Dinh AaronMk

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

"Bla bla bla terrible excuse bla bla bla apology bla bla bla I'm back" I seriously have no excuse. I'm just a lazy piece of crap who decided to say "Eh. I'l post next week." for the last 7 months. I am a shame to this family. So dishonorabru. ...Glad I have neighbors now, though. Time to be responsible and give Romania the post it's waited 7 months for.

@Noiz

I'll have to hit you with the frying pan of lagging behind. EDIT - Oh shit, I get a special GM tag. I feel fucking special.

Mahz's Dev Journal

So the number of PMs that comes up next to the PM button isn't coming up. Is this some new update deal?

@Dinh AaronMk

Yeah, http://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/75056/posts/ooc?page=21#post-2359100 You now will only see a number if there's unread PMs waiting for you. No number = nothing new.

@Mahz

Oh, das nice I guess. No more three-digit number to remember.

Mahz's Dev Journal

So the number of PMs that comes up next to the PM button isn't coming up. Is this some new update deal?

Dead World: Rise of Nations

I feel ahead of my time for using the character section of the RP thread.

Dead World: Rise of Nations

Nation's Name: Bismarck Leader: Kane Weltford Territory: Technology: The technology held by the people of Bismarck is set over a wide-range. Left behind by the decline of civilization across the wider world the people left in the Dakotas were left with a considerable supplies of corn or soy which is routinely refined for its bio fuel. This goes into the limited lighting and heating needs of Bismarck. However with the loss of the greater power and technology grid of North America so did the bulk of the Dakota's power source and the closing of the region's coal power plants, thus reinforcing the daily demand of refined bio fuels to light lamps and generate heat. Beyond basic heating and lighting there is still a demand in fuel for motor engines, although in certain decline due in part to end of spare part production. Although the people of Bismarck can certainly maintain trucks and other vehicles their life-time is in question with many people recognizing that in time even their ability to run them will soon end. Coupled with a generally limited fuel supply automotive travel is far from the ideal mode of casual travel and limited only to being the core of caravans. For general travel the people of Bismarck have turned full scale into modes dominated by the horse. Hundreds of years since the taming of the west the iconic Conestoga wagon has returned to the Badlands and there's been a witnessed revival in horse riding. This means being how many within the Bismarck territories can keep a lead over the dead. Many technological assets considered unimportant to survival have been forgotten over fifty years of survival in the Dakota north. Skill sets such as shooting, maintenance of or crafting of firearms, and numerous arts to survive the wilderness were reintroduced to the survivors. Now, many people can not claim to read, or if they can their literary skills are lacking. However what they make up for in that is a considerable field in the skills passed down from father to sun throughout the new tribes. Description of Society: Society under the Bismarck territories is largely defined by renewed nomadism after many of the smaller towns fell to the living dead. Though many these settlements have been largely emptied of their shambling inhabitants – or they themselves left – what remained was far too ruined for the already meager and thin population of the Dakotas to return to. For those that remained traveling the country-side was a safer alternative to setting down roots anywhere. Because of the presumption of nomadism many former Dakotans have little to no personal possessions. Anything they have being owned by the band – The Ranch – for the benefit of the whole. The sciences and education have been reduced to the necessities so young men and women can pull their part sooner and education is carried out on a father-son relationship or as a relationship with the youth with the entire group, all of which assisting their maturation and capabilities. The only place that resembles in any effort the old world is the city of Bismarck, the former capital of North Dakota. Cleaned of the walking dead by former Army colonel Kane Weltford, Bismarck stands as the effective – if informal – capital of the Dakotas. Bismarck's influence coming from how preserved it's been held as its central location as a meeting point between all the bands as they seek trade across the territories. Bismarck is also home to the largest refineries of bio-diesel, although smaller stations remain scattered across the Dakotas. Trade in the former Dakotas is devoid of money, many goods being traded on equal weight of necessity or as gift economy of sorts. Between the peoples fuel and the remaining spare parts can be bartered out for live-stock, skins, scrap, or metals pulled from the wilds and refined in the field. A curious sight in Bismarck is the Avenue of Trophies on the lawn of the old state capitals, here from across the territories the heads of the slain dead are collected and displayed for all to see. With the written names of the collectors, the many thousands of hunters across the Dakotas travel to Bismarck to set out for display their fight against the risen dead in exchange for prestige and fame among the whole of the “nation”. The Avenue's central location proves an incredibly strategic with nearly every citizen of the territories having seen it at least once in their life. The interest in head-hunting is a growing militant sport carried out by an entire caste of warrior named the Lazarenes. Taking inspiration from the Bible on the hopes mankind may be revived from death as was Lazarus with the Jesus the Lazarenes seek to eliminate the threat of the dead in a concentrated effort. The Lazarenes practice their art in a professional manner, almost like knights and take on their own apprentices as a sort of Squire. Over many years a Lazarene matures his survival capabilities and martial prowess and as such they are considered the best fighting force in the Dakotas; however the informal code of the Lazarenes greatly discourages the killing of a living human, though exceptions remain; they exist for their defense. The Lazarene organization has come to heavily influence many decisions in Bismarck. Of considerable importance being the care of the body postmortem. Though it started as controversial and inspired considerably ire and offense from traditionally set Christian groups the Lazarenes inspired the postmortem decapitation of the body of any dead, or the wide-spread cremation of a corpse to prevent the rise of new dead. For anything that dies it must be disassembled or reduced to dust. By this reaching informal law it's become something akin to a criminal act to not dispose of any body in this matter, and may be added onto sentences. Another group influenced by the Lazarene and in turned they're influenced by are the survivor Native American populations of the American North. Following the return of their buried dead as monsters the Lakota-Sioux, Dakota, and Lakota peoples came to the Lazarene's terms to adapt their burial practices inspiring a rise of urn burials or heavier restraints on the bodies during more traditional ceremonies. Or if not that, finally and ultimately cremating the bodies of the dead. The Indian tribes fared decently in the new world, relative to the rest. The confines of the old reservations were breached as they fled ahead of the angry dead and they integrated into the fabric of the Bismarck territories, although to a extent they are effectively independent. Although the central political and economic position of the city of Bismarck puts them still in the firm influence of the city itself and thus as much a part of the “nation” as they were in America prior. The native tribes were however a reinforcing demographic to the revival of the ancient customs that had for the most part decayed. Thus, the relationships between them and the white-man is of mutual survival, even if still there is racial animosity. Finally, the territories of Bismarck is defined less by official decree and only by what they can manage in keeping clean. There is little official boundary or a point where a man may say for certain whether they have passed into or out of Bismarck. Often it is said that when one travels and finds five of the living dead or signs there-of, they have left Bismarck. Industry: The industrial capability of Bismarck is largely self-sustaining with hardly anything that may be considered an export. Held as being isolated from any other meaningful community no part of the economy has developed out to be exported and instead is focused inwards. There is some production of raw materials in the form of fuel and food product, or scraps pulled from the ruins inside and outside of Bismarck territory. population: ~590,000

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

Chake Bay, Pemba The soft thunder of the waves lapping the shore set a low languid rhythm drumming under neath the rattle of a ceiling mounted fan. The cool ocean breeze blew in through the open windows, filling the office with a lingering sweet smell and subtle salty taste. A cup of tea sat on the corner of the table cooling in the ocean breeze. A cracked, hard-boiled egg floated in the tea broth alongside the wiry string of the tea bag. The pages of a small book turned along side. Dezhi Cao leaning over the pages and reading through the thin contents, studying the mild reports from home. A tickling sensation in the back of his mind batted him about, reminding him that on all accounts, being active at home wasn't much better than standing on the precipice of a war in Africa. A series of large pushes were under way in Russia, and the casualties on both sides were already mounting as the Republic dug in Omsk to hold back the Manchurian based army. He bit nervously as the side of his cheek, raising the cup of tea to his lip. The egg bobbed against his lip as he sipped the tepid water, the herbal bitterness and sweetness of the water bathing his tongue. He sighed deeply as he turned over to the next page, reaching into the cup for the egg. He put the porcelain tea cup down on the table, as he moved the saucer over. He did count a blessing though, the weather here was the most consistent he had the pleasure of experiencing. It was far better than Russia. The egg shell cracked between his fingers. He blindly peeled away the marbled ivory of the shell to produce the brown-stained egg underneath. Raising it to his lips he heard the door knock. “It's open.” he said, looking up. With a creek the solid-faced door groaned open. Sen Zhou stood in the door way, her face flat and tepid as if some weight bore down on her. Her gaze froze her superior mid-bite on the egg. “Communications wants to see you.” she said sternly, “Dao Cheng is also there.” “Cheng? Why'd our aircommander want to be there?” Cao asked, a nervous tensity wrapped through his chest. The tea-soaked egg hung limp between numbing fingers as a cold reality came to. “I'll explain on the way.” Zhou said coldly, “They both want you.” Cao licked his limps, his breath shuddered. He looked at the briefing report from home. With a low cold sigh he closed the pages and stood up, taking a bite from the egg. “Alright, what does he want?” “Communications just received a radio report from mainland Ethiopia.” Zhou said, stepping aside to let her commander through, “The Ethiopian military is abandoning the Suez, Spain has overtaken the defense there.” The two walked through the command building, their boots grinding along the carpeted wood floor of the main command post. Officers stepped aside, saluting Cao as he went. Zhou kept explaining, “Minutes ago we received a radio dispatch over the general military channels echoing through their military bases, through our partner bases we got word that Spain has dispatched what's believed to be several unidentified aircraft from the outlet of the Suez Canal into the Red Sea.” “Are your sure you're not concerned about recon flights?” Cao asked nervously, chewing indecisively on the tea egg. “Hardly.” Zhou sighed, “We heard the hostile aircraft are moving at speeds unknown to Ethiopian forces. There's not a lot of physical description of them, except they were caught heading over Hejaz before their engines died away.” Cao nodded. His breath felt cold in his chest and the typical tropical warmth of Pemba felt nonexistent as he shuddered under his uniform. “Do we know who made the first report?” “Not at all. I was just given a mild briefing before sent to get you.” said Zhou, stepping through the door to the sandy outside of the Chake Bay training base. In the yard soldiers trained by the unit tai chi and their martial arts. The meditative stances of their exercises seemingly blind to the conditions outside their base. The men stared listlessly into space ahead of them as they held out their palms. Their hands and arms craned about their head and shoulders, miming everything from cranes to tigers as they danced on their toes and heels in the African sun. “What does Dao Cheng expect to do?” Cao asked, watching his men and returning the stray salute as he followed his lieutenant around the side of the command structures. “I think he wants to intercept them, I don't know where but he seems like he has an idea. He already put word in to mobilize our pilots.” “I suppose that'll be the action they want.” he laughed nervously. “Dezhi Cao,” Zhou turned, standing beside the comm station's front door, “This is a serious matter. Don't flake.” she stared up at him with stern disapproving eyes, “Don't break like you almost did during the Turkish episode, especially around the Ethiopians. They hardly have the means to defend themselves against the Spanish. Not like the Turks.” The front door to comms groaned open as the spring tightened overhead. Cao followed his lieutenant into the air conditioned building. “Comrade Cao,” a young soldier said, standing up from his front desk. He brushed off his beige uniform as he snapped to salute, “Communications officer Yung Bao is looking for you.” “I heard.” the commander replied, “At ease comrade.” “Yes sir.” The two officers worked through to the heart of the comm station. The clicks and hum of radios buzzed in the air, filling it with a flurry of activity. Somewhere a muted radio sung prerecorded songs and news from China. Elsewhere excited chatter whispered through closed doors. Finally at the end of a narrow hallway they walked through an open door and into a room filled with an array of radio gear. Standing behind a young private the distinctive tall build of Yung Bao leaned over the central communications hub. A heavy arm wrapped around his chest as one held to his ear a headset. Alongside him in his distinctive dark-blue officer's coat stood Dao Cheng, he looked up as Cao entered the room, giving him a cold and silent nod. “CO's here.” he said in a low voice, stepping away from the console. He was a moleish sort of person with narrow beady eyes and a long blunted nose. His chin came to an almost curved point. In some strange ways, he almost came off as feminine in an unsettling way. Bao lowered the headset from his ear and turned. He was in strong contrast to the air-force officer. And quickly he stole dominance, “I've been hoping the Ethiopians have been reporting any updates on their boogies position and direction.” he said, “But so far it's been silent on their part. If they're talking about it, they're doing it on specific channels and not the broad national network.” “I hear Spanish airplanes have been seen. Zhou filled me in on the basic details.” Cao said, nodding to his lieutenant. He held back a nervous waiver in his tone of voice as he looked between the two. “Where's the situation headed?” “Well Azima lifted off from Addis just several minutes ago with a flight plan clear to Asia, that much we were able to obtain with our channels to the ambassador and the palace itself. They were heading up towards Socotra last update. “Just moments after we received reports the Spanish Armada had launched something. Airplanes we're guessing.” “Based on the pre-emptive reports on their speed I'm willing to guess jets.” Cheng said, his voice was deep and cold. “The Spanish have jets?” Cao asked, shocked. “Appears so. A lot of everyone in this world is pretty silent on a lot of things. To date we've only confirmed the US to be capable of producing jet technology.” Cheng nodded, “After the Russian Empire collapsed and after we launched our own program we believe the Russians may have started work, a few people in service to the Siberian Republic have thus far come forward to say something but we haven't found any hard evidence, I can only guess their projects got buried like the Emperor's body. “On the suspicion I've ordered our own wing of jets to go on stand-by.” “Well that's good, but where are they going?” Cao asked, stepping in towards his officers. “I may have an idea off the top of my head, a suspicion.” Yung Bao started. He scratched at his blunt egg round chin as he walked over to a small table, “The aircraft were reported as going over to Hejaz, and going down the coast. Unless they intend of taking the war to Persia for whatever reason then the only target I know of his Azima's aircraft, she and the royal family are en'route to China from Persia. I've also been told through no official channel this airplane may also be carrying something other than the family, but intelligence hasn't been able to tell me what; but no wonder, this has been severely short notice.” “They're far enough away though, right?” asked Cao, “If they were in any real danger could they divert?” “Unlikely,” Dao Chen said. This sent a shutter down Cao's spine. The delivery was sure and affirming. His narrow eyes hardly betrayed the absurdness of his own opinion. In them, Azima and the royal family were already in the ocean sinking, or in Spanish escort. “It could take them a few hours if they're going that way. I agree with Bao, this is their highest priority target, given their heading and the haste their moving. Traditional propeller driven aircraft wouldn't hope to catch up or even get that far.” “So what are you suggesting?” “Give me the word, and I'll send the men I have idling now out.” the officer said. He wanted this order to be made. “It'll be the best coarse.” Chen said, “If it's them they're after and they manage and our men get there, you'll be a hero on two continents probably.” “I can already think of the promotion.” Zhou said teasingly from the door. “How long until our pilots can get there?” asked Cao “On full engine speed I imagine we'll intercept Azima's aircraft in under four hours. The Spanish might reach her before hand. So I need this now. Just to take the shot. “Of course, we'll be forced to land in Addis to refuel before coming home. I'll send a carrier there to meet them.” The choice felt clearly presented. It was the only decision, even if mired in some doubt. Full intentions had not been laid out. But the only alternative was to surrender the Emperor's family to the Spanish and loose the war before it could be won. But somehow, it felt difficult to make. A hitch clamped shut around Cao and he could feel the choking restraint. His breathing became tense, he groaned to himself. “M-make the call.” he said, involving himself. ----------------------------------------------------------- A fiery whine engulfed the tarmac as airplanes crawled across the boiled black asphalt. Ground crews cleared the way as hot air roared. The craft, strange, metal and cut with clean lines and rounded edges turned about, lining up on the runway for take off. The planes were jets. Designed from the wrecks salvaged from the US endeavors to reclaim the Philippines in the seventies. Their under-wing engines hummed and roared as they crawled across the tarmac to face the northern skies. The over head African sun shone off the dark green hull. The cabin canopy a knife's blade of silver light. Within the helmeted and visored Chinese pilots went through their flight check lists, the rattling thunder of their horses rattling between their legs. These were fathered by projects in Mongolia. With flying high and fast. Their wings held a subtle angle towards the rear. The metal carefully molded between them and the body until any indication they were separate parts disappeared in organic form. If it weren't for the hidden welds of their metal plates it was if they were cast from the same mold. “Heron wing 1.” the control tower said, the structure little more than a wooden scaffold, the head a bungalow of plexiglas, “Have you completed your preflight check list?” “Hero leader, we have.” one of the three said, “We're ready for take off.” “You are clear for take off. Rendezvous with the Ethiopian royal transport off of Socotra.” “Copy that. Let's down some old bulls.” (YEEEAAAAAAAH)

Dead World: Rise of Nations

Nope.

What do you do when stuck in an RP?

I mostly do NRP so what I find that'll jump me out of a rutt is to simply go off on another story arc while enough time in the RP passes I can reboot the other one. Presumably what stumps me most is simply time, and I can only write so much about walking or driving long distances. And because suddenly jumping through a three-week voyage may not be kosher I'll drop it for the three weeks in the RP and come back to it as if there was a time jump.

Excuse me as I force something.

The killer shall be in our grasps in no time. >: )

Gwazi Magnum

The dead will know no peace from this evil.

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

Top Gun could always come up.