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Post by Dunwik on May 28, 2024 23:45:55 GMT
JANUARY 18th, 1930 (SRC)ARTHUR DAY, 108 (DUNWIK)Janton didn't think this day would be the worst in his life. But, in hindsight, nobody knows what their life's worst day would be on waking. Still, there was nothing amiss. House's term as Grand Chairman ended and the campaign began anew, with five candidates. The Orangists, under Yoval Gainick, campaigned around Vagus and advocated some populist reforms, while Arthur stayed near his native Arkhom to rally support for his technocratic front. Maxwell House went south near Serosa, where his appeal was flagging somewhat. A new group of the middle class, headed by a "Dona Pancho" appeared around Goldbridge and spoke conservatism. Finally, although Janton didn't know, there was a small group of the extremely wealthy in the port town of Goldwheel's Refuge, out where Leng once was, speaking on how to undermine the election. None, of course, could've predicted what would happen.It was bright and clear, the way everyone describes the moments before a tragedy, and Arthur had finished one of his trademark fiery, rambling speeches, supported by the latest in microphone and speaker technology. At seventy years old on the dot, he finally started to flag in strength, and cut his speech a little shorter than normal, but - he assured the people - he had the power to survive one last term. He had more than that, he would be the first human to fly by rocket propulsion. The vessel stood, something vaguely bullet-shaped, in the background the whole time, done in gaudy silvery paint with a gold trim. Once Arthur finished his speech, he strode off to the contraption and was loaded into it. The flight would be short, only stratospheric, and a parachute within would safely open and lead him down to landing. The gathered crowd watched with bated breath as the closest thing to a God in Dunwik was sealed in with a heavy hiss. The technicians stepped back, a great roar of smoke and flame erupted from the machine, and it rocketed skyward and glinted in the midday light. One minute passed. Two minutes passed. And at the third minute, a great gout of smoke and flame erupted in the sky, and the sound struck a second later as Arthur's rocket exploded.---TWO DAYS LATER - IMPERIUM DIVNIUMMaxwell House reclined on a seat as his porters unloaded an obscene quantity of bullion into his Divinian villa. He looked at his wine glass. He looked up at Asellio's face, the grey-haired Latin still in a cold sweat.Asellio sounded like an infant terrified of a monster under his bed. "He's-""Yes." House waved a hand. "Do with it as you may.""What are you doing here, then!?" Asellio stiffened and flushed. "Don't the people need you?""Not anymore. Go tell your Emperor that Dunwik is at war. Perhaps not now. Perhaps not for a month. But I assure you, it will burn." ---One Week Later - North DunwikDominick Sugar HQJanton strolled through the gaudy halls again, still feeling like he'd been bathed in ice water. He closed his eyes and saw Arthur. The newspapers all went silent. The whole damn country went silent at that. Nobody thought Arthur could die. There were search parties for a week after he died, looking for him, as if it'd all been some trick and the doctor would appear, unscathed, as he had every other time someone wanted him dead. It was a rebirth in the most gruesome way, as though he'd been hacked out of the womb and thrown onto a steel table, still twitching and premature. He almost didn't see the man covered in blood.Almost. Janton stumbled back and drew his pistol a fraction of a second too late as the assailant burst his way out of Mr. Dominick's office, bearing a bloodstained machete and a rictus grin. He looked like a demon, a Loonie, sinewy and moving like a puppet. He flourished his blade and lunged with a ululating screech, and Janton's hands locked around the trigger. A round of .45 APC tore through the Loonie-man's guts and split his stomach like an overripe fruit thrown against a wall, but his charge continued and the blade fell on Janton's neck.Janton's body stayed upright for a second before it fell, while his killer smiled as he hacked up blood. He picked up the gun and screamed again, knowing more men would come. It was a wonderful day to kill and die for his Father. He slaughtered with the gun, with the sword, with fire and his hands. And as he was gunned down, he grinned ear to ear, his flesh peeling around his lips as the stimulants kept his mangled corpse going. "All ye wounded!" He raised his bloodstained blade to the air. "Pick yourselves from the ground! Go! Go to Dominick's owner - yes!" A fit of maniacal laughter broke his monologue. "And tell him he needs more men!" Then he fell. ---VagusSatan Wesker was young, but knew it all fell to him. His "councilors" - regents - told him that the Technocracts mobilized in Arkhom, and the Dons had already locked Miskatonic down. House was nowhere to be found and something or someone had started a fight already in the far north. He patted himself down, straightened out his suit, and grimaced. "Where's Satan Walsh?" Wesker asked as he steepled his hands and rested them on his mahogany desk.
"Locking down the coasts. He's letting it all burn down. So long as the Tholes don't invade, he'll let anyone win."
"So we're alone." Like his great uncle before him, Wesker had a job to do.
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Post by Dunwik on May 29, 2024 0:50:50 GMT
COMBAT OVERVIEW
At the start of every turn (time tick), each faction may make up to 3 different moves. Each move is dictated by d100 pools. Having a numerical bonus, + or -, changes how many d100s are in the pool.
Bonuses are dictated by FACTION, MEN, MATERIAL, and MORALE.
A faction is destroyed when its home province is taken AND it has -2 in at least 2 categories.
FACTION & ABILITY OVERVIEW
The Bloodfather - RED
The Bloodfather is an absurdist cult leader preaching humanity was made to struggle. They are animals and their only purpose is bloodshed.
-Offensive Genius: +5 to attacking
-The Spirit Wills It: material penalties are HALVED. Propaganda efforts gain +1
-Like A Shadow: The Bloodfather may render himself immune to assassination for a turn. This has a 2-turn cooldown.
UPGRADES AFTER DESTROYING THE SAG
-Bounteous Bullion: Material will not dip below +0 unless Goldwheel's Refuge is seized.
-He's Everywhere!: The Bloodfather may attack a province he already holds, once per turn, for free. This can dislodge enemy attacking forces.
-The Spirit Wills It: Propaganda efforts to raise morale or manpower gain +2.
Starting statistics:
Material: -2
Men: -1
Morale: +2
ORANGISTS - ORANGE
The Orangists are a social-democratic and pseudo-populist front, currently split between the Nationalists, who wish to keep their ideals within Dunwik before expanding, and the Internationalists, who wish to spread a GLOBAL revolution.
Satan's Left Hand: Should the Orangists align with the Technocrats, they will automatically win the war after 10 turns.
I Will Carry Your Burden: The Orangists can never dip below +1 manpower
Not one step back! +2 to defensive engagements
Starting Statistics:
Material: -1
Men: +2
Morale: +1
If Satan Wesker is killed, they will lose the Satan's Left Hand ability and take a permanent -1 to Morale.
The Technocrats - GREEN:
All Arthur, all the time. Transhumanists, furries, industrialists and obsessed with technological progress. They wish to transform Dunwik into a technological utopia and are most likely to ally any other faction.
Satan's Right Hand: Should the Technocrats align with the Orangists, they will automatically win the war after 10 turns
Science! Material bonuses are doubled.
Arthur's Inheritors: Motorized equipment, such as tanks and planes, gain +1 to their use.
Starting Statistics:
Material: +1
Men: -1
Morale: +1
Silver & Gold - YELLOW:
These are the Dunwikki conservatives who think everything past Nelson was an utter mistake and seek the decentralized Dunwik of the past. Obscenely wealthy, they're really here to preserve their own interests, as every other faction would take their enormous wealth.
Bottomless Bullion: Material will never drop below +2
Venal Vanguards: Bribe motions gain +2 to succeed.
He Who Fights And Runs Away: +2 to retreating.
Starting statistics:
Material: +2
Men: -2
Morale: +0
The Dons' Coalition:
From the middle class and criminal underworld comes this loose confederation of moderates, seeking to take power first and figure out their ideology later. They're looking out for themselves befroe anything else.
Ruthless: Attacks, intimidation efforts, and pursing defeated enemies gain +1, +1, and +2 dice, respectively.
We Know These Streets: Concealment efforts gain +1.
Like Cornered Rats: +3 when defending their home province (Miskatonic).
Startubg Statistics:
Material: +1
Men: +0
Morale: +1
THE COAST GUARD
Satan Walsh's mangled force, wracked with desertion, still holds their posts on the coastal fortresses of Dunwik to ensure no foreign force conquers the land. They will surrender to whoever wins the civil war, since they cannot hold Dunwikki soil well.
Stalwart: +3 to defense
Nowhere to run!: +2 to assassination attempts.
Walsh's All-Seeing Eyes: +2 to detect ambushes, search, or find hidden forces.
Starting statistics:
Material: +1
Men: -1
Morale: +0
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Post by Fleischmann on May 30, 2024 13:28:34 GMT
Sadaler Forces - Gankandsharjis
After consulting amongst themselves and having written to the Raikhsleidandskapiz, the decision was unilaterally made to declare for Satan Walsh and his remnant forces, as they viewed them as the most legitimate portion of the previous government. Before doing so, they had recalled as many forces to their strong places around Goldbridge.
An ultimatum is now given to the men in Vagus: Submit or be killed as rebels.
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Post by Dunwik on May 30, 2024 20:49:14 GMT
Sadaler Forces - Gankandsharjis After consulting amongst themselves and having written to the Raikhsleidandskapiz, the decision was unilaterally made to declare for Satan Walsh and his remnant forces, as they viewed them as the most legitimate portion of the previous government. Before doing so, they had recalled as many forces to their strong places around Goldbridge. An ultimatum is now given to the men in Vagus: Submit or be killed as rebels. The response was swift. "First: many of our men are already members of Satan Walsh's forces. Define to us how we are to submit to ourselves. Second: We remember your - at best misguided, and at worst treacherous - actions when you provided them transportation and safety to the Lengans. We recall numerous trade disputes. We recall attempted intelligence-gathering operations in Dunwik. We further note your silence regarding "The Bloodfather" and his Lengan cult. Third: We have distributed your ultimatum amongst our members and the decision was unanimous. You cannot demand that we submit ourselves to imprisonment or death without providing an equal price. There are an estimated three million men in our charter. That is, coincidentally, the approximate upper limit of Lengans living in your land. Deliver unto us all Lengans in your territory, all property they own, and approximately one ounce of gold (or equivalent value in goods or currency) be given to each of the men under our command. The world will be purer free of them. Dunwik has not forgotten how you saved our ancient enemies and has now been notified of this ludicrous ultimatum. Comply with our demands or be slaughtered like pigs. So say we all -The Coalition of Orangist Social Movements, Dunwik." |
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Post by Dunwik on May 30, 2024 23:18:47 GMT
TURN 3 SUMMARY:
The Bloodfather slaughtered the SAG and annihilated the Moderali relief force.
The Dons seized Serosa but failed to split the Orangists alongside Nationalist and Internationalist lines.
The Orangists took "The Neck" and normalized relations with the Technocrats.
The Technocrats attempted to fortify their current position.
Writeup:
The Moderali arrived a few hours too late to rescue the SAG and disembarked from their unescorted ships to a strangely quiet and steep beach. The Dunwikki Coast Guard's sophisticated and massive guns hung overhead but did not move an inch as the first wave landed. The beach was flat and bare, with no rocks larger than half a man's torso. The sun shone overhead and cast small shadows as noontime approached, but there was no sound of birds, only the gentle crashing of waves on the shore. It seemed too easy, and as the Moderali relaxed, they disappeared under a hail of mortar fire from within the jungle overlooking the beach. No sooner did this attack open than the next volley - machine guns in concealed bunkers on the cliffs - opened up, and scythed down everyone still left.
The second and third Moderali waves, disorganized by the ambush, disembarked and were slaughtered piecemeal as even the landing ships exploded in massive fireballs. A faint whistle preceded the enormous white plumes as the DNK Nelson's Folly slowly pivoted about over the horizon and sent wave after wave of superheated steel toward its hapless, toothless foes. Eventually, the supermassive battleship closed the distance and laid into the Moderali ships and men like a child stomping on ants. Even the smallest anti-aircraft guns fired until there was little but a thick red sludge across the beach. Sharks devoured everything that washed into the sea.
The toughest and luckiest Moderali stumbled out of the first killzone and into the jungles proper, where they were greeted with the SAG in a bloody, skinless heap before them as whistles and calls of "Kaizo!" and "Blood!" echoed omnidirectionally. Cohesion failed with panic and while desperation created incredibly valorous feats, it was insufficient and the remaining fleeing men were captured or killed piecemeal. Those fast and shameless enough to surrender were demanded to renounce their ancestors and gods. Those who refused were flayed to death where they stood.
The leader of the fiasco was taken alive and brought before Bloodfather Kaizo. He said only this. "A man is as worthless as any other. Do with him as you please." Thus, the captive was castrated, skinned alive, had his eyes and teeth torn from him, and all his bleeding wounds sealed with a cautery. His twitching, mangled body was thrown into a small ship and sent to the Sheenish colonies.
---
To the Moderali, Sadaler, and Divinian Forces:
You are free to do as you wish. That is not why I wrote. There are errors on your maps.
The land you call "Dunwik" - or whatever it is in your tongue - should be renamed.
It is properly Sothoth: Terra Theophagus, or Sothoth, The Land That Eats Gods.
The Lengan Old Gods, Christ, and Arthur all died here. The Hauhkuno and Emperor shall fall next.
You can fight but will fight alone. You are only men and will perish as such.
I repeat: do as you please.
Warm regards.
-Bloodfather Kaizo.
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Post by Dunwik on Jun 1, 2024 19:47:23 GMT
By Turn 4:
Technocrats at +2 (+4) material.
The Dons are at -1 manpower.
The Bloodfather is at +0 manpower and +0 material.
TURN 4 SUMMARY
The Bloodfather has seized Gahnick and Sevack.
The Bloodfather is 169/1000 to going up a Manpower slot. He cannot go above +1.
The Orangists have attacked the Sadaler and narrowly defeated them in the first battle, and stalemated in the second. Casualties are high on both sides.
The Orangists have begun undermining the Sadaler logistical network through guerilla warfare and nationalist propaganda.
The Orangists are 128/500 towards entrenching "The Neck."
The Internationalist Orangists have - after initially cold relations - established a diplomatic line with the Father.
The Internationalists have started splitting from the Nationalists.
The Technocrats have reached +2 materials and have dug in around Goldbridge.
The Dons have suffered a humiliating loss and are at -1 manpower.
The Dons have begun searching for Satan Wesker.
FOREIGN INVOLVEMENT:
Orangist provocateurs and guerillas have begun undermining Sadaler logistical efforts and preparing ambushes.
An armored Technocrat offensive routed the Dons and the Divinians, inflicting massive casualties.
The Moderali have fired upon the Divinians, and were seen to do so.
A third Divinian attack in Goldwater was repulsed with heavy casualties, but it was not as one-sided as the counter-attack was. (Technocrats verging near -2 manpower). The Divinians lost 50,000 in this assault, with slightly less losses to the Technocrats.
The Divinians have decided to blockade Arkhom
The Sadaler attempted to bomb Vagus, but air defense was stiff. The Sadaler pressed on suicidally and devastated Vagus, at the cost of their aircraft. Ayk Cindarin was killed in the raid. Retributive assassinations swept across Sadaler commanders.
The Moderali and Sadaler forces have unified.
The Dons reached +2 Material from foreign aid.
Manpower note:
The Orangists are 1,000,000 fighting men or higher, the Technocrats are about 400,000 , the Bloodfather is at 200,000 men and the Dons have fallen to only around 100,000 men under arms. This does not mean their total numbers are not higher, but this doesn't account for men being trained, recovering, or serving noncombat roles.
At HIGH
1,000,000 = +2
350,000 = +1
200,000 = +0
150,000 = -1
100,000 = -2
Combat to EXTREME would put numbers at
2,000,000+ = +2
1,000,000+ = +1
500,000 = +0
300,000 = -1
Fewer than 200,000 men = -2.
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Post by Dunwik on Jun 2, 2024 22:10:07 GMT
T5 IN SUMMARY:
T5 IN SUMMARY:
The Dons have split the Orangists into the Nationalists and Internationalists
The Dons are 360/500 to Manpower +0
The Technocrats bloodied themselves trying to slaughter the Sadaler. The Technocrats have fallen to Manpower -1. The Technocrats will begin starving soon.
The Nat. Orangists have done their best to destroy Sadaler supplies and were routed in an attempted attack. They have fallen to Manpower +1
The Techs and Nat. Orangists have formed a union under Satan Wesker.
The Int. Orangists and Bloodfather have formed a union and savaged the Nat. Orangists.
The Coast Guard has shot a few more Sadaler officers.
IF NOBODY WINS BY T15, SATAN WESKER WILL RULE DUNWIK. THIS COUNTER MAY ACCELERATE FROM OTHER UNIFYING FACTORS.
The Divinians settled in with fixing up the fallback lines.
The Sadaler and Moderali met immediate and fierce resistance from Orangist forces around Vagus and Providence. Common Orangist tactics included landmines in inconvenient locations and machine-gunning tanks to force them to button up before striking their engines with Molotov cocktails or artillery strikes. Local guides are guaranteed to be traitorous and hostile armed men lurk around every corner.
The Sadaler/Moderali force has fallen to Manpower +1
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Post by Dunwik on Jun 2, 2024 22:19:17 GMT
On T6, two new factions formed.
The KAIZO COMMUNISTS are the syncretism between the Bloodfather and the Internationalist Orangists. Preaching Kaizo Communism, Kaizo's philosophy on religion, economics, politics, and life, they have proven nightmarish opponents.
BASIC STATISTICS:
MANPOWER: +1
MATERIAL: +1
MORALE: +2
ABILITIES:
KAIZO'S GENIUS: +5 TO OFFENSE
SPREAD THE WEALTH: MATERIAL CAN NEVER GO BELOW +0
THE SPIRIT WILLING: +2 TO RAISING MORALE OR MANPOWER
HE'S EVERYWHERE!: KAIZO MAY DISAPPEAR FOR A TURN TO EVADE ASSASSINATION ATTEMPTS. ONCE PER TURN, A DEFENSE ACTION USES KAIZO'S GENIUS.
NO GODS OR KINGS!: +1 TO ATTACKING FOREIGN FORCES
---
THE TECHNO-ORANGISTS:
The fusion of the Technocrats and National Orangists and led by Arthur's presumed heir Satan Wesker (or, his regency) this group espouses the preservation and advancement of Dunwikki life above all other factors, through the miracles of technology, but also fair labor laws and evening the playing field. No more shall there be kings, de jure or de facto. Only Dunwik now.
BASIC STATISTICS:
MANPOWER: +1
MATERIAL: +1 (+2)
MORALE: +1
SPECIAL ABILITIES:
DUNWIKKI INGENUITY: Material and armored bonuses are doubled. +1 to gathering or creating new Material.
THIS IS OUR LAND: +2 to defensive actions and entrenchment.
THE PEOPLE WILL IT: Manpower can never dip below +1
ARTHUR'S INHERITORS: The Techno-Orangists will automatically win beyond Turn 15
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Post by Dunwik on Jun 5, 2024 0:23:19 GMT
T6 IN SUMMARY
Weskerite forces savaged the Sadalo-Moderali combined force, bringing it down to Manpower +0 (~180,000 total casualties inflicted.) The Sadalo-Moderali force could not advance into Providence. The Weskerites have seized much of the Coast Guard's armor, naval, and air force units from Vagus and Arkhom, now possessing a MEDIUM tank force.
The Kaizo Communists and the Weskerites exchanged blows over The Neck. Although both sides were battered, the Weskerites took the worse of it and were forced back to Providence. Still, the Bloodfather was brought to Manpower +0. His troops have vanished to prepare a special attack on T7.
Nobody holds that land now. They further attacked the retreating Sadalo-Moderali and the Sadaler armored column. The Sadaler divisional HQ in Goldbridge was annihilated and all men taken alive were tortured to death. The armored column fared significantly better and inflicted mass casualties, but the troops no longer wish to leave their vehicles, except at night, and only briefly to defecate.
The Dons attempted to pin down Satan Wesker but were relatively unsuccessful. They have returned to Manpower +0.
---
The turn passes to foreign powers.
Of the main Sadalo-Moderali force, it has been eviscerated, with more than half their number slain outright.
The armored column is mostly intact in terms of vehicles, but most vehicles have lost a crewman.
The Moderali attempted to hold the line but their disorganized and demoralized force was obliterated in short order.
The Sadaler armored force escaped. The infantry were mangled. (Infantry at -1 for High combat intensity)
The Divinians continued fortification.
The Tholes have given the Bloodfather major material support. He gains a MINIMAL ARMOR PRESENCE.
The Tholes have given the Bloodfather chemical weapons. He gains a ONE-TIME +3 to an attack.
The Weskerites suspect it was the Tholes, but their leads are inconclusive.
---
T7 Summary:
Bloodfather Kaizo launched a massive attack on Vagus, but was repulsed with extreme losses on both sides.
The Weskerites dug in further and desperately attempted to replace their mangled equipment and manpower stockpiles.
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Post by Dunwik on Jun 8, 2024 12:10:02 GMT
T8 Start (AUG 2nd 1931, SRC)
ARKHOM, DUNWIK.
Satan Wesker was a youth who was never young and had the bearing of a man who'd never senesce. Paler than his great-uncle, he still possessed that Dunwikki swarthiness accentuated by his straight, ear-length dark hair and sunken, baggy eyes. He moved like a marionette, alternating between rigid, jerky steps and when still he slouched with a faint hunch in his back. Every step and breath was measured and methodical, as though he was being examined for proper form. His small nose and thin lips were too soft for his lineage and although his voice sounded frighteningly like Arthur's, Satan rarely spoke above a whisper. His round head was too big for his body: narrow shoulders and thin build made him resemble a balloon. He wore a tight orange outfit with black stripes that accentuated his shoulders and hugged his waist, evoking a wasp or bee-like image. He strode to a small podium and checked his microphone as Arkhom's people gathered to witness their figurehead.
The crowd wondered if he would try to become a king or a god like everyone else before him. The day was overcast, typical for the monsoon season, and a faint drizzle gave the winding streets an ethereal air. Speakers gently hissed with feedback and rainfall's sound while Wesker stood, almost as if he'd forgotten his lines. A second passed. Thirty. Sixty. Wesker spoke words nobody expected to hear.
"People of Dunwik, are you tired?"
The crowd remained silent as Wesker gripped the podium with a white-knuckled hand.
"Are you tired of constant exploitation? Are you tired of labor without reward? Are you tired of megalomaniacs declaring themselves gods, kings, or enlightened, and ordering you to die for their wisdom? Are you tired of crime, privation, and war?"
Wesker inhaled through gritted teeth and sweat beaded on his forehead. He shuddered, regained his footing, and waited. A few people shouted their assent. More followed, and soon the masses roared that, indeed, they were tired.
"Dunwik has been a plaything for far too long. For a tiny group." Wesker held a quivering forefinger and thumb apart by an inch. "To rule as they see fit. Arthur went far, but he didn't go far enough. Our victory - our final solution - is at hand and we will drive all interlopers from our land. We will be free. No god, no king, no corporation, nothing will rule us but ourselves! We will be auto-sovereigns henceforth and evermore! Are you tired of hunger? Are you tired of fear? Are you tired of slavery and treachery, of paranoia and addiction?! Are you? I am!" Wesker's face flushed and his eyes widened. He trembled as if electrified and stamped his foot as his measured speech broke into furious screams. "Raise your weapons, Dunwikki! The hour is at hand: Liberty! Autonomy! Hope! Ours, all ours, if we win!"
---
The cold steel felt good against Satan Walsh's skin. It always felt good. Secure. Power bloomed from a gun's barrel - and Dunwik needed power. Walsh smiled and stepped into the building he spent the past 15 years inside, his leering tattoo mask a grim reminder that he'd done all this before, long ago. A sparking fluorescent light overhead disgusted him. Arthur wouldn't've allowed something like that. Walsh furrowed his brow. The Dons were rank amateurs. None of the old .45s, they all died up with the SAG. No, this was a shaky pineapple.
Dona Pancho was the 'young man' of the operation. Some beardless shit barely out of diapers thinking he could go toe-to-toe with the old men from before Nelson's time. But he had no handle on himself, and his office sat by a window without traffic control beneath. A truck idled four stories below, parked against the building. Amateur. Walsh saluted the guards despite the urge to spit in their faces and shouldered the door open, his broad frame casting a long shadow. There Pancho and his advisors sat around a semicircular table, arguing over how they'd divide the spoils once the Divinians won the war - as they had for the past several months. They paused as Walsh approached, but the old general smiled.
"Gentlemen, I have a solution."
The first gunshot blasted Pancho's chest open like he was a ripe fruit thrown in traffic. The next ripped through the man to his left and he fell clutching what was left of his jaw. The third, fourth, and fifth shots flew swiftly. It was amateur: the guards only burst through on the sixth shot, as Walsh drew his second revolver with six dead bodies around him. They were amateur: surprised at what happened. Walsh dropped them - two each, and the remaining four ensured Pancho and his highest men died. Walsh raised an eyebrow at how much brain flew out of their skulls. He anticipated far less. As shouts and the sounds of racking shotguns filled the hall behind him, Walsh kicked the window open and dove. He landed with a sickening crunch in the truck's back, and screamed as the painkillers he took wore off. But it was irrelevant. He was bound for Arkhom.
---
T8 IN SUMMARY
Satan Walsh has assassinated Dona Pancho and escaped to Arkhom.
The Dons have fallen into anarchy.
The Weskerites have reached +2 materials (+4). They reached HIGH MECHANIZATION (+3 to one attack, +2 to 2 attacks/turn). The Weskerites are holding 2 actions to advance alongside the Divinians.
The Father has begun secret preparations and began isolating his sick men for something big. He has 4 secret actions that may spring during foreign power turns.
The Moderali instituted martial law in Miskatonic
The Divinians have linked with the Weskerites in Providence and begun a push.
---
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Post by Dunwik on Jun 13, 2024 22:02:35 GMT
T8 END (Oct 1st, 1931)
The Dunwikki forces gave conflicting information about Kaizo. Nothing much was known about him or his forces, merely panicked recollections by men from The Neck and Vagus. Stories of bloodthirsty psychopaths bedecked in red paint and sometimes still-warm entrails holding aloft machetes or powering through fatal wounds to fell another man abounded. Sometimes the rumors were of overwhelming brutality, of how the Kaizoites gave a single choice: join them or die. Other tales remarked how they almost seemed to teleport, appearing exactly where they would cause the most damage, dancing around any conceivable counter-thrust, and eviscerating supply lines with uncontested ease. Their leader was subject to a maddening and contradicting verbal swirl, achieving pseudo-apotheosis as a folk hero or demon. He was Dunwikki, Lengan, fictional, identical septuplets, half-Duomish, already dead, a robot, and everything else imaginable.
No tale adequately explained how organized or rational the threat was. As the Divinians began their artillery barrage, they were met with counterfire. When those batteries were silenced and the troops moved in, they were met with ambush after ambush, men in plain clothes but bearing helmets and rucksacks melting in and out of the jungle with swift, drilled cohesion. When they contested towns, they faced an organized and coherent force, not the savage rabble implied by those visceral folk tales. The Kaizoites swiftly learned Divinian weaknesses and advanced, preferring to hug the Divinian lines. Here, two major opportunities appeared. The first was that Divinian artillery rarely fired on their own men, and the second was the Kaizoites enjoyed advantages in close-quarters combat. Where Divinians boasted semiautomatic rifles, the Kaizoites had fully automatic weapons. Where many Divinians were Prussoians sent to die in a country they had little knowledge or care for, the Kaizoites - even those not fully loyal to their absurdist overlord - were united in explosive hatred for the foreigner, the emperor, and the Christian. While the Kaizoites could not be everywhere and slowly lost ground, they usually won where they appeared.
Weskerite support was useful, only to a point. The crude Kaizoite air force was supplemented with vast swathes of anti-tank and anti-aircraft guns, and all the Technocrats's ingenuity or Orangists's grim resolve could not dematerialize these formidable obstacles. Sheer terror dissuaded many soldiers and though they held a numerical advantage and knew the terrain, they were oftentimes individually outmaneuvered or left floundering by incomprehensibly swift hit-and-run attacks. Attempted pursuit went nowhere, for if given hours the Kaizoites could appear like civilians. The bleak order soon came from Arkhom: instate martial law or shoot everyone not in an Orangist or Divinian uniform. The proletariat's heroism could only go so far, and the rifle sufficed. The Weskerites held back to ensure the areas were "clean," telling the Divinians to advance towards Blood Father Kaizo's camp. Better they not purge the people they saw, for they could cause much greater reactions than the Weskerites.
---
Father Kaizo's statblock has been changed. He gains the following bonuses:
Kaizoism: Morale bonuses doubled.
Melee Mastery: Force-flanking bonuses doubled.
Manpower shortage: Manpower cannot exceed +0.
Tear it down!: Anti-armor and aircraft attacks gain +1.
Internationalism: +1 to creating guerilla movements and forces. +1 to sabotage and propaganda efforts.
Base statistics:
Material: +1
Manpower: +0
Morale: +2 (+4)
Old abilities:
KAIZO'S GENIUS: +5 TO OFFENSE
SPREAD THE WEALTH: MATERIAL CAN NEVER GO BELOW +0
THE SPIRIT WILLING: +2 TO RAISING MORALE OR MANPOWER
HE'S EVERYWHERE!: KAIZO MAY DISAPPEAR FOR A TURN TO EVADE ASSASSINATION ATTEMPTS. ONCE PER TURN, A DEFENSE ACTION USES KAIZO'S GENIUS.
NO GODS OR KINGS!: +1 TO ATTACKING FOREIGN FORCES
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Post by Dunwik on Jul 12, 2024 1:09:20 GMT
Tanks and aircraft can give the following bonuses:
Minimal presence: +1 to an attack (500)
Small force: +1 to two attacks/turn (1000)
Moderate force: +2 to two attacks/turn (1500)
Large force: +3 to one attack, +2 to two attacks/turn. (2500)
[7:52 PM]
OP
Dunwik/Galtengr: Material -2: Men basically unequipped (100)
Material -1: Most men poorly equipped. (500)
Material +0: About the bare minimum you'd expect. (1000)
Material +1: Everyone's carrying regulation gear (2000)
Material +2: Well-furnished troops, newest equipment, etc... (3000)
T9 IN SUMMARY:
After an initially poor attack by Kaizoite forces, they lured the Weskerites into a trap and dealt grievous casualties to Weskerite and Divinian forces.
Weskerites fall to MODERATE armor
Weskerites and Divinians fall to MORALE +0
Weskerites shielded from manpower loss.
Divinians fall to MANPOWER +0
VHF spreading among Weskerite and Divinian forces - mild outbreaks.
VHF spreading among Kaizoite forces - moderate outbreaks.
Sig. Kaizoite losses from initial push. One Kaizoite army has been disintegrated to maintain Manpower +0.
The Weskerites, during a genuine retreat, managed to destroy an advancing Kaizoite army. However, the Weskerites and Divinians have lost The Neck again. (Divinian losses: 250,000. Weskerite losses far higher.)
Kaizo begins the MANPOWER ATTRITION CALCULATOR.
He can only bring himself back up to MANPOWER +0 another 10 times before he cannot replenish his losses anymore. Morale losses will reduce this counter.
Kaizo has raised another army. He remains at Manpower +0.
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FOREIGN ACTIONS:
1: Florin has escaped the sanitarium and joined with a force to duel Kaizo
2: Carolina has almost lost her mind and Asellio has kidnapped Elisa and his own firstborn, holding them hostage. If she doesn't comply, he threatens to kill them both - his own son for "fairness" as he cannot betray the Imperium.
3: Titus Theris has been sacked and is being replaced with a more aggressive commander. Theris himself will remain in Dunwik because Priscilla fucking hates him.
4: Priscilla does not want to increase conscription at this time. She espouses using many Weskerites as human shields while the Divinians try to open a new front. She also wants the Dons liquidated and the Divinians to officially endorse Wesker.
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Post by Dunwik on Jul 23, 2024 0:47:44 GMT
Dear Florin Von Marcum, Emperor of the Divinian People.
Hello! My agents reported you sent a large shipment of mental defectives to be liquidated, sterilized or studied (I'm not sure which). I'm sorry that we haven't been quick about that, we'll do it free of charge because we've been good friends for such a long time. In the future, please don't send them with guns and uniforms, that confused a lot of our men! They'll be thrown directly into the heaviest fighting if you don't want any special procedures done, and they'll all die shortly.
I'm very sorry about this inconvenience. Also, I know this is a weird letter, but I feel that those old ones were so stodgy. With Gainick gone I feel like I can finally be myself.
Call me!
-Satan Wesker
To the Estimable Satan Wesker.
Ave to the Venerable Autocrat of Dunwik. I regret to inform you that I have no knowledge of the mental defectives of which you speak. These men, presuming they are of my realm, will no doubt be of the most use catching bullets fired by the communists from the north. It is advisable to send them to the front then with the other defectives under our banners (like the Moderali filth). I am present in your nation, and though without permission, have endeavored to allow those men closest to me to operate in plainclothes within your territories. I assure you on my honor that they will not act against your cause and will answer to you personally should you have need of them.
I look forward to hearing more about your plans for the future political structure of your realm, and how we may be of use in that goal.
Your faithful friend,
F.A.
March 1932.
To my friend, Florin Von Marcum (a full list of his titles is appended here.)
I'm sorry I didn't get back to you sooner, I was shot in the head. Thankfully my mouth doesn't taste like copper anymore and I'll be fine. It's just some motor coordination problems now. I haven't figured out where those defectives were from. All I've heard is the label 'puritan.' They're some kind of Christian sect and Walsh will keep a close eye on them. I think the lines might be stabilizing soon, I'm unsure. The north is running out of food, fighters, and ammunition, so perhaps we should discuss the future.
I'm sorry that Dunwik was on fire. It sometimes does that. I promise that I'll try my hardest to keep it not on fire. Please hand Maxwell House over when the war ends. We just want to talk with him.
Your friend
-S. Wesker.
My Dear Mr. Wesker,
I am deeply sorry to hear of your injuries, though my experience with your people has left me hopeful for your speedy recovery. I too was fired upon, leaving me a bullet wound to match the stab wound on my chest. I am lucky that the assailant was either under the influence, using a smaller caliber firearm, or otherwise his view was obscured by the mask of a fur suit. Reports remain unclear. Perhaps it was all three.
Were I to guess, this group you speak of is likely made of volunteers from one of our outlying colonies. They subscribe to a religious sect that is considered even too inappropriate for proper Imperials, and are otherwise as provincial as a provincial can be. I doubt they are of much use, but are equally not a threat to our cause. Speaking of that matter, it appears Troius the Younger has laid claim to Miskatonic and is officially handing the former provinces of the Dons over to you. Although he has not been authorized to take charge of our forces, I will nonetheless allow it so long as he continues to accept the guiding hand of my retinue.
I do regret to inform you that I may not have the ability to hand over Princeps House to you as you have requested. He is an elected Prince of a Free Imperial City, and as such does have certain protections so long as he remains within the confines of the city. This protection does however only extend to his tenure in the position, though I will admit to a personal fondness for any man who so deeply embraces the Latin culture as he has. If you are so interested, I will offer you perhaps a greater prize.
Out of my deep affection for our continued alliance, and in hopes of a deepening of that relationship, I would offer you the hand of my eldest daughter once this conflict has come to an end and you both are of age. I could sing of her many virtues, but that would not dissuade you of any bias. I will however attest to the fact that she is the favored among all my children, and will in her time be inferred with significant imperial authority.
Sincerely yours,
F.A.
(A full list of Florin's titles is appended here.)
Oh! The Internationalists are the ones who shot you and they're not furries, but they like carrying smaller caliber weapons. He could've also been a Kaizoite, they use larger calibers but can sometimes jump themselves on too many stimulants. Normally they close to point-blank range though. I'd guess you were grazed by an Internationalist who ducked to cover immediately after he took the shot. These things are our job though, and sometimes painkillers can be fun. We're the living manifestations of entire armies's dreams, which is weird to think about. Sometimes, people don't agree and that's part of the process. Dunwik has the lowest lows, but I believe our freedom can let us reach the highest highs.
I've heard patchy things from Miskatonic. The area's confused due to factionalism and the Dons didn't clarify the situation. They're trying to feed the gator. That's a little Arkhom slang. It means that they're all blaming each other in the hopes that whoever lies the most will escape unscathed. Thanks for the help, though! Holding Miskatonic will make things a lot easier for me in the future.
I'll admit with House that my hands are somewhat tied. A lot of people blame him for the war - even if it wasn't his fault. I really just want to talk to him. Besides, we're all willing to be a little Latin. If we were Ostrean I'd need to sign this form in triplicate, and my hands can get shaky now. I thought I'd be madder, but I can't monologue like my great uncle could. Speaking of, I don't think you two ever spent much time together. Part of me thinks you'd love him, part of me thinks you'd hate him. He never met anyone really like him, after all.
I'm not hearing much from the front, but the Moderali seem to be bleeding from every hole in their bodies. I've told my generals to tell your men to steer clear of them, but the Moderali don't normally explode into blood. At least I don't think so, I don't know a lot about Moderal. There might be some underlying cause, probably from the swamps. Maybe mosquito nets would be wise. Do you have enough? We'll try to send what we have over but a lot of those factories were in Vagus when it was lit afire twice. I've sent very stern letters to the Sadaler and Kaizo asking them to pay for all the people they incinerated but I haven't heard back. I think the latter might talk to me if I read his book but his prose is so dry that, y'know, even though he sometimes says interesting things it's tiring. I've heard he's very charismatic in person though. But you hear everything about him, so I can't really say either way.
As for your last proposal, sure. I'm not really sure how to write out the mouth noises I made when I read that. Should I, or is that improper for official communication? Is this even official? I guess the answer's yes. Things might be a bit weird due to politics stuff and a kinda embarrassing medical condition but hopefully it'll work out somehow. I mean, hey, working together there's nothing our doctors can't fix. Have you heard of penicillin?
I like these letters. I don't want to be a god like my great uncle was. But I feel like everyone else in Dunwik wants me to be a god. I try, but it's hard and sometimes I wanna scream. Would you mind if we talked like people?
I can't write letters too often, my hands feel like bricks and flap around a lot, but you'll always be welcome in Dunwik.
Your friend,
S. Wesker.
Dear Satan,
I was happy to receive your last letter. It’s been far too long since I’ve been able to write to anyone who I had cordial relations with. There was a time I would write to my cousin Wilhelm, but his entire family turned him into a massive amphora of sour wine. You can drop the formality in your letters: my list of titles is excessive and droll. Florin is sufficient for my friends.
I agree that the situation in Miskatonic is less than favorable, but that is precisely why I’ve remained in the city. There is a very Divinian sense of loyalty to “THE city” that I cannot seem to shake. To my people, Miskatonic is like Latium. It cannot fall. Though maybe the more Latin cultural stylings of the city are why we are so attached? Who can say.
In regards to House, while I cannot order him extradited, you are more than welcome to speak with him in Divinium. We would be honored to host you, provided my dearest wife isn’t still trying to have me killed. She is lovely in that way. A strong woman. Regardless, I’m sure that my people would welcome you whether I’m dead or not.
On the matter of wives, I have found that no marriage will ever be simple when men in positions of authority are involved. The courtship and betrothal of my own lady wife was not easy or popular at the time. But lesser men will always judge you. I also believe that with our medical communities combined we will be able to resolve or relieve any lingering physiological issues you may have. My daughter is a fair few years younger than you, so there is plenty of time for you to grow stronger before she is of age. Perhaps an osteopath or nervous specialist may help? We have had success using those methods on a notable Mesica man.
[7:45 PM]Imperium Divinium: I am not terribly concerned, I will admit, with the Moderali legions. They are a famously malnourished and slow minded people, which no doubt plays a part in their present rate of illness. Nevertheless I can make sure more mosquito netting is procured by their quartermasters. We have had to make use of it in Predoriva, and Duke Marcum tells me the insects of that region are relentless.
It is the last matter, your godhood, which has struck a profound chord with me. My own life has been touched by the divine claim on several occasions. As you know, my late mother is a saint and martyr of that most Holy and Apostolic Church. My ancestry too, claims descent from the gods of Latium vetus, through the line of Aeneas I am the inheritor of the blood of Venus and Mars, as well as the sacred soul of the Aera. Indeed large swathes of the country see me as divine. Logic and upbringing scream that these gods are nothing more than myth. But when so many people believe myth to be true, does that not make it so? I have learned in my darkest moments that whether you truly are a god does not matter. What matters is inspiring faith among your people. In a public sense that sometimes means stripping away your true self and taking on that divine mantle. My only advice would be not to lose yourself in that mantle. It is a most difficult mindset to rid yourself of.
I hope in time we may communicate face to face, both for the sake of your health and so that I may once again see a friendly face.
Sincerely,
Florin.
Dear Friend (Thanks for that writing all your titles by hand gave me serious cramps and also my hands, you know, don't work too well.)
I'll deal with your stuff out of order, because sometimes some stuff is easier to explain in one go.
With the Tholes and the Moderali, some scientists think that their stupidity's genetic, which makes me sad because they're like mental pugs. Pugs were dogs with no noses that the aristocracy bred. As far as I know, they were all destroyed here in the Revolution. They were suffocating in their faces anyway. But the long and short is it's not really their fault. Just before Arthur exploded there was some idea that nucleic acids are the heritability molecule - that is, the stuff that makes people look and act like their parents - and it makes me wonder if in the future we could maybe fix them. Put new DNA into their bodies so they'd grow new brains or something. So as much as everyone says I should hate the Tholes, Loonies, or Moderali I really can't. They're sick and they think their sickness is health, but they're always suffering in some way. It'll get worse for them in the future. You know, like how Moslems will have a lot of problems in a few hundred years. (I'll get back to this later when I talk about technology more, I want to do business stuff first).
I'll accept the House situation as it is. He's a real pineapple farmer. (Person who is good at escaping responsibility or doing suspicious things). It'll all get fixed when the war's over. Hopefully.
As for growing stronger, I haven't grown as much as I should. The docs say I should start growing rapidly soon, but that'd be out and not up. I'm a lot smaller than my family and that's weird. But we've always been late bloomers. Maybe I'm especially late. Hopefully it'll all work out. But things might get very weird if they don't. Please talk to your wife about it first. I'm sure she'd understand.
On god stuff:
I'm supposed to be a god, because Arthur was a god, kinda. But what a "god" is is weird. A lot of people in Dunwik thought about this. Since we didn't have a religion, we started asking what gods were. How are Venus, Arthur, Jesus, the dollar, and all the Lengan spirits gods? What do they all have in common? It's because a god is the embodiment of an idea with superhuman force. I'm a god because I'm the Techno-Orangist future. They even call themselves Weskerites. I guess I'm Wesker, Weskerite. If I stopped believing what I did, would everyone else stop being Weskerites or would
Sidetracked. Sorry. So being a god is about inspiring people because that's what a god is. Otherwise, there aren't any rules and I hope you can be human too. Because I don't feel like I'm losing myself in the god mantle, I just feel like I can't be a god constantly. Because the country makes the god, and then the god makes the country, they are myths until enough people believe. So, I guess you've always 'truly' been a god because you've always inspired the people, and you can also be a human. Arthur once held your subordinate Asellio at gunpoint and told him that he (Arthur) was a god, animal, and man simultaneously. Or so I've been told.
I'd like to meet face to face, but maybe not when we're getting shot. I'm very sorry about the shooting thing, please be careful until we get the Internationalists sorted. Holding Miskatonic means they'll probably get flushed out or surrender after a while. I'm going to try amnesty, a lot of their issue is they're afraid if I take control Dunwik will turn like WTC and nobody will be free. And admittedly there will be rules, we can't have a country with no rules (that didn't work) but I want it clear that everyone can still do basically whatever they want in the future.
Anyway, technology. Since we're gods I think we'd need to eventually figure out how to run our countries given they'll be unrecognizable in fifty years or so.
Technology keeps advancing at faster and faster rates. Have you heard of computers? They're machines that do math. Someone rigged one up in Miskatonic just before everything exploded, and it seems interesting. So maybe in ten or twenty years, we won't have mathematicians anymore and all our engineers will poke a machine and it'll spit out how to make bridges and rockets. Rockets are also cool. Arthur died trying to make one work but the idea is they can fly even without air. So theoretically, someone could fly to the moon or further, maybe to other stars. And that's why I was saying Moslems will have some problems because they need to point towards Mekka when they're praying and if you're 500 light-years away and off by a tiny fraction of a degree, you won't even point at Victrix, let alone Mekka, and both targets would be moving very fast, and it'd take half a millennium for light to even reach you. I don't think the Abrahamic faiths will do well over the next half a millennium or so. Maybe they'll go extinct like the gods they displaced in Ifriq.
I guess that's why the Dunwikki don't really care about Miskatonic the same way the Latins do Latium. It's a big and important city but if something new happens we might go somewhere else. But you know, the Arthur Victory Over Leng Museum is there and you helped design that, so I also understand. That's next to the Arthur School. On Arthur Street. He really liked his name. I guess it helped with being a god. Maybe I'll need to rename the country Weskerland when the war ends? I feel like Satanland would make too many people outside the country angry and I like international trade. Plus the Loonies already call this place that and I don't wanna agree with them.
I guess that's all. I feel like I can talk forever but after a while I start flopping on the ground like a fish and writing gets difficult. We really should talk face-to-face someday.
Your friend,
S. Wesker.
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Post by Dunwik on Jul 23, 2024 1:09:11 GMT
T13: War's End. June, 1932
Brandman smiled as he was fastened into the electric chair. He wore his finest white suit, of old Germanic style back from his ace pilot days. Though he’d been strapped down, a cigarette hung from his mouth.
“Brandman? I read all about you when I was a kid.” Wesker wrung his hands together and looked at the mangled, pockmarked husk of a man. Not that Wesker was in any better shape. He staggered about on his cane, and his pockmarked flesh resembled old shoe leather more than anything a sixteen-year-old should have wrapped about his head. “Y’know, I’m sorry, I really am. I wanted to let everyone go…”
“The people need blood.” Walsh crossed his massive arms over his chest. “And if we can’t get Kaizo-“
“He’s gone,” Brandman said. “Of course, whether there was ‘a’ Kaizo’s also an open question. I’ve signed orders as Kaizo. I’ve fought as Kaizo. You ever heard Kaizo was the best fighter pilot alive?” He sneered. “Wonder where that rumor came from, eh?”
Wesker laughed. “We know he’s a real person… he’s somewhere. If you tell us where, I’ll let you go.”
Brandman leaned forward in his chair. “I’m free already. That’s Kaizo’s magic. Nothing matters. Not even my life.” He spat on the ground. “Besides. I’m getting old anyway. I should’ve been shot down by a million planes, or choked on my blood in a pile of corpses like Fingers did. So I die this way.”
“Then…” Wesker frowned. “I really don’t wanna kill you, you know. But if you want to die..?”
Brandman shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Kill me, spare me. It won’t mean anything. Someone, someday, somewhere, will hate your artificial country. It could be a thousand year, or a million years, but Kaizo will be with him-“
Walsh shoved Wesker aside and activated the chair.
Across the front, the bleeding, wheezing Divinians and Weskerites shoved their way over a pile of Moderali corpses and found nothing at all. Empty defenses in textbook chokepoints without anyone manning them. Nightmarish booby traps felled many and the strange new sickness killed even more, but enemy action grew increasingly sparse. Civilians stared. But nothing happened. The stress drove some insane. However, progress was swift. Within a month, the Weskerite green-and-orange cog flew everywhere. Peace descended and everyone held their breath. Everyone knew there was one final explosion in store.
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Post by Dunwik on Jul 25, 2024 13:04:36 GMT
T13: War's End. June, 1932Brandman smiled as he was fastened into the electric chair. He wore his finest white suit, of old Germanic style back from his ace pilot days. Though he’d been strapped down, a cigarette hung from his mouth.
“Brandman? I read all about you when I was a kid.” Wesker wrung his hands together and looked at the mangled, pockmarked husk of a man. Not that Wesker was in any better shape. He staggered about on his cane, and his pockmarked flesh resembled old shoe leather more than anything a sixteen-year-old should have wrapped about his head. “Y’know, I’m sorry, I really am. I wanted to let everyone go…”
“The people need blood.” Walsh crossed his massive arms over his chest. “And if we can’t get Kaizo-“
“He’s gone,” Brandman said. “Of course, whether there was ‘a’ Kaizo’s also an open question. I’ve signed orders as Kaizo. I’ve fought as Kaizo. You ever heard Kaizo was the best fighter pilot alive?” He sneered. “Wonder where that rumor came from, eh?”
Wesker laughed. “We know he’s a real person… he’s somewhere. If you tell us where, I’ll let you go.”
Brandman leaned forward in his chair. “I’m free already. That’s Kaizo’s magic. Nothing matters. Not even my life.” He spat on the ground. “Besides. I’m getting old anyway. I should’ve been shot down by a million planes, or choked on my blood in a pile of corpses like Fingers did. So I die this way.”
“Then…” Wesker frowned. “I really don’t wanna kill you, you know. But if you want to die..?”
Brandman shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Kill me, spare me. It won’t mean anything. Someone, someday, somewhere, will hate your artificial country. It could be a thousand year, or a million years, but Kaizo will be with him-“
Walsh shoved Wesker aside and activated the chair.
Across the front, the bleeding, wheezing Divinians and Weskerites shoved their way over a pile of Moderali corpses and found nothing at all. Empty defenses in textbook chokepoints without anyone manning them. Nightmarish booby traps felled many and the strange new sickness killed even more, but enemy action grew increasingly sparse. Civilians stared. But nothing happened. The stress drove some insane. However, progress was swift. Within a month, the Weskerite green-and-orange cog flew everywhere. Peace descended and everyone held their breath. Everyone knew there was one final explosion in store.
Only those with a document proving they recovered from the VHF were allowed into the crowded Miskatonic square in August 1932. Many others in quarantine camps or their homes had to make do with the radio, where an overeager announcer described the festivities breathlessly. The massive orange-and-green banners seemed so natural, not resulting from a hasty alliance. The dark and narrow streets, so long covered in filth and needles, had been swept clean for the first time in their history. The wet season poured the rest of the city’s filth to unseen places. The towering, scorched buildings hastily assembled in the 1890s bore their scars with pride. Wesker stood on a small wooden stage, surrounded by microphones and cameras. He leaned on a cane and adjusted a new pair of thick, wireframe glasses. Walsh stood by in case he fell, and an honor guard in white livery surrounded him. The combat forced motor activity in Miskatonic to a halt. The air smelt like a new promise. “Hey.” Wesker tapped the side of his microphone. “Oh, wow, that works! Nice! Oh. Um, right, I’m live.” He rubbed the back of his head. “On radio too. So…” He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. “Sorry, I’m not my great-uncle.” Wesker pointed to a statue of Arthur, whose granite face was defaced with a few bulletholes, likely from an Internationalist. “I can’t talk all too long. But it’s okay, uh…” Wesker smoothed his strange, orange-and-green shirt and looked about. “Dunwikki, we fought this war over freedom.” Wesker said. “All of us sought freedom in some way. Freedom from obligation, for the SAG. Freedom from oppression, for the Nationalists. Freedom from the law, for the Dons. Freedom from human limitations, the Technocrats, and freedom as its most abstract ideal for the Kaizoites. Dunwik is, and always will be, the land of freedom. And so it’s absurd that we’re the last great state to practice slavery. How can a slave fight for someone else’s freedom? Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow? I declare that all ‘Class I slaves’ are legally required to be cared for entirely, and abolish selling anyone other than yourself.” The crowd applauded and Wesker relaxed and smiled wide. His eyes widened and he swayed where he stood, but Walsh dove in and propped Wesker up by the arm. “Continue.” Walsh said. “We have your back now.” “R-right…” Wesker turned back to the microphone. “We must come together as a nation now. This war emerged from the most Dunwikki ideals, and we can’t fault each other for what we did. I assume sole responsibility for the war. I will repay everyone who lost anything in due time. I guarantee it. I know it sounds strange, but the world is bigger than Dunwik, and we ought to make Dunwik for the Dunwikki, not just one faction. So… my next order. I promise none of you will ever go hungry again!” Wesker flushed and raised his voice. “I’ve had enough of these wars, enough of this conflict! We have a higher purpose. We need to go to the stars, where we belong. Let the barbarians squabble over this earth! Let shamans and mystics say the world cannot be improved. Look at this city, look at this nation! Look at the microphone in my hand! We can do the impossible because we’re Dunwik! In twenty years, I vow we’ll have vaccines for all childhood illnesses! In thirty years, I vow to have a man in space! We must, all of us, take our destiny with both hands. The time for backstabbing’s over. Nevermore shall we cheat each other! There will be changes, great changes, and all of you will be richer for it! You have…” Wesker made finger guns. “I guess I’m the last person who can make the Arthur Guarantee. And you have it. Come back in a decade, two, three, and we’ll do things you can’t even imagine. Together.” He quieted down and swayed again. “…because, well… what can’t we do, if we try?” And while the people cheered, something else hung over the speech. Naked confusion, bewilderment, horror even for some. For Wesker had finally hit puberty. And everyone knew exactly what she was.
KAIZO'S WAR
JANUARY 1930 - APRIL 1932
PART OF: THE DUNWIKKI IDENTITY WARS
CASUALTIES:
15,000,000+ Dunwikki
952,000 Moderali
477,500 Imperials
287,000 Sadaler
Noteworthy Deaths:
Isaac Arthur
Ayk Cindarin
Borro Rodinson
"Fingers"
Yoval Gainick
Titus Theris
Manford Brandman
Conan Redd
Roland Bosch
Florin Von Marcum's Sanity
Kaizo last seen in: Prussoia
VHF: Mostly Contained
DECISIVE WESKERITE VICTORY
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