Major_Blackhart
Codexia Lord Sodom
Year 1937
Location The reformed Mongolian Empire
If you want to know the timeline for this alternative universe LP, see the following thread:
http://www.rpgcodex.net/forums/index.php?threads/dieselpunk.84294/
You don't have to read the thread before commenting on this one and making choices, but it certainly helps.
Mood music: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gt3J1Uip3jc
The wind blew harshly, fiercely, and were the men under Sukhbataar not of the Mongolian Empire, they would have turned their heads away from the biting cold. Instead, defiantly they stared into the wind, eyes tearing, lips curled back into sneers, revealing yellowed teeth and dark gums. Sukhbataar stood silently, soaking in the moment of personal triumph. He had made it his mission since arriving from Afghanistan to hunt down every traitorous Chinese who bowed to the goddamned KMT rather than the Khagan Tomor Khan.
Fresh from butchering the treacherous children of Mohammed, terrorizing them with, of all things, pigs, slaughtering them wholesale and hacking pigs to death with his saber, and burying the remains all into one great pit for all to see, Sukhbataar was bloodthirsty to say the least. The half-Cossack Mongol had a divine hatred of all things that were to be defiant to their Khagan, to their Khan of all Khans. And he considered the Chinese yellow bastards to be among the most devious of creatures, even more so than the slaves to Allah.
Thirty men of Sichuan province knelt before him, all Chinamen, all gutless yellow cowards that swore loyalty, unswerving, first to Roman Khan, then to Tomor Khan. Thirty men, all traitors. Were it his own decision to make, Sukhbataar would punish the whole of Sichuan for their treason, butcher all that he saw, every living yellow bastard over the age of ten. But it wasn't. From the city of Chengdu, north of where they were, the Noyan had commanded, and his command was to limit reprisals against civilians. The Ordu, in their wisdom, agreed with the Noyan wholeheartedly, and so Sukhbataar obeyed. But he had a reputation within the Empire, one that he wished to uphold.
And so instead of butchering the populace as he felt they so richly deserved, he had instead taken only those thirty traitors. The men of his Zuut were gathered behind him, all standing at attention, rifles at their side, horses nearby, pistols holstered and sabers sheathed. Their uniforms, heavy dark blue leather greatcoats with fur lining the collars and cuffs with black metal buttons lining each side, heavy riding boots topped with fur, heels lined with spurs, it all spoke of a terrifying uniformity amongst the horde.
The border, a few miles south, to lands of China controlled by the KMT, was heavily fortified. Despite that, spies still managed to sneak over the battle lines, past the outposts, and into Mongol lands. It didn't matter. Soon, they would take the rest of China, and burn the KMT from existence, as Roman Khan had raved so many times publicly. But until then, it was Sukhbataar's duty to ensure that the spies were to a minimum, and any traitors they inspired were swiftly dealt with.
And so, now we come to this, these thirty men.
Sukhbataar had caught their commander personally, trampling him with his own horse, though not killing him. No, Sukhbataar had instead trampled his legs, crushing a knee, breaking a shin, causing agonizing pain for the dumb, stupid, yellow bastard. He'd laughed at the man's screams as he dropped the pistol and rolled around hopelessly. A few twists of the leg and he had given up everything he knew about the spies, about the bomb they attempted to plant in the nearby arms cache, as if that would even put a dent in their supply train. He'd taken the bastard's head as a trophy, and his horse nearby still held it, a leather thong looped through where eyes had once been, the mouth twisted in a silent scream.
"Who among you yellow dogs would face me?" Sukhbataar bellowed angrily, his voice roaring over the wind, deep and gravelly. His moustache was long and thick, thanks to his Cossack heritage, but his eyes were Mongol, as was his skin. "Who among your cowardly, piss soaked kin would draw against me? Whomever shall do so, and kill me, he will free himself and his brethren. It was a boldfaced lie, one he had told many times before. He could feel the vicious grins of his men behind him, many of them veterans like he of the Korean wars and Afghanistan. Still, the Zuut waited for an answer.
He glanced up and down the line of men, and was not disappointed when one of the Chinamen dared to make eye contact, stare back defiantly, unlike his peers. The others had been reminded of their subservient nature once their little band had been broken up, and he gained much pleasure from forcing each one of them to Kowtow to him again and again until their foreheads bled. He made them beg, reminding them of their lowly nature, and then he made them kneel in a straight line, reminding them that, because they were such poorly made creatures, death was all they were good for. He wondered to himself time and again since returning to China how such a low people could possibly hold such a land, and that it was no wonder it was being divvied up by every other major world power.
"We have a challenger!" Sukhbataar roared, pointing at the young man who stared at him with a hateful glare. Sukhbataar only smiled back, hiding behind his dark eyes the contempt he held for the entire race of yellow Chinese. One of his men, his lieutenant Ganzorig, rushed from the front of the rows of assembled Mongols and dragged the short man from his place. He, like the others, was malnourished, short, and poorly built. Sukhbataar, with his broad shoulders and thick chest, towered over the challenger and all the other Chinese, as did his men. Ganzorig forced the youth to his feet and cut away his bindings. He took from his own belt an American made M1917 revolver, and loaded only a single bullet into it, sticking it into the young man's belt. He backed away from the youth, who looked to Sukhbataar.
"You shoot me before I shoot you," Sukhbataar said loudly, over the whipping wind. He tapped the butts of the twin M1911's he wore crossways in his own gun belt for emphasis. "On his signal," he continued, motioning to Ganzorig with his head, "you kill me. If you can before I kill you, you and yours may leave." The youth shook, dressed in poor clothes as the cold western winds whipped around them.
It happened quickly, almost immediately after, and if a man had blinked he would have missed it. Ganzorig shouted, and as the youth moved to grab his revolver, Sukhbataar reached across to his left hip and drew his heavy colt. Before the youth could even clear leather, he was knocked back with incredible force as a bullet ripped through the center of his chest. The wound caused horrific trauma as the body crumpled into the dry grass and hard, cold ground.
"Not nearly fast enough, boy," he laughed, turning his pistol to the nearest kneeling prisoner. One after another, he executed, a single shot to the head, their brains and bits of skull splattering on the ground behind them as their bodies fell unceremoniously. The slide locked back, the clip empty. He turned to his men, and one of them tossed him a Thompson submachine gun. As the other prisoners cried and railed against their fate, begging him in all manner of monkey dialects he never deigned to learn, he cocked the heavy metal and wood weapon and took aim. The loud rattatatt of the gun seemed to echo along the hills as the bodies fell to lifeless heaps, blood soaking the earth and making a red mud, and Sukhbataar laughed almost joyously at the carnage such a weapon could cause. When they had all fallen, he drew another bead on the twitching corpses and opened fire once more upon them, showering them with lead. Satisfied with his work, he handed the weapon back to one of his soldiers, who gave a knowing smile and a nod.
He walked towards his horse quickly, his spurs clinging loudly in the grass with each step. Mounting his beast, he turned towards his lieutenant, Ganzorig, who had also mounted his own horse. He sighed as the smile faded away from his lips, the rush of violence gone. The adrenaline left his veins quickly and his heart returned to a normal beat unfortunately very quickly, as he had long since gotten used to violence.
"Ganzorig," Sukhbataar began, "remind me of the situation at hand, if you would be so kind to do so. There are spies afoot in this country, but we must also make our rounds to the next few villages and then report with the Mingghan. Before we caught up to this rabble, he'd radioed that he wanted a face to face meeting immediately. I've no idea why, but it is a fact that he doesn't trust the airwaves."
"Yes, it's a known fact that none of the commanders do," Ganzorig began, his scarred features twisting into a smile, "I often wonder why we make use of them if none of our commanders ever want to speak over it."
"Good enough for a battle I suppose, and for work further inland. No matter, am I correct in that assessment of the situation?"
"You are, Zuut," Ganzorig nodded in affirmation, referring to Sukhbataar by his rank. "The men who guard the supply cache that we saved also apparently wish to thank you."
"Pheh," Sukhbataar spat angrily, "they let themselves get caught off guard by the Chinese dogs. They are not worthy of our attentions. "
"Normally I would agree. However, they could resupply our men with ammunition. While we are not at risk of running low, we are not set to resupply for another week at least. A lot can happen in that time."
"Yes, war can be declared, and not a goddamned moment too soon! I agree with you on the principle, though I am loathe to be in the presence of such fucking imbeciles."
Sukhbataar has the following choices he must make. The fortress is eight days away from his current location.
1. When Sukhbataar tortured the enemy commander, the man wept and blubbered, letting slip valuable information regarding spies that motivated them to take up arms against their conquering Mongol lords. The weak fool let it be known that the spies who gave him information made it known that there were others in the region as well. Perhaps there is something to this. Should he:
A.) Immediately pursue the dogs. According to the enemy commander, they are hiding in a nearby village, three of them. He gave up names and descriptions. They should be easily captured, dragged throughout the town, beaten and tortured for more information, then executed in a fashion that is most pleasing to Sukhbataar, making their deaths a grand spectacle. Perhaps there is something to the ramblings of the idiot when he was blubbering about more spies in the region. This will most certainly put us back a day.
B.) Pursue the dogs, but don't drag it out. A simple bullet to the head will do. They're not worth the effort, and we have to return to the Mingghan for further debriefing. We can give him that information and await further orders. We've already wasted enough time by chasing these fucking sacks of yellow diseased filth about. This will most certainly put us back a half day.
C.) Immediately return to the Mingghan, ignoring the spies. Debrief the Mingghan and await orders on how to handle this.
D.) Pursue the dogs, torture them, and take them prisoner. Moving with prisoners will slow us down overall by a day and a half.
2. On the way back, returning to the barracks and fortress, there is a supply cache that Sukhbataar and his Zuut helped save. The commander of the supply cache, some lowly drunken lout, wishes to thank the honorable Zuut and his men for their work, as they were outnumbered five to one, and would have surely been slaughtered had Sukhbataar not arrived when he did. Should he:
A.) Go to meet with the fool, as its on the way back. The fortress is eight days away anyway. Approach him as a brother, and spend the evening telling tales of battle in Afghanistan and how you humiliated the Muslim dogs.
B.) Go to meet with the fool, as its on the way back. The fortress is eight days away anyway. Approach him as a superior, and spend the remainder of the day reprimanding him and browbeating him and his men, making them feel ashamed entirely. Hopefully when you leave the next day, they will be much better prepared to defend themselves.
C.) We don't have time for this. If our orders take us back in this direction, we can meet up with them then, but really we don't give a fuck what these bastards have to say. They let a bunch of foul little men catch them by surprise and almost lost a supply cache filled with supplies and most importantly fresh horses.
3. Despite the fact that the Mingghan had ordered an immediate return to the fortress, some eight days away on horseback, Sukhbataar still has orders from the Noyan of the province, and that is to patrol through the local villages, ensuring that things are quiet and no trouble is brewing. What should be done?
A.) We cannot shirk our duties to the Noyan. We must still make our rounds and continue about our routine as quickly as possible. We will arrive in ten days rather than eight if we do this, and while it is certain the Mingghan will not be pleased, we will have done our duty.
B.) The Mingghan is a military commander. The fucking Noyan is more of a bureaucrat, and he's safe in his city, not on the front lines where we are. If the Mingghan tells us to return immediately, something MUST be up. If something's afoot, we absolutely must know about it. While we will certainly be shirking our duties by ignoring the local villages, we will arrive in eight days. However, if the Noyan discovers this, we will most certainly be reprimanded at the very least.
Location The reformed Mongolian Empire
If you want to know the timeline for this alternative universe LP, see the following thread:
http://www.rpgcodex.net/forums/index.php?threads/dieselpunk.84294/
You don't have to read the thread before commenting on this one and making choices, but it certainly helps.
Mood music: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gt3J1Uip3jc
The wind blew harshly, fiercely, and were the men under Sukhbataar not of the Mongolian Empire, they would have turned their heads away from the biting cold. Instead, defiantly they stared into the wind, eyes tearing, lips curled back into sneers, revealing yellowed teeth and dark gums. Sukhbataar stood silently, soaking in the moment of personal triumph. He had made it his mission since arriving from Afghanistan to hunt down every traitorous Chinese who bowed to the goddamned KMT rather than the Khagan Tomor Khan.
Fresh from butchering the treacherous children of Mohammed, terrorizing them with, of all things, pigs, slaughtering them wholesale and hacking pigs to death with his saber, and burying the remains all into one great pit for all to see, Sukhbataar was bloodthirsty to say the least. The half-Cossack Mongol had a divine hatred of all things that were to be defiant to their Khagan, to their Khan of all Khans. And he considered the Chinese yellow bastards to be among the most devious of creatures, even more so than the slaves to Allah.
Thirty men of Sichuan province knelt before him, all Chinamen, all gutless yellow cowards that swore loyalty, unswerving, first to Roman Khan, then to Tomor Khan. Thirty men, all traitors. Were it his own decision to make, Sukhbataar would punish the whole of Sichuan for their treason, butcher all that he saw, every living yellow bastard over the age of ten. But it wasn't. From the city of Chengdu, north of where they were, the Noyan had commanded, and his command was to limit reprisals against civilians. The Ordu, in their wisdom, agreed with the Noyan wholeheartedly, and so Sukhbataar obeyed. But he had a reputation within the Empire, one that he wished to uphold.
And so instead of butchering the populace as he felt they so richly deserved, he had instead taken only those thirty traitors. The men of his Zuut were gathered behind him, all standing at attention, rifles at their side, horses nearby, pistols holstered and sabers sheathed. Their uniforms, heavy dark blue leather greatcoats with fur lining the collars and cuffs with black metal buttons lining each side, heavy riding boots topped with fur, heels lined with spurs, it all spoke of a terrifying uniformity amongst the horde.
The border, a few miles south, to lands of China controlled by the KMT, was heavily fortified. Despite that, spies still managed to sneak over the battle lines, past the outposts, and into Mongol lands. It didn't matter. Soon, they would take the rest of China, and burn the KMT from existence, as Roman Khan had raved so many times publicly. But until then, it was Sukhbataar's duty to ensure that the spies were to a minimum, and any traitors they inspired were swiftly dealt with.
And so, now we come to this, these thirty men.
Sukhbataar had caught their commander personally, trampling him with his own horse, though not killing him. No, Sukhbataar had instead trampled his legs, crushing a knee, breaking a shin, causing agonizing pain for the dumb, stupid, yellow bastard. He'd laughed at the man's screams as he dropped the pistol and rolled around hopelessly. A few twists of the leg and he had given up everything he knew about the spies, about the bomb they attempted to plant in the nearby arms cache, as if that would even put a dent in their supply train. He'd taken the bastard's head as a trophy, and his horse nearby still held it, a leather thong looped through where eyes had once been, the mouth twisted in a silent scream.
"Who among you yellow dogs would face me?" Sukhbataar bellowed angrily, his voice roaring over the wind, deep and gravelly. His moustache was long and thick, thanks to his Cossack heritage, but his eyes were Mongol, as was his skin. "Who among your cowardly, piss soaked kin would draw against me? Whomever shall do so, and kill me, he will free himself and his brethren. It was a boldfaced lie, one he had told many times before. He could feel the vicious grins of his men behind him, many of them veterans like he of the Korean wars and Afghanistan. Still, the Zuut waited for an answer.
He glanced up and down the line of men, and was not disappointed when one of the Chinamen dared to make eye contact, stare back defiantly, unlike his peers. The others had been reminded of their subservient nature once their little band had been broken up, and he gained much pleasure from forcing each one of them to Kowtow to him again and again until their foreheads bled. He made them beg, reminding them of their lowly nature, and then he made them kneel in a straight line, reminding them that, because they were such poorly made creatures, death was all they were good for. He wondered to himself time and again since returning to China how such a low people could possibly hold such a land, and that it was no wonder it was being divvied up by every other major world power.
"We have a challenger!" Sukhbataar roared, pointing at the young man who stared at him with a hateful glare. Sukhbataar only smiled back, hiding behind his dark eyes the contempt he held for the entire race of yellow Chinese. One of his men, his lieutenant Ganzorig, rushed from the front of the rows of assembled Mongols and dragged the short man from his place. He, like the others, was malnourished, short, and poorly built. Sukhbataar, with his broad shoulders and thick chest, towered over the challenger and all the other Chinese, as did his men. Ganzorig forced the youth to his feet and cut away his bindings. He took from his own belt an American made M1917 revolver, and loaded only a single bullet into it, sticking it into the young man's belt. He backed away from the youth, who looked to Sukhbataar.
"You shoot me before I shoot you," Sukhbataar said loudly, over the whipping wind. He tapped the butts of the twin M1911's he wore crossways in his own gun belt for emphasis. "On his signal," he continued, motioning to Ganzorig with his head, "you kill me. If you can before I kill you, you and yours may leave." The youth shook, dressed in poor clothes as the cold western winds whipped around them.
It happened quickly, almost immediately after, and if a man had blinked he would have missed it. Ganzorig shouted, and as the youth moved to grab his revolver, Sukhbataar reached across to his left hip and drew his heavy colt. Before the youth could even clear leather, he was knocked back with incredible force as a bullet ripped through the center of his chest. The wound caused horrific trauma as the body crumpled into the dry grass and hard, cold ground.
"Not nearly fast enough, boy," he laughed, turning his pistol to the nearest kneeling prisoner. One after another, he executed, a single shot to the head, their brains and bits of skull splattering on the ground behind them as their bodies fell unceremoniously. The slide locked back, the clip empty. He turned to his men, and one of them tossed him a Thompson submachine gun. As the other prisoners cried and railed against their fate, begging him in all manner of monkey dialects he never deigned to learn, he cocked the heavy metal and wood weapon and took aim. The loud rattatatt of the gun seemed to echo along the hills as the bodies fell to lifeless heaps, blood soaking the earth and making a red mud, and Sukhbataar laughed almost joyously at the carnage such a weapon could cause. When they had all fallen, he drew another bead on the twitching corpses and opened fire once more upon them, showering them with lead. Satisfied with his work, he handed the weapon back to one of his soldiers, who gave a knowing smile and a nod.
He walked towards his horse quickly, his spurs clinging loudly in the grass with each step. Mounting his beast, he turned towards his lieutenant, Ganzorig, who had also mounted his own horse. He sighed as the smile faded away from his lips, the rush of violence gone. The adrenaline left his veins quickly and his heart returned to a normal beat unfortunately very quickly, as he had long since gotten used to violence.
"Ganzorig," Sukhbataar began, "remind me of the situation at hand, if you would be so kind to do so. There are spies afoot in this country, but we must also make our rounds to the next few villages and then report with the Mingghan. Before we caught up to this rabble, he'd radioed that he wanted a face to face meeting immediately. I've no idea why, but it is a fact that he doesn't trust the airwaves."
"Yes, it's a known fact that none of the commanders do," Ganzorig began, his scarred features twisting into a smile, "I often wonder why we make use of them if none of our commanders ever want to speak over it."
"Good enough for a battle I suppose, and for work further inland. No matter, am I correct in that assessment of the situation?"
"You are, Zuut," Ganzorig nodded in affirmation, referring to Sukhbataar by his rank. "The men who guard the supply cache that we saved also apparently wish to thank you."
"Pheh," Sukhbataar spat angrily, "they let themselves get caught off guard by the Chinese dogs. They are not worthy of our attentions. "
"Normally I would agree. However, they could resupply our men with ammunition. While we are not at risk of running low, we are not set to resupply for another week at least. A lot can happen in that time."
"Yes, war can be declared, and not a goddamned moment too soon! I agree with you on the principle, though I am loathe to be in the presence of such fucking imbeciles."
Sukhbataar has the following choices he must make. The fortress is eight days away from his current location.
1. When Sukhbataar tortured the enemy commander, the man wept and blubbered, letting slip valuable information regarding spies that motivated them to take up arms against their conquering Mongol lords. The weak fool let it be known that the spies who gave him information made it known that there were others in the region as well. Perhaps there is something to this. Should he:
A.) Immediately pursue the dogs. According to the enemy commander, they are hiding in a nearby village, three of them. He gave up names and descriptions. They should be easily captured, dragged throughout the town, beaten and tortured for more information, then executed in a fashion that is most pleasing to Sukhbataar, making their deaths a grand spectacle. Perhaps there is something to the ramblings of the idiot when he was blubbering about more spies in the region. This will most certainly put us back a day.
B.) Pursue the dogs, but don't drag it out. A simple bullet to the head will do. They're not worth the effort, and we have to return to the Mingghan for further debriefing. We can give him that information and await further orders. We've already wasted enough time by chasing these fucking sacks of yellow diseased filth about. This will most certainly put us back a half day.
C.) Immediately return to the Mingghan, ignoring the spies. Debrief the Mingghan and await orders on how to handle this.
D.) Pursue the dogs, torture them, and take them prisoner. Moving with prisoners will slow us down overall by a day and a half.
2. On the way back, returning to the barracks and fortress, there is a supply cache that Sukhbataar and his Zuut helped save. The commander of the supply cache, some lowly drunken lout, wishes to thank the honorable Zuut and his men for their work, as they were outnumbered five to one, and would have surely been slaughtered had Sukhbataar not arrived when he did. Should he:
A.) Go to meet with the fool, as its on the way back. The fortress is eight days away anyway. Approach him as a brother, and spend the evening telling tales of battle in Afghanistan and how you humiliated the Muslim dogs.
B.) Go to meet with the fool, as its on the way back. The fortress is eight days away anyway. Approach him as a superior, and spend the remainder of the day reprimanding him and browbeating him and his men, making them feel ashamed entirely. Hopefully when you leave the next day, they will be much better prepared to defend themselves.
C.) We don't have time for this. If our orders take us back in this direction, we can meet up with them then, but really we don't give a fuck what these bastards have to say. They let a bunch of foul little men catch them by surprise and almost lost a supply cache filled with supplies and most importantly fresh horses.
3. Despite the fact that the Mingghan had ordered an immediate return to the fortress, some eight days away on horseback, Sukhbataar still has orders from the Noyan of the province, and that is to patrol through the local villages, ensuring that things are quiet and no trouble is brewing. What should be done?
A.) We cannot shirk our duties to the Noyan. We must still make our rounds and continue about our routine as quickly as possible. We will arrive in ten days rather than eight if we do this, and while it is certain the Mingghan will not be pleased, we will have done our duty.
B.) The Mingghan is a military commander. The fucking Noyan is more of a bureaucrat, and he's safe in his city, not on the front lines where we are. If the Mingghan tells us to return immediately, something MUST be up. If something's afoot, we absolutely must know about it. While we will certainly be shirking our duties by ignoring the local villages, we will arrive in eight days. However, if the Noyan discovers this, we will most certainly be reprimanded at the very least.