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8 mos ago
Current Lazy as usual
9 mos ago
Writing and working as fast as I can!!!
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10 mos ago
Ah, my inspiration returns!
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10 mos ago
never again
1 yr ago
sloppy as a soup sandwich

Bio

Current Supreme Tyrant-Opressor-General-Archon GM of Divinus III! I also have a bastard child named Civilization III: A New World...

Most Recent Posts

High Low Treason


"He said WHAT?!" Glough screamed as he grabbed Bronzeburn by the collar. Between the flying spittle and violent shaking back and forth, it was like the poor engineer was being swept away in a hurricane. The proverbial tempest was so mighty that it knocked off the engineer's hat.

Glough finally released Bronzeburn, and the terrified (and embarrassed) gnome scurried down onto the ground to reclaim his precious red cap. All the while, the Director was now turning towards his lieutenant to scream, "My pen, paper, and portable writing desk! NOW! I have a proclamation and a sentencing to make! This absurdity will end here! And have the fool dragged before me!"

Delfus and the Director's other assistants hurriedly complied with their orders while the Director raved on and on in one of his fits. Finally, an excruciating 53 seconds later, they had unfolded a table and presented him with the pen and paper. As if time itself had slowed, Delfus saw his party leader scribble gigantic letters 'H...I...G...H' and immediately, almost precognitively, such was the power of his superior gnomish brain, realized what was to come. "Wait!" Delfus cried out.

The red-faced Glough dropped the pen and turned to eye Delfus diabolically, twirling his mustache in icy anger. "You can't mean to have Treecog indicted for high treason and executed! All he did was-"

"Blatantly disobey the orders of my appointed officer and refuse to work, all over some petty qualm about quality control!"

"But that's not high treason! He didn't betray us to the birds or any of our other enemies!"

With a scoff, Glough turned back to his paper and crossed out the word he'd written. "HIGH LOW TREASON" the top of it now read. He began scrawling a summary of Treecog's crimes, for posterity and party records, before finally writing the declared punishment at the bottom of the paper. His arm moved like a whirlwind, and the entire thing was done by the time Treecog was finally dragged before them all by two burly gnomes that were formerly Royal Infantry.

The nearby procession of dwarves might have watched some of these proceedings in confusion, but the trained animal handlers diligently tried to distract them and herd them a fair distance away.

"Treecog!" the Director spun around and declared, facing the terrified prisoner with a devilish grin. "for dereliction of duty and low treason, your party membership is revoked! You are hereby exiled! Enjoy living off the land and among all the nasty wildlife and local animals, you sub-gnomish cretin!" Glough let out a satisfied sigh as the bewildered (and weeping) Treecog was prodded along and led away from the base camp.

"Now that that's been dealt with..." the Director said, wiping some imagined grime off his hands, "Delfus, I've arrived at a decision regarding these so-called 'dwarves'!"

Delfus internally sighed, expecting that he'd be told to convey orders to vivisect them so as to ensure the accuracy of the estimated Zekel-Voight-Greasegear rating. Or maybe to just have them killed.

But Glough was anything if not predictable. "With a rating of only 0.3 on the logarithmic scale, I find it unlikely that they could be capable of manipulating and controlling the birds. If anything, it seems likely that they might be manipulated by those evil birds that attacked the Red January. Time and further study will be needed to determine what to do with these dwarves. If they scored in the vicinity of a 0.15 the obvious conclusion would be that the animal trainers should try domesticating them as draft animals, any gnomish infant could see that. But here? I will not pretend to know what niche they should be put into! Let the animal handlers do as they see fit."

The disheveled Bronzeburn still hadn't left, though. Delfus saw the timid gnome and asked, "Director, what is he to do now that you've exiled the supplier for his project?"

"He can find a new one! Or hope that the expedition sent into the mountains finds something usable. I still expect results! We need more weapons!"



The Zekel-Voight-Greasegear Enigma


There were clangs, scraping whines, and occasional booms as Glough’s inspectors sifted through the crates of salvaged machinery and took an inventory. Most tools of value had been evacuated from the Red January in parachute crates prior to its martyrdom at the hands of the party’s enemies. In the days since, recovering those tools had been a high priority, and by now the gnomes were confident that they’d recovered most of what had survived. All of this would come in handy, but of course many of these tools were as useless as a cave-dwelling troglodyte without the proper fuel.

The gnomes had an advanced understanding of chemics, as evidenced by their knowledge of blasting powder and their ability to harness lightning in their weaponry. But such methods of storing potential energy were considered volatile and inefficient; it was for that reason that the gnomes preferred pneumatic rifles to blasting-powder based ones, for instance. Well, that and because the recoil from a high muzzle-velocity chemic-based-explosion-driven projectile of significant mass was hard for the small gnomes for withstand.

From a pocket, Glough produced an energy crystal. The sparkling thing was a wonder of gnomish chemics and technology; they produced such crystals from a complicated procedure that involved processing semi-rare minerals. For that reason their current supply was limited and rather precious, but Glough would hear nothing of it. He inserted the gem into the slot of a jackhammer, but in a rare show of restraint, deemed such a thing excessive. Or perhaps he just decided that it was the wrong tool for the job; jackhammers were powered tools for breaking stone, and jackaxes were better for chopping wood and butchering enemies of the state.

He removed the power source from the jackhammer and then ordered an assistant to bring him one such jackaxe, then activated it and adjusted the setting to full force. Laughing as the axe-head automatically whipped back and forth at a blurring speed, he brought the tool upon the trunk of one great tree and felled the stupid thing with ease. Baby birds chirped in terror as their nest in the upper boughs came crashing down. Glough looked at the pathetic survivors with contempt, then crushed them beneath his boot. Finding a gummy mixture of blood and feathers annoying stuck to the bottom, he used attachment number 23 from his multipurpose Gnomish Army knife to flick the remnants out from the treads of his shoe. Let none say that the Director asked of his gnomes anything that he would not do himself!

“Delfus, I believe that this tree might provide sufficient timber to silence Treecog’s whining for the time being,” he did declare. He casually tossed the deactivated jackaxe to a waiting technician so that the felled tree could be debarked and cut into planks and small pieces.

“Yes, that is very well Director, but should we really use our resources so frivolously?” the official stammered.

“A display of force and power is necessary! Do not question party doctrine!”

Even as he chastised his old friend, Glough twirled his mustache in contemplation. “But I see your point,” he admitted. “Very well, now that we’ve salvaged and recovered all of the tools-“

“Well, there were a few pneumatic rifles unaccounted for...” Delfus tried to interrupt, only to be spoken over the whole time.

“...recall the teams and have then search the mountains to the south. Look for any passes through the range, and prospect the area using powered drills and jackhammers and jackshovels. We should have sufficient power crystals in storage for them to do some probing.”

“Yes, Director! A very logical move!” That had gone better than Delfus had expected, so he tapped his red cap in salute and prepared to make a hasty exit before Glough could change his mind.

But then the dwarves came. Glough’s reasonable and good mood went up in smoke at the sight of those uncouth barbarians outside his camp. Speaking of cave-dwelling troglodytes...

“How did those hideous things get into our land unseen?!” Glough demanded to one of his following sycophants. While the party officer tried to find an explanation, Glough was simmering.

“This will not do! Find me a trained animal handler! Or ten!”

“Those things might not quite be animals, Director,” Delfus turned to protest. “Observe their small stature and metal arms, the details of that one’s textiles-“

“Bah! Then find a psychologist too, and have him administer the Zekel-Voight-Greasegear Analysis of Intelligence! I would know just how sapient those foolish looking creatures are before I decide what to do with them. Have the animal handlers on standby in order to tranquilize or slay the beasts if they try anything untoward, or...or if they turn out to be the masterminds behind the evil birds of this land!”

He was confident that the Zekel-Voight-Greasegear Analysis, with its empirically-derived formula to determine levels of sapience from such observations as height, cranial volume, and political alignment would be able to provide a good guideline on just how to proceed.


Angry Birds


There was a flash, a deafening boom, and then a wave of heat. They struck Glough in that order, and for a few moments the cherry-red flames of that explosion (which had been far too close for comfort!) consumed the small shadow that the gnome’s similarly diminutive form had been casting in the evening sun. But the plan had worked!

From out of the trees-turned-splinters there flew dozens of birds, some in the form of pulverized and burnt meat, others as smoking corpses propelled by the blast, and a lucky few as panicked survivors flapping away as best they could after being disorientated by the sudden explosion of their wretched homes and all their vile co-conspirators.

Glough suppressed a chuckle as he took aim with a pneumatic rifle and fired; hilarious as it was to think of the imminent doom of his enemies, laughter was known to cause shaking of the hands and reduce weapon accuracy by approximately 23.33 (repeating, of course) percent, an empirical figure that the Royal Army had invested many studies and a substantial amount of tax dollars in order to derive. Now it was military doctrine!

As Director Glough pulled the trigger, cartridge of compressed air was breached and the pressure used to propel a dart; the tiny projectile was nonetheless deadly, as one of the fleeing birds found out. Other gnomish rifleman had taken up position around the grove of trees and similarly fired. They quickly reloaded and fired again, exterminating and driving off the last of the surviving birds that had been lurking in that cluster of trees.

“Delfus, prepare for the next assault. We press the attack until dusk!” the Director proclaimed, much to the dismay of a rather nervous officer.

“Director, I’m afraid that er, won’t be possible-“

Glough stormed over to his subordinate before he could get out another word, and then he roared, spittle flying from his mouth, “WHAT?!”

Delfus took a moment to breathe in and steady himself, for he was a senior officer and important party member, not some stammering fool. He stood in the position of attention and reported, “That was the last of the blasting powder and air cartridges. No more have been recovered, and we think very little of the arsenal was ever successfully jettisoned and parachuted, making further search efforts unlikely to bear any metaphorical fruits of the sweet sort!”

Glough burled his fists as his face changed in color to match his iconic hat. “Have the engineers improvise some weapons in the meantime,” he ordered. “We’re going to continue extermination efforts. We shall not rest so long as enemy saboteurs stalk these woods and mountains! This may be a wretched wasteland, but it’s my, I mean our wretched wasteland and temporary home, so we’re going to pry it out of the cold and dead beaks of every last evil bird...”

The Director’s ravings continued for some time, circling round and round to his newfound irrational hatred for the birds. Delfus, for his part, was hardly listening. Instead he was wondering how he would continue spinning this to make the plan sound sane. To detonate those dozen barrels of blasting powder beneath a couple of trees and then exhaust every bit of precious cartridges that remained for their pneumatic weapons? Just routine quality assurance checks, of course. Killing all the birds? Just hunting to brush up on the food stores. But how would he justify killing all of the birds in ten miles?

Pah, that was a problem for tomorrow. More immediate was the concern of how they’d “improvise” to continue the Director’s plans and meet the daily
bird-kill quota that he’d imposed upon the party. Delfus endeavored to delegate that problem unto Engineer Bronzeburn. If anybody could do it, it would be him because his unorthodox thinking and penchant for using odd materials in his inventions had already left the gnome branded a madman. But that was just as well, because surely that meant that he would be able to create some sort of deadly contraption out of the available materials, there was plenty of twigs and grass and bird corpses to work with. If the mad genius could make something work, he stood to rise quite high in the party’s ranks.

And then of course, Delfus had to keep track of the ongoing efforts to rally any remaining stragglers, and further establish the base camp here at the crash site, and salvage whatever could be found amidst the Red January’s horrid wreckage...there was also the manner of the strange report of something having been seem watching them. Glough himself claimed to have seen it, but so worried was he about the birds’ presence that he’d not bothered to worry much.

The Red Cap Junta


Director Glough stood firm and proud before the window of his ship’s bridge, his oversized and silvered mustache waxed to perfection and the slight balding atop his head concealed by that signature red hat of his that the entire party had quickly come to imitate. He was not one for flattery, but he did appreciate uniformity. The Director was a hard man; he was nearing the end of what one could call ‘middle-aged’ and his life’s experiences and a long history of command had left him with little patience for anything short of excellence and disciplined obedience. It was easy to fall in line and not question him, because his voice could (without warning!) go from a gentle and fatherly tone to the booming roar of a drill instructor, and he had an intimidating form to match the sound! He was a towering gnome, just shy of four feet tall.

Even after his fall from grace, a good deal of his party remained loyal and strong. They had failed to petition the king to see reason and deploy the army to displace or exterminate the giant savages that threatened their homeland’s borders, and after that, they had failed to covertly incite war. Now the faction had been proclaimed treasonous, but in the resulting strife and series of high-profile arrests, Glough had managed to escape the king’s clutches relatively unscathed. Blazes, some of the soldiers and police sent to stop him had been party sympathizers that had instead joined his new separatist army. All had expected nothing less than a civil war, but to their surprise, the Director had instead had his private army storm a royal airfield, commandeer the largest airship they could find. The party named it the Red January, after the bloodfilled month in which they’d seized it, and then they proceeded to board Glough and his strongest supporters and venture off into the sunset. Royal loyalists and civilians could only speculate what his motivations were and whether he would ever return from exile.

There was overwhelming blue to be seen all around, like a smothering blanket—the blue of the sky above and around, the blue of the ocean below. They had been flying for a long time, and Glough was growing restless from being stuck on the zeppelin for so long. They all were, but few could hide it as well as him. The Director turned to one of his senior officers. “Delfus, reiterate your proposal statement.”

“...certainly,” one of the gnomes answered. He was confused for a moment, for Glough was not a forgetful gnome and he always paid attention to the details and committed them to memory. But perhaps this was not for the Director’s own benefit; restating the reasons for their departure and the logic behind it would surely raise morale and reassure any wavering officers present.

“Our force projections were clear—we could have inflicted major damage, but ultimately it would have been a losing war to try to face the Royal Army. It will be better by far to establish a stronghold elsewhere, to effectively achieve our goal of self-governance for free whilst allowing us to bide our time, gather our strength, and perhaps later retake the kingdom should such opportunity present itself.”

He paused for breath, then continued, “According to our calculations, the world is a spheroidal object of far larger size than is accounted for in all the maps of the known regions. We are likely to come across entirely new lands as we maintain this latitude, but even if we are met with bad luck or it comes to be that there are no uncharted lands beyond the sea, we should have sufficient supplies to-“

Delfus, easily distracted, turned his gaze toward the distance where a flock of seabirds approached fearlessly. Director Glough clenched his jaw at the nonsensical interruption and almost turned red with rage when all his other staff began to point and clamor about the stupid animals. But then Glough realized the implications, and even his stony face broke and showed the hints of a smile; birds often indicated the presence of a nearby landmass, for they needed to roost and could only range so far—

There was a horrible sound, like the roar of some mythical monster. Metal screamed as it grated and ground upon itself, and then the ship began to lurch. Something had gone horribly wrong with one of the propellors! Unsecured items and careless personnel on deck began to slide. Glough was immediately shouting commands and ordering damage control; to their horror, they realized that one of the accursed birds had flown into a propellor and somehow jammed it. They were losing control! Attempting a landing would have been suicidal, even if they were able to see more than the faintest hint of a distant beach.

The response was quick, just as it had to be. The Director sent in the best and bravest mechanics. Dangling by ropes and harnesses off the side of the leaning deck, they carefully worked to unjam and restart the propellor. They had the spare parts, but it was hard to get down into the damned thing..! One of them jabbed a wrench into the loosened blades and pulled, pulled, using it as a lever to tear the deformed piece free. But he overdid it, and with a gasp he sent the jagged piece of metal flying upward. They all looked up in horror as it punctured the balloon above and they began losing air. Rapidly they had to attempt to patch it. They did so with impressive speed, having been well drilled, but even so the patch wasn’t quite airtight and they all knew it. Their shio was bleeding its lifeblood, and after losinf as much air as they had, they were already being forced to dump huge quantities of ballast just to maintain their altitude.

Another flock of birds approached, heading directly toward the zeppelin. It was a deliberate attack! Sabotage! The Director knew this, for birds were rather small and therefore logic would dictate that they were cunning creatures. It was well known among gnomish scientists that a species’ size and intelligence tend towards an inversely proportional relationship, as a larger being must devote more of its brainpower to mundane things like muscle movement as compared to high order thought. For examples one needed to look no farther than ants, perhaps the most organized and intelligent of all animals, or the gnomish race itself, which the ‘Red Caps’ held to be clearly superior to the barbaric, primitive, violent giants that were all the other breeds of sapients.

In any case, the birds’ small size and demonstrable intelligence made their betrayal and refusal of his ideals (nay, his party’s very life and presence) all the more insulting. The Director ordered his crew to battle stations, then issued the command, “Vaporize them!”

The ray and lightning cannons made short work of those seagulls. The breeze was just right to carry a brief whiff of roasted poultry. But then, the impossible! One of the accursed birds had slipped past all of the weaponfire, and it managed to fly straight into a different propellor...

Over the next day they’d struggled mightily to keep the Red January airborne, but she had sustained fatally targeted injuries that they lacked the means to repair without further supplies and a dedicated hangar, much less while in flight. It was a wonder they kept her as long as they did, but then again, they’d abandoned any semblance of an attempt at navigation. Plains and forest passed by beneath them completely unseen, for they all spent the entirety of their focus on damage control, but even that was not enough. On the second day they finally abandoned hope for the Red January and began evacuation preparations. They crated what provisions and loose equipment they could, and then issued out parachutes to all the crew, but damned there were too many passengers! There weren’t enough parachutes for everyone as well as all of the supply crates, and Glough had half a mind to deny some of the more useless or traumatized gnomes their parachutes in favor of ensuring the cargo crates’ survival instead. But that would have been bad for morale...

It was near an idyllic river and some mountains that they finally jumped overboard. As they slowly drifted down to safety, they observed the Red January make its final descent. The now crewless zeppelin hit the ground and exploded in a huge fireball, as oversized vehicles were wont to do. Director Glough steeled his face in seething rage, while some of his more sentimental party members openly wept.

Well, at least they’d found some land...but now they were trapped, with no way back, no chance to map the area, no infrastructure, and no idea of whether there were any giant savages to be found in this queer land. The stoic and cold Director let his mask crack for just a moment.
I stumbled upon this and found it very interesting. You’ve found a unique (and good) niche and idea. For that alone you have my respect, because it’s hard to make original and standout RPs.

Sadly I’m in no position to join this, at least for the next few weeks. I just wanted to offer you my praise, encouragement, and best wishes. I hope this succeeds because it’s the rare type of RP that I love, and I’d like to see more like this on the guild.

I’ll offer you one piece of advice: be very wary of the difference between creating a “game” that’s meant to be “won,” and a collaborative story environment where everyone works together for fun and there is no “winning.” As cheesy as it sounds, I’ve found that making a conscious effort to strive for the latter keeps the RP more enjoyable, attracts a better base, and is more sustainable. That’s just my experience and opinion, though. I say this primarily because your section about the mechanics surrounding character deaths and assassinations, and it felt very gamey and gave me that wary tingling that I’m sure we’ve all felt when browsing new RPs.
Hello everyone! The Cyclone is still alive and blowing. I got Internet access today for the first time since leaving some five(?) weeks ago. I don’t have time to see or do much right now and can’t check the Discord, but I still wanted to come stop by and let you know that I haven’t forgotten about Divinus or any of you,

It’s great to see this still going strong; I’m thankful to BB and Mutton for picking up the slack in my absence, and humbled that the rest of you have stil kept interest. A quick glance seems to show that we have some new faces too. Welcome, and I hope to meet you fresh bloods sometime soon!

I’m not home yet so things still won’t be back to normal. Unfortunately I only have a vague notion of when I might be able to fully resume participation here: it’ll only be somewhere between two and four weeks, hopefully. I don’t know if I’ll get the chance to pop back in like this a few more times between now and then, but it’s possible.

Take it easy guys! I miss this stuff and can’t wait to get back!
@LokiLeo789 for Anu


@Zurajai for Roog
@LokiLEo789 for Magdalene
Cyclone's To-Do List of Wiki Articles:


  • The Sky of Pyres (lol)
  • Katharsos (finish the skeleton of an article that's there now)
  • Cyclopes
  • Atlas
  • Balam
  • Zotz
  • Ku
  • Uselessly vague page for Archie
@BBeastAfter spending sometime to think over my character, I think I would like to pull out. Thank you for your comment and your time for my application. Your comments are highly appreciated. And I would like to sorry for making you to waste so much time without having any result, but I guess I was not cut out to join Advanced yet.

@Doll Maker@LokiLeo789 I would also like to apologize to both of you for doing all these plannings but come to no result. I am sorry.

But anyway, good luck and thanks for having me the few months.


Don't feel bad about anything! Thanks for letting us know, and we likewise wish you good luck with all your future writing and other things.
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