Author Topic: Writing and stuff  (Read 1228 times)

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Offline Second Coming of Madman

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Writing and stuff
« on: February 12, 2015, 08:37:39 pm »
You know, just drabbles and stuff like write ups.

The "Assault Gun", more properly referred to as the Machine Pistol model 3018, is a personal defense weapon that has since become standard issue to the Order's Acolyte infantrymen and assorted non-essential personnel within their meager empire in what used to be England. Fed from a makeshift tapered box magazine filled with 9x19mm ammunition and capable of accepting almost any form of box magazine in the same caliber, the model 3018 is perhaps the most versatile weapon in the post-Comet world.

Easy to manufacture and easy to modify, it is little surprise that the Front adopted the Assault Gun once they got their hands on it. As thus, it is rather common to see it's pistol grip ripped off by brute force to be replaced with a purpose-built wooden shoulder stock once it has been liberated from a Acolyte and have it's box magazine replaced by a less reliable drum magazine for increased capacity. 

However, much of the weapon's effect lies in the terror it can instill. Otherwise, it is merely a inaccurate handheld bullet hose spewing rounds with little penetration. As thus, any potential one man armies should consider that fact before going off to killing everything in sight with their fancy new gun and perhaps try to not step on too many toes.


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Toddlers get too much exercise, they wouldn't make good veal.

Offline Second Coming of Madman

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Re: Writing and stuff
« Reply #1 on: February 14, 2015, 05:15:22 pm »
The Un-Men of Tindalos move in dark fashions, dark angled shapes outlined against the heresy of the curved times. It is they who you see in your fevered terrors, the presence you never lay eyes on, the ones you fear.

Athirst with the desire for the curved form, they flit in and out of the curved heresies with the Hounds never too far behind. Those who only see the dogs are the lucky ones, for they are not taken.

You will never escape the thrice-damned abortion that is Tindalos if you are taken there, for the Un-Men perceive things differently than you and I. Seconds are eons to the Un Men, matter a mere illusion, and space a plaything to their perception. Their "city", if it is a city at all, will break your brain in more ways than one with it's will that is not a will.

Your form is stolen from you, the Un-Men infiltrating into curved space-time for purposes unknown. You are left to linger in Tindalos forever, never to return to the world of men.

Accept your fate if you attract the attention of a Un-Man, for that is all you can do.

For, I Alhazed Al-Iremi, proclaim this. There is nothing in Allah's creation or Iblis's that will save you from these beasts, for they will find you.
« Last Edit: February 14, 2015, 05:17:24 pm by Second Coming of Madman »
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Toddlers get too much exercise, they wouldn't make good veal.

Offline Second Coming of Madman

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Re: Writing and stuff
« Reply #2 on: February 15, 2015, 09:44:02 pm »
I'm really, really obsessed with Conspiracy Theories from a narrative standpoint. Those who make conspiracy theories are perhaps the most imaginative writers of our day, except they believe the narrative to be a part of reality. As thus, this post and the ones to come in the next week are devoted to write ups of weapons I could derive from these political religions.

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Toddlers get too much exercise, they wouldn't make good veal.

Offline Second Coming of Madman

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Re: Writing and stuff
« Reply #3 on: February 16, 2015, 07:30:00 pm »
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« Last Edit: February 17, 2015, 10:28:28 am by Second Coming of Madman »
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Toddlers get too much exercise, they wouldn't make good veal.

Offline Second Coming of Madman

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Re: Writing and stuff
« Reply #4 on: February 21, 2015, 06:21:18 pm »
Polished to a glittering shine by serfs, the Right Honorable Lord Rezon's massive servo-armor stomps through the battlefield, occasionally stopping to provide fire support to the soldiers of his fief. For those who stand in opposition to his conquest of the Nordic countries, it is a instrument of Ba'al-Zebub and the licentious forces of witchcraft that stand behind his armies. But to those who stand behind the banner of the Dagaz symbol, it is the work of angels delivering the wrath of the One God to their foes.

The Servo-Armor, or "Cannon-Roach" as it is referred to by those entrusted with repairing it's labyrinth of moving parts, is a medium-sized siege walker meant for quick assaults on enemy linemen. As thus, it's enchanted iron shell is relatively light as far as these things go, being only a meter thick.

In either of it's claw like hands, it wields a serrated rapier-like blade constructed for it's size. These can add to the sheer terror the appearance of the walker instills in a already routed foe, as it's paradoxical agility allows it to literally become a storm of steel that turns men in it's path into red mist.

Though the origin of the walker remains unclear relative to other constructs extant in Europe, all observers agree that the craftsmanship displayed in it's creation is unnatural to say the least. And none can discern the exact meaning of the mysterious runes that cover it's iron shell, glowing faintly with the light of a dying star...
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Toddlers get too much exercise, they wouldn't make good veal.

Offline rookie

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Re: Writing and stuff
« Reply #5 on: February 26, 2015, 01:18:10 am »
Food should always be cooked in an oven or on a stove, perhaps even over open fire or by smoke. But never in a microwave. The microwave should be for heating food only. Food, when properly prepared, will nourish the soul as well as the body. A pot of spaghetti and sauce will last one person a good week in the fridge and cost $3.50 to prepare.

It's not about being a gourmet or foodie. In fact, don't be one. A foodie is nothing more than a specialized hipster. Do not be a hipster.  And gourmets train for years if not decades to do what they do. Have a life outside the kitchen. Three "specialties", meals prepared from ingredients from any grocery store should suffice.  One for the cook, one for entertaining,  and one show off meal. The cooks favorite meal, lasagna, and a roasted chicken should do nicely.

The reasons for this are too many to get into in a short little blurb. First is the satisfaction of providing oneself one of the three basic necessities of life (with shelter and clothing the other two). And the satisfaction of making something beautiful is always is own reward. It doesn't have to be complex or even pretty to be good, especially something as subjective as what is good food. The last reason for tonight is it will save money. It will save vast amounts of money. A family of 10 can be fed for $185 a week. That sounds like a lot, true. But for a single person, divide that by 10 and add 5% (milk costs what it costs no matter how many people drink it). What that means is somewhere in the neighborhood of $20 a week will keep a person's stomach full of real food.
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Offline Second Coming of Madman

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Re: Writing and stuff
« Reply #6 on: February 26, 2015, 02:25:02 pm »
Odd metaphor, but I can understand where exactly you're coming from.
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Toddlers get too much exercise, they wouldn't make good veal.

Offline Meshakhad

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Re: Writing and stuff
« Reply #7 on: April 03, 2015, 12:31:34 am »
An excerpt from my novel:

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"Jump complete, Captain," Patrick reported. As he spoke, the central display changed to show the Thule system. As planned, we had arrived a mere ten thousand kilometers from the refinery, on the edge of the accretion disk of the black hole Thule. I also noted the presence of five ships around the refinery.

I turned to the newest member of the bridge crew. Eitan had told me that Christine had thrown herself into her studies since Joe's death. Let's see what she's learned, I thought. "Ensign Tang, please give me a sensor analysis."

Christine's fingers flew over her console. Display screens flashed in and out. She studied the readouts for a moment, put in a few commands, and turned to face me.

"Captain, I make two warships and three civvies. Both warships are destroyers, probably Attilas. One of the civilian ships is probably a repair ship, and the other two are definitely freighters. My guess is the civvies are here to fuel up and the destroyers are protecting the refinery."

I glanced back at the central display. Two of the ships' light codes were now red, indicating enemy warships. Both were out some distance from the station, where sensor interference from the black hole would be limited. The other ships were orange, indicating that they were civilian ships under enemy control. They were legitimate military targets, but not threats in their own right. If this were a simple raid, their destruction would be a priority. But not today. My primary objective was to capture - if only briefly - the refinery itself. Taking out the destroyers was necessary for the plan. The civilian ships were incidental.

"Commander Mears, suggestions?" I asked. I already had a basic plan, but I wanted Eitan's input.

"The Attila class is a fairly old one," he said. His tone was calm, almost relaxed. "They were introduced before the last war, before the Draconis ever clashed with the Auroran Empire. They carried plasma cannons, not barragers. It's possible their weapons have been upgraded, but they can't mount powerful shields. I think our best approach is to take them out quickly, so they can't interfere with the boarding operation."

I nodded. That was more or less what I had in mind. "All hands, battle stations. Commander Mears, designate the nearest destroyer Bogey One, and the other Bogey Two. Charge plasma barragers and bring shields to full power. Lieutenant Giscard, set an intercept course with Bogey One. Lieutenant Rurikovich, get me Lieutenant Reeves in the armory."

After a chorus of "yes, ma'am," from the crew, I turned my attention to Hilary's image, which had dutifully popped up on my console. "Lieutenant, is your strike team ready?"

"Yes, ma'am. Everyone's in their armor and we're going through the final checks now." It was the first time I had actually seen her in battle armor. Her face was clearly visible through the crystoplast visor. I could just make out "REEVES" on her nameplate at the lower edge of the screen. She lifted a rifle into view and examined it critically, before sliding it into place in the rifle holster on her back. Then she looked back at me and gave me a thin smile. It sent a slight shiver down my spine. Hilary was ready. The terror of the lacrosse team had become a soldier. All the jokes we had made before games about her leaving no survivors suddenly became a lot less funny. This time, it was no joke. My friend was going to kill people.

And so was I.

I turned back to the master plot. The destroyers had come together, and were now moving at full speed straight at us. Coming together made sense - it would allow their point defense systems to cover each other, and they could concentrate their fire on the same portion of our shields. But why were they charging? If I were a pair of destroyers facing a battlecruiser, I'd try to stay at range, where my maneuverability would be most useful.

Tenzil figured it out. "Looks like they haven't upgraded their weapons since the last war."

Vladimir turned to look at him. "Excuse me, sir?" I noticed a slight hesitation before he said "sir" but I let it pass for now.

"Plasma cannons are extremely short-ranged," Tenzil explained. "But if that's what they have, then their only chance is to get within range as soon as possible, before we destroy them."

That was it. Which meant, of course, that we had to take them out as quickly as possible. "Commander Mears, target all barragers on Bogey One. Hold your fire until we reach six thousand kilometers. Lieutenant Giscard, close to engage, but make sure they don't get within range."

On the master plot, a long, narrow blue cone extended from Revenant's position, displaying the area where all nine of our plasma barragers could target. The Draconis destroyers were no longer headed straight for us. They were curving around, trying to come at us from the side. As they did, Revenant itself maneuvered, swinging around the cone like a giant blade to intercept the destroyers. I glanced at Patrick as he manipulated the controls. Eitan entered a command into his console, and faint yellow spheres appeared around the destroyers' icons, indicating the probable range of their plasma cannons. It was like fencing, only they had knives and we had a sword. The destroyers were more agile, but they had to coordinate their maneuvers to stay together. And the range of their cannons was pitiful. And once we got them in our sights...
Bogey One passed within the blue cone.

"FIRE!" I shouted. Even as I said it, all nine barragers fired as one, spewing hundreds of white-hot plasma bolts at the enemy. Bogey One tried desperately to maneuver, but she had only a few seconds before the storm hit. Point defense cannons blasted away, but it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. Her shields were never designed to survive an assault on this scale. Not from a Defiant-class battlecruiser.

Bogey One vanished from the main plot. The destroyer hadn't simply been crippled; she'd been torn apart.

"Target destroyed!" Eitan announced. A chorus of whoops and cheers went around the bridge. But the battle was not over. We still had a second destroyer to deal with. And it would take sixty-eight seconds for our plasma barragers to recharge.

The destroyer had no real chance to win this battle. My opponent had to know that, no matter how brave or capable he was. But that wouldn't stop him from doing his duty. He would try to destroy us, or at least cripple us. Anything to buy time for the civilian ships he was charged with protecting to escape. Maybe he could damage us enough that the next Draconis ship we encountered would be able to take us out. And if he did get close enough, that plasma cannon might be enough to do some damage.

"Target Bogey Two, all particle cannons. Go to maximum continuous fire. Focus fire on his plasma cannon... now."

Our particle cannons opened up on the second destroyer now. They didn't have nearly the firepower of our plasma barragers, but they were much more accurate. Where the barragers gave the destroyer a few seconds to evade, particle cannons gave them effectively no time at all. Beams of charged particles traveling at nearly the speed of light stabbed across space. Bogey Two's shields degraded the beams, but what got through still had enough power to do some damage.

"Enemy plasma cannon destroyed," Eitan announced calmly. "Bogey Two still closing."

"What the hell is he thinking?" Vladimir asked. "His particle cannons can't possibly hurt us. Why not try to escape?"

"He's also got missiles," Eitan suggested. "Our point defense would take them out if he tried to launch them, but if he closed to point-blank range and detonated the warheads, he could actually do some damage. He'd kill himself in the process, but a Draconis captain wouldn't run if he had any chance left to hurt the enemy."

"Lieutenant Giscard, can you evade?" I asked, trying to keep the tension out of my voice.

Patrick shook his head. "He's faster than us. He'll reach point blank range within thirty seconds at most."

I glanced at the readout from the plasma barragers. Twenty seconds until we could fire again. It would be close. The blood-red numbers counted down. Seventeen. Sixteen. Fifteen. Fourteen. Particle beams continued to tear into Bogey Two, but they didn't do enough damage. That ship was on a kamikaze run.

The readout reached zero.

"Firing!" Eitan announced. I watched Revenant pivot on a dime to bring our weapons to bear on the destroyer. With seconds to spare, the barragers opened up, reducing the destroyer to an expanding ball of plasma.
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