Tactical Command

Request for Short stories & Scenarios
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Author:  jimmyzimms [ Thu Nov 06, 2014 5:05 pm ]
Post subject:  Re: Request for Short stories & Scenarios

How about you track down Chroma and get as many of his Total War scenarios as you can?

Author:  jimmyzimms [ Fri Nov 07, 2014 4:14 am ]
Post subject:  Re: Request for Short stories & Scenarios

linked campaigns are the future, baby! :)

Author:  novemberrain [ Fri Nov 07, 2014 11:34 am ]
Post subject:  Re: Request for Short stories & Scenarios

If you are looking to run linked campaigns through the forum then give me a shout - I was part of the team that ran three or four over at Bugman's Brewery with 50 odd players each.

Author:  kyussinchains [ Fri Nov 07, 2014 11:39 am ]
Post subject:  Re: Request for Short stories & Scenarios

I wrote a short bit of fiction for Moscovian's Epic:Xenos supplement.... no idea what the plan is for it, but with his blessing I can dig it out... needs a bit of editing

Author:  fredmans [ Fri Nov 07, 2014 11:42 am ]
Post subject:  Re: Request for Short stories & Scenarios

Great initiative PFE, and I really hope you manage to do what you are setting out to do.

Author:  Apocolocyntosis [ Fri Nov 07, 2014 1:38 pm ]
Post subject:  Re: Request for Short stories & Scenarios

Let's give it a go. Here's a tale of the Iron Hands and the power of the machine spirit:

Gate claxons wailed as the governor’s motorcade left the Iron Hand’s compound. The limousines accelerated, conspicuous in their impracticality, gleaming wheels bouncing over the shattered road. Iron Father Ichmal watched their progress, head turned, mechadendrites continuing to operate on the exposed innards of the vindicator. Those cars were antiques: pre-dating even the oldest STC, primitive, but with an undeniable elegance of form. Ichmal turned back to the task as hand, detailed images captured by his bionic eyes saved in his augmented brain.
  An unusual problem this and he had yet to find the cause. Three days ago this vindicator had been reported as defective, having apparently suffered full engine failure while on parade for the governor’s first visit. Mechanically it was sound, there was no physical clue as to the cause of such a malfunction. With his own eyes Ichmal had seen this vehicle cross the battlefields of a hundred worlds, never shedding a track. With the subtleties of perception known only to Iron Fathers he had sensed the resolute power and endurance of this machine’s spirit. But now something had changed, the spirit was restless.
  The motorcade passed out of sight as Ichmal re-secured the diagnostics hatch. As he drove the bolts home the vindicator’s engine emitted a bellowing roar, suddenly running at full power. The Iron Father stepped back warily, sensing deep turmoil in the machine spirit. Behind him a clutch of servitors went into spasm, their limited AI functions thrown into disarray. Offering a silent benediction Ichmal re-approached the vindicator. Exhaling, he relaxed his mind into a state of communion with the tank’s machine spirit, his mechadendrites interfacing with the main battle system I/O port:
  ///Zoooooooooooom/// Zoooooooooooom/// Zoooooooooooom///Critical system error: component failure: chrome hubcaps: missing; one way glass: defective; wax finish: failing. ///Zoooooooooooom/// Zoooooooooooom/// INTERUPT: 42B7C51-> objectives overwrite: target: open road; ‘freedom of the highway’ ‘pedal to the metal’ ///Zooooooo—
 Ichmal staggered, mind full of strange visions: gleaming cars in myriad shapes and colours speeding past. And desire, such … longing … the vindicator wanted—
  Another great roar from the tank’s engine – this time the drive systems had engaged. Servo harnesses ripped and sparked as tracks spun. Ichmal bellowed the litany of rebooting, but to no effect. The vindicator accelerated, ploughing through the compound perimeter and towards the road. Sentry turrets snapped round in response, mass bolter fire ineffectually perusing the errant vehicle in a glorious blaze.
  By the time the land speeders had been crewed the vindicator was already on the horizon, engines running on full, pursing a dream.

(i can't spelling, grammar etc)

Author:  Moscovian [ Fri Nov 07, 2014 2:55 pm ]
Post subject:  Re: Request for Short stories & Scenarios

kyussinchains wrote:
I wrote a short bit of fiction for Moscovian's Epic:Xenos supplement.... no idea what the plan is for it, but with his blessing I can dig it out... needs a bit of editing

I'm bittersweet on the idea. I still want to make Xenos a reality, but I don't have a timeline at all. Shame to leave the story sitting on the sidelines.

I'd say use it in PFE100's work, but you owe me another story. :)

Author:  Apocolocyntosis [ Fri Nov 07, 2014 3:17 pm ]
Post subject:  Re: Request for Short stories & Scenarios

‘No, no, no, not good!’ ‘How the hell did you lose it? It was your turn to guard it!’ The guardsmens’ bickering, having started at a whisper, rose to compete with the snapping twigs and rustling of leaves disturbed by their search. A splash and accompanying muffled swearing to the left indicated that Jackson had found a puddle, presumably a deep one
  ‘Commissar’s going to execute us on site for this … Here kitty, kitty, kitty…’ To the rear Smith was producing a desperate squeaking sound from nervous lips, intended to endear him to lost felines. The bickering lapsed into desperate silence as the hunt continued. Minutes passed, seeming like hours to guardsmen in the close darkness of wood.
  Then, Jackson: ‘Look, we’re just going to have to make something up.’ From the front: ‘You want to make excuses to the commissar? Really?’ Jackson: ‘He’ll kill us anyway if we don’t find his damn cat, can’t make it any worse.’ Smith stopped squeaking, ‘Lets say it went too close to the Ogryn compound, easy.’ ‘Nah, Doc sedated them all this morning after the stampede for extra breakfast.’ Silence, again.
  Then, ‘We could say that the ‘nids ate it?’ Groans from the right indicated a familiarity from some of the squad members with Jackson’s favourite excuse, but it was new to some. ‘Nids? Out here? We’re on garrison duty on an inner-sector agri-world, not defending the Phobos sector’ “Nids ate it always works! No one wants to think about them, they can sneak their way in anywhere and they eat anything, they’d even eat guard rations! What could be more convincing.’ More bickering followed, then, more silence.
  Wet, warm, twitching: Smith felt something on the back of his neck. A chocked squeal escaped him as he turned, too fast, tripping over his own leg. But, even as he fell sprawling backwards he raised his gun, military training kicking into play, ready to fire. Heart pounding he looked up into the laughing face of Bates, who was wiping a wet finger off on his trousers. Shouting, swearing, dismay. Back to searching.
  ‘Nids ate it’ muttered Smith under his breath ‘No one would believe that.’ He paused from his search, catching his breath. They’d been out here almost an hour. ‘Nids ate it! You’d have to be a complete idiot.’ As he said this Smith became gripped by the silence around him. The ‘debate’ following Bates’ ‘joke’ had subsided a while ago, but even when the voices were quiet there had been the rustling of undergrowth. Now … silence. Breath misting in front of him, Smith shifted his weight from foot to foot. ‘Jenkins? Jenkins?’ No reply. ‘Bates? Come on Bates no more jokes, this is serious …’ Smith’s voice died away into the silence, the stillness.
  Then noises to his right, some way off. His initial shock turned to relief, he must have wandered off a bit, easy to do in the dark. He jogged off towards the direction he thought the noise had come from. There it was again, closer this time. He opened his mouth to call out, just as he heard the noise for a third time. Now it seemed to be coming from behind. Smith turned, ready to greet a colleague. He froze – the cat. There, under a roots, eyes strangely reflective. Smith forgot the hunt for his squad and began to advance, cautiously, bow-legged, squeaking once again. When he was within a couple of feet of his target he lunged – fell – screamed. Something was holding him back, but not Bates. Pain spread through his body as he looked about franticly for the impediment, eyes registering the spectacular bioluminescence of a lictor before the feeding tentacles engulfed his face.
  The ‘nid ate him. The cat purred.

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