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5 mos ago
Current I'll be gone for about 3 weeks as of 18/06. I might see your message, but I also probably won't be keeping up like I usually do.
5 mos ago
As someone who lost a parent before their time... It's never a bad time to give your folks a call and see how they're doing. One day you're going to say goodbye for the last time.
5 likes
6 mos ago
I think it's also just a sad fact that forum RP has been undergoing a slow but consistent decline for the best part of a decade now. Games that once would have thrived can no longer get the numbers.
1 like
6 mos ago
NRPs are also usually advanced level with tons of writing per post. I co-GM'd one that ended up being the length of one and a half LotR books. That not only takes time, but also makes them fragile.
2 likes
9 mos ago
Bought Helldivers 2 because of the online hype, didn't expect that much. Ended up putting 5 hours into it on my first session. For Super-Earth and Managed Democracy! Oorah!
5 likes

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Wow the bar had gotten full fast. Lots of people streaming in. Glenn, Brandon, the old guy, Grits, and some guy he hadn't seen before, but was flirting with the bartender. He was about to tell him to cut it out when Jennie revealed that he was an old pal, and so he leant back. Fairly jovial atmosphere in the bar here, sure, a little tension here and there, but it was still all good in his book. Drumming his fingers against the countertop, he let his mind drift off with the Beat for a little while, the music flowing around his head in a chorus of strings.

"Hey Brandon. How's it going man. You buttering everyone up, or just Grits?" Manny let a smile play off his face, and he took a long draught of his drink. Brandon was... Interesting. He was incredibly camp, incredibly camp, that much was for sure, but was he a bad guy? Debatable. Could be a bit of a pain sometimes, much like the new guy was being. Alex, Jennie had called him. He was interesting. Looked like a rich guy, walked like one too. Leaning forward, he studied the other man for a half-second.

"You got some interesting vibes man." Oh yeah, he could be stereotypical if he wanted to be, and weren't nothing more stereotypical than a hippie-looking guy with braids in his hair talking about vibes. "What brings you here then? Don't look like the kind of guy to be visiting a little hole-in-the-wall watering pool place like this" At least he had good taste in alcohol, that much was for sure.

@BCTheEntity@EvenGODSFall






So sayeth the factory worker, slaving at steel. So sayeth the soldier, with his jackbooted heels. So sayeth the politican, spinning his lies. So sayeth the pilot, darting through skies. Peace in Idiea will last no longer- for here comes Death, lead by warmongers.





See here for the interest check, here for the discord server, and here for the technology sheet.










Idiea is a (mostly) Pangaea-like world, set culturally in the interwar period of the 20th century. It has had an unusually long period of international peace, although local revolutions and breakaway states have occurred in recent years. However, the discovery of crude oil, and the refining techniques needed to turn it into diesel have sparked a revolution of the technological sort. This increase in technology, particularly with its uses for war, has understandably made many nervous, and it seems that far from ushering in a new age of prosperity in this era of peace, nothing but all-out war shall break out. Philosophically, Idiea is a blend between both of the wars. Totalitarian fascist and communists regimes sit side by side with old empire and kingdoms. Milder nationalists, democratic republicans, socialists and theocratic dictatorships all hold sway in this world, causing a unique mixture the likes of which will be totally destroyed by the war. After all, only one side can come out standing.




IMPORTANT


We are currently OPEN! You may join us if you want to! Feel free to join the discord and give us a shout!

Rules:

  • - What I say is final. I am the GM. If I say something, that is what happens. I wish to be a harsh, yet benevolent dictator, don't worry.
  • - Follow Guild rules. Be Fonzie cool, no harassment or any of that. If you must have drama, keep it to PMs, or bring in mods.
  • - Don't Godmod. Nothing sucks more than someone pulling out a superweapon in the middle of a battle and wiping half an army out without letting the other person respond. If they've agreed to that, that's different, but then that ain't godmodding.
  • - KEEP THINGS GOING. I've been burned out with rapidly dead games before. I refuse to let that happen here. I will be poking people on Discord to post, and I will try my best to post in a reasonable space of time. Thank you.




The crusader stood firm as the ship touched down neatly near him, his only reaction to be to adjust his hood, which had been blown back and off of his head thanks to the force of the engines touching down. The sister standing next to him, whom he had been mildly surprised to see towered over him, he had no doubt, was here for the same reason, and whilst her height was... Hrm. Irritating was the wrong word. He did not become irritated. Ah well. He was taller than the average imperial citizen, and he had never found size to be an issue when he was fighting. Perhaps it helped her to 'secure' herself when she was firing the heavy weaponry she was carrying. Or maybe she was augmented. A possibility- the progenium often lead to injuries. He should know- he had inflicted some.

When the inquisitor disembarked, he couldn't help but instantly kneel. He held a hand on the shaft of his power lance, the purity seals fluttering slightly at the movement, and lowered his head, his storm shield barely shifting at all thanks to the size of it. After the kneel, he rose to his feet, resting his lance inside the crook of his arm and showing impressive strength by signing the aquila with his storm shield still attached to his arm. Then, he pulled out his sign of office smoothly, showing it to the group.

"Greetings. I am Crusader Markus Therebus. I am currently looking for Inqusitor Leland Kliment, I don't suppose you would happen to be connected to him in any way?"


Gender: Male.

Role/Order: Cardinals Crimson.

Personal Demeanour: To become a crusader, one must become one with the understanding that they will die. Marcus has long since accepted this, and now lives by discipline. He moderates his emotions towards all, keeps himself focused on the objective at hand, and lives only to serve the Emperor. Even on the battlefield, he remains calm, barking out his words in quick and concise phrases. Battle screams and curses hurled at enemies are not how Marcus conducts himself.

Of course, however, he is a devoted servant of the emperor. In his heart burns nothing but cold fury for the xenos and heretics that plague the galaxy. Nothing would bring him more grim satisfaction than seeing another xenos fall by his feet, another combat style etched into his mind with strokes of blood. Regardless, outside of combat or inside of combat, he acts rather sternly.

Speciality: Close-quarters-combat, crowd control.

Rank: Crusader

Description: Standing at 6'2" tall, and with cropped black hair, Marcus is an individual that oozes the essence of a warrior. With carapace armour on, and the traditional black-and-red robes of the Cardinals Crimson. In many ways, he is utterly unremarkable in appearance, without any form of metal implants or strange procedures having marred his body. Unusually, he also bears no tattoos of faith at all- he lets the scars of combat bear them instead.

History: Marcus was born on an Imperial transport vessel in the middle of space. Without knowledge of who his father was, and with his mother rapidly KIA, he was left to be raised by a ecclesiarchal priest. From a young age, he was taught to moderate himself in wayward thought, to follow the Emperor with every bone and sinew in his body. Indoctrination at such a young age, combined with growing up around the crudeness that were Astra Militarum soldiers gave him an odd mix between holiness and crudeness, tempered by a naturally melancholic attitude.

However, one cannot become a crusader just by being raised by a priest. Upon planetfall, the young Marcus, already showing promise, was shipped off to the Schola Progenium. There, he quickly came under the attention of Drill Abbot Clemitus Attentine, a trainer in melee combat and physical fitness. Eschewing training in ranged weaponry, not even that of basic autogun procedure, he was instead taught more and more of the arts of war on a level he had not expected to before.

His qualification of the Progenium came in a violent and confusing way. Thrown into the Hallucinarium, with his only instruction being to protect another student from harm, despite the myriad other confusing instructions and Tempestus trainees, he succeeded, and was promptly approached by a member of the Cardinals Crimson, where he entered the life of a crusader whole-heatedly. He found particular skill with a more defensive combat style- that of lance and spear. Xenos fruitlessly battering themselves against his defence as he harried them down and left them dead, before moving on. He learned the catechisms of the crusader, the vows of how he would lay down his life, and he fought for decades against heretic and xenos alike across the Imperium.

With the request from Leland Kliment, the Ecclesiarchy sent him to carry out the highest honour a crusader could be granted- to lay down his life for the instrument of the Emperor's Will that was an Inquisitor. He is yet to take the formal oath that will forever bond him to Kliment, however he has been given instructions to do so once he meets the inquisitor.

Equipment and Armament:

  • Power Lance- Covered in ornate purity seals and scripture, and thrice-blessed. Cuts through armour like a knife through butter, with a range long enough to ensure that foes will have to approach through his reach to attack him.
  • Reinforced Carapace Armour- Tough, whilst still flexible enough to direct would-be lethal blows.
  • Storm Shield- Full body protection in an angular design. When this is put in front of Marcus, he becomes a wall, capable of shrugging off small arms fire like it's rain.
  • Badge of Office- A plain thing, mostly used as identification.


He owns nothing else, as would be expected from a Crusader.


Idiea has been at peace for almost a century. The flames of war were quenched and the blacksmiths went back to hammering ploughs, but now? It seems like that is coming to an end. Technological advancement has stoked the flames of ambition and competition like the world has never seen before. The power of crude, the sticky black stuff that reeks and powers the world... It is sending countries mad, and with each descent into the greed for black gold comes the rearmament. Still, politicians claim that war will never happen. There will be peace, they say.

Pah! Peace. It looks to me like you should be readying for war!








The Fumes of War is a curious idea I've had. If you're aware of upcoming RTS game Iron Harvest, the ideas are somewhat similar. Dieselpunk, to put it in simpler terms, is what happens when the idealism of steampunk runs out. World War 1 brings the Victorian romanticism to a clothesline stop, and the interwar period, rise of facism and other extreme ideologies brings the worse out in people.

This, is slightly different. In the continent of Idiea, roughly comparable to Europe of the 1920s and 1930s, war has not happened. The kingdoms and empires that made up the continent remained on a steady course, but that is about to come to a halt. Rapid advancements in technology have suddenly opened the floodgates for weapons technology in a way that has never been seen before. Understandably, tensions are rising, and the diesel that now powers Europe is now ripe to be sparked, dragging perhaps the entire world into a combat the likes of which have never been seen before.

Philosophically, Empires are a real part of the world still. Civic and Chauvinsitic Nationalism, racial supremacy, blossoming democracy, absolutist monarchy and totalitarian dictatorships butt heads like never before. Communism is a wildfire idea that is dismissed in parlour houses but spoke of on factory floors, the nation state is tussling with its directions... With you at the helm.

At the core of it, this will be a nitty-gritty game.
Exactly how it'll play out is still being worked out in my head, but if you just want to write a bit casually, this won't be for you. Apologies. I also am looking for people who will have long term interest. If you're going to vamoose after a few posts, then there's no need to bother in the first place.

That being said, I look forward to seeing if folks are interested!


Trixie turned the tap, and watched as the water dribbled out. "Alright. I'm calling it. Utilities are now, officially, down. Which is a shame, because it's bloody freezing right now." She sighed and looked outside. The chickens had been taken in, and they had covered the small amount of crops they were growing in clear plastic. Even though it was midday, it was gloomy outside, thick, dark clouds covering the sky. After the earthquake, things had seemed alright for a few days, and then the power had begun to waver. Sometimes it would be on for a few days, and then it would flick off for an hour or a day at a time. Then it would be flicked back on, rinse and repeat.

Two days ago, it had gone off and hadn't come back on.

Now the water was off. Dark grey flurries, really soot-filled snow, was falling onto the ground. Damn. Even with a minor earthquake... No doubt if it had just been this alone, things might have been OK, but they weren't. Really weren't. Flicking their radio back and forth, Robin listened until Three Dawg's station came over the radio. There was a few pops and hisses as the broadcast attempted to pierce the snow, and then his voice crackled over.

"Day... I'm calling it day 17 of the end of the world has been going pretty well folks! Today I'm calling it 'Fallout Friday,' in honour of my name, and these absolutely amazing tunes from the 40s and 50s. That was just 'Atom Bomb Baby,' and before we get into the next, an update on whatever I'm getting from sources. FEMA and National Guard are busy bees across the country with camps for food and basic necessities. They say that if you want to get supplies, come with ID. You cannot get food on behalf of other people, and supplies are limited, so you might not get anything."

The firefighter leaned back in his chair. "You reckon there's something in Phoenix?"

"You're not going to the city." Trixie looked at him, incredulous. "We have enough food, no need to risk it out there."

"It would help, wouldn't it? Some extra supplies, and the National Guard has enough guns to make it count. It'll take an hour and a half, max."

"An hour and a half you can't communicate to me, because phone towers are down."

"I need to get out, I'm going stir crazy in here."

"You can't just go into Phoenix!"

"Look, Trix, I love ya, really do, but you're being a little controlling here. I'll take Rocky, I'll take the Benelli, I'll take the Glock. Plenty of firepower. Dogpower to." He chuckled. "If I get something, I get something. If not, it's still good information, alright?"
I'll get on a post probably tomorrow.
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