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Help! My Whole Town Is Trapped in a Fantasy World!

Crossville, MN is a quiet town. Founded in 1897 as a crossroads for logging companies south of the Canadian border, this small town has been in a perpetual boom and bust cycle for a while now. When the timber trade dried up, it became a railroad town and a bootlegger's pit stop. During The War its old timber mills helped produce wooden rifle stocks for the army. It settled into a long and slow decline until the discovery of oil in the fields surrounding town in 2009.

Mayor Harry Rawlins found the night of September 19th, 2019 to be a quiet one for a Friday. He had vague recollections of a weird, purple aurora borealis in the sky on his way back from Larry's Bar and Grille that night- he figured it was either the tequila or the fumes from the oil wells. The morning of September 20th was less quiet.

He tried to call his brother in New York to wish him a happy birthday, but the line went dead. Cell service was out too. So was internet. Power was still on, which meant the solar farm the power company installed wasn't affected by the weird aurora. People were starting to realize the horror of a world without internet when the crazy stuff started to happen.

John Michaels came driving into town, raving like a loon about a battle happening on the Interstate outside town. Knights, archers, catapults, and other raving craziness. Harry thought John was back on the angel dust and was about to have him thrown in the sherrif's cell to cool off when the horsemen came riding in. Honest to God Knights with swords. And pointed eared foot-soldiers straight out of that weird Comic-Con he'd seen on the news before.

The Knights introduced themselves as servants of League of Princes, fighting against the cruelty of King Braspian IV.

It only got weirder from there.

Two weeks have gone by since then. Wizards, cat-people, and diplomats have come to Crossville to look at the wonders of Earth technology. The Crossvillers don't know how they got to the nation of Braspian or whose side they should take in the civil war. They just know that nothing is the same anymore...

- - - -

Welcome to a little RP I like to call "Help! My Whole Town is Stuck in Another World!"

This RP draws a lot of inspiration from two sources:

- Eric Flint's "1632" series
- Log Horizon

It's about a whole group of people with wildly different life experiences, ideas, skills, and dreams being plucked from time and space by powers they will never understand and making the best of their new reality. You will never find out why or how you've been transported to the nation of Braspian.

The Primary thread will have to do with the civil war being waged between the League of Princes and King Braspian IV, and how the town of Crossville will navigate the, er, crossroads it finds itself in.

Secondary threads and short stories, one-off posts, and other ideas are accepted and encouraged. If you want to stretch your writing chops by having a phone technician pairing with a Wizard to create a telegraph? Go for it.

- - - -

Most definitely.

I'm sorry the OOC is not up yet. I'm limited in my posting schedule by my work. But I'm trying hard to get it set up today/tomorrow!
An initial CS. Still working on worldbuilding, should be up later today.

Oh wow, didn't know I'd get this level of interest.

I'll get to work on an OOC and fleshing the world out, but I will state up front that I'm a fan of collaborative worldbuilding. If you want to add something to the setting (a god/goddess, nation, people, etc.), you'll be free to do so in your CS.

@Ozerath Uniqueness, hands down. Keep it set to 1.
So full disclosure, I've been reading an interesting book- 1632- about not one person being sent through time to the year 1632, but the whole town. People, buildings and farm animals all. The local union rep is elected president, the 'nam Veteran hunter is made head of the army, and the interactions between "Uptimers" and "Downtimers" are the source of crazy fun and intrigues.

So. Got me thinking.

What would an Isekai look like if it involved not one heroic individual being thrown into a fantasy-land, but the whole small town around them? A fantasy land with war, magic, a Dark Lord (Tm) and fantastic races.

And would there be significant interest in a shared telling of this story?

If you're looking to get in on this, please post below and I'll flesh this thought out further.
Rolvius III
The Overlook Lodge
29:34 Since Foreign Incursion

Prime Speaker Varous Vannifar arrived on Rolvius 3 late in the night. Ongoing discussions of fleet deployments with Ministress Kiora had taken more time than she wanted to admit. For a Star Nation with a negligible fleet presence there was a degree of micromanagement involved with the navy that beggared belief. Two battlegroups were in orbit above Rolvius itself, a third was on its way to Manir, and the Fourth Battlegroup was escorting the Gaea on its shakedown cruise in the Territhan Nebula.

The hotel bar was not the place she imagined herself setting up shop upon first arriving, but a harried-looking Minister Ran was nursing a bottle of whiskey while his aides were hashing out something or other over fried vegetables and sugar-caf.

"Mind if I jump in on this?" Vannifar didn't wait for Ran's answer, taking a glass from behind the bar and pouring herself two fingers of the amber liquid.

Ran didn't raise any objections, just stared into his glass. "If it's all the same to you, I'd rather you take the whole thing over. I've done nothing more than act as a glorified concierge since getting here and I haven't been this miserable since I was a boy back on the orchard with my clan."

"Mmm, about that," Vannifar paused, sipping on the liquid. "I'm going to need you to stay on site. We've got two esteemed guests already and we may have more in the future. The very near future. And I've got enough on my plate with the Lokoid."

"Don't pull my leg like that. The Lokoid are happy as clams, like the Terrans say." Vannifar made a face, but Ran only doubled down. "The Lokoid spent the day picking wild berries while we got everything set up. Olliana, by comparison, hunted a Charashar for sport. Brought back a buck with twelve-point-scale plates."

"Here's to her skill with an anti-matter rifle." Vannifar took a long swallow of whiskey.

"She used a spear."

Prime Speaker Varous Vannifar had never before sprayed whiskey through her nostrils. There was a first time for everything.

"You're shitting me! You can't hunt Charashar without heavy energy weaponry. They're bred for population control of Ythorna Grazers. The plates are thick enough to deflect flechettes and kinetics!"

"Well, we didn't account for Asrian training, the death of her brother the Prince, and a personality with all the subtlety and determination of a bull Ranasha with steel-tipped horns. She brought the head back into the lobby and demanded that it be cleaned and delivered to her."

"And? Was it?"

"I had to send the army to collect the hotel taxidermist from a vacation instead of leaving it to the apprentice. He's being shipped back from Rolvius II on military transport. The head is in the meat freezer, locked up so the Lokoid won't assume it's a delicacy and chow down on it."

"Right. Well, how would you like to handle this mess?"

"Is any more of the cabinet coming up here?"

"Only if necessary. And Lyra is staying on Rolvius Prime as the acting PS. Anything we propose here has to be approved by her. I don't know if Asrian Psychic abilities might sway minds, but they can't affect her from so many thousands of kilometers away."

Ran nodded, putting the stopper back in the bottle. "A good precaution."

"Kiora suggested it. Seemed prudent at the time, all things considered. So who do you want to take? The Lokoid?"

"It's my area of expertise. Counting credits is a male's place, after all. The Lokoid know we were in a hard position before the galaxy started to lose its mind. Now that the Federation and Commonwealth are withdrawing from Detente they know we can't get to a war footing without a substantial industrial backer behind us. I negotiated the shipbuilding contracts on Mezla- it'll take a solid month for a wartime destroyer to be launched from our berths and we'll be a tributary of a foreign power by then. Or dead. No one in the galaxy wants to put a single boot on our planets or risk our launching an Invasive Species attack. Not after what we unleashed on the Manir occupation. Hells, single fertile Tyranatar Queen loose in the wild could strip an entire continent bare of wildlife and vegetation within months. But they can always go around us. Even the threat of Lokoid industrial power helping us would make the galaxy sit up and take notice. We could see our fleet size doubled in no time flat."

"Just absorb what the Lokoid throw at you, and make sure to deflect. Don't make commitments right away, say you need to review the numbers with the Parliamentary Trade Commission. I know there's no such thing, but you know what I mean. The minute we put ink on parchment the whole peace could collapse."

"Prime Speaker, I'm wounded. You act like I've never negotiated trade contracts before."

"I know you have. But those contracts falling through wouldn't lead to trillions of dead. As for Olliana... I'll see what I can do."

"She just wants the dig site on Manir. Can we give her access? Call it a day and defuse the situation?"

"They 'just wanted the dig site' in the last war. And our best estimate is that they murdered one-hundred-million Rolvians to get to it. And if they find the key to Agdemnar's shield inside Manir, then who knows what they might unleash? I am not letting those monsters anywhere near that site again."

"So what do you plan to do about a raging psychic warrior princess who killed our alpha predator on the first day of her arrival?"

Vannifar had considered that for a long time on her journey to Rolvius III. There were many options to consider- the standard diplomatic path of offers, counter offers, fine print, and arguing. That struck her as definitively not Olliana's style and likely to piss her off and provoke Her Highness to rash action.

Which left one option, in her mind.

--- --- ---

The morning after, the Lodge of Princess Olliana was awakened by the arrival of a three vehicle convoy carrying a party of twelve individuals.

Seven of them in common dark suits set up a wide-range security perimeter roughly a hundred meters from the entrance to the lodge, their sub-machine flechette launchers on the lookout for unwelcome visitors and wildlife.

Four of them unpacked the chests from the transports, setting up a small campsite and making all manner of racket and smoke, opening a portable stove and food preparation station while laying out a table and two chairs.

The twelfth, Prime Speaker Vannifar, in her best outerwear for the climate, approached the lodge and introduced herself to the Princess' Asrian security detail.

"Her Majesty is welcome to breakfast this morning with myself. Fried proteins, grain paste with berries, juices, and Terran coffee are on the menu. And please advise her I am prepared to discuss the reason for her visit..."
"There are decades where nothing happens. And there are weeks when decades happen."

The nation of Grozny is at a crossroads. The War of the Crowns ended fifteen years ago with their monarch dead of a heart attack before he could claim rulership of his neighbors and no heir to the throne. With the signing of the Peace with Honor, soldiers across the continent removed their helmets, turned in their rifles, and returned to civilian life. The nation of Grozny began a transition away from Absolute Monarchy and aristocracy into a democracy.

But the people of Grozny have found that their experiment with democracy is fighting for its life against modern challenges.

In the Western Cities, Syndicalists are organizing the abused workers of the factories to demand a more Just society, one that does not demand that the common man be a serf to the factory bosses. The slogan of the Syndicalists, "A twelve hour day for a pittance pay? No Way!" is written in the corners of many pubs and factory floors. Their leadership prepares to call for general strikes to force the central government to answer their grievances.

In the Southlands, the old Aristocrats gather in their palaces and parlors, trying to use their land and wealth to restore themselves to power, to crown one of their own as the King or Queen of Grozny. In their eyes, the Democratic Experiment has failed. They seek to return to the era of paternal rule over Grozny and the re-institution of serfdom among the lower classes via an alliance with Grozny Corporations.

In the Eastern farmlands, the Church of the Sun has answered the call to minister to those suffering from prolonged drought and hardship. A charismatic Arch-Prelate is preaching that the hardships of Grozny are the result of immorality and sin. The good folk of the earth must come together in the light of the Sun Church to create a pure society- and the rest of the nation must see the light. Perhaps even by force.

It's in the north coast, in the capital of Centralia, where the power of the Democratic Government is still assured. But how long until these factions are able to force their way into the halls of power in the upcoming election, and reshape Grozny into a paradise for themselves and a nightmare for all others? The Prime Minister struggles daily with her Soldiers of Democracy to answer the needs of the people and prevent these radicals from strangling democracy in its cradle. Can she succeed before the house of cards collapses?

That's what you're on your way to find out. Your newspaper, magazine, or radio station has dispatched you by plane, train, and automobile to the Grand Grozny Hotel. It's a good gig, but aside from reporting back home, your column will be printed in a local Grozny publication or broadcast on the public airwaves. As plots and counterplots unravel, it may very well fall to the Fourth Estate to decide the fate of the nation...


Hello, and welcome to an IC!

This is a pretty bare-bones check, but I wanted to see if there was interest in writing a... very different story. I've been reading Berlin Diary by William Shirer after having it recommended to me by a friend and I'm genuinely shocked by how much it says in so few words about then-current events in 1930s Europe from the PoV of a reporter for CBS Radio.

Basically, the writers in this RP will play reporters in the nation of Grozny, based out of a major hotel, writing specific stories for readers back home and those within Grozny. You are trying to influence the factions within Grozny for the upcoming elections, either boosting one or reducing another.

The plot will advance with an event. The event will be bare bones, "Just the facts, ma'am." Writers may ask three questions about the event, the circumstances around it, or what particular people think about it- in the OOC. The IC will hold the stories your characters write for the general public or any other notes you might like (if your reporter keeps a private diary and wants to add content as fluff, that's fine with me).

This RP has a beginning, middle, and an end. Based on the stories you write and the intended audience, I'll adjust the flow of events accordingly and we'll see what happens together.

This RP has room for collaboration and expansion of the world. Feel free to make up a background nation for your character, their publication, and other pertinent information. Feel free to expand on the nation of Grozny beyond what has been presented here. Feel free to propose another faction beyond the three posted here, or even a sub-faction that may have goals of its own.

This RP will have one major rule in addition to the others on this site, and it will be No Modern Politics. This is an exercise in group storytelling. Not a Forum for posting arguments about political preferences. As far as I'm concerned, your reporters may be working toward different goals, but you all drink at the same hotel bar after you send your stories off for publication. Writing for a group or publication that advocates for what could be considered "Hate Speech" (against a particular sex, ethnicity, orientation, etc.) will not be permitted.

Any further thoughts, proposals, or questions are welcome.
Speaking for those who have neither the time nor the skill to learn advanced or basic physics and the math involved therein (ok, speaking for myself, since no one else here is as science dumb as me), I’ll just say this:

“Can we please get back to using space magic and super nukes in the imaginary sandbox and ask the GMs nicely when we have a problem?”
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