RPG Game Thread

Games and stories.
User avatar
Site Admin
Posts: 2503
Joined: Mon May 19, 2008 7:03 pm
Location: The Netherlands

Re: RPG Game Thread

Post by Siege » Tue Jul 17, 2012 5:39 pm


"This is an outrage!" thundered Sorceress-Major Vuka Rzevski. "You didn't tell us. And you did it on purpose!"

"Well, quite." Field Marshal Grigori Gusarov was his usual cold and collected self. "After all, it had to look good."

"Seven sisters did not rematerialize in the isolator chambers!" bristled Rzevski. The air around her black uniform snaked and boiled with her seething anger. "And you are preoccuppied with the looks of your petty deception!"

"Over seven hundred innocent civilians died as well, Major," Colonel General Yvanna Rachkovsky pointed out. "Where is your outrage for them?"

"They can get in line!" For a moment the sorceress' eyes came alive with flickers of blue werelight, then she got the better of her raging temper - if barely - and the inhuman glitter faded. "This is insanity! The Overcommand has deliberately withheld tracking information from the Left Hand! If we had received the information in time we would have intercepted-"

"But that is the point, Major." Marshal Chkalov sounded sympathetic. "If you had known in advance, the missile never would have made it to Dragograd. A split second decision was made, here, in this room, that it would be advantageous if it did."

"And what if we hadn't seen it in time? What if it had struck His Excellency's palace?"

"It was the most minor of risks." Chkalov shrugged lightly. "We were confident in your abilities to protect us from the worst of the impact. We only needed a few fires and a couple dozen dead."

"'Only'. Rzevski spat and shook her head in disgust. "And for what?"

"To justify the invasion of the East." Gusarov had steepled his fingers. "The ministry of Truth will see to it that it becomes known that is where the missile came from. The Overcommand will send the army into the Khedivate, which will allow us to deplete some of the... less reliable southern garrisons, and keep the public's focus on a just war of retaliation for months to come."

Comprehension dawned on the sorceress. Her face twisted bitterly. "This is a land-grab."

"That is one way to put it. I think the Ministry will go with... 'peace-keeping'." The Field Marshal permitted himself a fleeting smile. The propaganda ministry always liked its doublespeak. "One way or the other, the first combatcrawlers are set to cross into the Khedivate in three standard days. We expect primary pacification to take several weeks at least."

"And what does His Excellency think of this?"

"The President-for-Life has given us his sanction," the Field Marshal declaimed. "He wishes us to know he regrets the unfortunate loss of life, but understands its necessity-"

"Oh, no," the sorceress growled. "Don't you dare hide behind Drago's back. Not with me. I know you forced this decision, Gusarov. It has your fingerprints all over it. You are responsible for the deaths of my sisters. And I will hold you responsible."

The Field Marshal narrowed his eyes. "Is that a threat, Major?"

"It is a promise, Field Marshal. Oh, don't worry. The Left Hand will join your charade. Our kasters will do their duty. But they won't forget this. And there will come a time, Gusarov, be it weeks or months or years from now, when you will be made to remember why they call us the burning will of the State. And then you will regret the decision to squander our lives."


Khedivate rebels behind beastly terror attack!
Egon Drago vows revenge!

Olympic athletes mourn Dragograd dead!
Novimaestrazhian competitors to wear black armbands!

Frontal Aviation aerodynes carry out devastating strikes against Khedivati positions!
Gray Army masses on the border!
"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

It's a cowardly form of politics to use my spouse to beat me. Instead I shall drop the beat!

User avatar
Site Admin
Posts: 2503
Joined: Mon May 19, 2008 7:03 pm
Location: The Netherlands

Re: RPG Game Thread

Post by Siege » Wed Jul 18, 2012 7:33 pm

Message to Premier Hashimoto Lukia, Dai Nippon Teikoku

Mr. Premier,

On behalf of His Excellency I wish to inform you that your offer of assistance is appreciated indeed. In these trying times it is important for those who respect the natural order of the world to stand as one against those who do not. The Empress' help and kind words will not be forgotten.


Viktor Derfflicher
Underminister, Foreign Office
"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

It's a cowardly form of politics to use my spouse to beat me. Instead I shall drop the beat!

User avatar
Mobius 1
Global Mod
Posts: 1099
Joined: Mon May 19, 2008 11:40 pm
Location: Orlando, FL

Re: RPG Game Thread

Post by Mobius 1 » Thu Jul 19, 2012 5:31 am



“How many?”


“You missed. I’m not sure this isn’t affecting your judgment, old man.”

The Director lowered the laser rifle and racked the lever, ejecting the spent gas tube. Sizzling in the rain, the tube fell some thousand feet through the air traffic to disappear into the black waves below. Leveling a flat stare on his boss with enough focus to make lesser men spontaneously combust, the Director fished in his jacket for a spare cartridge and said, “How many, Trejo?”

The only man in the Union taller and more powerful than the Director paused before withdrawing a single gas tube from his pocket and began rolling in between his fingers. The Director held out his hand for the cartridge, but Trejo closed his fist around it. “WHITEROOK, on my orders – which we both know is code for ‘the High Circuit doesn’t know’ – hit Borgia’s compound in the core twenty minutes ago and managed to seize two nukes from the inner compound. Two nukes, Leo.”

“Two?” Bateau said. “Our man on the inside said there was only one.”

Trejo opened his hand and held up two laser shells where there had only been one. “Our man was mindhacked when we recovered him. Had been for a week.” He tossed Bateau the shell and grabbed another bottle off the hood the A-Sec issue cruiser and readied his throwing arm. He straight-armed it into the night as Bateau shouldered his raised rifle.


The bottle shattered in midair, about twenty feet out. Bateau lowered the smoking rifle. “We knew that would happen if we sent a second-tier operative into a Borgia’s backyard. Did we at least get Borgia back for it?”

Trejo mimed brains exiting the side of his head. “And right into our servers. Virgil did a hipside virtual ride-along with WHITEROOK and managed to do a brainrip before Borgia found his back against a wall.” He closed his hand and opened it again to reveal four shells. “Combined with the RingMid nuke we found yesterday and the nuke the Nanyang commandos raid in the Bengal bay to hit is out of play. That’s four. Your turn.”

Bateau handed the rifle over to Trejo and reached into his coat to retrieve a cigar before taking a swig from one of the half-empty bottles on the cruiser’s hood. “A pair of Meisters – Karras and Wall, and yes, Karras is still a dick, if you must know – hit a midair transfer to retrieve a pair of devices that were headed for – wait for it – Dai Nippon territory.”

Trejo lowered the rifle he had been so intent on loading a few moments before. The Ascendancy did business with everyone – even the Novi’s – everyone except the legendarily standoffish Shinigami Empress. The last thing they needed was to get her involved.

After a pause, Bateau said, “It was a set-up obviously.”

“Obviously,” Trejo put in, turning his attention back to his rifle.

“A ruse, if you will. We knew Alexei was a master of this shit back when we worked together to form A-Sec from the ground up. He’d frame someone and let our enemies do our dirty work for us.”

Sighting down the scope of the rifle, Trejo said, “Except we know how it goes down with him, so he’s really just trying to waste our time. We all know he already has the six nukes we wants in his haven.”

“Five,” Bateau corrected, lightning up his cigar with a snap of his fingers. “Kalter’s raiding the Beshaadi privateer fleet for the final device, but as of last check-in there’s reinforcement closing in from the Beshaadi side.”

Raising an eyebrow, Trejo asked, “Virgil playing this one close to the chest?”

The hologram shimmered into existence between the two men, frazzled in the rain, but still distinctly the form of a fallen comrade. Virgil had once been a thin, grizzled mech pilot who had been part of the original five that had forged A-Sec. Of the quintet, Virgil had become a ghost in the system after becoming a casualty in the White Bishop’s rebellion, Sarah had been murdered by Alexei, who had fled to the fringes, while Trejo and Bateau had declared him CHECKMATE – public enemy number one.

“A Beshaadi operative is giving Jake a hard time,” Virgil said.

“How hard?”

Virgil snorted, which was disconcerting coming from an AI. “Let’s be clear. If someone’s giving Kalter a hard time, he’d give us a hard time. Well, maybe not me, but you guys are getting old.”

“So help him out.”

Spreading his hands, Virgil grinned. “Guys, I’ve been handling no less than eight separate campaigns against our less savory warlords, I’m running intelligence fonts on a dozen fronts, I’m working with Nureno and the Circuit to make sure we’re not involved in a Novi land grab the Kushui were stupid enough to give an excuse for, I’m mediating a dispute between ZONA and the Nanyang, and I’m handling half of the shipping economy because some group of morons decided to group their resources to do a grouphack. Oh, and Lex noticed two top tier operatives are spitting distance of each other and has been trying to set off his nuke for two minutes now.”

Trejo held up his free hand. “Watch out, we’ve got a badass over here.”

Bateau flicked the remains of his cigar off the bridge and into the ocean below. “Obviously you’re blocking the signal.”

“Well, gee, I’d hope.”

“No,” Bateau said, motioning a single cautionary finger. “Set up the nuke for a countdown yourself.”

“Because that’s a great idea,” Virgil sneered.

“No, wait,” Trejo said, putting down the rifle on the hood of the speeder. “I rather like Leo’s new choice of BLACKNIGHT and while I’d like to test his limits, I’m not doing it now. If Kalter’s smart, he’ll use the signal as an excuse for a temporary truce to ditch the bomb.”

“So far,” Virgil said, his voice cautious, “We’ve managed to keep a lid on this. Or, at least, a lid between us and a couple other agencies, but if this goes public we’ll have real trouble. And the last thing we need is Nureno on our asses over the event he’s been planning for years being destroyed at the last minute over the news the most dangerous man in the South Pacific has five nuclear bombs. And setting off a bomb in the Bay of Bengal will almost certainly tip people off.”

“So don’t set it off,” Trejo shrugged, stroking his beard. “Just let it fall and give enough time for Kalter to get off the ship and into his Archangel. He’ll be out of fistrange of the Beshaadi asset and smart enough to pick up the nuke on the way down and stealth it out from there.”

“That’s pretty risky,” Bateau said, “but Kalter can improvise if he’s out of fist range and has more options. Do it.”

Virgil looked out over the bay. “Done. Is this what you guys do? Set up an anti-espionage field, try to get drunk, talk shop, and take turns shooting bottles?”

“Just like the good ol’ days, Jack,” Bateau said. “Now let’s see how Kalter handles this.”
The day our skys fe||, the heavens split to create new skies.

User avatar
Posts: 1249
Joined: Mon May 19, 2008 11:44 pm

Re: RPG Game Thread

Post by Invictus » Thu Jul 19, 2012 6:33 am

Tibet, five years ago

Bodhi breathed his first breath in what felt like years, and immediately began to choke.

Unconscious eddies of oxygenated fluid pounded in his lungs, and the drowning reflex kicked in - driving him to panic, to lose control, to abandon resistance for submission.

But that is exactly what they designed it for, he remembered. The memory came to him just as quickly, branded into the walls of his mind with embers of anger. The purpose is neutralization. The purpose is to keep your docile. And he will neither submit nor panic.

He contained his panic and stilled his own mind, and his breathing returned to normal.

Then he began to wonder why he was awake at all.

Sensation! Blurry like signals from a phantom limb, but there was sensation on his skin. Something was breaking his sensory deprivation. Definition began to arrive to his mind, and he struggled to regain awareness of his body. Whatever the reason, it was an opportunity. He had to stay a step ahead of his jailers, marshal his strength and...

Light stabbed his eyes. Bodhi cried out, a gasping choke in the body-temperature liquid medium he was floating in.

Then he felt a sharp prick in his neck, and his body being pulled in some direction. Yes, directions. Another thing he had forgotten the meaning of, so perfect was his isolation.

Novel sensations came to him thick and fast - gravity, smells, the sensation of dry air. He felt himself puking out the life-sustaining fluid in his lungs. He felt the weakness in his knees, the aches in his atrophied joints. It was all too much to deal with, but he didn't have to. Bodhi withdrew inwards, honing the other senses that he was born with, the ones for which they locked him up for.

Yes, at least they couldn't make him forget that.

The Tibetian Kritarchy. The country that was a prison. A high, cold holding pen for the freaks of the world.

The only place Bodhi had known since childhood, and a place he had pitted himself against for no other reason than that he had been there. The mountain-ringed yards, the inmate deathmatches, even the sensory deprivation facilities, all of which were parts of a vast system designed to impede him and degrade him. Bodhi still felt some small measure of satisfaction that the warden-lamas had to resort to the very last method to ensure his compliance.

But now it was ending, and what was going to stop him from exercising his freedom, even for the barest instant before the system crushed him for one last time?

He looked outwards with his mind. The tech-monks who were manhandling him away from the tank were familiar to him, their bodies and minds cripple-locked with a variety of imported mongrel autonomics. There was the presence of a warden-lama nearby, but his mind was even more heavily fortified with augmentics and their own feedback discipline technology. Nothing he could work with.

But there was one presence that was different - a man ridden through with pulsating arrays of colors, with an aura that wasn't like anything he had ever sensed. Bodhi didn't know who it was, but it was the only weak link in all the presences around him.

He gathered his strength and lashed out.

Instantly, pain and shock poured through the prick in his neck, and forced him out of the sanctum of his own mind. He gasped, felt the coolness of the air, and blinked with reddened eyes.

He saw the stern-faced warden-lama, and the stranger who was getting to his feet.

It was a military officer of some sort, but the uniform was green - in fact, more colorful than anything that should have been allowed in this desolate country. His skin was dusky, and mottled with strange patterns like bruised green veins. As the pain and shock continued to pour through, Bodhi watched the man right his beret, his expression moving from surprise to amusement.

"He's a feisty one." The ZONA colonel said. "We'll take him."

ZONA, four years ago

Bodhi felt older now, bulkier, and scarred. He had been fast-tracked through the indentured immigration procedure, and had spent a year acclimatizing himself to this jungle hell. He had watched himself emerge as the only remaining cadet out of his liberated inmate-batch. He had been reassigned, folded, amalgamated, assigned a never-ending series of disposable service designations as the remnants of unit after training unit cannibalized each other. He thrived, not only as a survivor, but also as a soldier.

It surprised him too, the ease with which he fell into the new order. The regimentation was in some ways familiar, but he could never have imagined that he would enjoy such a thing. The colonel was right when he said that service with the Occupation Army was a thing to envy. It offered purpose. It offered glory. It offered a foe less pathetic than mere human weakness to defeat. And it offered if not individual brotherhood, the greater sense of camaraderie before a hostile world. What it did not offer was freedom, even though he was no longer an inmate.

It sometimes struck Bodhi that he had swapped one prison for the other. But at least in this one, the prisoners were in charge. Still, to be imported from Tibet for the value of his abilities rather than the danger of them! To contribute worth to an enterprise worth contributing to! The way the colonel had explained it, it was heady.

A few weeks ago he had finally suffered one of those life-threatening injuries that were so often seen as a rite of passage for active-duty personnel. The medic had brought out the transfusor greenvines, and by the time their mandibles left his skin he was also covered in the branching, whorling patterns of left-over photosynthetic bacteria. Greenscars.

He was on medical leave now, with a permission slip to one of the military district's most scenic recuperation centers. It actually had a lounge, covered in a dome of transparent aluminum that gave a direct view of the distant treeline, which rustled unwholesomely. The sky was streaked with spore-clouds.

"Specialist Bodhi."

He turned, and saluted on reflex. The colonel returned it as he approached.

They spoke of his returning health, and things to do while off-duty, and the missions that might lie ahead.

"Have you even wondered why we do this?" The colonel then asked.

"Do what, sir?"

"Why we choose to strive against all this. Why we do not choose to turn this whole subcontinent into an atomic desert, as is well within our power and remit, and call it a day. Why," He smiled conspiratorially, "We continue our mission."

Bodhi picked his words carefully. "Because the Occupation Forces have no home to go back to, sir. The Colombo Charter is a nullity. The rationale behind our deployment is...inapplicable, given present conditions. Also-"

The colonel cut him off. "A good textbook answer, Bodhi. Dull, but safe. You don't know what I'm asking of you, but you do know the real answer to my question."

Bodhi suspected, of course. One could not come into the system and realize all the myriad ways ZONA benefited from the Green Death zones. But to hear it from the mouth of his patron-commander was a test. Or perhaps only an assurance, if the colonel already trusted him enough to tell him. Insurance, even, if the words were for binding Bodhi to his confidence.

"Colombo is dead." The colonel said quietly. "The nations and parent armed forces of old, the predecessors of the Occupation Forces: disbanded, toppled. Rendered illegitimate. We have not gone off-mission, Specialist, only because we no longer have a mission.

"In time, we have replaced it with something like destiny. The mission now lends ZONA the imperatives of sovereignty. Madness surrounds us, and so we must impose order. A new world order surrounds us, and so we must hold fast to our illustrious traditions and unswerving dedication. The duty we have chosen to to uphold is the living link to civilization's last hurrah. The light dies with us, so we must ever stay the course."

"So we must believe." Bodhi said.

The colonel turned sharply at him. "Yes, so we must believe. Morale, the great slave-driver." But then, he smiled a little smile of satisfaction, and gestured at the expanse of wilderness around them. "And of course, only a fool would abandon ten million square kilometers of weapons laboratory to an authority less duty-bound than ourselves."

With that, the colonel made the motion that he was leaving. "Get some R&R, and get back into condition. You are more valuable than you will ever know."

ZONA, one year ago

His bleeding had stopped by the time they got him to the nanostasis cell, his wounds having closed on their own accord. They were short on manpower, and both Bodhi and the colonel were forced to perform some of the prepdown themselves.

The colonel looked almost rueful. But he said, "Nothing to regret now. My service has run his course."

Marshall Battlewar, one of the Seven, had retired. The colonel had told him that as soon as he had arrived in the night, and Bodhi had understood. A figure as powerful as Field Marshall Battlewar couldn't have fallen this quietly without a lot of face-saving horse-trading. Some of the ex-Marshall's men would get parachutes, if their allegiances were sufficiently flexible - others would have anvils chained to their necks.

It didn't take much for Bodhi to guess which side the colonel, who managed a stable of commandos for urgent, need-to-know operations, fell on.

"But listen, you're different." The colonel told him, sensing his thoughts. "You're still a soldier, someone who will take marching orders from anyone with the right authorizations. There's a chance they're willing to see it that way, if I play it right. And if not, they won't find you for a while yet."

He leaned back. "This is the last time we'll meet. If you wake up, you will have new masters. Serve them well. Redeem yourself from a stain that you were not responsible for. ZONA will persist. The order will persist. Everything you have shed your blood for will still be there for you. Sleep."

Bodhi slept.
"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

Coming NEVER

User avatar
Red Commissar
Posts: 178
Joined: Mon Dec 12, 2011 7:01 am

Re: RPG Game Thread

Post by Red Commissar » Sun Jul 22, 2012 9:52 am


As nasty as the place looked, this was probably one of the better districts beyond the wall. Here, one could find what they wanted, even with those who were mutated. Short of getting yourself onto the island, anything was possible in the "Liberty" Avenue.

Mazuze was passing along the district as he was making his way home from another day at the junk yard, some of his days work tucked in between his arm and body. The different shops came and went as he strolled along the avenue, sliding past the crowds of people buying the goods in the market. While ostensibly intended by the New Hope authorities as a "healthy exercise" in commerce, Liberty Avenue had more or less devolved into a black market.

Mazuze had himself bought goods from the shops here. While "official" shops existed from those that were headquartered in the city, buying from these sources was often cheaper and meant you were dealing with one of your kind, rather than a distant retailer who despised them. In the end though, it was still all the refuse of New Hope they were living off. Much as he was with his own work in the junk yard.

"Hey, you! I'll buy that off you for 800!"

"Hmm?", said Mazuze turning around to face one of the vendors, "Why?"

"It's a good TV!"

Mazuze looked down at his recent acquisition. It was indeed a fairly nice TV, and he was not sure why it was tossed out in the first place. He had heard of some of the more ... particular tastes of the people who lived within the walled city. For all he knew, maybe it was the wrong color, the wrong size, and that was enough for them to get rid of it.

"I think I'll keep it for now", Mazuze said, "I don't have one anyways"

"Fine", said the shopkeep as Mazuze went down the street, "You probably won't keep it in your place long enough before it gets robbed"

Mazuze ignored the comment and went on. There was an element of truth in the man's words though- living outside the walls was bad for many reasons, and crime was one of them. Unless you happened to live somewhere the corporation or Directorate authority had interest in, police was nonexistent. If you were lucky, the community was cohesive enough to protect themselves. Most people however, Mazuze included, lived in communities where such a cohesion was lacking and it was essentially everyone for themselves.

The "apartment", as Mazuze referred to it as, was in the third floor of an old building. Whether it was meant to have been a place for living Mazuze wasn't sure, but it did not have many of the amenities that one would expect from a place of living. It was, however, the only kind of place Mazuze could get without having to deal with the slumlords that plagued other areas of the town.

Mazuze managed to hook up the TV to a dish he had acquired some days earlier. He was hoping to get some broadcasts from other parts of the world, other than the less than honest coverage of the Directorate's media. The Olympics, the Directorate had reported, was boycotted by the mutant nations of Africa. Yet as Mazuze learned later, Azania, among many other nations, were to be present in the opening ceremonies that would come soon. The Directorate had deliberately lied... but then again, who would tell them not to? The mutants outside the walls, on the mainland? Why would they care about what they thought?

His block was quiet, and even on his floor there were many empty rooms now. Many of the former residents had taken up the offer by the Rhodesian Mining Corporation for work. Mazuze was sure many of them were unaware as to why these openings had just all opened up so suddenly, but all of them were in such a desperate need of work that they didn't care about the circumstances. He probably would have gone with them had he not had his work at the junk yard.

When he finally got the feed on the TV working, the quality was poor, but Mazuze was not in a position to complain. The fact that it was working at all was great, and he quickly tested the different stations. He got feeds from the Directorate, Azania, the Congo Kingdom, Zanzibar, even from strange areas he had never heard of before. He saw people who looked far different than he was, disregarding his status as a mutant of course. Some programs were live, other appeared to be animation. All were interesting to Mazuze.

Mazuze got his first peek into the outside world in those hours he spent with the TV. Even though he could not understand the languages spoken on the channels beyond those in the Directorate, it was still interesting for him to see these other places. He saw that in Azania and the Congo, mutants appeared on camera as if it was normal. This was markedly different from the Directorate, where the people were almost always pure humans- if a mutant appeared, it was more often than not a criminal, villain, or something repulsive.

It got him thinking- did anyone else really live like they did here in the slums? He saw footage of people living in much better conditions than he could ever dream of, but he also reminded himself that someone watching the Directorate's feeds would also get the impression that an average citizen lived in the luxuries of the Haven cities, if not the Island itself. Still... did anyone live in the kind of dump he was in?

Mazuze never really gave much thought to the place he lived in beyond just trying to get by. The language he spoke was from his parents, who were too just as unaware if not uninterested in the past. He had only gotten exposure to the past through some of the elderly people in his district that apparently had known people who had lived in a time before the Directorate had even existed. They spoke of a place called Maputo, of people and customs he was completely unaware of. Even though around him there were all sorts of remnants of the old times, he was simply not in the position to make sense of any of it. The older people from his youth had spoken of the first time the Directorate made itself known through the deployments of the PMCs, the creation of the wall, the disappearance of the generations past.

And yet with all this destruction, the Directorate presents itself as the savior of mankind

He didn't even know how the immediate surroundings looked. Only from his time as a convoy trucker did he have access to maps, and those did not go beyond the region where New Hope was located. How did the whole of the Directorate look? How did the rest of the land look? How far across the ocean were these places he saw on the TV?

Mazuze knew he would have to be careful of his new possessions. The dish would have to be carefully concealed in such a way that it would still get a reception but be hidden from observers on the street. The power consumption would have to be carefully managed so as to not alert the electrical companies. He would not mention the TV to anyone so as to not draw attention from those who would want to make an easy break by pawning the TV.

He flipped through the channels back to the Directorate programming. There was a debate on between two citizens of the island, but he could not understand a word they were saying. He had heard that on the Island the people spoke a completely different language than his own- he only understood the expletives and warnings from the PMCs that would pass through the area. Within the slums of New Hope though, the people by and large spoke "Portuguese", what ever that meant. It was, regardless, not the Directorate's preferred language, and one that he only saw spoken on the occasional broadcast targeted at people living in the mainland. He did notice however the Directorate's preferred language was spoken on many of the other channels.

Mazuze now had to grapple with the fact that there was an entire world outside the Directorate. They had hardly been the only power- far from it, it appeared that the Directorate could not even be counted among the most powerful in the world. He saw videos of objects going far up in the sky, of large military formations going through barren landscapes, a deadly jungle... and here, the Directorate continued to portray itself as the remnants of humanity? Maybe in a sense, the remains of a time long gone, but the rest of the world was continuing to live and persist.

For the first time, Mazuze felt like there was something he looked forward to doing after coming back from work. To learn about the rest of the world, to understand things better...

He flipped to a channel which appeared to be a Directorate children's channel. Very basic stuff, to learn how to speak and read the standard language of the Directorate. He felt embarrassed to watch the show, but it was an invitation for him to finally break free of his ignorance and understand his place in the world better. A picture of an animal came up, and the narration showed the viewer how to proceed.


All things start small.

User avatar
Mobius 1
Global Mod
Posts: 1099
Joined: Mon May 19, 2008 11:40 pm
Location: Orlando, FL

Re: RPG Game Thread

Post by Mobius 1 » Mon Jul 23, 2012 6:03 pm


The ocean sailed past underneath the shadow of the plane, a small turbojet that Yakuza smugglers had originally built to make stealth flights from Falvacion to Kushui. It served the needs of the Cevaucian criminal warlord perfectly.

The first body tumbled out of the open side door of the jet, screaming all the way down through its black hood. At such an altitude, his voice was ragged by the time he smashed into the ocean.

Brushing the blood from the cuff of his overcoat, the warlord moved to the next kneeling man and placed the barrel of the stolen revolver against the captive’s hood-covered forehead.

“Now!” he shouted, struggling to make himself heard over the roar of the wind coming from the nearby doorway. “Maybe you’ll be a bit smarter! Maybe you’ll want to tell me whose bomb you were stupid enough to be transporting in my territory!”

He waved his hand at the meter-square casing that five of his rifle-armed men stood over near the front of the plane. “Because we all know that it’s Subarov territory, and we all know that he is king in these waters!” Subarov ground the barrel of the magnum into the bridge of the captive’s nose. “No?”

He moved the gun down and put a bullet into each of the man’s knees, before hauling him up by the lapels and shoving him bodily towards the hatch. Unable to support himself, the man could only scream as he toppled into open sky.

Subarov moved to face the final hooded man, a bulky figure in tan cargo pants and a black turtleneck.

“Anything to say?!” he screamed. At the man’s silence, he continued, “A lot of loyalty for a hired gun.”

“Or perhaps I am wondering who would be stupid enough to threaten a man with his own gun,” the prisoner said, he voice deep with rolling bass, yet supremely cultured.

Enraged, Subarov yanked the trigger on the revolver. Nothing happened.

“My men would not betray me, what makes you think my weapons will?” the hooded man put in.

Hands shaking with trepidation, Subarov raised the magnum and finally noticed the engraving on the barrel.


“Your men, however, are not so loyal,” the captive who was not a captive said. “Their own minds betray them.”

Subarov spun to see three of his five men shaking, struggling with their own weapons as the submachine guns as the barrels began to rise. Eyes were wide with fear behind black balaclavas, gloves juddering as the bodyguards nevertheless brought the guns up to rest underneath their own chins.

Three bodies crumpled to the floor, guns smoking.

Subarov turned and began to fire the revolver at the man as fast as he could pull the trigger. Click, Click, Click.. The barrel didn’t even turn. Cursing, he went for his own pistol, a platinum-plated Nanyang special.

In an instant, the man was on his feet, snapping his bonds as though they were paper before ripping off his hood. One hand encircled Subarov’s wrist and, with a smooth twisting motion, snapped it. The sidearm flew into the air and the man’s other hand caught It, pressing it under Subarov’s chin.

The final two mercenaries managed to overcome the mind lock and had their rifles up, shouting threats at the loose prisoner.

“You!” Subarov choked out. “Why?”

Adjusting his grip on the pistol, Alexei Santiago nodded at the men opposite him. “Going autistic. Smart. We both know that I’ll pull this trigger even if you manage a shot, though.” Shifting again, Santiago whispered in Subarov’s ear, “Of course, I was wondering who would be stupid enough to hijack a shipment they knew belonged to me. All those years swearing loyalty and I find you trying to muscle around behind my back?”

The door to the cockpit slammed open, shattering on its hinges as the vat-grown assassin stepped out, shockblade in hand. With distinctly Central Asian features he obviously wasn’t one of Subarov’s permanent retainers.

“Even if you have gotten this far, General, you have no path of egress,” the ninja intoned, voice smooth.

“You’re not part of his,” Santiago kneed Subarov in the kidneys for emphasis, “crew. You’re from the group that’s been trying to assert itself in Cevaucian waters for a month now. Your features and gear imply you belong to Voloshyn.”

The ninja spread his hands. “We had to find some way to contact you. The theft of an already stolen nuclear device seemed bold enough. Though my employer didn’t expect you to show up in person.”

Santiago cricked his neck, letting the tension flow out of his body. “Judging by your obvious cybernetics and the fact that you haven’t gone autistic like these pawns-” he gestured at Subarov’s remaining men, who were still covering him with their rifles, “-and that you’re still resisting my mindhack means you’re warded, likely with Novi magicks.”

“Then my veracity is not in doubt,” replied the ninja, before raising his blade, and in a single, decisive motion, struck down the bodyguards. Twin gouts of blood sprayed against in the inner hull, and Santiago had to choke off Subarov’s scream with a brief application of pressure to remind the warlord to be quiet, the grown-ups were talking.

“Men like these,” Santiago proclaimed, “are small fries compared to such tyrants as the Dai Nippon bitch and Drago. I’ve seen the world before the calamity, and its injustices are nothing compared to the modern world.”

“You’ll find,” the assassin said, crouching to wipe his blade clean on a corpse’s jacket, “that my employer holds much the same philosophy. His dissatisfaction with the status quo… is much the reason he sought you out today. Perhaps you can relieve us of your bystander and you and him can discuss things like civilized men.”

Subarov began to struggle as Santiago hauled him towards the open hatch, but Santiago cuffed him on the back of the head. “It’s nothing personal, buddy,” Santiago said, “maybe today just wasn’t your day to fly.” He released Santiago’s lapels, and the warlord teetered on the edge of the doorway for a second before the wind seized him and pulled him out of sight.

“Or maybe it was,” Santiago said, turning back to the ninja. “Let’s talk.”
The day our skys fe||, the heavens split to create new skies.

User avatar
Mobius 1
Global Mod
Posts: 1099
Joined: Mon May 19, 2008 11:40 pm
Location: Orlando, FL

Re: RPG Game Thread

Post by Mobius 1 » Sat Jul 28, 2012 7:07 pm

The vast opening ceremony had come and gone. A vast electronic spectacle involving thousands of people, firmly proclaiming Cevaucia's status a world power to everyone watching. Even from a few thousand feet up, Obadiah Thunder could make out the contingents of athletes, each country heralded on a hundred screens that were in his line of sight. Concordis, one of the largest, densest cities on the planet, had come alive tonight in celebration. The blue stars on a black field waved along with the standrards of Nanyang, the Dai Nippon, the Novi delegations, and dozens more.

The Cev delegation entered last, as was tradition for the host nation - some five hundred athletes, the most in the competition. Lexa Carios, the champion archer, walking arm in arm with Sari Deville, one of the world's best gymnasts. Last entered the Dream Team - Cevaucia had always been known for its basketball program, but this year was special. Now it would have a chance to test itself against the world's best.

Everyone was present, except, it was noted, for the team captain. Thousands of athletes milled in the center of the Grand Olympic Stadium, surrounding the titanic obelisk that was crowned by the as of yet unlit Olympic cauldron.

This was his cue. Standing and cracking his knuckles before twisting his neck this way and that, Obadiah Thunder made one last check on his slim jet pack before resettling his grip on the gleaming golden torch that he held aloft in his left hand. A million cameras and a billion eyes settled on him after Alton Nureno stood to proclaim the games open.

Taking a deep breath, Obidiah Thunder prepared for the greatest slam dunk in the history of mankind, and leap off ledge into open air above the Olympic Stadium.

Let the games begin.

The day our skys fe||, the heavens split to create new skies.

Posts: 83
Joined: Thu Oct 29, 2009 3:03 am

Re: RPG Game Thread

Post by Arkitek » Sun Jul 29, 2012 8:50 am



It was entirely true that the Sanctum could have chosen any of a number of occasions on which to send a Messenger to Novimaestrazhia that would have been even more awkward than the present. The list was, however, vanishingly small.

Rather than occupy a helipad for the duration of her visit, Fang had ordered her yacht-class airship to hold station outside the city at a respectable altitude, and stepped gingerly out into the howling winds from the same hatch that the militarized version of the craft would have used to deploy aerines. About a minute later, she landed on the aforementioned helipad before a gaggle of officials (which had been reserved for her nevertheless, rendering the gesture pointless) with a thud. The one that seemed to be in charge regarded her as though she'd arrived via elevator, and she detected a hint of disdain, even, directed at her ceremonial staff. Compounding matters was the clawing, cloying madness of the P.H.E. network passively attempting to get at her metaphysical being. Her mental walls would resist it indefinitely at this level, but it'd probably give her a massive headache before the week was out.

Easy assignment, indeed.

User avatar
Site Admin
Posts: 2503
Joined: Mon May 19, 2008 7:03 pm
Location: The Netherlands

Re: RPG Game Thread

Post by Siege » Tue Jul 31, 2012 11:13 pm


The contrast between the Sanctum envoy with her flowing robes and golden scepter and the drab, nearly featureless uniforms of the waiting Novimaestrazhian delegation could hardly have been any greater. Fang was an intimidating presence, both physically and metaphysically, someone possessed of unknown capabilities that were sure to make a lot of people nervous. But those people were almost all in the Okhrana, in the Overcommand or in the Left Hand. Which was why, in Drago's infinite wisdom, the regime had decided not to send a representative from any of those institutions.

Instead, they had send a bureaucrat.

Viktor Derfflicher of the Foreign Office impassively watched the Sanctum emissary thump down on the landing pad and minutely adjusted his steel rimmed glasses. "Good day. I am Underminister Derfflicher," he began and glanced at his watch. "And you are late. If you are quite done with ze flying about then perhaps we can go inside and get to business, yes?"
"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

It's a cowardly form of politics to use my spouse to beat me. Instead I shall drop the beat!

User avatar
Red Commissar
Posts: 178
Joined: Mon Dec 12, 2011 7:01 am

Re: RPG Game Thread

Post by Red Commissar » Mon Aug 06, 2012 4:19 am

Andean Dominion

The High Priestess looked out over the expanse of the capital stretching out below her. It was a magnificent sight- indeed the most grand city in the continent, if not the hemisphere! And yet there were still those who doubted the strength of the One, He who built this land with his hands and restored to the Earth a people long forgotten. He who freed the people from their prior subjugation and enslavement from powers far away, the conquerers who destroyed their cities and temples and imposed on them an alien lifestyle.

"South America", as the conquerers referred to it, was now a broken land, and it was only in Tawantinsuyu, or the Andean Dominion as the foreigners knew it, that rose like a Phoenix from the fires. How could anyone continue to deny the power of the One when they see the works He created? The glory of their land was unsurpassed!

She turned away from the windows and walked back towards her desk. With a wave of her hand, a hologram projection appeared showing a map of the continent. Tawantinsuyu gave a strong glow on the western coast of the continent, along the majority of the Andean range. To its east over the Andes was the desolate Amazonian Wastes, populated with peoples who were victims of the brutal past. Those people who seek to return to their roots, much like the people of Tawantinsuyu, and yet stumble in the dark with out the guidance of the One.

We would be doing them a favor if we expanded our frontier, only He can change their horrid existence

Beyond the wastes along the eastern coast of the continent was the remnants of Brazil, a nation that had existed before the collapse. Like Gran Colombia, they too were a result of occupation and subjugation by foreign conquerers, but unlike the former were not directly responsible for the oppression of the Andean peoples. They too, however, need to be wiped from the continent, and their land returned to their rightful owners under His guidance.

It says a lot that the people of these coastal cities have relegated the largely "indigenous" populace to the Amazonian wastes. They will be dealt with a way befitting of profligates

To the south of Brazil was a pair of polities both descended from the conquerers, yet having radically diverged from one another. One was the so-called Federation of Platinean Communes, a horrid place that while rejecting the system of the occupiers substituted another created from their land, one that rejects His glory. But they ignored them for the time being, as the conflict with their neighbors would do the Dominion's job.

When the time comes they will be wiped from the land with their heresy, their people liberated from their utopian projects!

The next in the pair was the Patagonian Confederation, a fierce rival of the Commune. They occupied land that He wanted to restore to the people, but they served a useful purpose in their conflict with the Commune. The two would weaken each other sufficiently without the Dominion even lifting a finger.

Their own greed shall be their downfall

To its north was the Republic of Gran Colombia, an ugly remnant of the continent's past, the offspring of its conquerers. It was a place that continued the failures of the old world, an ugly reminder of those that had oppressed the land for so long. They had access to the Atlantic Ocean by way of their Caribbean ports, and controlled a great canal that linked west and east together. Accordingly the Gran Colombians were seen as the main enemy of the realm, and the One prioritized their elimination first.

The government of Gran Colombia had long tried to unite the continent against Tawantinsuyu, but they failed in their blatant attempts to defy the One. And so they will be destroyed in time for their defiance. The division of the unbelievers will provide the Dominion with many opportunities in the coming years, but open defiance can not go unpunished for too long! The authority of Tawantinsuyu must be felt on the continent, one way or another.

The High Priestess saw a message come up on the map, an update from her operatives in the field. She gave approved the request which went by uncontested. The One let it through, as He did with many of her operations. She did not like to brag, but He had trusted her the most of any Priest before and afforded her a lot more leniency than most.

But there was another that she still had to answer to, the direct mortal offspring of the One, the Sapa Inca. He had requested her audience along with other members of his council to discuss the the visit between the Commune and their ideological filth from Africa. It was to be the first meeting between the Commune and a power from outside of the continent, one that could greatly upset the balance of power.

The Royal Guard came through the doors to escort her to the chamber of the Sapa Inca. With a wave of her hand she motioned them to wait for her while she prepared the files to present to the Sapa Inca and his aides.

It was going to be a busy week.

User avatar
Posts: 64
Joined: Sat Jan 14, 2012 8:10 pm

Re: RPG Game Thread

Post by Fingolfin » Tue Aug 07, 2012 6:56 pm

The Man and his Bear

I am a man of the northern arctic. It was in my bones and my blood. My forefathers were inuits who lived in the north, but now I am now a citizen of the Dai Nippon Teikoku. A strange twist of fate, considering my ancestors were part of a nation that was diametrically opposed to the nation I now chose to be a part of. But one does what one needs to do, especially when it came to the affairs of the dinner plate. One needs to eat after all.

Right now, I am serving my new country as a member of the Guild Prospectors; a division of the Guild charged with searching for new mineral sources. Specifically, I was a guardsman, charged with escorting and protecting the Guild members while they search for resources. The Guild has been expanding aggressively into Siberia and the Arctic ever since the Empress Sadako made her aggressive expansion plans into the north. Old Russian cities, seeing a need to have a powerful patron, simply submitted to her will and gained new life as a result. These old cities were now booming and the populations actually increased thanks in part to migrations from other Russian cities in the further west of Siberia. After all the wars that plagued the various parts of the now-collapsed Russian Federation, better to live under a strong arm dictator and have some peace, rather than no peace at all.

Heaving a deep white breath, I starred in the frozen horizon of endless white. The winds were howling and the snow fell in sheets. Yet I felt a strange sense of melancholy; this place was home. I was born here, and I will likely die here, in this great wide expanse of snow. Then suddenly I spied a dark shadow moving in the snow. I squinted to see what it was, then put on the thermal imaging gear to see if there was something in the snow.

Sure enough, it was a bear. And from the looks of it, a fairly large one and a potential threat to the expedition. I signaled my superiors, “Looks like a fairly large bear. Want me to kill it?”

“Da. Get rid of it and bring us the rug!” joked my platoon commander.

“Da. Will do,” I chuckled. Killing that bear should be easy enough. Suddenly, there was a growl and I turned around only in time to see a huge paw swipe at my face, sending me flying to the ground.

And all went dark.

To be continued
There is only war.

User avatar
Booted Vulture
Posts: 955
Joined: Mon May 19, 2008 9:33 pm

Re: RPG Game Thread

Post by Booted Vulture » Sat Aug 11, 2012 5:56 pm

Fourty seconds was actually quite along time for Ando Sohn's overly computerised brain. So he wasted a couple more of them, enjoying the effective of the nicotine rushing through his blood in a way that entirely contravened the user agreement and valid use policy of his cybernetics. Then he carefully extinguished and slipped the remaining half

His orders had stressed the need to retain the nuke in emphatic terms but it had also contained the proviso that the matter had to be dealt with quietly at all costs. Nuclear detonations were in no way dealing with it quietly.

Of course it didn't seem he had much of a choice on that matter. He knew demolitions but cutting edge dial-a-nukes were beyond his experience which was of course why capturing it had been the plan. Adn that was before he consider what kind of anti-tampering devices the crime lord might have added to it.

Attempting to fight Kalter would be equally pointless. All it would gain him was the nuke, with all about ten seconds on the clock.

The hangar doors made a metallic shreiking noise as the slowly rumbled open in response to Sohn's wireless commands.

"What can I say?" He smiled mirthlessly at the cevuacian agent, "Thermonuclear annihilation always puts a crimp on my day."
Ah Brother! It's been too long!

User avatar
Posts: 64
Joined: Sat Jan 14, 2012 8:10 pm

Re: RPG Game Thread

Post by Fingolfin » Sat Aug 11, 2012 6:10 pm

Cevaucian Union

The Dai Nippon Teikokou delegation arrived today at the Cevaucian Union capital and went to the Olympic village to find their lodgings. Sayako looked around and watched the Guild guards escorting them to the Olympic village. The pale faced men wore expressionless faces and were utterly impassive. They gave her the shivers. She turned to her teammate, Lee, and grumbled, "Why do we need these Guild guys to escort us? Are they expecting trouble?"

Lee looked over at the Guild guards, "Well, we should consider it an honor that the Empress thinks our safety and well being is worth the deployment of these guards. Remember that the Kyushu bastards still cause random mischief here and there."

Sayako was sullen. She had heard of stories about how fast and brutal these Guild guards were. Employed in the Special Forces and for other functions that demanded their speed and efficacy, there were rumors that they were a product of advanced genetic engineering and cybernetics. One thing for sure, she would not want to trifle with them, unless she wanted to lose her head.
There is only war.

User avatar
Lelouch vi Britannia
Posts: 51
Joined: Fri May 18, 2012 10:27 am
Location: Ashford Academy

Re: RPG Game Thread

Post by Lelouch vi Britannia » Sun Aug 12, 2012 4:16 pm

Somewhere in the Philippine Sea...

Jack Vasquez (left) and Kara Betancourt (right)

For a former commissioned officer, life after leaving the Nanyang Federal Armed Forces could go in any number of directions. Most simply reintegrated into civilian life in the Federation and took up civilian professions while nominally remaining part of the reserves, though for some, their destinies lay elsewhere. Some gravitated north to Kyushu, often winding up in the employ of the Homeland Defense Force or with one of the various corporate and Yakuza factions. Others journeyed west into the wild wastelands of the Hui Confederacy and the former Kazakhstan to seek out their fortunes along the irradiated desert frontier. Still others went south to the Cevaucian Ascendancy to seek employment with the megacorps and PMCs there. A few were destined to remain wanderers, trapped in that peculiar limbo between military and civilian life, unable (or perhaps unwilling) to fully move on.

LT (ret.) Jonathan "Jack" Vasquez and LTJG (ret.) Kara Betancourt were among the few trapped in that limbo. They were both former Nanyang Federal Navy aviators, graduates of the prestigious Fighter Weapons School (better known as the "Top Gun" program) and among the few awarded the privilege of flying the Navy's absolute finest jets. Their inherently mischievious natures and their collective propensity for various shenanigans did not endear them well to their superiors in spite of their natural talent, however, and they eventually found themselves drummed out of the service after buzzing one too many towers and spooking one too many admirals' daughters. With little else to do after their unceremonious booting back into the civilian world, they somehow managed to establish their own airborne courier service, flying passengers and cargo throughout the Federation in a converted anti-sub plane that was older than both of them combined. In the years since they acquired the ancient warbird, they earned a reputation for being willing to haul anything anywhere for modest fees and few questions asked, though they never fulfilled their former CO's dire prediction that they would find themselves shipping plastic dog shit out of Hong Kong; they still had standards, after all.

Jack and Kara's current job was a decidedly unusual one, as it involved flying an emergency shipment of spare parts directly onto an aircraft transport en route to Kyushu. The real rub was that neither of them had performed an actual carrier landing in the years since their departure from the Navy, and Jack was feeling particularly apprehensive about the prospect, considering he was the one currently at the controls. He wasn't about to let that small twinge of fear in his gut get the better of him, however, and so he steeled himself for the final approach to the transport.

"You sure you're still up for this, Jack?" Kara asked.

"I'm fine, just need to shake off the cobwebs a bit," Jack replied. "It's kinda like riding a bike, you never really forget."

"Yeah, but you don't run the risk of plunging into the sea or crashing into a moving ship whenever you ride a bike," Kara said. "How long has it been again?"

"Longer than I'd like," Jack said as his eyes danced from one gauge to the next. He was traveling at a comfortable enough airspeed to safely and successfully make the landing, and the fuel supplies were still in good shape on the off chance that he had to wave off and go back around for another pass. "Okay, controls are looking great. Cargo's secure, arrestor hook's lowered, seat belts are fastened, tray tables are in the upright position. Let's bring this baby in, shall we?"

"One klick out. Call the ball," one of the transport's air traffic controllers intoned through the radio.

"Roger that, I have the ball," Jack said as he tightened his grip on the yoke and eased the rickety old anti-sub plane lower and lower. One would have expected an out-of-practice carrier jock like him to be extremely wobbly on the approach, but thanks to his firm grip on the controls, he managed to keep the venerable machine rock steady all the way until the wheels finally hit the deck and the hook snagged the cable.


All in all, a perfectly executed carrier landing, the first one Jack had successfully performed ever since leaving the service.

"Well, I'll be, you actually pulled it off," Kara remarked. She waited a moment for the ambient noise to die down as the plane's engines powered down. "So, how was it?"

"Just as I remembered it, actually," Jack said as he undid his seat belt, got up, and started walking into the cargo hold. "Now, you mind getting the door and helping me unload all this crap?"

"Sure thing, boss," Kara said as she undid her own seat belt, got up, and opened the door before going into the cargo hold to retrieve a small crate of spare parts, brushing against Jack on his way out with his own crate. After disembarking from the plane, he handed the crate over to one of the transport deck hands, who then passed it on to one of his comrades. As Kara passed the other crates over to him, Jack took the opportunity to glance out at the flight deck of the transport, which was decidedly more crowded than it should have been, with a considerable amount of combat-ready aircraft prepared to take off at a moment's notice. Perhaps the mercenary crew of the ship was expecting the Dai Nippon Teikoku to attack the transport while it was en route; while it was certainly quite common for the Great Japanese Empire's forces to harass Kyushu-bound shipping, it was rare that such incidents turned into all-out battles. Considering the wars and rumors of wars that circulated around the Pacific Rim on a daily basis, though, Jack certainly couldn't fault the mercs for being cautious.
I ship Eino Ilmari Juutilainen x Lydia V. Litvyak.


"YOU JERK! YOU WOULDN'T KNOW SEXY IF IT BIT YOU!" - Erica Hartmann, Strike Witches

User avatar
Site Admin
Posts: 2503
Joined: Mon May 19, 2008 7:03 pm
Location: The Netherlands

Re: RPG Game Thread

Post by Siege » Fri Aug 17, 2012 11:29 am

Border Regions
Khedivate of Charikar


The outskirts of the Khedivate had been lawless, war-torn badlands for a very long time, but the current level of violence was new to even the hardiest of jihadis. For four weeks the the remnants of the Pasha's army and Mahdist scouts alike had spotted massive dust clouds move behind the crags and hills and dry river valleys that marked the Novimaestrazhian border. The throaty roar of heavy engines and the almost inaudible hum of aerodyne turbines had been an almost constant din. The specific cause was lost on most of the onlookers but it was clear to even the most optimistic dirt farmer that the Novis were massing for some kind of assault. At first it was assumed it'd be just another cross-border raid the likes of which the Overcommand conducted whenever a Khedivati warlord had crossed the wrong invisible line, or the political situation inside Novimaestrazhia called for a public distraction. But as the days went on and more and more troops kept massing on the border it became increasingly clear that this wasn't going to be business as usual.

But it wasn't until the artillery opened up that the scale of the violence became instantly apparent. At the turn of midnight thousands of artillery pieces and hundreds of missile launchers opened fire simultaneously, unleashing a tsunami of violence on a scale that hadn't been seen in decades that swept away the ill-prepared Khedivati positions before their poor soldiers could even think to melt away into the countryside. The bombardment continued for five straight hours, creeping slowly into the hinterland, annihilating border forts and tearing through villages. Then, as daylight broke, swarms of aerodynes descended upon the broken and battered positions, strafing anything that looked even remotely like a threat. And finally, when the dust began to settle, the horizon came alive with the low growl of thousands of engines. Hordes of combat crawlers rumbled across the border, protected by shimmering shields of sorcerous force. Tanks and half-tracks and armed transports surged across the border, determined to pound anyone foolish enough to continue to offer resistance into dust.

It was the single largest assault the Novimaestrazhian army had mounted since the end of the revolution decades ago, and its steel tip was aimed firmly at the capital city, hundreds of miles into the Khedivati hinterland. But it was a long road to Cabool, and it very much remained to be seen if the unwieldy Novi warmachine was at all ready to conduct such a war...
"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

It's a cowardly form of politics to use my spouse to beat me. Instead I shall drop the beat!

User avatar
Red Commissar
Posts: 178
Joined: Mon Dec 12, 2011 7:01 am

Re: RPG Game Thread

Post by Red Commissar » Tue Aug 28, 2012 7:26 am

Where is that pain coming from?

I want to look...

Where am I?

12 hours earlier

The plane touched down in Buenos Aires with a bit of a bump. Slovo shook his head, knowing what his Platinean counterparts would think of his arrival. Azania was not the most technologically developed place, and even the figures within the government could not get anything beyond antiquated vehicles. He could see that even in the Federation of Platinean Communes, hardly one of the world's powers, had more powerful planes for its civilian use.

The sharp break of the airplane signaled to Slovo it was time to leave, and he quickly gathered his possessions. The aides around him followed his example, rousing themselves out of their activities. Slovo quickly got to the door of the plane, where he could hear the airport crew preparing the boarding ramp. Some of aides mumbled that they could not go through the terminal because of misconceptions over mutations, but Slovo calmed them down- this was simply a matter of security.

Once the door was opened, Slovo proceeded downstairs to the bottom of the stairs, where a man was waiting for him. Before he even reached the tarmac, the man welcomed him to the Federation and introduced himself as aide to the Minister of Foreign Affairs, holding out his hand.

As Slovo reached out to the hand, the aide jolted back a little and withdrew his hand slightly. Slovo gave a puzzled look, but he quickly realized the problem without following the aide's gaze. Muttering a curse to himself, he pulled out a pair of gloves from his jacket and put them on, and tried the hand shake again.

"I'm sorry Comrade Slovo", said the aide, "I did not mean to offend we just..."

Slovo's waved off the aide.

"Forget it, I'm assume we are going to the Foreign Ministry?"

Slovo was shown to a plain sedan marked only with the insignia of the government on the door. The rest of his staff filled cars behind them, and soon they were off through the streets of Buenos Aires. Slovo admired the clean infrastructure of the city, vastly different from the seemingly continuous state of construction and development in Azania. The Azanian Party of Liberation had found itself in a precarious position once it assumed power in the nation, the old country of South Africa having emerged from the war and global collapse heavily damaged.

Seeing the city of Buenos Aires for himself, it appeared as if the whole continent may have escaped with less damage than what occurred in Africa, with the exception of the Amazon of course. This meant that South America was not affected by the mutations that other parts of Earth had to contend with.

Taking off his glove, Slovo looked at the most outwardly sign of his mutation. It did not look bad to him, but to an outsider, he could understand why it would cause repulsion. Much of his skin was discolored, and in some places appeared to be peeling away; it reminded him of "zombies" which were popular in some of the old world movies.

The vehicle stopped in front of a small, nondescript building which Slovo knew to be the Foreign Ministry of the Federation. In a marked contrast to their neighbors, much of the Federation's government were housed in simple buildings that did not stand out from the rest of the city. Slovo knew they were sometimes made fun of in the international arena for this, with other countries assuming this practice was more due to the Federation's poor economy. The real reason however lay within one of the Federation's main positions- a "government of the people", one where there was little difference between the government's activities and that of the people around them. The Federation's position was different from that of Azania, where the offices of public service were distinct from other stations in their society.

Slovo was welcomed by his Platinean counterpart, Miguel Guillén, as he proceeded up the staircase of the ministry. Guillén led him to the meeting room of the building, where some members of the staff were already gathered. Guillén began by welcoming Slovo to the Federation and asking about events in Azania and abroad as the cameras flashed and recorded the moment. This was one thing that was the same anywhere Slovo taught himself- the small talk and show for the cameras before the real talks took place.

Once the reporters had their fill and left the two foreign ministers together, Guillén nodded to one of his staff to close the door and leave them alone.

"Well then Comrade Slovo", said Guillén, "I apologize for any offense my aide may have caused to you. Unfortunately it seems the local press will have a field day with this, if not our rivals overseas"

"It is no issue", Slovo said waving away the apology, "I assure you we are well used to this in Azania. I know that your nation is very open minded and welcome to all- I have seen all the pro-Mutant rights positions embraced by groups in your nation. Unfortunately I think this is the classic case of supporting a movement that does not even have relevance within your borders- mutations are rare in your land, are they not?"

"For the most part. With the exception of regions bordering the Amazon wastes, we have not experienced the same mutations in the populace that I hear have become common place in Africa and parts of South East Asia."

"Indeed", Slovo said clasping his hands, "but I am not here to only raise awareness of the mutant struggle, as you are well aware"

"Yes, the formal treaty of friendship between our two nations has more far reaching ramifications. Not only on an ideological level, but a practical one as well. Our trade ministers have already hammered out the specifics of our economic cooperation to compensate for our mutual problem of hostile neighbors"

"We can skip right over that then. I have been tasked by Chairman Levallo to offer the Federation another term. I will explain", said Slovo acknowledging Guillén's curious look, "This is one more on military grounds"

"You do know that the Federation does not maintain significant forces, Comrade Slovo", said Guillén, "At least not in the more formal and organized form Azania and most nations still subscribe to"

"Yes, I am aware", said Slovo furrowing his brow, "but as you said, we must look at this from not only an ideological standpoint, but a practical one as well. Surely you are not ignorant of the isolated positions our nations have in the world. We are a rare breed, and even there I know that the Azanian Party of Liberation and the Platinean Socialist Union are different in their interpretations of our thought. You know though that without the other, our nations would be left to fight our battles alone"

"Yes, as we've always been accustomed to; What's different now?", asked Guillén.

"The world is different from when it was after the collapse. Where there were once stragglers and small city-states, nation-states have once again re-emerged and with them ambitions of expanding their influence. We know from history that it is always the weakest nations that fall to the stronger ones as they begin to fight one another in proxy wars. Supposing that either La Plata or Azania fall, it leaves the other to face the world alone and become even more isolated in the sea of capitalism."

"That's all true, but even if I was to entertain the thought of military cooperation with Azania, would this not provoke hostility?"

"I am not encouraging war or mindless adventurism", said Slovo, "but simply hoping that you acknowledge reality. Where Azania faces the Directorate of Madagascar, La Plata faces the Patagonia Confederation. Your principles, while laudable, is an open invitation for interference from abroad"

"I still do not think..."

"I'm sure you are aware of the disturbances in your rural provinces", said Slovo holding up a hand, "You can not think this is merely remnants of the old order disagreeing you, and that your enemies are not sitting by idly with no hand in the matter. Azania values the Federation as a partner, but what worth is that if you are constantly under attack?"

Slovo pulled out a small piece of paper from his briefcase.

"As I said, Chairman Levallo has tasked me with giving you an offer. The Azanian Republican Army is ready to help train and mobilize the Federation's forces into a capable force to defend yourself from aggression."

"And in return?"

"Nothing, at least not directly. As I said before, the continued safety of the Federation is very important to Azania's own future."

Guillén laid back in his chair, covering his eyes with both his hands.

"Truth be told we were expecting this one day, at least by those of us looking beyond our coastal cities. Personally, I realize the importance of evolving the local militias into a better trained, standing defense force. However, the same opinion is not shared by the Popular Congress nor by President Rosso, and particularly in the case of the latter I have found she is strongly opposed to any attempt to change our defense policy"

"I believe my itinerary calls for a meeting with the president? I could bring up the matter there with her"

"You could try", said Guillén with a shrug, "but even in the best case scenario something like this will have to be negotiated over several meetings. The Popular Congress only convenes every six months, but I'm sure we can find an exception to call them in this case."

"I wouldn't expect to be any other way", said Slovo, "And I believe this arrangement would have to be agreed upon by the individual members of the Federation?"

"Correct", said Guillén, "but I am sure you could try and argue that case to a meeting of the Popular Congress if the President agrees to call one. At any rate, we should get going"

Slovo followed Guillén back to the courtyard where ministerial vehicles were waiting to take them to the residence of the president. Guillén pointed out to Slovo many of the structures in Buenos Aires in its central district, including the city's Congress and central library.

Slovo looked ahead past the driver and saw a vehicle stop in the middle of the road. Before Guillén could tell the driver to take take a detour, Slovo felt a searing heat pierce the side of his chest.

Posts: 83
Joined: Thu Oct 29, 2009 3:03 am

Re: RPG Game Thread

Post by Arkitek » Tue Sep 04, 2012 5:01 pm

Holy Ministry of Truth - We have ALL the news

World News
HM Public Health: Olympics well under way in Cevaucia -- HM Truth: In a positively shocking turn of events, Novimaestrazhia invades Khedivate of Charikar following missile attack -- HM Social Engineering: Billions estimated dead -- HM Truth: The adept responsible for the previous statement has been sacked -- HM Truth: Correction; Tens of thousands estimated dead -- HM Truth: THE LORDS' MESSENGER, Fang has been dispatched to Novimaestrazhia to discuss the invasion --

National News
HM National Policy: The Sanctum will not be sending delegates to the Cevaucian Olympics -- HM Truth: THE LORDS' APPOINTED, the Patriarch, cites failure to acknowledge legitimacy of magic as a natural advantage --

Local News
HM Social Engineering: You will be visited by THE LORDS' MESSENGER, Snow today -- HM Social Engineering: Rejoice and be glad -- HM Social Engineering: THE LORDS' MESSENGER, Snow, will bring cupcakes to the Zone public square -- HM Public Mobility: Cars are really, really illegal--unless you get one of these permits -- HM Public Mobility: Then you can have them, just not drive them -- HM Truth: THE LORDS' MESSENGER Mallard has caused a storm in accordance with the will of the Gods -- HM Meteorology: Just get inside already before it spawns an ice golem or something --

User avatar
Lelouch vi Britannia
Posts: 51
Joined: Fri May 18, 2012 10:27 am
Location: Ashford Academy

Re: RPG Game Thread

Post by Lelouch vi Britannia » Sun Nov 11, 2012 8:15 am

Tsuiki Air Field
Tsuiki, Fukuoka Prefecture, Kyushu


Tsuiki Air Field's history was a tumultuous one, even by the standards of the Japanese Civil War. One of the first bases to fall to the Kyushu rebels, it gained substantial tactical and strategic importance by virtue of being one of the few airfields under the control of the rebels. With only a few pilots and aircraft to its name in the early days of the Civil War, the nascent Homeland Air Defense Force found itself stretched thin in the defense of Kyushu; until the arrival of mercenary pilots and refurbished aircraft from Nanyang, Cevaucia, and elsewhere along the Pacific Rim, the overworked pilots and increasingly worn-out aircraft based at Tsuiki were among the few things standing between Kyushu's continued existence and total annihilation at the hands of the ascendant Dai Nippon Teikoku. With the continued influx of men and materiel and the eventual stabilization of the Kyushu front, Tsuiki also became a staging point for offensive operations against the Grand Japanese Empire, with Kyushu fighters based there launching routine strikes against Imperial positions in the Chugoku region and the would-be no-man's-land of Shikoku. Even with the cessation of overt hostilities, work at Tsuiki never ceased; as the Homeland Air Defense Force licked its wounds and rebuilt, its best pilots and most advanced aircraft were deployed here, forming an integral part of the first and last line of defense against future Imperial aggression.

Rika Kurono (left) and Natsuki Tojo (right)

"Mercenaries," 1st Lieutenant Rika Kurono remarked idly as she paced along the flight line, inspecting the latest consignment of second-hand fighters to arrive from Nanyang. "Do we really need their scum?"

"Don't be so quick to dismiss them out of hand," Lieutenant Kurono's companion, Captain Natsuki Tojo, retorted. "Their scum, as you so derisively put it, were what helped save our young nation back in the days of the Civil War, and even today they're still important to our defense."

"You give them way too much credit," Lt. Kurono said. "Who was holding the line before the mercenaries finally started coming?"

"You're quick to forget just how dire the situation was back in those days," Capt. Tojo shot back once more. "We could have shot down a hundred of their planes for every one of ours shot down, killed a hundred of their pilots for every one of ours killed, and we still would have lost by virtue of sheer attrition. The few squadrons we were able to scrape together were constantly on the verge of total collapse. It was only by the grace of our benefactors in the Ascendancy and the Federation that we're not struggling under the yoke of Imperial oppression today."

"Say what you must, but I still have severe misgivings about leaving so much of the responsibility for our defense in the hands of foreigners."

"Look, the simple fact of the matter is that without these mercenaries, the Homeland Defense Force simply lacks the strength needed to stage a credible defense of this island. We can't rely on the prefectural militias, the zaibatsu, or the Yakuza to do their parts. Hell, most of them would be perfectly willing to leave us hanging out to dry given half a chance." Capt. Tojo paused for a moment to size up one of the fighters. "In the end, that's what this whole sad situation comes down to. Politics. Nothing but a bunch of short-sighted fools, freaks, and felons preoccupied with that disgusting squabble over who gets the largest piece of the pie even as the specter of Imperial oppression looms over their collective shoulders."


Meanwhile, somewhere over the Philippine Sea...


The Crusader was a fighter with a long and storied history originating in the early days of the Nanyang Federation's aerospace industry. Despite earning a reputation among novice Federal Navy and Marine Corps pilots for being difficult to fly, their more experienced comrades learned to value the Crusader for its maneuverability, which they utilized to devastating effect in various skirmishes against marauding DPRC fighters; it also proved to be a capable close air support craft, and a dedicated ground-attack variant went on to achieve similar success with the Federal Armed Forces. The Crusader was the favored mount of the first Top Gun alumni, and its association with the program was such that it continued to be utilized as an aggressor craft by Top Gun instructors long after its retirement from front-line service. Those aircraft that weren't passed on to the aggressor squadrons were often transferred to PMCs or to foreign governments after receiving extensive refurbishment and upgrades, including Kyushu and the various PMCs that did business with that country.

Mercenary-piloted Crusaders were a relatively common sight over the waters of the Philippine Sea, launching at regular intervals from aircraft transports bound for Kyushu to keep watch for Imperial Japanese commerce raiders. Due to its light weight relative to other carrier-borne fighters, the Crusader was one of the few aircraft that could be safely operated off the transports, which were often repurposed ex-Nanyang or ex-Cevaucian light carriers incapable of launching heavier aircraft. The sheer extent of the upgrades performed on these venerable warbirds made them capable of taking on the latest and greatest of the Dai Nippon Teikoku's war machines; however, no amount of upgrades could serve as a substitute for pilot skill, as the following encounter would demonstrate...

"Contact, 20 left at 30 miles, 900 knots closure. You hear that?"

"Roger, I've got radar contact."

"I'll get a visual ID. You hook 'em, and I'll clean 'em and fry 'em."

Christina Makinami (left) and Elizabeth Montero (right)

Up until the sudden appearance of a bogey on the radar, it was shaping up to be yet another routine sweep for Christina "Moonbeam" Makinami and Elizabeth "Jackrabbit" Montero, the two mercenary pilots currently saddled with patrol duty. Elizabeth in particular could barely contain her excitement as she reported the sighting back to base. "Silvana, Silvana, this is Jackrabbit. I've got an inbound bogey, heading 2-7-0 at ten miles, 900 knots closure."

"Jackrabbit, take angels ten, left 3-0."

Christina scrutinized her radar display to check for additional contacts. "Jackrabbit, you see a trailer?"

"Negative, Moonbeam. Looks like he's a single. I'm gonna go head-to-head with him."

"Take it easy, Jackrabbit, I got a bad feeling about this. I'll break high and right, see if he's really alone."

Christina promptly broke formation and took her craft up to a higher altitude to get a better perspective of the playing field, leaving Elizabeth to continue on her previous course. Elizabeth checked her own radar display. "I got a thousand knots closure, coming right at me. Let's see what's on this guy's mind..." she trailed off, only to be taken aback by the sudden appearance of a second bogey. "Holy shit, there's two of 'em!" She tried to get a glance at the two bogeys as they zipped past her plane. "Viper Zeroes? What are they doing this far out?"


The Viper Zero, a multirole fighter jointly designed with one of the Nanyang Federation's major aerospace firms, was just starting to enter service with the Japanese Air Force in large numbers when the Civil War broke out. While a few entered the possession of the Kyushu rebels, the majority remained with the Dai Nippon Teikoku, where they formed the backbone of the nascent Imperial air arm. With the advent of newer fighters, Viper Zeroes in Imperial service were relegated from air superiority to other roles. While the Viper Zero's long range and heavy payload made it particularly suited for the maritime patrol and strike roles, it was still considered rather unusual for them to be spotted this far out over the Philippine Sea; high-endurance patrols were typically left to much heavier craft.

Elizabeth pulled her Crusader into an Immelmann turn in order to pursue the two Viper Zeroes, which were headed straight for her wayward wingwoman. "Moonbeam, you've got Viper One. I've got Viper Two."

Meanwhile, Christina had already made contact with one of the Viper Zeroes, though she was having a bit of a tough time trying to track its movements. "I lost him in the sun!" She frantically looked around, trying to reacquire her target; soon enough, she caught the Imperial fighter, just as it was about to maneuver right onto her six. "Shit, he's coming around, he's coming around! Damn it, this bogey's all over me!"

While Christina was trying to shake off the Viper Zero, Elizabeth had successfully managed to get the drop on the other Imperial fighter and was ready to go right for missile lock. "Let's see if I can scare this guy out of here," she said to herself as she adjusted her sensors. Normally at this close range, she would use her Crusader's IRST system for target acquisition prior to shoving a heatseeker up her opponent's tailpipe, but as the goal was to spook her opponent, she decided to light up the bogey with active radar to provoke a response from her opponent's radar warning receiver. "Come on, lock up, baby, lock up, baby, lock up..."

After a second of lag as she waited for her radar to acquire the target, Elizabeth was finally greeted by the high-pitched tone of a successful missile lock. It took another two seconds before the pilot of the Viper Zero finally decided to bug out, turning sharply to exit the area as quickly as possible. "Silvana, this is Jackrabbit. Viper Two is headed home," she reported. She then started to maneuver her craft towards Christina's position in order to help out her beleaguered wingwoman, who was now the target of a successful missile lock herself...

"The hell is this shit? This guy's engaging me!" Christina muttered to herself as she tried to block out the piercing whine of her plane's own radar warning receiver. "Damn it, Silvana! This is Moonbeam! This bogey's all over me! He's got missile lock on me! Do I have permission to fire?"

"Do not fire until fired upon!" the canned reply of the transport's CAG came in over the radio, adding to Christina's mounting frustration as she kept trying to shake off the bogey, only for it to match her move for move. Just then, Elizabeth's Crusader came in right over the heads of both Christina and her opponent, with Elizabeth "The Viper's in perfect firing position, but he'd have done it a long time ago," Elizabeth remarked to herself as she visually tracked the Viper Zero's movements. "Guy's just trying to piss us off."

"Jackrabbit, get down here and get this dickhead off my ass!" Christina pleaded.

"Take it easy, Moonbeam," Elizabeth responded. "Take it back hard right, help me engage. I'm going in."

At once, Christina took her Crusader into a sharp right turn, with the Viper Zero following her on cue...and presenting its rear directly to Elizabeth in the process. She was quick to exploit this opportunity, sneaking directly onto her opponent's 6:00 with the bogey seemingly none the wiser. "If I can't shoot the bastard down, let's see if I can at least have a little fun with him," Elizabeth muttered to herself as she kept creeping up on the Viper Zero.

Apparently, Elizabeth's definition of "fun" was flying inverted over her adversary, with only a few inches of clearance between their vertical stabilizers. Needless to say, the Viper Zero pilot was spooked when he looked up to see Elizabeth's Crusader holding steady right above his aircraft. Elizabeth took the opportunity to flip off the enemy pilot before producing a compact digital camera from her flight suit; after a second of adjusting the camera's settings and zooming in on her hapless subject, she took a picture, memorializing what could possibly be a once-in-a-lifetime encounter.

(Kinda like this, but with an F-8 on top instead)

Christina looked back to see if the Viper Zero was still tailing her and spotted her wingwoman flying inverted over the enemy aircraft. "Is this your idea of fun, Jackrabbit?" she asked Elizabeth over a secure channel.

Elizabeth checked her camera to see if she obtained the shot she wanted. "This is a great shot, Moonbeam," she replied. "I should be a photographer." With that, she disengaged from the Viper Zero by rolling away from the enemy, returning to upright flight. The enemy pilot, still a bit bewildered and confused by what had just happened, chose to bug out shortly afterwards.

"Alright, Moonbeam, your tail's clear," Elizabeth said. "Viper One has bugged out. Let's head home."

"Starting to run low on fuel anyway," Christina replied as she double-checked her fuel gauge. "Yeah, let's RTB. Had enough excitement for today."

Their patrol finished, Christina and Elizabeth set their course for their home carrier. They'd have a cool story to tell the other pilots after landing...
I ship Eino Ilmari Juutilainen x Lydia V. Litvyak.


"YOU JERK! YOU WOULDN'T KNOW SEXY IF IT BIT YOU!" - Erica Hartmann, Strike Witches

Post Reply