Armageddon 1946

[Matt Frisbee]

Re: Armageddon 1946

 

That was the last story in the book. The first was the World War II commando raid (against the Saracen Caliphate!) in which they first met. Interesting bits: a switchblade broomstick used as a flying lance' date=' a "greasegun" with a "tracer load: every 10th round argent", Tibetan prayerwheels that block the operation of nuclear weapons. Petrological warfare seems to have been a bust: you have to get a basilisk really close to turn someone to stone; changing a body's carbon to silicon gets a radioactive isotope (St. John's Wort plucked from a graveyard in the dark of the moon is the preferred rad poisoning antidote); and the aluminum suit that deflects the effect makes the handlers a great target for snipers.[/quote']

 

Yeah, I remember that one now. I relly liked that one, too. Thanks for jogging the memory cells!

 

As I stated earlier, though, magic in A'46 will not be a substitute for technology -- it will (generally) be a way of accomplishing nearly to blatantly impossible things. The price involved with magic use generally withholds it being used for anything trivial, plus there are side effects to the environment for excessive magic use (primarily the appearance of mythical creatures and various nightmare horrors from the spirit world).

 

Matt

[Basil]

Re: Armageddon 1946

 

One thing to consider: How much trouble are the Germans having holding onto the Balkens' date=' given all those vampires? [/quote']

Somehow, I don't see the Nazis having any trouble recruiting their own vampires.

Considering the troubles Germany had with the Balkens, I think the vampires might well be anti-German.

[Narratio]

Re: Armageddon 1946

 

Remember Poul Anderson's dedication in the front of Operation Chaos? It was to RAH and said "for showing us the way", which was a reference to RAH's "Magic Inc." That showed as clearly as anything, a modern society and magic co-existing. It's the touchstone piece on this subject.

 

Meanwhile, back at the war. And, while the west works feverishly on a fission bomb, somewhere back in a sub basement of the Pentagon (and yes, that's why they built it like that, 5 interlocked pentangles) off centre brains try to resurrect a Cthulu servitor...

[Chris Goodwin]

Re: Armageddon 1946

 

I think I remember that one -- it might have been in the high school library. Is that the one with a werewolf (who had a polarized flashlight to induce his transformation) and a witch? Plus they channeled a dead French mathematician through the witch's familiar (a black cat) to rescue their daughter from hell or something like that?

 

That's the one!

[Matt Frisbee]

Re: Armageddon 1946

 

Friends and I have come to a compromise on this disclosure issue. So please ignore previous post here. Onward and upward! Hopefully, I'll have some time to do some Hero System conversions.

 

Matt "Both-hands-now" Frisbee

[Inu]

Re: Armageddon 1946

 

After discussion with my friends, I'm no longer posting information about this subject, as we are going to develop our own RPG around this setting. Thanks for your input everyone, and hopefully you'll see it on the shelves next year!

 

If it works out, I'll negotiate a release of a generic genre book as well.

 

Matt "So-now-I'm-a-game-designer" Frisbee

Aww! Was just having fun reading through the thread, and was gonna comment, but I figure you'd rather the game involve your own ideas. =)

 

Good luck with that!

[Steve]

Re: Armageddon 1946

 

After discussion with my friends, I'm no longer posting information about this subject, as we are going to develop our own RPG around this setting. Thanks for your input everyone, and hopefully you'll see it on the shelves next year!

 

If it works out, I'll negotiate a release of a generic genre book as well.

 

Matt "So-now-I'm-a-game-designer" Frisbee

 

I hope it's going to be a Hero product.

 

Or were you going to do it as a d20 project?

[Matt Frisbee]

Re: Armageddon 1946

 

As a further note, I'm a "right tool for the job" sort of guy, which means I'll design a game system to fit the genre. But as I said, if it works out, the game will be about half sourcebook and half system a la Castle Faulkenstein.

 

Matt "Bang-those-keys" Frisbee

[st barbara]

Re: Armageddon 1946

 

I think I remember that one -- it might have been in the high school library. Is that the one with a werewolf (who had a polarized flashlight to induce his transformation) and a witch? Plus they channeled a dead French mathematician through the witch's familiar (a black cat) to rescue their daughter from hell or something like that?

 

Otherwise, thanks for the suggestion.

 

Matt

They channelled two Russian mathmaticians I think. Bolyai and Lobachevsky; which allowed Anderson to end the story with a quote from a Tom Lehrer song !

[Matt Frisbee]

Re: Armageddon 1946

 

In case you missed it:

 

The thread remains alive -- my friends and I have come to a compromise on the subject of discussion of the game universe for Armageddon 1946. Provided Steve and company doesn't pull the plug here, I will continue to post here concerning the history and elements of the campaign universe. I might even have time for some fiction. At this point, nothing is set in stone, so onward and upward!

 

Matt "Keepin'-'em-flying" Frisbee

[Matt Frisbee]

Re: Armageddon 1946

 

To make up for the confusion -- here's some more fiction!

 

“The Home Front”

I suppressed a shiver as I hunkered down in my field jacket. Spring comes late to the Nevada High Country, and any daytime warmth is quickly lost after sunset. My partner’s teeth chattered for a second or two before he clamped down on them with the force of will. Although there was no moon, the vault of millions of stars above gave my eyes enough light to see his shoulders quake, his arms curled about him in a vain attempt at retaining warmth.

I allowed myself a grim smile at his discomfort. It reminded me of a mission in Finland a few years back, when I nearly froze off parts of my anatomy with some half-cocked Oxford professor who was an expert in the mythology there. I didn’t think he’d be worth spit in a fight, but I was gladly mistaken when we ran into a Nazi SDG paranormal operations team. He’d cut his teeth in the Great War as a lad, he’d said, which was much worse than this.

“Worse than this”?

The Great War may have been a waking nightmare to those who fought in it, but at least reality wasn’t threatening to come apart at the seams courtesy of the whims of a small group of madmen. Monsters, mythical beasts, spirits, ghosts and magic were all conspiring to tear the very fabric of reality to shreds and plunge the world into a Second Dark Age that would leave mankind powerless before those who could bend those forces to their will. Considering that both the major players on the other side were practicing genocide in one form or another, well, that didn’t bode well for the rest of us.

I shrugged myself back to the present and hazarded a look through the field glasses at the expanse of plain before me. I methodically searched the grounds until I found what I was looking for – a line of figures about three miles distant, plodding toward the bottom of a shallow depression. “Bingo,” I breathed to my partner, “The party’s arrived.”

I passed the glasses to him and he had a look. While he did, I checked my watch’s luminescent dial and saw that it was an hour shy of midnight. He handed the glasses back to me. “Their footsteps shake the Foundations of the Earth,” he said softly with a note of concern, “They channel a primal force and gather it upon sacred stone.” He began to rise. “We must hurry.” In the distance, a lone coyote howled, its voice carrying across the great emptiness far too clearly.

I was already on my feet, the hair on the back of my neck prickling. I quickly looked around, searching the scrub and boulders for signs of movement. Even without the moon, there were still shadows, too many places for someone to hide. Over the past few years, I learned to rely on my instincts and senses far more than I used to, mainly because both had become disturbingly acute. At the edge of my hearing, I caught it – the creak of wood and a rasp of leather. And then I on top of my partner, driving him to the ground as I heard the snap of a bowstring and the whistling flight of an arrow pass through the space where I had just been standing. Even as I began to rise, I heard the shaft of the projectile snap on hard stone and saw its flint arrowhead spark from the impact in the darkness

My trench knife cleared its sheath with a metallic hiss as I spun to charge my attacker. Although my service pistol rode in its holster on my belt, I didn’t dare use it for fear of its report carrying to the ears of the dancers on the plain below. I stayed low and threw my body from side to side as I ran over the jumbled rocks to throw off the archer’s aim. The second arrow creased my left upper arm, neatly laying open both the cloth of my jacket and shirt along with the skin and flesh beneath.

And then I was on him, driving the point of my knife between his ribs with my right hand while smothering his cry of pain with my left forearm. He crashed down onto the unforgiving terrain with me on top of him. I heard the ugly plastic pop of a skull fracture above the clatter of his dropped bow and quiver. He was out and dying, but I made sure by slashing his throat. His blood steamed in the cold, dry air as it covered the stones beneath him.

His proud features were disturbingly peaceful in the cold starlight, framed by hair as dark as a moonlight shadow. The man was disturbingly gaunt, however, with numerous scars on his arms and face. My practiced eye registered that most appeared to be self-inflicted. “Self-immolation?” I breathed in disgust, as I checked his hands. My eyes widened in shock as I saw the hard ridge of scar tissue across each palm. “Blood ritual,” I growled as I my eyes narrowed.

I arose, pausing to wipe the blood from the blade of my knife on his linen shirt, only to notice that my initial knife thrust hadn’t penetrated his shirt. I noticed its simple cut and the many embroidered symbols along the bottom and sleeves. “A Ghost Shirt,” commented my partner as he surveyed the dead man with a critical eye, “They’re magically empowered to be proof against all lethal weapons.”

I shook my head. “Like hell,” I said, “Look a little closer at those symbols – they’re Aztec pictograms.” I stepped past him and started to pick my way toward the plain.

“He was a blood puppet?” asked my partner as he caught up with me. I nodded. “That would mean,” he continued, “the presence of a Nagual.”

I shuddered in revulsion at the word. Nagual are the Mexican equivalent of vampires, witches and lycanthropes all in one. They prey upon the innocent, feasting on blood and using fear to manipulate others into doing their wishes. They travel the world in the guise of animals to hide their true natures from others. The OSS had fielded rumors the year we entered the war that the Nazis had attempted to recruit Mexican support against the United States. When the Mexican government said no, there were reports of possible SDG operations near known Aztec archeological sites, though none were ever confirmed.

I made a face of disgust. “Wouldn’t it just?” I said and spat. “That damned coyote was probably it in disguise!”

“That would also explain the self-immolation wounds,” my partner commented, “they cover up its bite marks, and the shock value of those wounds on the neighbors would tend to isolate those being victimized.”

“All of the victims are probably just like our attacker,” I said, reaching the spot on the gravel road where our car was parked, “They’re being manipulated by that thing to Ghost Dance.”

We reached the car. “All the more need to hurry,” my partner said, “Once they start the dance, we’ll have more than just the Nagual to handle.”

I paused just long enough to fetch a pair of pump shotguns from the trunk and load them up with multi-purpose paranormal threat shells – a mix of silver shot, garlic, rock salt and splinters of sandalwood. I also replaced my combat knife for an argent blade. My partner tossed off his coat, donning a silk robe embroidered with mystic symbols along the edges and a large, ornate compass and square symbol in silver and gold thread on the back. He also collected a small black leather case with polished brass hinges and latches, and slipped it into one of the robe’s pockets.

The old Dodge lumbered down the road, kicking up a huge rooster tail of dust as I raced toward the depression where the Ghost Dancers had assembled. I ran with the lights off, partly not wanting to spoil my night vision for the battle to come, and partly in the vain hope that none of the dancers would see us coming. I pulled up just short of the rim of the bowl, grabbed one of the shotguns and hustled the rest of the way on foot. My partner was just a couple of steps behind.

I had just cleared the lip when a chorus of bowstrings sounded below me. I threw myself prone as the volley of arrows whistled over me. I quickly crawled behind a rock and chambered a round in the shotgun. “Put the bows down and nobody gets hurt!” I shouted. My challenge was answered by another volley of arrows that snapped and clattered around me. To my right, I heard a chanting that rose and fell in a comforting rhythm – a spell for protection from projectiles, no doubt.

My happiness was short-lived, however, as the star of the show chose that moment to attack me. I don’t particularly like snakes to begin with, but I especially don’t like snakes that are as big as me with poison fangs as long as my middle finger in a maw big enough to swallow my head. The Nagual’s first strike missed by an inch as I desperately rolled out of the way. Its second strike came even more quickly and missed my right shoulder by even less. Unfortunately for me, the strike was a feint, and I found my legs caught in the monster’s constricting coils. “MINE!” The hiss was a roar of triumph as I desperately tried to bring the shotgun to bear. Fangs barred, its head blurred toward me for the killing strike.

Suddenly, the ground beneath me lurched, throwing me out of the path of the strike by the finest of margins. Then, the shotgun in my hands roared, blowing a fist-sized chunk out of the serpent’s flank. The monster convulsed in agony, and I screamed in turn as its coils snapped both of my legs like kindling. I worked the slide on the shotgun in full desperation, firing blind in my pain as that vise clamped tighter. Mercifully, I passed out.

The moon was just starting to rise when I awoke. My partner was applying splints to my mutilated legs while an ancient medicine man chanted softly next to me. He bore the scars of the Nagual, but his face was peaceful and his trembling touch gentle. Whether it was shock or the medicine man’s magic, my legs were comfortably numb.

My partner looked concerned. “That’s the best I can do for now,” he said.

“You did great,” I said with hint of a smile. “You never told me you were a terramancer.”

“Oh, come on!” he exclaimed, “What kind of Freemason would I be if couldn’t command stone?”

Broken legs and all, I still managed a chuckle. Even the medicine man managed a toothless grin at that.

[Zachary Butler]

Re: Armageddon 1946

 

You might want to read this story while you're at it.

 

He also published it as a comic book

[Matt Frisbee]

Re: Armageddon 1946

 

Interesting stuff, Zach. Thanks for sharing it!

 

Just a note to the rest of you -- Armageddon 1946 Playtesting Rules are currently in their third rewrite. This is due to the fact that many of the so-called "Open License" systems come with a lot of strings attached these days. So, now it is going to be a home system to run everything, which adds a lot of complications to a project I've attempted (and failed miserably) once before. *sigh* But, on the bright side, it has forced me to address some issues with the game universe that were only vague notions before, so in the end, I am making progress toward the ultimate goal of getting this thing written. Unless Steve and company object to my little bit of self-promotion, I'll continue to post updates on the progress.

 

Matt "Working-the-keyboard-as-fast-as-I-can" Frisbee