Enigmatik

Fumes of War: A Dieselpunk RP

.

Fumes of War: A Dieselpunk Nation RP

.

Fumes of War: A Dieselpunk RP

Aeagan 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 Aeagan, roughly comparable to Europe of the 1920s and 1930s, global 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 the world 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! A Discord server can be found here: discord.gg/QQ69Mjz

Calling those that expressed interest last time

@Lady Selune@Theodorable@BCTheEntity@Sierra@Strange Rodent@Elgappa@6slyboy6@Marquise@lordzell@captainbritton@lauder@yungtweak

Fumes of War: A Dieselpunk Nation RP

Aeagan 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 Aeagan, roughly comparable to Europe of the 1920s and 1930s, global 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 the world 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! A Discord server can be found here: discord.gg/QQ69Mjz

The Dawn of the Civilization (Stone age tribal NRP)

"Hunters of the night, together we call for your blessing." The chant occurred, a terrible sound of rising and lowering pitches, melodic and dischordant all at once. The choir of voices, men, women, and even a hound that had been swept up in the fervour, letting out an unrestrained howl, would float up into the night, to where the masters of the hunt would hopefully hear their call. "We need your strength. Your ferocity. Your tenacity. Your courage. Strengthen us, and use us as conduits for your might." On it went, the fire that the group of warriors had gathered around sparking and dancing higher and higher with each line spoken.

The chant would go on, and then at the very end, the fire would grow black. The last lick of flame darted up, and was then snuffed, the entire great fire quenched in an instant by a howl of wind. The smoke rising up, the warriors would take deep breaths, turning to one another. The beat of wood against the ground would then occur. AWAKEN SPIRITS, AWAKEN STONE. AWAKEN SPIRITS, AWAKEN SINEW. AWAKEN SPIRITS, AWAKEN STONE, AWAKEN SPIRITS, AWAKEN SINEW..." The new chant grew in speed until it was almost incomprehensible, and then a feral HOU-AAAAAH! marked its end as well, a deep sense of fervour built up by the hyperventilation... and the intervention of those that they had pleaded to.

Let the hunt begin.

Now that they were not attempting to make a sound, the Aishrek warriors were whisper-silent. Each footfall was naught but a cat's tread, the only trace of the single-file line being a slight disturbance in the grass. The firelight they were drawn to was emitted from a clustered series of huts, just inside the treeline. Slinking through the fields, the warriors would fan out through the woods and encircle the settlement. Conversation wafted up- and there, a sentry was idly standing in a small mud 'box,' looking exhausted.

The thwip of an arrow, the deathly trail it left behind silent, spelled the end for the sentry. The head had pierced the man's throat, and the shaft was buried in his windpipes. Grasping up at where this strange stick now sat, only a quiet gurgle or two could make their way past the man's lips, his killers now unimpeded in preparing the ambush.

Those inside the camp would have almost no warning. A dog's bark, and then a blur of teeth and muscle shot its way into the camp, lunging at the first person it found and clamping onto their leg. A piercing scream would awaken all but the deepest sleepers, but it was much too late to stop the attackers. Axes, spears, torches and daggers were the weapons of choice, the camp being overrun by the chants of "KOURA KOURA KOURA" bellowed out. Then, one by one, the screams and the shouts stopped.

By the time that the dawn light had risen, all that remained of the camp were the inflammable buildings that the tribe had left and the bodies.

---

Filla felt as the adrenaline and the spirits left her body. They had driven her into the battle-lust that she had asked them to provide her, and in return she had given into the slaughter. The end of her axe was stained crimson, although no drips came from it any more. The battle was but a whirl in her mind- splitting a skull here, knocking over a torch stand there. Her throat was sore from the shouts and the screams, but in her heart she knew that she had done her people proud.

The walk to the Aishrek camp was done in confident silence. Those that had remained looked to the warriors, fists pressed against chests as a sign of respect for their achievements. Before the young woman could continue any further, Ulkren, the huntsmaster, had placed a heavy hand onto her shoulder, squeezing it firmly. "Your father would be proud, and your soul is blooded. We must make you an adult." The man may have been approaching his thirty-third winter, but he was by no means showing it. Every inch of Ulkren was the warrior he had been ten years ago, right down to the blood running down his spear and staining his hand.

"COME NOW. ONE OF US HAS FINISHED HER FIRST HUNT. THE SPIRITS HAVE TAKEN HER AWAY TO THEIR DOMAIN, AND RETURNED HER, HAVING SEEN HER WORTHY OF THEIR STRENGTH." The man's voice boomed around the camp, and one of the woman had already moved towards the spirit's tent, coming out with a bundle. Ulkren looked down at Filla, a stern smile on his face, and placed her down on her knees in front of the fire. Tell me. When the spirits overcame you... How did you feel?"

Filla's blood drained from her face. She had known she would need to answer this, and yet... She wasn't sure how she had felt. Stammering a little, she answered. "It was... It was if this wave crashed over me, and took me away with it. I don't remember much." She looked up at the man, who scrutinised her for a moment, and then nodded. "Very well then. I know which spirit overtook you." The woman who had retrieved the bundle now keeled in front of the girl, Ulkren muttering something into her ear. The woman would nod and examine Fillia, before retrieving a lethally sharp shard and mutely indicating towards the jerkin and armour she was wearing.

Reluctantly, the huntress would remove it, shivering slightly as the dawn air chilled bare skin. There was hush from the tribe, and then the first cut would be made. Fillia stiffened, feeling as blood ran down her chest and soaked into the ground, but otherwise remained quiet, looking straight ahead at a point on the horizon. More cuts would follow, until the sun had truly risen above the sky and she was sure that there could be no more blood left around her chest. At long last the woman would stop, wiping at Fillia's chest with a cloth in order to clean much of the blood away. "Almost done," came the first muttered words the woman had spoken, before taking a gourd and splashing the liquid across Fillia's chest.

A strong hand would painfully rub the liquid into the cuts, and then shakily the woman would help Fillia to her feat. When she stood, exhausted, and yet with the pain giving her a rush like nothing else, Ulkren would place a hand to his chest. "NO MORE A CHILD. FILLIA, CAST DOWN THE NAME GIVEN TO CHILDREN. TAKE UP THE NAME OF AN ADULT. THE SPIRIT OF THE BOAR HAS TAKEN YOU, GEREKEN."

She had never felt more proud.

Warhammer 40k: Enemy Without, Enemy Within - an 'Ecclesiarchal' RP [Mature][High Casual/Low Advanced]

As safe as they would be on Terra? Not in the slightest. He could see no less than three potential ways to infiltrate this place with a weapon, not to mention that the servitor would likely not be scanning for those made from unconventional material. An assassin had once snuck by all security sensors, only to lunge at a confessor under his protection with a knife made from some sort of plastics. That had been... Surprisng, to say the very least. Rubbing his eyes a little, he would watch as the governor fluttered away, turning to the leader of the group as she spoke.

"I'm afraid I'm ill-educated on what exactly we might be looking for. Not to mention that this situation... I am far from at ease here. I shall remain here, perhaps talk with some of the guards and see if they have anything to say to one that is more like them than..." Well, than the pampered nobles and the stern-looking sisters. Admittedly Marcus was hardly the average guardsman, and yet he often found that they preferred to discuss matters with a fellow of military bearing, rather than someone who was so clearly a zealot.

That being said, the priest had the right idea. A weapon- any sort of weapon... Well, he couldn't say that it wouldn't be beneficial. Taking measured steps so that he was walking alongside the slightly portly man, he would lean down and mutter a few words into his ear. "The best place to find armaments will be where the staff of this event are gathering."

The Dawn of the Civilization (Stone age tribal NRP)

Would anyone like to collab regarding an Aishrek raid?

The Dawn of the Civilization (Stone age tribal NRP)

Aishrek

Never Forget Who Dwells In The Dark

Beasts stalk the night, and their name is the Aishrek. Nomads, warriors, conquerors. They let others plan for winters- to them will go the spoils without toiling.

The Aishrek respect one thing, and one thing only- strength. They claim heritage from muscle and sinew, bone and blood. The Aishrek are predators, and as such they offer their praises to predators. Ritualistic self-harm, be it directly through cuts or indirectly through fasting, the consumption of psychedelic or hallucinatory plants and both the beginning and ending of life play a tremendous role in Aishrek religious beliefs. By offering their exaltation to the predators, predators in turn lend their fervour to the tribe. Aishrek warriors may lean on the strength of a bear, the cunning of a fox or the fury of the sabre-tooth, turning the tide dramatically. Outside of combat, their largely carnivorous diet forces them to move often, although their territory is never deserted for long.

No one person can claim to rule the Aishrek. They are 'democratic,' in that they make consensus-based decisions, with elders or those in skilled positions providing advice, but not strictly speaking holding authority.

Just like animal predators, the range that the Aishrek roam is large. Warnings are placed around their most sacred and commonly-trod paths, but much of what they consider 'their land,' is unmarked. Aishrek settlements are never permanent- They are always moving on to the next game to hunt or the next tribe that has encroached onto what they consider rightfully theirs.

In the world of chaotic tribal warfare, where the tides of battle turn on one mans conviction, the Aishrek are masters of morale. Hardened to combat and inured to pain, they use heavy, brutish weapons and oftentimes cumbersome armour to move, seemingly implacably, towards their foes, hacking and slaughtering until they flee. When the bloodshed has stopped, they take their fill of the bounty their defeated enemies held, take their time to honour the Hunt, and then move on, shedding no tears over those who have returned to the blood.

The Aishrek consider even themselves a tribe of outcasts. Those whose great strength and fortitude raised them above the common members of other tribes, and were rightly feared as superior to their so-called tribesmen. When paranoia or fear forced them out, they banded together, taking the name of the Aishrek and channelling themselves through those who turned life into a hunt- swearing to keep their strength and fortitude forevermore.

The Dawn of the Civilization (Stone age tribal NRP)

Aishrek

Never Forget Who Dwells In The Dark

Beasts stalk the night, and their name is the Aishrek. Nomads, warriors, conquerors. They let others plan for winters- to them will go the spoils without toiling.

The Aishrek respect one thing, and one thing only- strength. They claim heritage from muscle and sinew, bone and blood. The Aishrek are predators, and as such they offer their praises to predators. Ritualistic self-harm, be it directly through cuts or indirectly through fasting, the consumption of psychedelic or hallucinatory plants and both the beginning and ending of life play a tremendous role in Aishrek religious beliefs. By offering their exaltation to the predators, predators in turn lend their fervour to the tribe. Aishrek warriors may lean on the strength of a bear, the cunning of a fox or the fury of the sabre-tooth, turning the tide dramatically. Outside of combat, their largely carnivorous diet forces them to move often, although their territory is never deserted for long.

No one person can claim to rule the Aishrek. They are 'democratic,' in that they make consensus-based decisions, with elders or those in skilled positions providing advice, but not strictly speaking holding authority.

Just like animal predators, the range that the Aishrek roam is large. Warnings are placed around their most sacred and commonly-trod paths, but much of what they consider 'their land,' is unmarked. Aishrek settlements are never permanent- They are always moving on to the next game to hunt or the next tribe that has encroached onto what they consider rightfully theirs.

In the world of chaotic tribal warfare, where the tides of battle turn on one mans conviction, the Aishrek are masters of morale. Hardened to combat and inured to pain, they use heavy, brutish weapons and oftentimes cumbersome armour to move, seemingly implacably, towards their foes, hacking and slaughtering until they flee. When the bloodshed has stopped, they take their fill of the bounty their defeated enemies held, take their time to honour the Hunt, and then move on, shedding no tears over those who have returned to the blood.

The Aishrek consider even themselves a tribe of outcasts. Those whose great strength and fortitude raised them above the common members of other tribes, and were rightly feared as superior to their so-called tribesmen. When paranoia or fear forced them out, they banded together, taking the name of the Aishrek and channelling themselves through those who turned life into a hunt- swearing to keep their strength and fortitude forevermore.

@Raylah Don't worry, we still have some rip and tear.

Murder for Fun and Profit: Mercenaries in London

The weight on his back was an old familiar friend to him. Thumbing the strap of it, he let the ammunition inside rattle and clink about. It made stealth near impossible, but who needed stealth when you had 35 5.56 rounds and one more in the chamber. The long, slightly curved magazines were neatly tucked into the many pockets of his rig, whilst his appearance was covered by the balaclava. A set of ballistic goggles, tinted to cover his eyes, were fitted neatly there.

He was ready. The laser designation, a polymer rifle-styled stock with a trigger hooked up to an electronic device one of the artillerymates had cooked up. He looked down at his phone where the message had been sent out, running it through the software that PH had instructed him to get when he had first worked with them. It was important, since strictly speaking they were probably a terrorist organisation, but really England's counter-terror organisations hadn't been a threat to Pale Horse since the nukes.

No matter though, he had turned up. The area around here was crumbling, with vines and grass starting to sprout up between cracks in the asphalt. The only sign that he had, in fact, turned up to the right place was a stencilled design on the wall. Other than that... Didn't look like anyone else had cropped their heads up. Waiting game, he supposed.