Imperium OffTopicum: The Spirit of Man

Wait but you did. My empire was there. Then it was gone and a bunch of anti-Papists were running all over it.

Did I misinterpret colors or something?
 
We need Rob to clarify.
Also, in the stats, why are Mosher and RedSpy red? I assume I'm green cause I'm the world's industrial leader.
 
Pour everything into infantry and artillery
Attack south Denmark
 
Linkman226 said:
Wait but you did. My empire was there. Then it was gone and a bunch of anti-Papists were running all over it.

Did I misinterpret colors or something?
Click to expand...

I bought all the stock of the guys who attacked you right after their armies walked all over you.
 
Germany(250)
110 into 11 infra
12 into 3 Infantry
54 into 14 artillery
68 into 17 Calvary
save 1
 
I AM BACK!

Just writing up some new Macros on the Excell spreadsheet then I'll be back to this like a tiger on a large cruise liner while a fish is trying to eat its way through Canada.

Also I had a bit of a Dawww moment when finding out that someone else has used my rules...

I will write up the Thunderchild update then once that's done I'll do this turns update.

ULLA
 
It could be said that I've gone OTT a bit with this one...

Everything done, I'll have evening meal and then post.
 
26th of November 1900
Thunderchild​


“Steady Boys!” cried the boatswain as the giant warship thundered on through the waves, tearing though the choppy seas and towering waves. Ahead of them they could see the White Cliffs of Dover; the area should have been calm and easy to sail across but the invaders’ cylinders had broken up all the normal weather patterns. The rain came down in a continual downpour of huge drops and it could easily be said that the Boatswain was in doubt as to whether they’d make it or not.

The ship was of course the Thunderchild; the greatest battleship in the British fleet. It was captained by none other than Captain Geoffrey Meil and was known to be the strongest, fastest and best armed ship in the whole world. When orders had come through that they were to sail to England and assist in the evacuation effort the whole world knew that if the Thunderchild couldn’t make it then no one could.

A Midshipman approached the Boatswain and called out across the thunder and the roar of the waves, “Sir, we’ve spotted them!”

The Boatswain could hardly hear over the noise and replied in a shout. “Who?”

He suddenly noticed the look of fear on the Midshipman’s face and realised what he meant. “The Martians, sir! The Martians!”

Heavens no, the boatswain thought to himself, this can’t be true; I don’t want it to be true. He breathed in, preparing himself for the flurry of orders he would have to give. “Get to your post son, I’ll go down and rouse the rest of the crew.” The Midshipman gave a quick salute before leaping into a nearby deck door. The Boatswain quickly ran to a hatch, opened it and climbed down in to the totally different world of below decks.

Here there was little sign of the noise of the deck and the atmosphere was reasonably dry, there was little commotion and everyone seemed quite relaxed. The Boatswain though it best to change that in a hurry.

“Get up! Get up! Ye lazy laggards! They’re here the Martians! We’re about to meet them.” He charged though the rows of sleepy sailors pushing and shoving them. The reaction was almost instantaneous; other NCOs began calling out orders and men began to run in all directions getting the guns ready, preparing to open the hatches and other important tasks. The Boatswain still went round, shouting at everyone keeping them in line. Soon they would meet the Martians and he wanted to be ready when they did.

A moment later one of the signal officers jumped up from his post crying “A message from the captain! A message!” The ship being so immense it would be impossible for anyone to look over all of it so there were these telecommunication stations all across the ship with communication officers ready to relay the captain’s orders. “It’s from the captain. It reads ‘We are about to meet the invaders, Stop.’” By now most of the noise of the past few minutes had stopped, everyone was listening. “’They outgun us, comma, they outnumber us, comma, but we are not afraid, semicolon, we cannot fear them, stop. We have been chose to defend our green and pleasant land, stop. They are approaching the coast and the ships of those who are trying to escape, stop. We must protect those people, stop. I expect that every man will do his duty, stop.’ That’s it.”

There was a moment of silence as if time had stood still then it was broken by a sailor, “Huzzah!” he cried joyfully and he was immediately joined by a chorus of Huzzahs from across the deck. The peoples on the other decks must also have heard the cry fro they too took up the call.


From the bridge Captain Meil could hear it too but from where he stood he could see the three tripods closing in on the poor defenceless steamer and he pulled a leaver which sent the order to drive the engines as fast as they could go. The Martians were strong but if Thunderchild would go down, it would bring them down with it. “Mr. Scott, we need to go faster.” He said calmly, in an almost melancholy tone, to his Scots chief engineer.

“I’m giving ye all she got sir.” He replied in his broad accent.

“I hope it’s enough.”


Back on the gun deck the cheers had nearly stopped the Boatswain, eager to get the man back to work called out for them to start getting back to work. The sailors instantly snapped back into their earlier mode of work with the noise of the cheers replaced by the shouts of working men, the clang of machinery and the guns as they were brought into place and then the shutters opened.

The roar of the sea made all else but inaudible and the waves splashed in drenching the hard working sailors. Water was soon sloshing around the deck and depending which way the ship was tipped the water could be as high as your shins. The Boatswain still hurried on trying to maintain order amongst the men and to ensure that they would be ready for when they met the Martians.


Captain Meil still had a look of utter placidity on his face. He stood, holding the wheel and looking straight ahead, right into the storm where he saw the three dark figures stalking across the water.

Suddenly there was a flash of lightning above him, the tripods were suddenly illuminated, he saw the round features, the green bulbous eyes and the dark ominous heat ray and he knew in that instant that he was going to die here; none of them would make it, they were all doomed. But he kept looking ahead, his expression may have changed for an instant but before anyone could notice it changed back to that sad yet content whitewash of calm.


From the steamer Carrie looked out across to the pier where she had just seen her beloved husband disappear amidst the crowd. The sea seemed to be in an awful roar and she was defiantly worried about the storm but then a young man next to the rail shouted something and everyone came to look. She tried to push through the crowd to the barrier, hoping to get a glimpse of whatever it was that had them so fixated. She caught some snippets of conversation, words such as tripods and Martians and doomed.

It didn’t take her long to work out what they were referring to.

Then she saw them, ore terrifying than she could ever have imagined they stalked the horizon like dark shadows against the sky; colossal statues of metal. She could already feel the hope of before seeming away from the crowd of refugees; the hope that they could have been saved, the hope that they might yet live, it was all flowing away just like her husband had only moments ago.


The Boatswain pushed through the throng of sailors. Everything was going well, all seemed to be in place, perhaps the stood a chance against the Martians after all. Then, amongst the cachophony of noise he heard a voice that didn’t sound quite right... A woman’s voice. He followed the sound ‘till he reached a midshipman talking to three, what looked like, civilians. One dressed in a suit and bow tie. One, a woman, and wearing trousers! And the third looked like some sort of soldier out of a history book, he looked distinctly Roman.

“No, it’s fine; I’m a doctor I can help.” Said the first man.

“Sorry,” Replied the midshipman “Only cleared sailors on the gun deck, it’s the rules.”
The man, showing no sign of backing down proceeded to show the man some papers which supposedly gave him access. The Midshipman called over to the Boatswain, “Have a look at this sir.”

The Boatswain examined the papers with upmost scrutiny. “They seem legitimate,” he said, and then turned to the odd looking man and his companions, “So, you are Sir John Smith of the horticultural ministry and private horticultural advisor to the King, You are Lady Pond of the Duchy of Aberdeen and this is...” He held up the paper and fixed it with a glance so contemptuous that it could have burned the paper, “Rory the Roman?”

The Roman looked back and said plainly “Yeah, that’s me.”

The Boatswain clanked at the midshipman in a disbelieving way. “Take them below.” He ordered with a sigh.


Carrie could see clearly now the Martians, no longer colossal silhouettes but giants of shining metal and sickly green. They were getting closer and the mood in the crowd told her that the small steamer could not outrun the fighting machine. People started to scream from the stern of the ship and panic as erupting. Fear and hopelessness covered the people, some ran around, other sat and tear ran from their dreary eyes. Others looked on placidly...


Captain Meil gave the order, “Fire when ready, take any shot you can.” The order was instantly acknowledged by the communication officer and it spread down throughout the ship like a virus; travelling through the communication tubes to the communication officers to the NCOs who would then bellow it out for everyone to hear. Soon the whole crew had the orders and was preparing to enact them.

On the gun deck the Boatswain had the Roman and his companions forcibly removed and sent below decks. Then he went back to giving orders and maintaining running order.

The First shot sounded.

All could hear it; the people on the boat, the crew of Thunderchild, the Martians themselves.

The mood on the boat instantly changed, it was like a guardian angel had come to save them. Everyone knew about the Thunderchild; it was the most famous ship in the British navy and its sleek shape was instantly recognisable. Soon people were scrambling to the barriers to get a good look. As the thundering of the ships guns continued they saw a Martian hit by one of the massive shells. The casing of the hood was cracked and smoke or steam poured out. It swayed in the wind as if not wanting to give up but it’s quivering soon ended and it began to plummet straight downwards into the water.

The mood had defiantly changed, the people sensed that victory was nearing, that fortune must have smiled. Then they started cheering “Come on Thunderchild!”

Back in the ship any sound of cheering was blocked out by hollering of orders and the almighty boom of the cannons. When the first tripod fell there was a short moment of rejoicing but the men soon went back to work. Wood burning braziers lighted the deck giving off large amounts of smoke in order to block out the Martian’s chemical weapons. Although it made the conditions hot, sweaty and made the air hard to breathe it was seen by the crew as being the lesser evil to dying in spasms on the floor.

The Ship kept on its course, its mighty engines now running at maneuver speed as it cut towards the next of the towering monstrosities. The guns roared again and the second of the tripods fell. The mood on both the Thunderchild and the steamer was now one of ecstatic joy!

They had done it, they had beaten the Martians! Humanity was safe! Victory had been gained!

The might of the glorious ironclad seemed to be unstoppable as it rolled through the waves. Its canons seemed like lances striking out at the dragon of the Martians. its engines like an avalanche; unstoppable. Its armour of the fines steel; impenetrable...


“It’s those damned civilians again.” Shouted the Boatswain exasperatedly to the Midshipman. They had just seen the three figures slip out of the nearby bulkhead door and race across the slippery gun deck to the hatch. The Boatswain sighed, what did they think they were doing. It must be hell out there; the storm still raged and the waves still stood high making even the Martians seem less intimidating. “Hey,” he called out, “You there!” But they had already run up the staircase and exited to the deck.

“Sir?” enquired the Midshipman.

“I’ll follow them up...”


Upon opening the hatch the Boatswain realized how bad the storm actually was; waves rolled across the deck and he had to grab onto a nearby railing so as to keep himself from being washed away. He couldn’t see anything; the salt water blinding his eyes and the roar of the waves blacking out any other noise. The battering of the water knocked him off his feet and he held on to the railing with both hands for dear life.

He struggled to get back up, slipping constantly on the wet deck and buffeted by the power of the water. But he somehow managed. He freed an arm, wiped the water from his eyes and looked to the bows of the boat.

There were two things there both of which disturbed him on different levels. Firstly towering above even the highest waves stood the tripod. It’s metal legs as thick as a pipe but as tall as St. Pauls in London. The other thing also reminded him of London. It was a square blue police box, like the kind which so commonly sat on the corners of London’s busy streets.

How had he never noticed that before?

And once again two things, both alarming and disturbing happened at once. Firstly the box began to fade; it made a churning noise like nothing he had heard before and it just faded, like ink... Then just as it was almost gone the worst of calamities struck...

The heat ray.

It punched into the ship unlike any bullet or shell; it was just heat, pure heat. Steam rose up from where it had struck, just below the bows. The ship jerked like a horse trying to throw of its master and the warm blanket of the sea engulfed the poor Boatswain. He sank under, rose to the surface again and heard that strange, dark, ominous churning sound once again and saw the police box vanish into thin air.
He drowned with that sound in his head. As he sank below the waves the only thoughts he could muster were: Who were they? What were they? What was that blue box? Why do they want to kill us?


The ship had been hit. Captain Meil had guessed that their luck wouldn’t hold. Cries of “Abandon ship!” could be heard throughout his ship and they scared him.

“Sir, what’ll we do?” Asked Mr. Scott.

The captain paused and in his placid, sombre voice he replied “Mr. Scott, you may go if you want. You could yet live; there are lifeboats enough. But I’ll go down with my ship. You see Mr. Scott: A man is remembered for one thing: What he leaves behind. I won’t survive this day. I will never see the sun rise or set again. I’ll never see the faces of my daughters or the love of my wife again. Those are things I’ll always remember but they are selfish things. I don’t know if there is an afterlife Mr. Scott. But if there isn’t then this will be my last moment of being. I want to think that I did something good; I want to think that I did something worth dying for.”

“I’ll stand by ye sir, ‘till the end o’ the road.” Replied the Scotsman.

Meil nodded and then in a manner completely contrary to his cold and placid manner stroked the brave wooden wheel in his hands. He felt the waxed pine wheel for the last time, noting all the little chips and imperfections that he had come to know over his years beside it. He smiled as he saw the place where it had had to be repainted after his short duel with the French Captain, he touched the little dip where the wood had been re glued after it had snapped during the battle of Biscay and he smelt that waxy smell for the last time.

He whispered sadly “Farewell Thunderchild.”

Before returning to his previous cold and indefatigable placidity. This would be the last stand of Captain Meil, the last stand of the Thunderchild...

The last stand of humanity...

“Increase to ramming speed.”

Thunder%20Child.jpg


And the tl;dr version (Also known as the song)​

Right, here's how RP is gonna rumble from now on:

RP is good, it says so in the OP. RP is the most important concept of the game and so it is now the most important thing for you to consider when giving your orders. However I'm not going to be nice and do a bit of RP for your nation in the updates any more. No, now you have to do your own bit and it will greatly effect the update. I'll give a list of important stuff and I'll do a bit of RP like what you just read. I expect you to make your own nation's events not me. But I'll still do this list as a prompt.

Spoiler :
Events:
- Martians land with their forces mostly concentrated in Spain and Poland.
- Wallachian troops destroyed the most aliens
- British refugees are fleeing into France
- Whatever else you can think of...


Spoiler :
Stats
Spoiler :
V2HCZ.png

Map
Spoiler :
VSI0r.png

Proper Update tomorrow.
 
Dr. Franz Frinkanstin, brother-in-law of King Victor Vlad Driconia, is carefully surveying the battlefield with his assistant, Sigor Karakoff.
Dr. Franz Frinkanstin- Sigor, bring the body bag- I’ve come across another corpse!
(Sigor limps to Dr. Frinkanstin’s side. He is leading two large horses; the horses are pulling a carriage filled with bodies)
Dr. Franz Frinkanstin- Excellent, Sigor. Help me lift this body.
Sigor Karakoff- Yes, sir
(Dr. Frinkanstin & Sigor painstakingly lift the corpse onto the carriage)
Dr. Frinkanstin- That should be enough. We’ll return tomorrow. Come, Sigor.
(Dr. Frinkanstin & Sigor clamber onto the front of the carriage. Though the corpses are in a separate compartment, the stench of death is overwhelming)
Dr. Frinkanstin- We did a great thing today, Sigor.
Sigor Karakoff- Of course, sir.
(Dr. Frinkanstin & Sigor urge the horses forward. Though these are powerful, hardworking steeds, they nevertheless struggle to pull the great mass in the carriage. The carriage finally jerks into motion; the sudden movement causes a limb to move, & hang off the side of the carriage- but it is no arm or leg. The limb is a tentacle- Dr. Frinkanstin & Sigor have been collecting Martian corpses!)
 
The defeat of the Thunderchild had rocked Sweden. The majority of Swedish battleships were created off of stolen blueprints from England and many were Thunderchild-class. And in addition, Sweden had the smallest army and navy of any European nation because the majority of spending had gone towards welfare programs and not the military. The Swedish king, Gustav, has ordered a state of emergency and power has been given to Commander-in-Chief Johan Ferguson. Ferguson has ordered the immediate creation of a large infantry to combat the Martians who have landed in the far-north and the Danish islands. Because the Martians have landed in two locations, the Swedish army has split in two: Army Group Sweden and Army Group Finland (AGS and AGF). AGF will invade Martian Lapland (hopefully in coordination with the Russians) while AGS will attack Zealand.

Sweden:
47 CP:
40: 10 Infantry
7: 1 Gunboat

Also, can the Martians see this thread? Should I PM anti-Martian war plans or can I post them here?
 
momo1000 said:
Also, can the Martians see this thread? Should I PM anti-Martian war plans or can I post them here?
Click to expand...

The Martians cannot see this thread... The Martians don't exist... (Or at least that's what they want us to think)
 
Ok, awesome. Here's the Swedish plan:

kGazn.png


Blue = Army group Sweden
White = Army group Finland
 
Did the map or my troop count change at all?
 
Nope, that was just the write up for the last time I did the update without a write up.
 
BUILD AS MANY INFANTRY AS POSSIBLE

~~~

The Border Between the Martians and Courland

General Hanz Duhsa looked out at the Martian "walkers" that were spraying the feilds before him with death and destruction. He saw movement in the side of his eye, and turned to look. It was a little girl, no more than four or five. She was running towards a house, or what had once been one. Wrong way! NO! thought Hanz as a Martian turned towards her. He quickly turned his head, he couldn't watch. He heard a small scream, quickly cut off.

He finally made his decision. "Men! Gather your weapons!" As he looked towards his soldiers he knew that he was not the only one that had seen the demise of the little girl. He saw that most of them still had some grenades left, god those newfangled weapons were good against the machines! After about 2 minutes he stood up.

"CHARGE!" As he and his 50,000 men stood and began running towards those... those... MONSTERS he knew that this would be the last thing he ever saw, and the last thing he ever felt would be pride in the soldiers under his command.

He managed to throw one grenade, and was gratified to see a leg of a walker collapse, before the ray hit him. Death was surprisingly quick and painelss. He could go into the light... all he had to do was scream....
 
I just want to say that I'm sorry for the oddly infrequent updates.

I'd like to blame it on someone else but It's really all my fault; I've got so little time on my hands right now, especially since I started on the Gold Crest Award project and with a multitude of exams on the horizon (January) I'm doing my best to get all of it done and I feel very little remorse in letting the real world important events get in the way of IOT business. I'm not sure when you'll get the next update - Hopefully this week. But for the next month or so I won't be able to promise anything.
 
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