onwards.
- The limitations of what you're allowed to do are also fully-established from the opening post onwards.
- A vaguely coherent plot is decided upon from the opening post onwards.
'For the moment, mortal, they find the thought of killing me more desirable than that of killing you.'
'And what are their chances?'
'The answer to that is evident in how long they've been hesitating, wouldn't you think, mortal?'
-Anomander Rake and Ganoes Paran in Gardens of the Moon by Steven Erikson
Re: Kamin's Bin
The supervillain thread had plenty of replies, but you flipped out over what the tone was going to be and couldn't make up your mind. Chalk that up to GM failure over "two" and "three". OZU is silly as a crossover if you have original characters - look, here's an NPC you recognize! Isn't that great? Look, you're all from the same tech level, watch as you bulldoze CSW or quake in the might of The Logical World!
Instead of simply organizing it better - "Yo, high-leveled characters. The GM wants us to move on and get out of the park so we can get onto a new verse. Maybe we should take a fucking hint and accept the railroading, because in-verse the story is voiding if the rest of our party dies." I didn't go into OZU with someone like the Tyrax because I wanted to steamroll the opposition, but because I wanted to play off the personality of a galactic conqueror against others who just want to get back home as he realizes he's way out of his depth.
I understand Siege's idea - yeah, character-RPGs as group stories are hard, and take some effort. OZ lacked/lacks that will, and usually falters at any turning point in the story.
The Growing Pains RP had an initial action sequence on the ship, then moved on toward meeting a contact and well apart there. The Total Extinction RP actually finished the main goal of the plot but faltered on the concluding home stretch. The old TLW Expendables RP died when the characters made planetfall. The first OZ crossover RP died when we were in 20XX - we were in zombie town, doing fuck-all with the plot except killing zombies and hoping to get to Washington. It didn't help that RRoan and Noble Ire dropped out completely (proof that even the lack of the most overpowered character in history ironically ended the RP through her lack of presence, not presence thereof - it's the players that matter, and their involvement). OZU failed when we were supposed to be moving out of the park - half the characters were on the tank, ready to go, Dak and maybe one other person pulled out, and it fell apart.
OZ World One had a half-dozen conflicts with Kamin, and then died to lack of interest when we transitioned to O1. OZWorld 50-60's edition died after conflicts with Kamin, but it wasn't his fault - Heretic was still posting, but everyone else got lazy and gave up. OZWorld Steampunk died without Kamin even getting the chance to do what he does best, proving that OZ's problem is just plain lack of interest. And this all not even counting the dozens of RPs that have gotten responses but never actually started, on top of Kamin's six kajillion RP 'ideas'.
That leads back to my point about joint planning, which means putting aside pet character considerations and focusing on moving the bloody story forward and having fun while doing it. It'd take a plot of planning, but it's not exactly difficult to think up solutions - take the medieval knight, and give him a Kalashnikov. Then turn around and put him in a situation where he can shine. It's a matter of balance.
I still think an OZ crossover could work if we didn't view it as some much as conflict-based as a chance for story-telling - that's why the 'characters sojourn the verses' idea won out over direct contact with the verses. There's not much CSW is going to do in the face of the Bragulans, for example. But take that 'save the Baylors' idea with a unified antagonist group and you've got a decent story, if only everybody had enough time and effort to put into it.
Instead of simply organizing it better - "Yo, high-leveled characters. The GM wants us to move on and get out of the park so we can get onto a new verse. Maybe we should take a fucking hint and accept the railroading, because in-verse the story is voiding if the rest of our party dies." I didn't go into OZU with someone like the Tyrax because I wanted to steamroll the opposition, but because I wanted to play off the personality of a galactic conqueror against others who just want to get back home as he realizes he's way out of his depth.
I understand Siege's idea - yeah, character-RPGs as group stories are hard, and take some effort. OZ lacked/lacks that will, and usually falters at any turning point in the story.
The Growing Pains RP had an initial action sequence on the ship, then moved on toward meeting a contact and well apart there. The Total Extinction RP actually finished the main goal of the plot but faltered on the concluding home stretch. The old TLW Expendables RP died when the characters made planetfall. The first OZ crossover RP died when we were in 20XX - we were in zombie town, doing fuck-all with the plot except killing zombies and hoping to get to Washington. It didn't help that RRoan and Noble Ire dropped out completely (proof that even the lack of the most overpowered character in history ironically ended the RP through her lack of presence, not presence thereof - it's the players that matter, and their involvement). OZU failed when we were supposed to be moving out of the park - half the characters were on the tank, ready to go, Dak and maybe one other person pulled out, and it fell apart.
OZ World One had a half-dozen conflicts with Kamin, and then died to lack of interest when we transitioned to O1. OZWorld 50-60's edition died after conflicts with Kamin, but it wasn't his fault - Heretic was still posting, but everyone else got lazy and gave up. OZWorld Steampunk died without Kamin even getting the chance to do what he does best, proving that OZ's problem is just plain lack of interest. And this all not even counting the dozens of RPs that have gotten responses but never actually started, on top of Kamin's six kajillion RP 'ideas'.
That leads back to my point about joint planning, which means putting aside pet character considerations and focusing on moving the bloody story forward and having fun while doing it. It'd take a plot of planning, but it's not exactly difficult to think up solutions - take the medieval knight, and give him a Kalashnikov. Then turn around and put him in a situation where he can shine. It's a matter of balance.
I still think an OZ crossover could work if we didn't view it as some much as conflict-based as a chance for story-telling - that's why the 'characters sojourn the verses' idea won out over direct contact with the verses. There's not much CSW is going to do in the face of the Bragulans, for example. But take that 'save the Baylors' idea with a unified antagonist group and you've got a decent story, if only everybody had enough time and effort to put into it.
SHADOW TEMPEST BLACK || STB2: MIDNIGHT PARADOX
The day our skys fe||, the heavens split to create new skies.