|
 RonnieHe brings his rifle up. He lowers his rifle down. By the time he even thinks to sight something in, once they find Dimitry locked in one-on-one combat, Izoldah and Harry have already dealt with the problem. Quick and efficient. He even smiles a bit. After all, it's one more dead Nazi, and some drat good soldiering. "That...was textbook," he says, quiet, but with a hint of awe in it. "Nice work, Rostov, Manahi. drat. You too, Dimitry. Glad you're still upright." Ronnie spends a long moment looking at the device Ted found. It looks a bit funky, but Ronnie isn't in a position to say much more than that. "Well, we can't leave until Dimitry's tended to and rested a bit anyway, would be my guess. So that gives some time no matter what." With the Russian contingent carting Dimitry off, he looks to Dicky and Harry, nods affirmatively to the latter's suggestion about traps, then gestures off down towards the rest of the ship. Then, continuing his earlier thought, he adds, "And clearing this boat - careful-like - will take some time too. If that's our plan, still. Right?" [23:05] <FractionJackson> !wild 1d6+1 BRAVE [23:05] * AchtungBot rolled a (1d6+1) with wild die for FractionJackson and got ( 5 2 ) Results: 5 Fraction Jackson fucked around with this message at 08:02 on Oct 15, 2016 |
#
?
Oct 15, 2016 07:25
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 24, 2024 19:33 |
|
|
 Victoire Doucet, Maquisarde Medic, W 4/4, B 2, D 3/6, S 7/7 The tight space inside of the sub really didn't seem appealing to Victoire. She followed the others up to the hatch but stayed there, straining to hear what happened inside. If they need. Also she would be out of range of the flak gun on the deck. A single shot rings out and she tenses. No follow ups, they should have this handled. A moment later Irakliy comes out carrying a very wounded Dimitry on his shoulder. "Come to medical, now." she says tersely before jogging off ahead. She set up a stretcher between two tables and motions to it as Irakliy arrives while she is digging through her satchel. The wounds are pretty bad and she starts by giving Dimitry a morphine shot before cleaning the wounds and stitching the larger and deeper gashes. "Don't strain yourself for a while and get more 'ealing back at base. Zis is all I can do in zese conditions." she tells him as she dresses the wounds. (09:09:53) FathisMunk: !wild d12+1 healing cosmic dimitry (09:09:55) ***AchtungBot rolled a (1d12+1) with wild die for FathisMunk and got ( 6 6 ) Results: 6 (09:10:24) FathisMunk: !roll d4 supplies consumed (09:10:26) ***AchtungBot rolled d4 for FathisMunk and got 2 1 charge remaining. Don't get shot now.
|
|
#
?
Oct 15, 2016 08:20
|
|
|
Saxemberg Island - Hoffmann Station - Ux-824 Together, Ronnie and Harry spearhead a sweep of the remainder of the German submarine while Ted resumes his review of the strange navigation equipment; after some ten minutes of reconnoitering the vicinity, the commando duo emerge confident that any remaining threats--it would seem--have been dealt with. Having thoroughly searched the Hoffmann Station to the best of their capabilities, the strike team and auxiliary group are left to the task of gathering up the spoils of their excursion and putting in a radio report home. Saxemberg Island - Hoffmann Station In the aftermath of so much adrenaline, the placidity of the base itself is almost jarring by contrast. Sgt. Willis' recovery work would take time, in some ways as a race against the remaining diesel generator power; once the blast doors to the surface access hatch are opened, however, the team finds that in the end of it all--the sun has risen over the Atlantic with the dawn of a new, albeit chilly day. Wind whipping against the recesses of that volcanic shore, a radio call is put out--this time successfully. With the all clear, further personnel could be dispatched to recovery the strike team and their accompaniment that further boots on the ground could see to securing and neutralizing Hoffmann Station in their wake. Additional boats would arrive to retrieve the team--before the sixteen hour trek back to HMS Atlantic Isle would commence. There, all present would be debriefed--before given the opportunity for coffee, hot showers and shut eye awaiting further orders and a chance to return home. Given the magnitude of the strike team's discoveries, however--matters would hardly be so simple. ----End Chapter One---- I am punting this a bit for a wrap-up, to tee up the start of Chapter Two with a larger update. What I would like from everyone in between us getting rolling with the next chapter is a kind of combo of introspective wrap-up (you had about two hours waiting around together once the all clear was sounded, then sixteen hours on the ship back to the HMS Atlantic Isle.) before whatever you would like to disclose during your individual debriefings to command. The content of your debriefings can potentially lend bonuses to folks who may be in line for medals or even promotions; each of you can also submit an out of character nomination for an individual or individuals you believe deserve special recognition from Command. I'm also looking for this to be an opportunity for your characters to collect their thoughts and decompress a bit, since events on Saxemberg Island unfolded fairly quickly and many of you didn't have a chance to digest it all at the time. Additionally, between this post and the kick-off for Chapter Two, this is your opportunity to make any final modifications you'd like to your character sheets before we're locked in and I award experience and any advance(s). Any gear you were issued for this mission will be returned to requisition following your return to base. In the meantime, some trailing rolls: Ted can make a Repair test in the conclusion of recovering the navigation equipment. At least a basic success will be beneficial, if he happens to blow it out of the water, all the better. Everyone gets to make a free Spirit test from your success in order to attempt to shed accrued Dementia immediately; you have a +2 bonus to this test due to having found substantial good intelligence to boot. Note that this is a special test and not a fear check or the like, so the +2 is the only modifier that will apply to the roll. A basic success will shed one point of Dementia and each successive raise can shed more cumulatively. Once all of these rolls are concluded, everyone's Benny pool will refresh to their personal default. Finally, congratulations to you all: the entire team survived, including Dimitry, and you managed to recover some considerable findings to contribute to the mission ahead.
|
|
#
?
Oct 15, 2016 09:30
|
|
|
 Izoldah Rostov1 Bennies left When Izoldah left the base and was out in the open, it was as if her body was a bound spring that could finally uncoil. She took deep breaths of clean air. Not the stale and hallucinogenic containing rot from down in that base. The smell of rotting fish was even welcomed. As foreboding and depressing as the island had looked when they had arrived, now it looked positively like a flowered filled meadow in her eyes. She stuck with Dimitry until she was sure he was alright. She'd also make a case to Starshiy Leytenant Irakliy Kuznetsov to try to make sure Dimitry would not come across as cowardly in the reports. She'd been in the Red Army long enough that an accusation of cowardice could be a death sentence. There was also some time to think about what had happened. Clearly a lot of the things she had seen could not be. If they could not be, they weren't. It was that simple. And it all started when they went in a place where the fascists had good control over what was in the air. By accident or design there were some hallucinations. All of them saw mosnters, but could they really be sure they all saw the same monster? Or that they wouldn't influence each other's hallucinations and memories just by describing it to each other. A lot of the others seemed to be too eager to believe it though. She allowed herself a wry grin. City folk. Always like to look down on 'superstitious' people in the little towns, but they were the ones who was Baba Yaga in every moving shadow when out in the wilds at night. Still, if she stressed it too much, she might make the others look unstable, or cause a rift. So she figured she'd keep those thoughts to herself. All in all, the mission was a success. One of the last rat's nests of the nazis got cleaned out. She figured the one that had gotten away might have run off to South America or something. There was that map in Antarctica, but she was skeptical about the fascists' ability to get anything done there. There whole country was falling apart, even these top secret bases, and they were gonna be able to keep a base there? She figured if they had a base there, it probably had run out of supplies months ago. If there had ever been a base there, probably just a bunch of starved corpses to mop up. Her thought turn to the civilians and all the books that were apparently really important considering their excitement. She grinned wryly at that. Probably could be sold for quite some wealth, especially for the ones from the capitalist countries. Though maybe some would be claimed for the Soviet Union as well? Honestly, getting this base was in all likelihood more about getting all these fancy books for eager collectors rather than any military strategic objective. But hey, she was a good soldier and went where she was needed. And it was a good sign that the Fasicst Reich was dead if its spoils were already being divided up. Only spoils she hoped to get from it were a few drinks from that Cognac. (After maybe getting someone to test it for poison) When the team to replace them came, she was eager to leave the little island behind her The way back was calm. Even the seasickness didn't seem to bother her that much anymore. She figured she'd vomited about all she could down in that base. She prepared her report, wanting to commit all memories before they started to get vaguer, and once that's done even managed to get a little bit of shut-eye on the way there. ... Izoldah was no stranger to briefings. She was a scout after all. Giving detailed reports was part of her job.. She tried to give objective measures about size and weight, rather than just subjective impressions. She also added as much details as were possible, if they sounded like they might be the slightest bit relevant. She did not know the whole picture and she knew how much minute details could sometimes tell you. Depending on how detail oriented the people debriefing were, they might now and then have urged her to 'get to the good parts'. While she was happy about all her allies, she didn't really try to make them seem extra heroic or stress how much they deserved appreciation. Sometimes she figured if she'd stress her own actions a bit more, maybe she'd have gotten promotions, but bragging is for city-folk. Only Dimitry got some mentions about how he managed to get them safely on the island despite very rough weather. She did very much stress the lack of working ventilation (to keep a gas in) and the smell of rotting vegetables (to hide the smell of any gas) without talking about the gas itself. And when the time came to give her description, she interrupted herself by prefacing it with the admission that she considered her testimony possibly under weird influences, and that she had no history of any delusions or sightings. She did not want to end up in an asylum. But with those prefaces, she described the horrors she had seen as accurately as her mind could take, though her matter of fact, objective tone suffered, that terror seeping into her voice, especially about how it lurked in the vent. Her story briefly derails when she describes how the hands of the first creatures had tried to grasp and grab her, and how she'd manage to scramble away. The fact that Victoria with her shotgun and medical skills was invaluable was mentioned. As were Harry's daring charges up close to the creature. The second fight was not any more pleasant than the first. The story seemed absurd, insane while explaining it to very serious military officers, but she took her debriefing duties seriously. Her brief moment of freezing in panic was confessed. She could not really assume that nobody of her compatriots wouldn't mention it, and nothing bad had come of it, and being caught leaving out things seemed worse than just admitting a brief moment of weakness. Particularly since all had ended well. The following search was also described, ending with the fight aboard the submarine. She tried to make it sound more like her assisting Dimitry in the fight, rather than her beleaguered comrade needing rescue, making sure to mention he'd been planting his own knife in the maddened fascist, and likely helped kill him. Her remarks on the technical aspects or the occult findings pretty much consisted of admitting her own lack of expertise on the matters, and saying that people seemed really excited about some of the findings. Gonna give the OOC props to Victoria, since she managed some nice kill shots, kept us healed, and focused on the important matters of killing nazis. As to the Spirit roll, I threw my last bennie on it. <Shogeton> !wild d6+2 * @AchtungBot rolled a (1d6+2) with wild die for Shogeton and got ( 9 11 ) Results: 11 One short of healing 3 points, but still healing two points.
|
|
#
?
Oct 15, 2016 15:15
|
|
|
Sgt. Willis After a bit of thought, he'd decided that while time might run short with power, they had no end of people with guns to sweep the submarine. Still, instructions were instructions. Just meant Ted would have to rush a bit more when he was allowed to do his job. Once that comes (blessedly fast, since the submarine wasn't very big), the first thing he does is goes to fetch the cutting torches. He'd decided, while going around the submarine, that it was just too risky to try to precisely sever the box from the wall. It'd be a lot more straightforward and less likely to damage whatever secret Nazi wonder technology was in there if he cut out a small chunk of the wall that the box happened to be mounted on. And so, for the next few hours, Ted very carefully and precisely used cutting torches and patience to work a square foot or so of the control room's wall free. Once he'd gotten that separated, it was a lot easier to see power connections and other connections to the submarine's systems, and separate those at a designed junction instead of hacking at it willy-nilly. It looked a little odd for the engineer to be carrying a chunk of slightly warped and damaged metal with a box on it and some wires carefully coiled on top, but the engineer knew he'd found something worth finding and that the others with the fleet would probably be able to figure out (if not how it worked) how to use it. Probably a second way into wherever the next Nazi base was. Maybe it was a prototype U-boat system for more than just this, and figuring it out would let Allied planes and ships finish pasting hell out of the remnants of the Kriegsmarine. Never could tell. Between that, not losing his head, helping save the second boat, getting the base's systems up and running twice and also saving everyone from an explosive booby trap, Ted was pretty satisfied with how he'd performed this mission. Hadn't even gotten scratched. Some missions were just blessed. Keeping mostly to himself on the way back, he doesn't succumb to the usual tendency of an engineer with a new gadget to tinker with it. He doesn't even try to open it to see what's inside. Doing that outside the proper facilities could damage something delicate. Might even be a small thermite charge inside to melt stuff- though he hadn't found one, having more experts to back him up and spread the blame wasn't at all a bad idea. After a successful mission, the last thing you wanted was to drop the ball when you were about to score. They're separated pretty rapidly. Standard procedure, make sure everyone says the same thing, get rid of any pressure to say something inaccurate. Ted wouldn't have anyway, but what the hell, you never went far wrong by following the Book and this was by the Book. In a calm tone, Ted narrated all the events of the mission with dry, precise terms. The interrogators (sorry, 'mission debriefing intelligence specialists') were openly incredulous a few times at what he was saying, implying he'd been hallucinating. Fine. They would think that until they compared notes with the others! Ted just looked at them in the eye for an unsettling ten or so seconds, and then repeated his description of the Nazis they'd killed. Ted didn't figure he or the team had anyone to be ashamed of. As expected, the navigation system got taken from him almost immediately, and Ted doubted he'd hear much of the specifics of what it actually was and maybe not even hear if it'd even mattered. He was just a grunt without need to know of these kinds of things. Ted understood, he'd do things the same way. At the end, not believing some of the things he'd said or maybe just a bit unsettled by the engineer's calmness when talking about eldritch nightmares, he's debriefed by a second pair of people who are a bit more aggressive and confrontational... but Ted just repeats himself with very little emotion showing. He'd also been critical of the mission as a whole in a very mild way, suggesting that bringing the civilians in with the soldiers was a mistake due to forcing them to split their guns to keep noncombatants alive- a purely military op to secure the base, followed by civilians afterwards, would have been better. Still, he's not critical of any single person, because you never snitched out people you'd fought beside. By the same token, he didn't go out of his way to praise anyone, just drily talking about what had actually happened and figuring that'd be enough. It was for officers to do all that stuff. Officers usually got most of the medals, too. Just how it worked. Eventually, they let him go. Ted promptly takes a short hot shower aboardship, eats a small meal, and then goes to sleep without talking to anyone else. As far as he was concerned, this was just another good day's work. So the Nazis were trying to do more technological things, and had found something else? That was just fine. Send a platoon of those dead-ish Nazis to flail at a platoon of Shermans. Ted'd bet on the Shermans. Just one more spasm from a dying country, and all he really felt was a vague resentment that the Nazis were doing things like this to make people like Ted keep working longer than they should. Should just lay down and die, they should, and not get back up after they did. 07:55 AFKaikubo !wild d8 07:55 AchtungBot rolled a (1d8) with wild die for AFKaikubo and got ( 4 3 ) Results: 4 Nazi submarine navigational gadget salvaged. Ted accumulated no dementia and as such needs not roll.
|
|
#
?
Oct 15, 2016 15:44
|
|
|
Ronnie In the end, there really weren't any more threats to be aware of. S/Sgt. Thomas had been fine with that. To be sure, a few more Nazis to send to whatever special Hell awaited them would not have been a disappointment. But with several of the strike force's number hurting, if still mostly upright and combat-capable in a pinch, it seemed to Ronnie that it would probably be best if there were no more surprises that day. That would be okay by him. At least keeping an eye out for threats that weren't there gave him something to do while Sgt. Willis was fiddling with that device he had found. It kept his mind from wandering too far afield of where it should be, wandering too close to things it shouldn't. But the two ex-Nazi juggernauts they had encountered...his mind kept drifting to them, wondering what they actually were, how they came to be. Harry had referred to it like it was some specific sort of beast. Izoldah had insisted it was all fake, not real. The academics had found those books, and while Ronnie wasn't an expert on such things, he could read between the lines as well as anyone could - something truly unnatural had been going on. Even without that, the entire place had given him a dull sense of the creeps while he was there. He'd held it together, kept his humor as he always did under fire, but that doesn't mean he wasn't bothered. It didn't mean he left without the vague sense of having seen something he was never meant to see. Hadn't been anything like that at Anzio, that was for sure. Not at Port Cros either. War was one thing; he was a machine for it. But this was something new and different. He thought, maybe, that the Nazis had one-upped themselves. That they had decided in the waning moments of their Empire to harness Hell itself. That would suit Hitler in some way, he thought. Ronnie was less religious than some, but still raised in it, and prayed for victory, survival, and to save his buddies as most soldiers did. But he had always wondered about that Hell thing, where and what it actually was, if it was to punish or simply be apart from God, whether it was anything more than something your father or your pastor tells you to scare you back onto the path. Ronnie had a pretty good idea now, though. Even with the chilly sea breeze on his face and the dawn brightening the sky, Hell wasn't far from his mind, and he had begun to believe that its mouth was Saxemberg Island. And, he was sure, they'd all find out what was in the cold heart of Hell itself before they could say the war was over. --- Debriefings, at least, he was used to. They'd have a hell of a time sorting out this set of interviews, that was for sure, his or anyone else's. He didn't actually care if they believed him, though he figured if they all stuck to what happened they'd have to accept the evidence. Ronnie did leave out some things, of course - the strange command situation, who ran or froze up - he didn't want to give any impression of criticism, because there was nothing to criticize in honesty - you couldn't forgive a man for deserting, but holding him to the same standard when the enemy is made of the bodies of the dead? That wasn't fair. Even regarding Dimitry, he simply indicated that he had been '...separated during one of the incidents due to the geography of the facility.' But he tells the story from the beginning otherwise. From the defenseless beach, to their search pattern, to finding and breaching the hatch; to his vent-assisted descent and initial sweep, and the others that came down right after; to getting the lights on and the first real searching of the facility, and the weird odds-and-ends they had found. To the dead soldier in the generator room, and how the sub had been scuttled. And yes, to their first encounter with the thing, and his initial impressions, followed by it dropping from the ceiling almost on top of them. He does his best to detail what it looked like, how it moved, what it took to bring it down - every scrap of information that could be useful if they ever saw such a thing again. And then, the second one, how much bigger it had been, every detail, down to the way it snapped its flesh-and-bone razor at him, how they'd trapped it in the corridor and lit it up with both guns and flames, burned it down to the unsettling dog's head at the center. The final confrontation in the sub, abrupt as it was. All of it, everything he could remember, every sound, every moment. After all, if they were going to war with Hell, they were going to need to know everything. In the end, after multiple rounds of questioning, it was over - and he was still on a rock in the middle of the South Atlantic. Just a different one, with less to worry about, and far more amenities. He needed coffee, grub, a hot shower - and like Hell if anything or anyone was going to stop him. But in a quiet moment, he fishes the red arrowhead patch out of his pocket. Before it had been a reminder of battles past, of men he had fought beside, of a unit the Germans had called the Black Devils. Now, it was an omen of the grisly battles still to come: a promise to fight the Devil himself if it came to it. No Dementia, therefore no roll. Will decide on who the shout-out is going to later since it could easily go to most/all of the team. Fraction Jackson fucked around with this message at 19:01 on Oct 15, 2016 |
|
#
?
Oct 15, 2016 18:53
|
|
|
 Richard 'Dicky' Barton-Morewood2 bennies left With their wayward Russian found and the last of the Nazi horrors thankfully dealt with, everything else happens in a refreshingly quick and straightforward fashion. So much so that it all seems to pass within a flash. Once the all clear call is sent and they get back up topside to leave the base behind them for good, he grins in the morning light and deeply breaths in the crisp, fresh air. During their almost leisurely walk to the boats, he finds the quietness amongst the group gives him time to reflect on their mission here. What had been presented as an already challenging task from the start had taken turns that neither he or anyone in their ragtag squad could have expected. And it's the unexpected he finds himself pondering on all too much as they make their exit. What manner of creation were those monsters? Surely man-made through some twisted Nazi experiment he has heard rumours of them not being above conducting. Surely they could not be anything other than man-made, for starting to believe in forces beyond humanities understanding really existing on this world is more than he can bear to think on. He wonders what their academic support might make of it all, but given the team's unspoken willingness to put this behind them, he does not bring it up. Yet, rather than boggle his mind too much for too long over the horrors and unexpected turns they have faced, he focuses on the clear fact that their mission would in all likelihood be seen as a resounding success. Despite the force they were unknowingly up against, they had cleared the base of all hostiles, collected all possible artifacts of interest and grabbed valuable intelligence to boot. But most importantly, all members have survived with no critical injuries. And for that he breaths the deepest sigh of relief and finds tension he didn't know he had lifting from him. Unlike during their arrival, he welcomes the return to the open ocean as they all clamber back into rubber dinghies, his smile growing wider under his moustache as the island starts to shrink behind them. ~~~~~~~~~ Upon their return, he shakes hands with all the team as they separately step off the boats, wishing them all a well deserved rest and speedy recovery to those who are in need it. Being the one given the burden of command, he is hardly surprised when he is directed to a room almost immediately for a full debriefing. Thankfully this is something he knows all too well having been to a fair few of them in his time, so he's able to approach this at least with the self-confidence he's often known for. He walks in still covered in dirt, dried splatters of blood and with a uniform torn down one sleeve, showing the brass all what sort of mission it had been before he even opens his mouth. When he does speak he keeps it all relatively straightforward and simple, describing the events as they transpired in order with as much detail as he can remember. Their arrival on the empty beach, the discovery of the base, to Ronnie's daring descent into the vent along with those who followed him to allow them all entrance, their initial sweep of the base and the resulting discoveries of both intelligence and artifacts. He directs their attention to the recovered map with eagerness which confirms Nazi operations along the Antarctic coast as well as giving any other information he might have gleaned during his brief study of it. When it comes time to talk of the monsters faced, he leaves nothing out. He recounts in full detail exactly what they faced, knowing full well that these creatures almost killed the brave men and women with him and he would be damned if he was going to leave anything out after they had risked their lives to see the mission through to the end after seeing what they were up against. He can't help but feel his voice quiver slightly as he tells the tale of their first encounter of the main beast pressing it's faces against the window of the Power Room's door, yet still he keeps on. And if he sees any questioning faces amongst the brass, he merely tells them that -whilst he fully understands their disbelief- the half-charred remains of the many-faced creature is still at the base ready to confirm his story. Beyond that he talks of their final sweep of the base and their findings upon the submarine with the final confrontation. But he does leave out a few notes unworthy of stating as far as he sees it, one being how shook up people had gotten during their encounters with the horrors. If it were any regular fight it would bare mentioning, but their encounters had been anything other than regular. Another untold subject is Dimitry and the man's disappearance merely being passed off as being lost in the confusion, but he's sure to tell all of finding the man heroically taking on the last hostile of the base by himself before their arrival. He gives nothing less than glowing praise for the men and women under his command, making no one individual appear more heroic over any other but stating their exceptional range of abilities and steadfastness in the face of near-overwhelming danger as the clear reason for why their mission can be seen as such a success. If any praise should come his way, he merely brushes it off and re-directs with more remarks on the exemplary performance of the others. As far as he sees it he was flying by the seat of his pants for the majority of the mission, merely relying on the advice of those around him and turning it into an order. It seems hardly worthy of praise in his eyes, as does any talk of promotion or medals to add to his collection. He had done his duty and everyone had lived to see another day, that is all the satisfaction of a job well done that he needs on this particular occasion. Once it's all said and done and he's exhausted all possible details of the mission, he is dismissed and steps back out into the fresh air, deciding a hot shower and equally toasty meal will be the plan of action before bed. But before all that, he takes a seat wherever one presents itself for the first real rest he's had since this all began. Fishing his father's lighter from his pocket, he thinks how the devil he'll ever explain a night like last night to the boys of the 73rd. With this on his mind, he lights up his pipe and stares up at the sky for some time before he wanders off to see about that shower. <A_Velociraptor> !wild d8+2 * AchtungBot rolled a (1d8+2) with wild die for A_Velociraptor and got ( 8 4 ) Results: 8 #This roll will help combat the 3 points of Dementia Dicky gained.#
|
|
#
?
Oct 15, 2016 21:05
|
|
|
 Gráinne "Grace" FlynnThe MI6 agent decompressing before her debriefing trumps satisfying her academic curiosity. She recounts Dimitry bringing them to shore; her story glosses over Sir Taylor's briny encounter. Krasnoarmeets Rostov finding tracks leading to their ingress is described, and then, her spotting S/Sgt. Thomas through the blast door. Grace recalls the stench pervading the facility after power was restored by Sgt. Willis. The gunshot heard when she first helped her peers investigate the vault. Unaussprechliche Kulte and Agent Hewitt's reaction is related along with their other discoveries. A short digression is made about Black Sun accoutrements inside a Nachtwölfe base. She returns to her narration through telling them about the suspected German presence. After her account covers finding the aberrant star from the Al-Azif in the map room, she pauses for a solid ten seconds. Her voice trembles as she describes the many fingers reaching through the vent. Another, shorter pause. "Sir… um, Mr. Barton-Morewood led us to the power room, we… it had too many faces, all dead and—it wasn't dead. It was somehow alive! The dead rest, they don't come back and try to kill us! I didn't see any life in their poor faces. It's like they were frozen in death and something was… um, anyway!" Ms. Flynn hesitantly continues her report with their retreat to the workshop. She comments on the intelligence shown in the abomination utilising its superior mobility to target them and tactical objectives. This becomes her segue into the generator being attacked and Dr. Khulanova rescuing Lt. Kuznetsov. In addendum, she mentions the monstrosity withdrawing into the darkness after they sealed the bulkhead. Grace recalls wishing Lt. Kuznetsov and Sgt. Willis "good luck" when then planned to go to the armoury. However, she says Sgt. Barton-Morewood prioritised regrouping the squad. She remarks a second creature was killed and they went back to the armoury. A recollection of their short reprieve of securing new armaments turns into murmuring about horrifying, banging noises behind her. She breathlessly talks about gunfire and unsteadily holding a German rifle. A mumbled footnote that LCpl. Manahi warned them to take cover; her retelling omits finer details around the explosion. There is a period of silence. "I saw it… there was a dog inside of it! Its muzzle with… other faces. It used its flesh and bone as terrible spears. They brought the dead it possessed to rest with bullets and flame. Mr. Willis kept the power running once the fire was under control. In the vault we found more books. Um! They saved Dimitry." Gráinne soon explains she wasn't present during the submarine rescue. The debriefing ends once she fields a series of questions and clarifications about her version of events. OOC nomination: Sgt. Willis for disarming the radio room trap, restoring power, engineering et cetera.
|
|
#
?
Oct 16, 2016 00:41
|
|
|
Victoire Doucet, Maquisarde Medic, W 4/4, B 2, D 1/6, S 7/7 As she exits the base Victoire lights up a cigarette and faces the morning sun, basking in its light. She takes a deep breath, relieved to have exited the confined space of the Nazi base and to leave behind whatever it was that attacked them. What a morning this has been. Shooting amalgamated flesh and stitching up wounds made by limbs that should not exist. She puts the cigarette to her mouth and takes a long drag on it. Clémence is sitting beside her, blonde hair golden in the dawn. She looks around her at the desolate island. What a godforsaken rock, wish I was back in the maquis. Victoire grunts affirmatively and hands her cigarette to Clémence. You did good in there, you know that right? There is something at work here, something that goes deeper than just standard warfare. I mean those sure as hell weren’t regular troops. Victoire thinks back to the monstrosities, human fused with human and dog. She pulls out the sample she had taken from the first corpse. Lifting it to eye level she peers at the dead tissue congealing in the bottle. Hopefully they’d get some answers from this. This kind of technology was way ahead of anything she had ever seen in the field of biology. The toughness and strength of the specimens were way above normal grunts even though they were severely lacking in the intelligence department. Think we’ll see more of those? Clémence asked. Probably, Victoire thought as she put the vial back into her satchel. Why would they not use that technology to make more of these abominations? Ah can’t say I envy you darling. Fighting those things seems like a real nightmare. She hops off the rock they were sitting on and paces back and forth. Fighting Nazis was at least pretty fun. Until they finally got me, anyways. And with these words the wounds on Clémence’s body open again, entirely too familiar to Victoire. She closes her eyes, tips her head back and takes a deep breath. Looking back at Clémence she sees her shrugging apologetically before walking away into the distance. Victoire sits alone for a while before standing up and joining back up with the group. She notices her still lit cigarette lying on the ground where Clémence was sitting and grinds it out with her heel. --- It is an old film reel, dating back to the Second World War. Buried in Miskatonic University’s archive it is clearly part of a set but the other reels’ location is unknown. Parts of the film are pretty badly damaged but you can still make sense of some if you get your hands on the right kind of projector. As it flickers to light a title card appears, it looks official but if you look up the operation code name it gives, you won’t find any records of it. No trace in any of the allied nations’ archives. A young woman is sitting across a desk in what looks like a ships cabin. Her auburn hair is messy, her gaze is distant. A bloody bandage is wrapped around her left arm. Two men face her, their backs to the camera. She doesn’t really seem to notice her. One of the two speaks up. “Sorry to be this impatient, I know you must be extenuated after this operation but this is a very pressing matter.” He is speaking in French for some reason. “Our British are trying to push away the intelligence services of other allied nations as much as possible. I guess they figure they led this operation so all the results should be theirs. Well France has sacrificed too much in this war to be pushed onto the sidelines, don’t you think?” The woman stares at him then looks away. He seems taken aback. “Yes. Well anyways we”, and he glances to his colleague who sits down in front of a typewriter “need you to tell us everything you remember about the mission, what did you find in that base?” She doesn’t answer. Instead she reaches into a satchel marked with a red cross and pulls out a bottle. The film is too old to make out its contents but she looks at them for a while before setting the bottle in front of her interviewer. He picks it up and then almost drops it as he physically recoils from its contents. “That’s what we found in there.” The woman says. There is no malice or wicked joy in her voice, no emotion at all. “Send it to a lab we need to know how they did it.” “How they did wha---“ The film is badly damaged here. Some short fragments are preserved but not much can be gleaned from them. Talk about a base, blast doors, a firefight. In the next longer preserved segment, time has clearly passed. The two men seem disturbed by something. The one sitting at the desk has rolled up his sleeves and a full ashtray is now sitting in front of him. “--- you sure that is what you saw? I don’t mean to disrespect you but… That’s…” He rests his head in his hands. “We have never encountered anything like this before.” “I saw them, I shot them, I killed them.” The woman replies calmly, looking at the bulkhead in the cabin wall. “Abominations of fused flesh bearing wounds that should have killed them. No indications how they came to be. Apart from that everything was gone except some old books. “Books?” The man asks confused. Clearly that was the last thing he expected. “Old books.” She answers. The film cuts out again and in the next longer preserved fragment the woman is gone. The two men sit without speaking. “Not a word of this to anyone.” The man sitting at the typewriter says. “We head for Paris as soon as we can and carry this message to command in person. We won’t discuss it until then.” He removes the document from the machine and leaves the cabin. The other man finishes his cigarette, throws it through the bulwark window, curses loudly and leaves. The discovery of this film lead to a lot of research, both about the operation itself and the other films of the set, but so far no progress has been made and the interest about this film is waning, frustration discouraging further research. Soon it will have faded back into the massive collection of Miskatonic University, to be forgotten once again. --- The trip back to base seems to improve Victoire’s situation dramatically. Every nautical mile they put between her and the island lifts her mood, allowing her to pierce the protective shell her psyche built for her. She spends her time thinking on the deck of their ship, a wry grin making its way back unto her face. At some point she sees Ronnie getting some fresh air, leaning on the ship railing. Victoire lights up a cigarette and heads over. “Hey Ronnie. Zat sure was some poo poo, hein?” Before he can answer she goes on. “I wanted to say sorry for phasing out on you guys like zat. It just…” She pauses and blows smoke out of her nose, contemplating what to say. “I ‘ave seen a lot of people, good people, close people, die at zeir ‘ands. I can’t even begin thinking about zem coming back like zat. Some weird unlife in service of zose fascist fils de pute.” She looks over the waves before adding “Zere is no way I’d end like zat. If you see it happen, if they capture me, I expect you will do ze right thing. I have seen you fight, I know we can understand each other. I don’t mind dying in zis fight, it’s not like I have much to go back to after zis war blows over anyways. I just ‘ope it happens after every last one of zem is dead.” She offers him her cigarette. “How about you, got anyone back ‘ome ?” --- Upon reaching the British base the officers realize she had not been debriefed by their intelligence service during the boat ride. Her second debriefing goes much smoother, both because she is more communicative and because the interviewers have been forewarned. She recounts the events she remembers, leaving out her failings in the face of danger as well as those of others, it would not be fair to hold them to a higher standard than herself. She puts particular emphasis on the actions of both Ronnie and Izoldah, in her eyes invaluable to the success of this mission. Recommending Izoldah for those clutch shots and saving Dimitry by her heroic actions. Ronnie is a close second place in her eyes for his efficiency at murdering Nazis, an important metric to her. Success and raise healing 2 dementia points. Shuffled my sheet around a bit, see recruitment thread. Basically I gave Vic the sneak skill she should have instead of the swim skill I took because I was afraid of drowning. I will now probably drown. Fathis Munk fucked around with this message at 01:25 on Oct 16, 2016 |
|
#
?
Oct 16, 2016 01:12
|
|
|
Ronnie They'd been on the way back to Atlantic Isle, and S/Sgt. Thomas was on the deck. Part of him was just enjoying some fresh air, and part was pondering the strange practice of the Royal Navy naming their bases as ships - as far as they were concerned, as soon as they arrived, they'd be getting off one ship and onto another. It was little questions like those that helped Ronnie avoid dwelling too much on what he'd seen. He'd remember well enough when they got there. That was about where Victoire had found him. He turns fast when he hears his name, on instinct and twitchy nerves. "Victoire," is all Ronnie says at first, acknowledging. She gets a lot of words out before he even has a chance to say anything else, though, and so he listens, patient. He always does his best to pay attention. So he listens, and when she's done, he nods, takes the cigarette, and a very long drag from it before he speaks. "First," Ronnie declares flatly, "apology accepted, though..." He hands the cigarette back politely. "Didn't stop you from doing your job. You should be proud, not sorry. I'm sure no one here will say otherwise." He actually has a bit of a smile now, though it's a thin one; he hadn't really done much of that since before they all disembarked for Saxemberg Island the night before. He thinks a moment, carefully choosing his words. "Know what you mean about the rest. Guess you figured me out." He looks down at the deck. "Something like that...straight from Hell. Where the drat Nazis belong." The hint of a smile fades again, replaced with disgust for what the Germans had done, the things they'd all seen. "If it comes to that, I'll do what I need to. You won't end up that way. Other way around, I expect you'll do what you need to." "I ain't got much to lose anyway," Ronnie continues, explaining. "Don't talk to Dad much anymore, haven't gotten a letter in close to a year. Not that we ain't close, just...we don't talk much. Never liked his new wife. Try to keep up with my little brothers and my sister, but it's hard, especially when you're some of the places I was. They're about all grown up now. Don't need me lookin' out for 'em anymore." He takes a long, deep breath. It was hard to even remember what they looked like after being away so long. "Been in since the end of '36, you understand. Didn't have much else I could do. Thought it'd be a steady career. When I was at Fort Benning - that's in Georgia, down South - there was a girl that lived a bit off base. Thought maybe she was the one, but her daddy hated me for being a drat Yankee, and well, I hated him too. And, well, it's hard to elope when you're in the Army." He chuckles, remembering in all its dark comedy. "So it didn't work out, and it was only a couple months after that when Pearl Harbor got it and I had to be a soldier for real, and I get over what wasn't ever gonna work out, too." "And, you know, it feels good to be good at something. Even this. So...I guess I'm sayin' that...yeah, if I have to die to wipe those Godforsaken fuckers off the Earth, that's how it goes. Don't mean much to be alive if those kinds of...things get to walk the Earth. If I live, I..." he puts a hand on his chin, thinks, then gives up, raising the same hand in a dismissive gesture. "Probably just stay in until I retire, honest." He points. "What about you? What if you do make it out alive?" Can't let that much post go without a response, and this feels like as good a time for downtime chatter as any! Fraction Jackson fucked around with this message at 03:40 on Oct 16, 2016 |
|
#
?
Oct 16, 2016 03:38
|
|
|
 Doctor Yulia Naraantuyevna KhulanovaThere are dark corners of this world, still yet unexplored - and things unexplained. Before she was born, her grandfather had told her, a star fell from the sky. The sky was orange and all the trees for a day's walk were laid flat against the ground, bark stripped bare. Her mother and twelve others amongst the People had fallen into a fevered state for three days. In Leningrad, it was simply recorded as 'an event at Tunguska' - a meteorite but the anodyne description did not describe what she had seen, years later, at the site itself. In Tibet, her friend Tenzin had told her of michê - the bear people who had lived in the mountains, a laughable fiction, surely, until she'd seen the Himalayan slopes and peaks, so inhospitable and alien that it became not inconceivable that there, in places mankind had never set foot, there could be a tribe of bear people. Her mentor, Professor Roerich, had believed in such things, too - and he had seen more of the world than anyone she'd ever met. The man had been a scholar and an artist, a brilliant mind, and he had taught her of Blavatsky, and her theories of the Lemurians and Atlanteans, the humanities before humanity. She had never believed in such things but again, the man had seen so much... Perhaps he had been right again. Perhaps the hubris had been hers, in thinking that her grandfather, her mentor, her friend had all been daft and that she had been the one with all the wisdom. Or maybe the violence had shaken her. She is no soldier, and yet they'd given her a gun, put her in a tiny rubber boat and sailed her to a volcanic Nazi island. She had not been trained for this, not really - not the way Izoldah and Irakliy and... well, Dimitry had been. Even they seemed to have trouble with the island - perhaps, Yulia considers, she had been shaken so badly that she could not even grasp how much it had skewed her reasoning. But it had all been real - they'd brought back the books, the inexplicable equipment. It was real for certain, was it not? If not a monster, then what had attacked them? And if there was ever a thing unholy in the world, it was the fascists, the Nazi regime. If ever there were a place to make monsters, it would be the Reich, would it not? Brooding, quiet - and glad for a shower and change of clothes, Yulia keeps to herself mostly upon the return. Once she is given permission, she writes, furiously. A well worn journal is filled with her recollection, from the waves sweeping Sebastian out of the boat to setting foot on the sand. Harry prying open the rusted hatch through sheer muscle, the stale scent beyond. Helping Sergeant Willis fix the generator. Her rough mapping of the facility is replaced with more refined, cleaner cartography, properly notated. The encounters with the creatures are recorded briefly - she hedges away from details she does not fully understand, and uses vague words that describe things like 'foe' and 'attacker.' There is just not enough comfort to attach other labels to them. She says nothing of Kuznetsov and assisting him - if the beasts were hard to describe, then the wounds they inflicted were just as difficult to explain. And upon this, a third revision is made - a revision promptly handed over to her handlers from SMERSH, the carefully scribed journal likely to end up yellowing in a box care of some agency for the next sixty years until a plucky band of investigators stumble upon it and plumb it's depths for clues to the mysteries of their own, separate campaign. The debriefing is... unpleasant. Not totally unfamiliar - you don't become a doctor in Leningrad without learning to massage the sensibilities of dyed in the wool Stalinists & accommodate the expectations of your superiors. Her confinement in Kuibyshev had been even more instructive, in that regard. Thankfully, they seem less interested in her general observations than her expert opinion - more likely they'd look to the testimony of the actual soldiers for the field report. The progress she'd made on the submarine log cipher is of interest, and something she is glad to speak of - it is mundane and uncomplicated (as uncomplicated as cryptography can be). The questions about the recovered books are a little more difficult. The prospect of Saxemberg being a library for a rogue Nazi bibliophile is quickly shot down. Doctor Khulanova downplays her interest in further studying the works they'd recovered, knowing she doesn't have to come to them. They now have an obscure Tibetan religious text and there is likely no more than a handful of people in the Western hemisphere more studied on the matter - they'll be seeking her out sooner or later. So until they do, she bides her time, make sure to enjoy the brisk Atlantic air and open sky above, fully expecting to be confined to a study for an extended period of time in the near future. Rally to Restore Dementia * AchtungBot rolled a (1d8+2) with wild die for ambivalent and got ( 7 3 ) Results: 7 Spending a benny: * AchtungBot rolled a (1d8+2) with wild die for ambivalent and got ( 9 4 ) Results: 9 Shedding my two dementia I gained from the sub fight. Possibly relevant to Debriefing, Yulia has the Under Suspicion disadvantage, because she is a weird ethnic & a weird nerd. I actually have three unpicked Languages because I'm really bad at character sheets (I picked Russian as one of my 'learned' languages and I had forgotten to pick 2 more when I'd rearranged my sheet to have d10 Smarts). I will take Slavonic as one of my languages unless anyone thinks that is too metagamey (seriously just say the word and I'll axe it), along with Egyptian Hieroglyphics & Arabic. I am also going to shift around some skills to have Yulia have d4 in the Knowledge (Science) skill. She's not a physicist or anything, but she has read plenty enough - and it seems prudent to have at least some scientific skill among us. For Nominations, it's hard, but going with Harry for trying to Intimidate the horrific monster.
|
|
#
?
Oct 16, 2016 04:43
|
|
|
 HarryThe sweep and clear goes better than he expects: no tripwires, booby traps, or other hidden horrors, mundane or otherwise. He nods to Ronnie, and now that the base is clear, he sets himself to work. He drags every body they've found, even what's left of the rather mundane-looking suicide, into a pile on one of the empty concrete slips, separates the heads from the... well, whatever they're attached to, and donning one of the flamethrowers once again, he makes good and drat sure there is nothing left but ashes, smoking a cigarette and giving the reeking mass another dollop of tar and gasoline every time it looks like the flames are so much as thinking of dying down. It takes up most of the time they await backup, and he's silent and grim during his self-appointed task, apparently not feeling much like talking. Once he feels the job is done and nothing remains but a greasy black smear and a pile of char, he discards the flamethrower and heads topside, taking a deep cleansing breath. He raises his hands and sings, "Ika ra taku ahi, tute Tute hoki tua, tute Tute hoki waho, tute Tute ka mania, tute Tute ka paheke, tute Tute ka whati, tute Tute ka oma, tute Tute nga tapu nei, tute Tute nga mana nei, tute Tute nga parapara nei, tute." thrusting his hands away from him with each repetition of the word 'tute.' He looks little comforted, but as if this is the best he can do with what he has. He washes up in the waters near the slippery rocks of their landing site, ignoring the cold water and the salt spray, wishing to take nothing of this evil place with him, and is silent, dripping, as he paddles his way back to the ship. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ He's still damp when they decide to debrief him. He explains, deadpan, the landing at the island site, the lack of any life, their discovery of the cigarette, the vault door, and finally the vent. He describes Ronnie's bravery in making the descent alone, commending his actions throughout the mission. He mentions Ted's calmness under fire and other... less than ideal circumstances. He describes finding the suicide, and how that and the stench seemed to be the sign of the mission taking a turn for the worse. Then the things, the bravery of the others and of Izoldah in particular, who volunteered to go up the vent, where these things first came from, whose shooting helped dispatch them, who single-handedly rushed into hand to hand combat on the sub and managed to pry off and knock back the German who was hellbent on killing her compatriot. It had struck him, this tiny little woman rushing into battle. She and Victoire had both comprised themselves as toa, as warriors. The scholars had done their jobs, he supposed. They found some books, what he does not know, they were talking about Tibet and such. Not in his wheelhouse as it were. His expression becomes intense as he describes the things that were seen, leaning forward and fairly well looming over the interrogators, big hand pointing for emphasis. "The Nazis, whatever they were doing, they have awoken something they should not have. Ngā aitanga a Punga rāua Whiro. The children of Punga and Whiro. We killed them, and I burned them, and you should burn the whole drat island, mate. It is tapu. Blow up the base. Make sure that whatever's there, is left there." He shakes his head grimly. "Too much death, these past few years. Millions dead, too many corpses. This is aituā, bad news. Whiro has fed well, maybe too well. You must burn the bodies of the dead or there's gonna be big trouble, yeah? I need to go home. I need to see the tohunga ahurewa. I need a kaiure." He sits back, folding his arms, and will say no more, only repeating that he needs to go home for a purification ritual after what he's seen and done there. Once they've figured out they've gotten all they're going to get out of him, he goes off for a shower, shave and hits the rack. Either they'd let him or they wouldn't. If they didn't he wasn't goin' anywhere else, they could throw him in the drat brig for all he cared. ~~~~~~~~~~~ Restless, he gets less sleep than he should, feeling a bit under a cloud of sorts as he waits to hear about the results of his... 'request' for leave. He runs into Yulia as he prowls the ship and decides to chat awhile, her visage reminding him of home, a bit of familiarity among this sea of white faces. "Penny for your thoughts, yeah?" No Dementia so no rolls there. Character sheet's about as fine as its gonna get I think. I want to raise some things once I get actual XP! I would vote for Velociraptor for playing a guy who's in charge when he shouldn't be and knows it well. Oracle fucked around with this message at 18:25 on Oct 17, 2016 |
|
#
?
Oct 16, 2016 05:02
|
|
|
Yulia She cranes her neck up to meet eyes with Harry, "I am... enjoying the daylight, doing as little thinking as I can." Looking back out to the ocean, "For being a military base in the Atlantic, it is very pacific, yes?" That isn't entirely true - she wants to ask him, any of the others, about the things they'd seen but at the same time, isn't too eager to talk about it, yet she fesses up, "No. The truth - I was thinking of a tale my grandfather told me, of a handsome man who had angered Ülgen with his pride. Ülgen breathed a howling wind upon the man that tore him to scraps then crudely stitched him back together, and sent him to wander the tundra." She winces and looks back up to the soldier apologetically, "It was a very scary story at the time." She doesn't see a need to explain why she is thinking of that story. Ambivalent fucked around with this message at 09:12 on Oct 16, 2016 |
|
#
?
Oct 16, 2016 05:54
|
|
|
Harry He smiles politely at the small talk, then pauses as she speak of her story, nodding. "Very scary story at any time. I don't think we have any such stories. Who is Ülgen?"
|
|
#
?
Oct 16, 2016 06:40
|
|
|
Yulia She gestures, "He is..." A patriarch-creator figure, a representative of natural forces. "In stories, he is like... Father Nature - sometimes he is an old man who is a traveler you meet in the woods. " Yulia shrugs a little, then smiles, tilting her head to listen, "Who is...Wehro?" Someone bad, clearly. "You talked about them on the island." Ambivalent fucked around with this message at 09:12 on Oct 16, 2016 |
|
#
?
Oct 16, 2016 07:35
|
|
|
 Bradley HewittBennies 2 While the combat team swept the base for any other hostiles, Bradley went from room to room collecting anything that might provide intelligence about what the Nazis were doing on that island. Some of it he knew he wouldn't be able to make sense of currently, but he collected it up. The vault went through a vigorous inspection from the efforts that the academics put forth, so he ended up spending a lot of time looking through the other areas of the base that might have useful information left behind. When the Nazis left this base, they did a good job of covering their tracks. A lot of useful intelligence had been removed or destroyed. It would have been a smarter move on their part to clean the whole base out, but they didn't have time. They had to destroy a lot of what they didn't move, which left debris that could be sifted through by us. Bradley kept searching until the signal to leave had been given. When it have been time to leave, he collected every bag and container that could hold stuff to haul out the collection of items he found in the base. The soldiers didn't think much of the extra luggage, just more weight to them. Bradley knew he grabbed more than what would be useful, but he didn't want to take a chance of leaving something important behind. When it came time to load it all in, he made sure all that he collected was aboard. On the ship, Bradley kept a close eye on the collected intelligence. He didn't mind if other members of the academic team looked through what he collected and he would even tolerate the soldier of the team, but no one beyond that. He didn't want to risk the chance of information leaks, especially in regards to some of the stranger details that the group uncovered. As he made himself comfortable on the ship, he began to read, De Origine Et Situ Germanorum. He felt drawn to the work. Maybe it was just because of his previous doctoral research into northern European cultures, but as he started to read the book he found himself wanting to immerse himself deeper in the cultures described. Time seemed to pass quickly as he read. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "You know what happened. The others must have told you what happened. There is not much for me to add." However, he did have some insights about what he had encountered. The Nazis left the base in a hurry. They couldn't sanitize the entire base, rather they had to destroy what they left. Germans didn't do things like that unless there was a problem. Either something forced them out (the monsters they created) or they had to go somewhere else in a hurry. It could have been both of those things. Without any prisoners to interrogate, it would be difficult to find an answer. "The academic team found various pieces of occult paraphernalia, specifically scraps and debris relating to the occult that the Nazis had left when they departed. Apparently the Black Sun group used a vault on the island to store occult items. I can not say what their purpose is at the time being." At the moment Bradley didn't want to discuss all of the discoveries made on the island. He didn't fully trust the people giving the debriefing. He would give them the necessary information, but he would keep some details to himself. Part of the reason he didn't bring a notebook with him was to avoid having an accessible record of what he had found. Going only by what he thought, he could act as a gatekeeper for information. "Yes, there were some anomalous ...organisms encountered. They were hostile to us and were eliminated. As far as I could tell they looked like the result of Nazi biomedical experimentation. And if there is a possibility of encountering other things such as we discovered, I recommend that heavier weapons are issued to protect ourselves against them." When it came to the matter of the monstrosities they encountered, he kept details short and went right to the important details regarding them, how to kill them. He offered up that they were Nazi biomedical experiments. That seemed like a logical explanation. No need to discuss the more unsettling details about them. What was important was that any future missions would carry heavier weapons in preparation for the threat the monsters posed. "Other occult evidence found at the base? I saw what was outside the vault. I think one or more of the officers at that base had an unhealthy obsession with black magic and left evidence of their obsession. I assume it must have been some high level officer because I doubt anyone else would be allowed to act out their fantasies like they did." Bradley figured that explanation would settle the matter. He didn't quite believe the story he told. What had happened at the base wasn't just the result of an eccentric officer, something worse took place. The Nazis were onto something. They sorted through all the occult nonsense and found something. Bradley wanted to know what they found, because it might provide some light on some mysteries in his own life. No dementia so far, so no need to roll. OOC, I'd like to nominate Harry and Izoldah Rostov for going above and beyond the call of duty.
|
|
#
?
Oct 16, 2016 08:17
|
|
|
Victoire Doucet, Maquisarde Medic, W 4/4, B 3, D 1/6, S 7/7 She takes the cigarette back and grunts, looking at the horizon. "I don't really know. Just a couple of months back it seemed like I'd never see ze end of zis nightmare you know? I figured I'd fight as long as I could and I'd go down at some point, 'aving done as much as possible to stop zem. Now it actually looks like zey are on ze way out and I realize I didn't ever consider what to do afterwards." She seems a bit lost. "I could go back to Strasbourg, my father still lives zere but... You know we live just on ze border to Germany and when zis all started my little brother he... Let's just say he picked ze wrong side." She turns around, leaning her back against the railing. "So I guess you can understand why I don't see myself going back to my family." She sighs deeply. "I try no to think about the aftermath. As long as ze Nazis are around I 'ave a purpose. Zey are ze reason I had to learn to kill and drat, I'll make zem pay for zat. If I survive zis? Maybe I'll go back to ze maquis, live in some small sleepy village. God what am I saying, I'd probably go mad of boredom." She chuckles softly and brushes a hand through her auburn hair, wincing slightly at the pain in her still healing arm. "Guess I've always been bad at planning." After a pause she looks Ronnie straight in the eyes "And yeah, you can count on me if it comes to it."
|
|
#
?
Oct 16, 2016 10:10
|
|
|
Harry He listens attentively, nodding thoughtfully. "I see. We have a lot of nature spirits." He grows quiet, face hardening, as she asks about Whiro. "Yeah. Whiro's kinda like the Maori devil, only worse. He lives in the underworld an' gains power from eating the bodies of the dead. He gets powerful enough, he'll escape the underworld and eat the world. But Whiro can't eat ashes. S'why I had to burn those... things." He glances at Yulia, judging her expression before continuing. "They were the children of Whiro and Punga. Punga's the father of every ugly misshapen, weird-lookin' thing, but he's not evil. Whiro's just... bad news. I dunno what the Nazis're thinkin'. Maybe they don't care. Maybe they don't know who Whiro even is, think he's something they can control, don't believe in myths or whatever." He shrugs. "Hell, I didn't even really believe in him til I saw what was in that base. Now..." He sighs, shaking his head. "Now I'm takin' leave, goin' home and gettin' my rear end purified by a tohunga."
|
|
#
?
Oct 16, 2016 21:48
|
|
|
Yulia She listens intently, watching Harry's face as he animates and explains, a smile growing on her face. It is hard to disagree with any of what he's said - it is as good an explanation as any. He's as well equipped to identify what they'd seen as she is - likely more so. But at the end, she straightens up, "Leave... sounds nice. It is temporary, yes?" Ambivalent fucked around with this message at 05:54 on Oct 17, 2016 |
|
#
?
Oct 17, 2016 02:36
|
|
|
Harry He studies her face for a long moment, trying to discern if the smile were mocking, then says heavily, "Yeah. No, I can't just leave this. This is bigger'n the Army, bigger than the end of the war. If this is really something happening its gotta be stopped. And I don't know about you, but I got the feeling the bigwigs at the debrief weren't exactly takin' me seriously." He looks back out on the ocean. "But they didn't see, did they." He exhales sharply, shaking off whatever mood had struck him, and looked sideways at her. "So what was the big deal with all them books you found in that vault? All the pencil necks seemed pretty excited."
|
|
#
?
Oct 17, 2016 04:35
|
|
|
Yulia Pencilneck. Not a euphamism she'd heard before. Given Harry's own neck, the implication is clear. She looks sheepish all at once when he asks about the excitement. Shaking her head, she looks toward the ocean, "The books were... rare, most of them fairly renowned and old. Like you'd find in a museum or that someone - like us - would study and write another book about. But the way they were stored - where they were stored..." She scowls, "They were not kept like precious documents or favorite books. Most were in metal boxes on shelves. In a secret bunker. They were stored like weapons." Yulia glances over her shoulder, just to make sure no one is passing by or eavesdropping, then leans in - or up, as the case is with Harry - to speak in confidence, "What we saw - I do not believe it was invented by the Germans, merely discovered." She withdraws and shrugs a little. "But who can say?"
|
|
#
?
Oct 17, 2016 06:12
|
|
|
Harry "Like us?" He seems amused at the idea of he and she having much in common when it comes to book-learning. "Which us?" He seems unimpressed, until she points out the obvious about the tomes. Noticing her sudden caution, he gives a look about as well before leaning down, meeting her halfway as he looms over her. "You think these books are what let them create those... things?"
|
|
#
?
Oct 17, 2016 06:24
|
|
|
Yulia "Not us." She nods at Harry and then nods up, then she glances around, "Us - pencilnecks." She shrugs her shoulders again as to the source of the horrors, taking a long look back at the ocean, "Possible. It is not the Party line but 'there are more things in Heaven and Earth' than are dreamt of in some philosophies."
|
|
#
?
Oct 17, 2016 08:12
|
|
|
Harry He seems genuinely alarmed at this idea. "Jesus." Straightening, he stares out at the ocean, shaking his head in mild disbelief. "This is all way above my paygrade, love. But I can't help that feel that kind of know-how in anyone's hands is dangerous." He glances at her. "They let you look at them anymore or did they just lock'm away as soon as you got on board?" Oracle fucked around with this message at 05:13 on Oct 18, 2016 |
|
#
?
Oct 17, 2016 15:35
|
|
|
 Starshiy Leytenant Irakliy KuznetsovThe cleanup is mercifully quick and quiet compared to the rest of it, now that they are certain the base is cleared of enemies. It becomes mostly a matter of gathering materials at the base of the ladder for eventual movement to the surface, since most of them are in no shape to haul things up dozens of meters of straight ladder. Irakliy spends most of this supervising and organizing, given his wounds, and becomes all the more thankful when finally he manages to get a signal on the radio with the breaking of the storm. At long last they all leave the hideous base behind them, gathering on the "beach" and preparing to launch the boats. Irakliy shares a final cigarette with Victoire, chatting with the Allies and Professor Khulanova, and it's not until they're halfway out to the boat before he realizes he's got another sixteen hours of boat ahead of him. Irakliy isn't seen much, if at all, for the ride back. = = = The bulb in the sparsely outfitted room swung lightly in the breeze. Outside, the furious storm was still in its death throes; in here, though, the air only moved enough to make the smoke dance from the ashtray. Two men sat on one side of a table; one thin and dark-haired, the other graying and portly, smoking a seemingly endless chain of Belomorkanals. He looked at his watch, and made a noise. “Late.” The thin man laughed. “Never expect a soldier to be on time if they've come back from campaign alive.” As if on cue, the door opened, and a tired-looking man in a tanker's coat stepped inside, moving stiffly from the thick bandages underneath it. He nodded to the men, before taking the third seat in the room. “Shevtsov. Smirnov.” “Kuznetsov.” Smirnov nodded, pulling a cigarette from his pack and tossing it across the table. Shevtsov pulled out a notebook and a pen, kicking back but saying nothing. “You're alive.” “Barely.” Kuznetsov jammed the cigarette into his mouth and lit it, taking a few short puffs before continuing. “Praise Stalin for strong tobacco. It was bad.” Smirnov stubbed out his cigarette, leaning both elbows onto the table. “Tell us.” Kuzntesov took another drag, then launched into an account of the landing, the initial search of the island, the discovery of the vents, the door, and the interior. The two agents merely listened, Shevtsov scribbling furiously and Smirnov occasionally nodding, until he reached the power room. Smirnov raised a finger. “A suicide?” Kuznetzov nodded. “The American engineer thought so, and after what we found I agree with him. I suspect the fascists unleashed something they could not control.” Smirnov shook his head, looking down at the table. “Arrogance.” He turned his gaze back to Kuznetzov. “Continue, comrade.” Kuznetzov continued, reaching the radio room and accounting the trap they found there. “I was very impressed with this engineer Williams. Apart from saving my life, of course.” He gestured with his cigarette, like a conductor's baton. “He never flinched under pressure or in the face of horror.” Smirnov shared a look with Shevtsov, before the two of them nodded and he returned his attention to the table. “Anyone else?” “In a moment.” Kuznetzov leaned onto the table, accounting his initial search of the armory, the details of the map, their rush to the power room, and finally the appearance of the creature. The agents remained silent, gesturing at him to continue until the door had been closed. He shook his head. “Never seen anything like it.” That caused Shevtsov to raise a concerned eyebrow. “Never?” “Not once.” “That worries me, comrade.” Smirnov netted his hands. “You have seen more than most anyone in 4044.” He waved away from the table, setting the concern aside. “And it sounds like this was no pushover.” “I am very lucky to be still speaking with you.” Kuznetzov gestured at his side. “The New Zealander almost lost a leg as well, and even the smaller one held off four hardened soldiers.” “Worrying.” Smirnov shook his head. “You said you had other commendations?” "The British pilot was commendable as well, good in command. I understand Comrade Rostov was crucial in taking down the smaller beast, and Serzhant Thomas was extremely helpful in helping us take ours down. The medic kept us going...” He took another drag. “If I had to pick one... Engineer Williams. Without him we would have had no light and I would be very, very dead.” “A fair assessment.” Shevtsov grinned at Smirnov. “We appear to be being outperformed by our 'allies', Smirnov.” The older agent offered a scoff and a roll of the eyes, but Kuzntesov caught onto it, turning to Shevtsov. “We ARE allies, are we not?” “For now, comrade.” The tanker gave him a worried look, and the black-haired agent gave a conciliatory smile. “You HAVE heard Minister Churchill's statements, I assume? If he remains in power I doubt we will be allies for long. The man considers us barely better than the fascists.” “Wonderful.” Kuznetsov sank back into his chair. “So another war. More dead.” “We all hope not,” Smirnov replied, with a wry smile. “I'm certain the British public is as tired of war as ours is. And, besides, our alliance cannot end until the fascists are ended.” “Truth. Which reminds me...” Kuznetsov resumes his tale, recounting the battle with the beast, the final killing of it, the searching of the base and the submarine, and the discoveries therein. “At which point, we returned to the surface and signaled the ship.” “I see.” Smirnov tapped the table. “The books that were discovered. Did you get a good look at them?” “No, comrade.” Kuznetsov grimaced. “I didn't want to look at them for long, if I'm honest. I know better from experience. But there were several, in multiple languages.” “Mm. And the thing from the submarine?” “I only heard about it secondhand, I was escorting Comrade Vasilievich out.” He leans in on the table. “I would like to note that Comrade Vasilievich performed admirably. Not once did he shirk his duty, and continued attempting to fight on his own initiative when contact with command was lost.” “We can hardly blame the man for blanching in the face of THAT.” Smirnov looked over at Shevtsov, who just shrugged, his face a placid mask. He shook his head, then turned back to Kuznetsov. “Understood, commander. Thank you for your time and your candor.” He smirked. “As always. It is appreciated. Hopefully soon we can get off this rock.” “And they'll let us out of this gilded cage,” Shevtsov offered. Kuznetsov nodded, standing up. “Of course, comrade. Power to the people.” “Good night, Kuznetsov.” Smirnov watched until the door closed, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a fresh cigarette, lighting it up. “Ahhh, finally.” “I think he's been straight with us this time,” Shevtsov offered, amending his notes. “I think so, too,” Smirnov replied, turning to stare out the window. “Now we can just hope the Westerners will be as straight with us.” Redeye Flight fucked around with this message at 20:40 on Oct 17, 2016 |
|
#
?
Oct 17, 2016 20:26
|
|
|
Yulia Her reaction is the less the alarm Harry shows and more... resignation, "They've taken them - for now." She frowns then looks back out to the ocean, "If Command believes our stories, then I expect they will want someone to study them. Or maybe not. It is, as you say, 'above my paygrade'." Pushing off from the railing, she nods, "Enjoy your leave, Harry. And if you've a mind, ask the tohunga to spare a thought for the rest of us, yes?"
|
|
#
?
Oct 17, 2016 20:47
|
|
|
 SebastianSebastian would sit back while the others went off to look for the missing Russian. There were books to go through and that was why they had brought him along for in the first place. He would carefully flip through some of the pages in the stack of books they had recovered trying to get his best assessment on them but ofcorse he would leave it up to Bradly as to who got to study which book, but he would at least flip through a few pages of each as if he just wanted to touch them. He would keep to himself mostly once they got back to the boat. He had a book that he needed to go over and study and that would encompass most of his attention, and he didn't want to think about the things he saw in the base. He could hardly believe what had happened there. His mind was still reeling from sight of the monstrosities he had seen. The only thing he could think of was that the Nazi's were experimenting with things they ought not. But at least they had found books and that would be what he had come for in the first place. He barely came out to the mess for meals on the trip back finding it much easier to eat in his room and study. The book he had been given was very complex and he chose to throw himself completely into it instead of think about the things he had seen back there. During the debriefing he would answer any questions that were posed to him the best he could. there was no way to lie or make up what had happened so he explained the monsters in a way that made them sound like some sort of Nazi experiments gone wrong because he had no other explanation to give them. He wanted to get back to that massive read as quick as he could that was where he could help the most and not in some room questioned by a guy with more medals than thoughts in his head. He did take the time to point out that Richard Barton-Morewood did a good job leading the mission. **** no need for the spirit roll no dementia oocly i want to give my nomination to Dicky fore leading the mission and everyone making it back safe
|
|
#
?
Oct 17, 2016 21:40
|
|
|
Harry He smiles warmly back at her. "I'll bring you all back a manaia," he promises. "Assuming they let me go, anyway." He slaps the guardrail and straightens. "Alright. I'm gonna go pack. Don't uh... experiment with anything in those books while I'm gone, yeah?"
|
|
#
?
Oct 18, 2016 05:15
|
|
|
HMS Atlantic Isle Following the debriefings and collective recovered findings from Saxemberg Isle--what should have been a dispersal of the joint strike team and auxiliary instead became a quarantine by any other name. Command staff from Allied and Soviet chains alike determined that those men and women whose incursion unearthed so much from Hoffmann Station would yet remain on the HMS Atlantic Isle pending further word. If nothing else, it was a reprieve for three weeks away from fighting and worse--but restlessness gnawed ever persistently, stewing in uncertainty as to when at long last clearance would be received. Though Harry was denied an opportunity to return home under those same grounds, the man's persistent insistence had won a compromise: Te Hangakore is brought to HMS Atlantic Isle for the man to commiserate with. Efforts are made to treat the remnants of trauma brought back from Saxemberg; gathered articles and information passed on up command and intelligence chains leaves much to percolate on beyond the chilly Atlantic waves. After two days of review following the return, the academic team is given access once more to the articles and tomes that had been recovered for their own perusal, with word that additional study on their findings was being performed abroad. For most, the occasional opportunities to leave the base and make one's way to the villages of Tristan da Cunha's islands offers some modicum of reprieve. Ultimately, the waiting game reaches its conclusion on a brisk, misty morning late in March--beneath a grey, overcast sky. HMS Atlantic Isle, Late March After being delayed for three weeks on the island awaiting their return home, the men and women of the team receive notice from on high that they are to be redeployed. Events from Saxemberg still linger in the minds of all, to some measure or another--but weeks have passed, and with the chance to rest and recuperate only pondering on the delay had begun to prevail. Throughout the two week tenure answers have not been forthcoming--and all inquiries ultimately were informed that 'important decisions' about the next assignment were being made elsewhere. Everyone from the Saxemberg Isle mission is asked to meet with the base commander, Surgeon Lieutenant Commander Woolley, in his office--where they informed that they will be given new orders. Corralled together, the team finds the commander's accommodations a touch cramped; Surgeon Lieutenant Commander Woolley himself is a square-jawed, impressively mustachioed gentleman graying at the temples--who wastes little time commencing once all are assembled. "I'm sure you're all anxious for news--and we've finally received word." The commander begins, standing tall with his arms crossed behind his back. "Analysis of the evidence you've discovered on Saxemberg Island, coupled with additional intelligence reports, has pointed to a heretofore-unknown Nazi base on the coast of Antarctica." Steely grey eyes dart briefly among the faces of those assembled before he continues. "It can only be concluded that this may be part of a plan to carry on the ambitions of the Third Reich past the end of the war. A bid for the long game, as it were--to bloody well boil our blood." Woolley shakes his head. "I'll be blunt: I'm not at all privy to whatever business you lot have had your fingers in," His gaze falls to the academic team in particular here, "but that strange symbol your team found on map--it caused quite an excited stir, it seems. I am told that evaluation of this symbol--coupled with the evidence of those ghastly creatures you reported from Saxemberg, made its way high up the chain." Surgeon Lieutenant Commander Woolley puffs up his chest and takes a deep breath to pause, before he continues. "The War Council has encouraged an immediate, full-scale strike on the German presence in Antarctica. While you've been here these past few weeks, aerial reconnaissance of Antarctica and a survey of German naval activities in the South Atlantic have been underway." Woolley looks to Dicky and Harry then, bristling a tight, wry smile beneath his mustache. "The War Council has been quite busy. Lord Mountbatten has been given Churchill's tacit approval to covertly assemble a multinational fighting force which is, at this moment, en route to Antarctica." He gives a moment for all present to digest this, but continues swiftly. "It's a bloody marvelous coordinated effort, to say the least. Troops have been redeployed from Northern Europe and I've heard rumours that the Americans, Canadians, Australians, New Zealanders," another grin is flashed at Harry before Woolley turns toward Irakliy, Izoldah and Dimitry "and even the Soviets are involved!" Bringing his arms about, Woolley claps his hands together. "So, down to business. Given your considerable roles in all of this coming together, command has informed me that you have been assigned to this strike force in the role of advisors. You're to be airlifted from here to rendezvous with the carrier Jeremiah out of the Falkland Islands--presently underway to Antarctica." A pause. "I'm sure you have questions. I have questions. I will answer what I can." Any academics who want to run with a torch and try to work through some of the recovered grimoires has up to three weeks of otherwise R&R time they can attempt to do so. That is three possible rolls as described previously for studying grimoires. Otherwise, anyone who is taking the three weeks as a chance to recover Dementia: a Spirit test (no modifiers) can be attempted for every 5 days of sleep, food and relaxation. Success reduces Dementia by one, but on this sort of recovery roll raises do not reduce additional Dementia (unlike the post-mission high roll). Anyone with Knowledge (Psychology) can also attempt to treat someone who has suffered Dementia. A therapy session takes about four hours or more, after which the therapist can attempt a Knowledge (Psychology) roll; success will recover one point of Dementia, but rolling a one will give the recipient an extra Dementia instead. Additionally, the HMS Atlantic Isle is staffed with a fully functional medical facility and Chaplain. Anyone with wounds left over from Saxemberg can make a free Healing test with a d8, minus their wounds as a penalty, per five days (e.g. you can make up to four recovery attempts.) Success eliminates a wound, raises will eliminate a second--but a single attempt can only recover two wounds. The base Chaplain, as well as Te Hangakore for Harry, can also provide some psychological succor to help treat Dementia, with d6 Knowledge (Psychology) rolls each. Medals awarded for your first mission: Victoire has received a Citation for Bravery. Dicky has received a Distinguished Service Order. Harry has received a Distinguished Service Order. Ronnie has received a Bronze Star. Ted has received a Bronze Star. Irakliy has received an Order of the Patriotic War, 1st Class. Izoldah has received a Medal for Valour. Everyone has received 10 Experience, taking you to 30 total. That is two new Seasoned advances. GaistHeidegger fucked around with this message at 16:32 on Oct 18, 2016 |
|
#
?
Oct 18, 2016 16:28
|
|
|
Grace A coiffured and prim Grace cants her head at Sg Lt Cr. Woolley and chirps, "Do you know if they'll be able to share their research, sir? If our fellows studying abroad can send word to us, I mean." Grace is offering Psychiatric Help to the demented! Advanced Knowledge (Occult) and Knowledge (Psychology) to d6. Razeam fucked around with this message at 05:10 on Oct 20, 2016 |
|
#
?
Oct 18, 2016 17:44
|
|
|
Izoldah Rostov Izoldah has felt a bit cooped up. There was an island with wilderness, but the Brits weren't too keen on letting her explore it at her leisure. So she'd rested, and talked poo poo with the others of their group, exchanging stories about evading fascists and messing with them. Her request of the bottle of brandy had been approved, so she'd invited all the others, even the bookish types to join for a celebratory drink, figuring it was well earned loot. It had been good, even if it was annoying to drink with little sips. She'd done her best 'rich capitalist' impressions in her rudimentary English, but didn't really discuss politics. Of course, there had been the nightmares. And the fact that she couldn't help but avoiding any of the vents in the base, always remembering those... visions. (They were not real.) The offer of the chaplain was rebuffed. She was a rational soviet citizen, and a few visions weren't going to get her to go to a priest. But as it turns out, one of their companions was versed in psychology. The fact that she was a Brit was actually of help. She wasn't going to give away anything sensitive to the Soviet Union, but, well, you never know if you accidentally say something that casts suspicion on you. So she'd paid some visits to her. She talked about Saxemberg Isle. About her conviction that it wasn't real. Or at least for the most part wasn't. About how she considered people who go and see all kind of ghosts in the wilds being foolish and easily intimidated people, and she'd always sworn she'd say away from it. She talked about the war, about how she'd joined up out of duty, and when the war is done very much hoped to go back to her village in the Ural, become a hunter, maybe mary Yuri at the mine who she'd always fancied. About the things she had seen as the nazis were chased back. Stalingrad, burned villages, and the evidence of the organized massive butchery in the camps. About how she couldn't deny that every fascist deserved the bullet they got, but how she wasn't that eager to wreck up a body count. How she'd seen some comrades who embraced it and relished their kills changed. She couldn't judge them evil, but she wouldn't want someone who had relished killing so much living next to her children. And how she wanted children once. And how she was a bit worried about Victoria in that respect, but how could she talk to her about that? She had an easy talk, with her family safely miles from the front lines. The hours got pretty filled, but all of it did help Izoldah. So when that meeting was called, she felt as good as she had done all those weeks ago before the mission. "is Comrade s... I mean... is Sergeant Barton-Morewood leading again?" asked with curiosity, carefully making sure not to suggest displeasure with it. He'd gotten everyone out alive, hadn't he? Since I started out at 4 Dementia Taking the time to rest, passed 2 of 3 of the tests I made, and had two shrink rolls heal me of 1 dementia too, getting Izoldah back on her feet sanity wise. For my advances, going to take Drive d4 for my first one (Izoldah learning how to drive dogsleds) and Antarctic Trained (prepping for it, and being somewhat used to cold environment from cold Russian winters)
|
|
#
?
Oct 18, 2016 22:13
|
|
|
Harry He goes through the ceremony with the tohunga, and feels a lot better. Starts eating again (like a horse; the mess staff begins to worry about keeping up with him) and becomes all smiles, bearing gifts to his teammates. Apparently being commended agrees with him. Everyone is given a pendant of greenstone of a curious figure called a manaia; a mythological protector from evil. Harry urges them all to wear it against their skin and never take it off: "Collects your mana. Keeps you safe, yeah?" He's leaning against the wall, arms folded, as he listens to Woolley tell them what's up. He had long suspected they weren't being let leave for a reason, here it was. "What's the mission exactly, sir? Search and destroy? Recovery? All of the above? And... bloody Antartica?" Oracle fucked around with this message at 16:21 on Oct 19, 2016 |
|
#
?
Oct 18, 2016 22:27
|
|
|
Ronnie The days passed. Ronnie could probably say he was one of the few to have a vacation in the south Atlantic. Sure, there wasn't much more to do than 'hurry up and wait', but it was peaceful, as much as an island converted for wartime needs could be; the small off-base bits of the islands weren't the worst. He would catch up with the others from time to time, do PT, try to stay as busy as possible while awaiting being sent back somewhere else. Somewhere in there, there'd been looted booze drunk as a group thanks to Izoldah, which he was thankful for. Somewhere in there is also some strange talisman from Harry, which he doesn't quite understand, but he decides to wear anyway. After all, after Saxemberg, Ronnie wasn't about to turn down any good omens. The longer the waiting went on, the more Ronnie wondered if they were really just going to simply ship them all back to their units (or universities, or whatever) after all. They had seen a lot. Stuff that was more than a little out there. Notwithstanding whether they were actually truly believed about it or not, S/Sgt. Thomas wondered if they were being sidelined or quarantined in some back-channel way. Granted, lining up the logistics of transport for so many different countries of origin had to be pretty difficult, but the fact that they hadn't heard anything for so long meant something else. Maybe they thought they were all crazy. Or maybe...they'd reviewed the evidence and were planning some sort of operation based on it, which was Ronnie's hope. And indeed, they get called into the office, and that's the answer. Ronnie salutes smartly, even if - yet again - he's reporting directly to a different nation's command and a different branch at that. But, in the end, it hadn't mattered much last time, and Ronnie doubts it will this time, even if it rankles ever so slightly. "Sir," he begins during an appropriate moment, "if you could please define our role as 'advisors' in this situation?" He pauses, then clarifies: "Is this a training-and-planning role, or is our presence going to be more active than that, Sir?" Ronnie will be picking up Dodge in light of his extreme luck against the beasties, as well as Rock and Roll! in anticipation of picking up some hardware on our upcoming mission. Fraction Jackson fucked around with this message at 23:01 on Oct 18, 2016 |
|
#
?
Oct 18, 2016 22:47
|
|
|
Victoire Doucet, Maquisarde Medic, W 4/4, B 3, D 0/6, S 7/7 Victoire spends most of her time in confinement by trying to make herself useful to help the war effort. This mostly boils down to helping out in the infirmary, lending her advice and helping hand until someone shoos her away since officially she is still a foreign civilian. After her discussion with Ronnie on the way back she tries to think a bit more about what to do once the war is over and even though she makes little leeway the introspection helps her surmount whatever bit of trauma was left after Saxemberg island. She gladly accepts Izoldah's invitation to drink some fine liquor and brings along a bottle of 95% ethanol she smuggled out of the infirmary. It's definitely not as refined as brandy but if you dilute it properly it does its work, she shares it with anyone who wants some, calls it "British wine". It feels good to just let go and talk about whatever. When Harry offers his gift to the crew she's already a bit inebriated. "Will zis keep me safe from your frowing skills 'arry?" She says as she pokes the giant in the ribs before slipping on the pendant. And then the days stretch into a week and more. Victoire keeps helping out as well as she can and keeps smuggling some ethanol out from time to time, it's always good to have some drinks to offer to anyone who'd visit her room. It's only good manners. Thankfully the waiting has an end when the base commander calls a meeting. "Yes, is zere going to be any, ah comment vous dites, field action?" she inquires after Ronnie's question. Victoire becomes shootier and sneakier, raising both to a d8. I also took combat reflexes so that I might survive to take Brave some other day. Rest and Relaxation took away my final point of dementia. Updated link to a google doc with the stats. Fathis Munk fucked around with this message at 23:01 on Oct 18, 2016 |
|
#
?
Oct 18, 2016 22:56
|
|
|
Bradley Hewitt Bennies 2 Given time to rest (and to wait), Bradley studied the De Origine Et Situ Germanorum. For others it might have been a torturous experience, but for him he found it comforting. He found the routine of studying to remind him of his days in school when he could avoid the problems of the world. It seemed as if the book begged to be studied by him. In between studying the book he did spend time with the other people of his group, but he remained reluctant to discuss the book he had been studying or other matters that related to the occult. Whether he did it to protect them from falling prey to overactive imaginations or to keep the information from being leaked, he wasn't sure why he remained tight lipped about occult matters. It just made sense to him. When given the small figurine by Harry, he politely accepts it. Outwardly he treats the object as an unwanted gift. When away from the others, he takes Harry's advice in regards to it. He keeps it next to his skin. Superstition or not, he didn't take the chance. ~~~~~~~~~ During the briefing he listened and nodded when appropriate. When it came time for questions, he waited to hear the answers to the questions others posed. Boosted Strength and Increase two skills that are lower than their linked attributes by one die type each (Fighting and Notice) Rolls for studyng the tome: Docbubonic_away !wild d10 -1 Latin AchtungBot rolled a (1d10) with wild die for Docbubonic_away and got ( 7 5 ) Results: 7 Docbubonic_away !wild d10 -1 Latin AchtungBot rolled a (1d10) with wild die for Docbubonic_away and got ( 6 3 ) Results: 6 Docbubonic_away !wild d10 -1 Latin AchtungBot rolled a (1d10) with wild die for Docbubonic_away and got ( 11 4 ) Results: 11
|
|
#
?
Oct 19, 2016 02:05
|
|
|
Richard 'Dicky' Barton-Morewood At first he's happy for the downtime, pending further word from command. During the first days he stays ready, anxious and expecting a call to come any moment that he's to be flown back out into the fight; be it the Arctic or someplace else the brass deemed fit for him. And when those days pass with no word, he truly relaxes in a way he hasn't since his stint behind enemy lines a good few years ago. The further passing days find the grounded pilot sleeping in, writing letters back home, reading in the sun and enjoying an evening drink of brandy with the other lads and ladies from Saxemberg where he tells nearly all tales of the war that he is able to. Before long he finds whatever lingering terror rested in his mind from their assault on Saxemberg has all but faded in to what he can only associate with that of a bad dream. With any luck, it will be the last time he has to face any such horrors up close before the war is done. Sadly though, he is not willing to bet on it. But with the slowly passing days, cabin fever creeps in and he finds himself making frequent trips to the neighboring islands whenever the opportunity presents itself just so he does not have to dwell within the Atlantic Isle of which he is becoming uncomfortably familiar with. When he is confined to the base, he uses the time to ready himself once more for the fight; mostly consisting of improving his accuracy at the firing range and lending a helping hand with the fixing up and maintenance of any aircraft that might be kept on base. Somewhere along the line, Harry gifts him a strange pendant which he is far too much of a gentleman not to wear with sincere words of thanks. He's more than eager to be about it when they are called into the meeting with Woolley, not all that surprised to see the Saxemberg group has been reassembled once more. Woolley is certainly the kind of officer he admires, one of the main reasons being he sees a great resemblance to himself in the man, not counting the graying at the temples of course. And the man confirms his suspicion that he will indeed be deployed to the fight in the frozen wastes, but not exactly in the role he had imagined. He remains silent for now, waiting to hear the answers to the first round of questions first. Izoldah's question of whether he is in command again is the one that specifically piques his interest. <A_Velociraptor> !wild d8 * AchtungBot rolled a (1d8) with wild die for A_Velociraptor and got ( 2 15 ) Results: 15 #Shed that last Dementia point.# Dicky will be getting the Edge: Dodge after evading both monsters and grenade explosions. Also increasing two skills that are lower than their linked attributes by one die type each (Shooting to d8 and Notice to d6).
|
|
#
?
Oct 19, 2016 09:48
|
|
|
HMS Atlantic Isle - Commander's Office Addressing Grace, Commander Woolley inclines his head. "I believe there will be a sharing of intelligence in this operation's little brain trust, Miss Flynn." Looking to the rest of the academic auxiliary, the commander gestures broadly. "Not really my demesne, as it were--but I'm sure you'll give it what for, eh?" Blinking, Commander Woolley straightens and holds a finger up. "Ahh, yes--that reminds me." Woolley steps over to a small corner safe in his office before reaching to pull a lanyard from beneath his uniform blouse, a key dangling from it. Opening the safe, Commander Woolley retrieves a small, unmarked envelope from the top shelf before handing it to Bradley. "Received this in the packet of re-deployment orders with instructions to pass it along." Within the envelope, Bradley finds a small key on a steel chain--perhaps to a small safe or lockbox. The key appears to be British made, but carries no other distinguishing characteristics. Looking then to Izoldah, Commander Woolley lifts his shoulders in an emphatic shrug. "Can't really say for sure; personally I think Sergeant Barton-Morewood is a fine gentleman and performed well in command, but this is a complicated arrangement. I'd consider him such, until such a time as you may be informed otherwise, eh?" He crinkles a brief, tight smile before looking to Harry. "So far, the mission is to re-deploy to the Jeremiah and serve as advisors to the operation there." He offers--though his expression certainly suggests sharing in the frustration of so succinct a line. Turning to address Ronnie in kind, Commander Woolley crosses his arms behind his back once more. "Training, planning, logistics; right now, your team has provided crucial intelligence to commence this operation as I understand it. Personally, I'm skeptical about the scale of it all: if the Germans truly have a base on Antarctica, I would suppose it is likely just a supply or arms depot--or perhaps a remote outpost for Nazi officers to go hide away after the war." He shakes his head. "Orders, however, are orders. If the War Council wants your team in the mix, I do suppose you've earned the chance eh?" Woolley smiles wryly at this. "Speaking of teams, however--you should know: 'The worst is yet to come' for Jerry." He eyes Ronnie, lifting his chin. "Included in the correspondence was word that the 1st Special Service Force has been reinstated for this operation." Belatedly, Dicky finds a stirring of thought regarding the mentioned carrier, the Jeremiah: having flown from his share of British carriers during the war, the pilot realizes that he's never actually heard of one by the name Jeremiah among the British navy--and for that matter, it seems rather conspicuous that it lacks 'HMS' as the prefix. Thoughts shift further--before Dicky is struck with a pang of realization from the periphery of his memory: there had been some mention of a Jeremiah attached to some mysterious project--but beyond that, no more is known. Common Knowledge (-2) test prompted for our Brits was knocked to a hit and a raise by Dicky, so he's made a curious belated realization..
|
|
#
?
Oct 19, 2016 15:40
|
|
|
Richard 'Dicky' Barton-Morewood He gives Woolley a nod and flash of teeth through a grin when the Commander fluffs up his ego some. A short, quiet chuckle is heard under his breath. So, their loose chain of command is to remain until further notice. At least their current mission simply involves transport. But given the larger scope of this operation he wonders how long his command will last once they get to this ship. What had Woolley called it. The...Jeremiah? As the name enters his head, he takes on a look of deep thought for a few seconds; listing off numerous carrier names in his head that he knows of. Having gotten around his fair share over the years, he feels safe to say he knows pretty much the names of them all and yet the HMS Jeremiah is not one of them. But there had been a ship not an HMS under that name he had heard of, hadn't there... Yes. Yes there had been, but a rumour of one linked to some hush-hush project and little else. "Sir," he says, stepping forward when there is a break in the talking. "This ship we are to report to. The Jeremiah. I recall a rumour it was attached to a secret project of sorts. What more can you tell us about it?"
|
|
#
?
Oct 19, 2016 16:06
|
|
|
HMS Atlantic Isle - Commander's Office Commander Woolley raises his brows a touch at Dicky's question, jaw set. "I'm afraid this is the first time I've heard of this Jeremiah myself. Just about bloody everything regarding this operation is being doled out on a need-to-know basis--and I'm an outsider in that category." He offers a wry smirk at that.
|
|
#
?
Oct 19, 2016 16:16
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 24, 2024 19:33 |
|
|
Harry He fingers his own necklace as he listens, a bit dubious. "If they want my advice, here it is: blow the drat place up from the sky, make highballs out of the ice cubes."
|
|
#
?
Oct 19, 2016 16:24
|
|