We were like gods once... BIG UPDATE Friday Nov 5!
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ledded
Herder of monkies
Thanks again, I'm glad you are enjoying it.fenzer said:
Cool... that blending you are talking about is what I've been trying to go for. I wouldn't say it comes with either 'practice' or 'ease' howevercaixa said:
. Other than a few very small vingettes I did for the Medallions Story Hour and a few flavor things as a DM, I haven't tried to write anything substantial since college. However, I do have to say that these guys are so good to play with that the Story Hour, in a way, writes itself. Or, more or less, grabs me by the back of the neck, squeezes very hard, and demands to be written... then inspiration disappears for a week or two and I can't write a word when I want to. I am lucky to not only have quite a depth of inspiration for the time period, but also to have such great players who go out of their way to take something I've wanted to do like this and turn it into a unique roleplaying experience for us all. Yeah, I do tend to pimp the Blood and ____ work that Charles Rice has done, but we've liked every last one that he's done, especially Blood and Vigilance. We just finished a 3-session playtest for Blood and Fists 2, and it was a hoot.
I should be able to convince the guys to post up a rogues gallery if there is enough interest.
Frogbot will show up very soon. Old Drew Id (Frogbot's player) missed the first part of this one, and he joined us right about this time during the battle. The next update should feature him in all of his flag-waving cheesy glory, and to tell the truth, he is frighteningly effective in combat situations.
I appreciate you stopping by and sharing your thoughts, I've had quite a bee in my bonnet for writing up this combat so there will probably be another update real soon.ejja_1 said:
Thanks again guys for coming around and saying nice stuff... your comments do help me to find inspiration and then have it grab me by my Big Giant Head and write some more...
ledded
Herder of monkies
We were like gods once... [The Agony of Arnhem]
…
Where was it… where… there!, Smitty fired his Springfield, and through his scope he could just make out the German sniper’s hands flying to his face as the Springfield’s bullet sheared through his scope, spraying him with metal and glass as it continued through to explode into the man’s jaw.
The snipers where taking a toll on the ground, Hank having just run into what looked like the bookstore they were looking for to get away from their fire. John was a whirlwind of icy destruction, now crouched in a building across the street for cover against the deadly fire from the German sniping.
Smitty had shot his third sniper, and was trying to find another when he caught a flash from a building out of the edge of his scope’s field of vision. He reflexively jerked his head to the left and a shot spracked into the stone mere inches from his mechanical eye, spraying him with fragments. Wiping the shattered stonework off of his face, he brought his eye back behind his scope.
Lucky I had this nasty contraption instead of a real eye. That round was high enough caliber that the stone might have blinded or put out a real eye, he thought. What the hell was this guy shooting at me with? A cannon?
He heard the halftrack and the tell-tale sound of heavy fuel whooshing through a nozzle and igniting.
Smitty threw himself flat on the crenellated rooftop as flames slammed into the side of the tower.
“Hells bells, it’s way too hot up here for me”, Smitty snarled and, taking advantage of a momentary break in the fire, leapt for the edge of the tower.
The fires returned as the Hanomag flammenwerfer fired another long burst of fuel, hitting the top edge of the tower to explode over the roof.
Smitty could feel the heavy fuel trying to ignite his clothing as he hurdled the edge of the tower, metal hand grabbing the edge like a vise. His body continued over and slammed into the side of the building as a roaring fireball expanded explosively behind him, roiling over the top of the tower in billowing hellfire. The flames boiled the glove off of his left hand, and the heat quickly traveled painfully up the heating mechanism into the true flesh of his shoulder.
Hooking his rifle sling over a small window outcropping, Smitty let go of the top of the tower and dropped, holding himself by the stock as he swung down away from the conflagration. Another sniper round snapped into the space his body just left.
“Cripes, Jerry, was it something I said?” Smitty whispered through clenched teeth as he swung.
Just reaching the apex of his swing, he nimbly snapped the rifle held in his right hand causing the sling to whip off of the window ledge. Hands and feet hitting the wall with incredible speed for every available outcropping or tiny ledge of rock, to the casual observer it looked as if Smitty ran down the side of the tower with a rifle dangling from his shoulder by the sling. Sniper shots blew huge chunks of brickwork off of the tower behind him.
“Jeeeezus am I the only… damn… target… here?!?”
With a final leap to the ground he immediately brought up his rifle against the side of the tower. The forward part of the wooden stock smoked and blackened where he gripped it with his hot bare-metal left hand. I’ll deal with that halftrack in a second, it’ll take them a bit to figure out where I went, Smitty thought, dismissing the halftrack for a moment. He sighted the building where the last snipers were firing from and concentrated, mechanical eye whirring as it focused in on the slightest movement. Then Smitty clearly saw, through the scope, a man pointing an enormous weapon on a bipod at him.
The same man he saw the day he lost his arm and eye, the one that was driving the big Nazi b*stard that had burned him; the Kraut was smiling as smoke puffed from his rifle, obscuring Smitty’s own shot as he squeezed the trigger.
It felt like someone punched him hard in the ribs, and Smitty fell backwards onto his rear end, rifle clattering to the street.
He glanced around as he clutched his side, but it was getting hard to catch his breath.
Looking down, he saw blood rapidly welling beneath his hand, spattering to the ground he sat on.
“Ah dammit… damn… “, Smitty wheezed, using his other hand to rip the pressure bandage off of his helmet. He pushed himself with his shaking legs to the side of the tower, narrowly avoiding another sniper round as it punched a large divot out of the flagstones where he was just sitting. The exertion caused a large spurt of blood to pump forcefully out of his wound, and his head spun with the effort and the onset of shock.
The sounds of the battle and something exploding nearby faded to the background as the erratic rushing and thumping of his own heart filled Smitty’s ears.
Quickly he ripped a packet of sulfa powder open with shaking hands and poured it onto the wound, noticing his legs were starting to spasm and shake.
Not… good… Smitty thought to himself, fumbling the pressure bandage as his vision blurred and tunneled in on him. He saw the ground tilt upwards crazily, heard but didn’t feel his head strike the pavement, bandage falling to the ground from his limp, twitching hand. The last thing he saw was a gigantic shadow falling across him and then his vision constricted further, into a small fine point of light, and then abruptly went dark.
…
Smoke rose from the crater, large enough to park a small car in.
Beyond that, a pile of shattered bricks lay under a large hole in a building’s wall.
One hand could be seen, blood-covered, unmoving, extended from the pile.
Suddenly, the hand clenched into a fist.
A huge dust and blood-covered form sat up, sloughing off the pile of bricks.
Moose blinked a couple times, just in time to see John dive over the Kubelwagon and take off for a huge pile of Nazis, the German’s jeep rocked by a grenade blast in his wake.
He tried to speak, stopped, pursed his lips and then spat something out onto the ground near him with a clink.
It was a couple of shell fragments, steaming from contact with the blood and saliva in his mouth.
Moose reached into his mouth, coming out with a couple teeth and spitting a huge gobbet of blood and phlegm onto the ground.
He pocketed the teeth, and then pulled another large fragment, hissing from contact with his flesh, out of his side with a sharp grunt and trickle of blood.
“Damn, that stung like a b*tch, eh”, Moose rumbled to himself as he stood up, grumbling painfully, checking his various bleeding wounds and cracked ribs. He quickly scanned the battle area.
Hank had just run into a building as twin explosions rocked two of the tanks that had been firing at him. John was fighting a big group of Nazis, and there was a flaming explosion near where he was which obscured him from Moose’s sight. He looked around and saw his BARs lying under the Kubelwagon where he dropped them, and Smitty came bounding down the tower he had been firing from.
Moose saw Smitty fall backwards from a shot, blood spraying, and a halftrack with a flamethrower mounted on it came around the corner obviously hunting for him.
He quickly strode forward to the Kubelwagon, his mouth set in a grim line, teeth gritted.
“I’ve had just… about… enough… of you Kraut b*stards”, Moose growled as he grabbed the jeep with both hands and hoisted the entire thing over his head. One of the Germans inside could still be heard, moaning from his grenade wounds.
The halftrack stopped, then immediately began backing up, and the gunner yelled in surprise as he tried to bring the nozzle of his flammenwerfer to bear. The assistant gunner screamed and threw a leg over the side as if to jump clear.
With a grunting heave Moose hurled the Kubelwagon into the Hanomag, the wailing of the one remaining live inhabitant cutting short with a PHOOM! as the impact crushed the side of the halftrack, flipping it and igniting its flammenwerfer fuel tanks in a spectacular explosion. Pieces of Kubelwagon, halftrack, and Germans bounced and spun flaming all around the area.
Scooping up his BARs by their straps, Moose stumbled through the thick, dark smoke over to where he saw Smitty slumped against the tower’s wall, legs twitching.
There was blood pumping out from his wound as Smitty’s eyes fell on Moose and then went unfocused, rolling up in his head with a wheezing sigh.
“Aw jeez Smitty”, Moose cried out as he dropped his BARs and fell painfully to one knee next to him, his own wounds troubling him.
He noticed the pressure bandage, and applied it as best he could with his gigantic hands, cinching it tight and adding another of his own to staunch the bleeding. Covering Smitty up with his parka for warmth, he elevated his legs on his pack and listened to his chest.
Rounds from MP-40s and Kar98s started spack-ing into the wall near him, and Moose glanced back to see the remainder of the German flanking squad moving across the street, firing their weapons at him.
With a wordless growl that increased to a rumbling roar of fury and anguish, Moose spun and rose up to his full height of nearly ten feet, a BAR coming up in each massive hand at the rushing Nazis.
He stood over Smitty, bellowing, sweeping the street back and forth with both BARs stuttering their own livid counterpoint, Germans screaming, falling, and sending volley after volley of shots at him, until both his weapons clicked empty.
…
(EDIT: my gosh, I wish I could spell)
…
Where was it… where… there!, Smitty fired his Springfield, and through his scope he could just make out the German sniper’s hands flying to his face as the Springfield’s bullet sheared through his scope, spraying him with metal and glass as it continued through to explode into the man’s jaw.
The snipers where taking a toll on the ground, Hank having just run into what looked like the bookstore they were looking for to get away from their fire. John was a whirlwind of icy destruction, now crouched in a building across the street for cover against the deadly fire from the German sniping.
Smitty had shot his third sniper, and was trying to find another when he caught a flash from a building out of the edge of his scope’s field of vision. He reflexively jerked his head to the left and a shot spracked into the stone mere inches from his mechanical eye, spraying him with fragments. Wiping the shattered stonework off of his face, he brought his eye back behind his scope.
Lucky I had this nasty contraption instead of a real eye. That round was high enough caliber that the stone might have blinded or put out a real eye, he thought. What the hell was this guy shooting at me with? A cannon?
He heard the halftrack and the tell-tale sound of heavy fuel whooshing through a nozzle and igniting.
Smitty threw himself flat on the crenellated rooftop as flames slammed into the side of the tower.
“Hells bells, it’s way too hot up here for me”, Smitty snarled and, taking advantage of a momentary break in the fire, leapt for the edge of the tower.
The fires returned as the Hanomag flammenwerfer fired another long burst of fuel, hitting the top edge of the tower to explode over the roof.
Smitty could feel the heavy fuel trying to ignite his clothing as he hurdled the edge of the tower, metal hand grabbing the edge like a vise. His body continued over and slammed into the side of the building as a roaring fireball expanded explosively behind him, roiling over the top of the tower in billowing hellfire. The flames boiled the glove off of his left hand, and the heat quickly traveled painfully up the heating mechanism into the true flesh of his shoulder.
Hooking his rifle sling over a small window outcropping, Smitty let go of the top of the tower and dropped, holding himself by the stock as he swung down away from the conflagration. Another sniper round snapped into the space his body just left.
“Cripes, Jerry, was it something I said?” Smitty whispered through clenched teeth as he swung.
Just reaching the apex of his swing, he nimbly snapped the rifle held in his right hand causing the sling to whip off of the window ledge. Hands and feet hitting the wall with incredible speed for every available outcropping or tiny ledge of rock, to the casual observer it looked as if Smitty ran down the side of the tower with a rifle dangling from his shoulder by the sling. Sniper shots blew huge chunks of brickwork off of the tower behind him.
“Jeeeezus am I the only… damn… target… here?!?”
With a final leap to the ground he immediately brought up his rifle against the side of the tower. The forward part of the wooden stock smoked and blackened where he gripped it with his hot bare-metal left hand. I’ll deal with that halftrack in a second, it’ll take them a bit to figure out where I went, Smitty thought, dismissing the halftrack for a moment. He sighted the building where the last snipers were firing from and concentrated, mechanical eye whirring as it focused in on the slightest movement. Then Smitty clearly saw, through the scope, a man pointing an enormous weapon on a bipod at him.
The same man he saw the day he lost his arm and eye, the one that was driving the big Nazi b*stard that had burned him; the Kraut was smiling as smoke puffed from his rifle, obscuring Smitty’s own shot as he squeezed the trigger.
It felt like someone punched him hard in the ribs, and Smitty fell backwards onto his rear end, rifle clattering to the street.
He glanced around as he clutched his side, but it was getting hard to catch his breath.
Looking down, he saw blood rapidly welling beneath his hand, spattering to the ground he sat on.
“Ah dammit… damn… “, Smitty wheezed, using his other hand to rip the pressure bandage off of his helmet. He pushed himself with his shaking legs to the side of the tower, narrowly avoiding another sniper round as it punched a large divot out of the flagstones where he was just sitting. The exertion caused a large spurt of blood to pump forcefully out of his wound, and his head spun with the effort and the onset of shock.
The sounds of the battle and something exploding nearby faded to the background as the erratic rushing and thumping of his own heart filled Smitty’s ears.
Quickly he ripped a packet of sulfa powder open with shaking hands and poured it onto the wound, noticing his legs were starting to spasm and shake.
Not… good… Smitty thought to himself, fumbling the pressure bandage as his vision blurred and tunneled in on him. He saw the ground tilt upwards crazily, heard but didn’t feel his head strike the pavement, bandage falling to the ground from his limp, twitching hand. The last thing he saw was a gigantic shadow falling across him and then his vision constricted further, into a small fine point of light, and then abruptly went dark.
…
Smoke rose from the crater, large enough to park a small car in.
Beyond that, a pile of shattered bricks lay under a large hole in a building’s wall.
One hand could be seen, blood-covered, unmoving, extended from the pile.
Suddenly, the hand clenched into a fist.
A huge dust and blood-covered form sat up, sloughing off the pile of bricks.
Moose blinked a couple times, just in time to see John dive over the Kubelwagon and take off for a huge pile of Nazis, the German’s jeep rocked by a grenade blast in his wake.
He tried to speak, stopped, pursed his lips and then spat something out onto the ground near him with a clink.
It was a couple of shell fragments, steaming from contact with the blood and saliva in his mouth.
Moose reached into his mouth, coming out with a couple teeth and spitting a huge gobbet of blood and phlegm onto the ground.
He pocketed the teeth, and then pulled another large fragment, hissing from contact with his flesh, out of his side with a sharp grunt and trickle of blood.
“Damn, that stung like a b*tch, eh”, Moose rumbled to himself as he stood up, grumbling painfully, checking his various bleeding wounds and cracked ribs. He quickly scanned the battle area.
Hank had just run into a building as twin explosions rocked two of the tanks that had been firing at him. John was fighting a big group of Nazis, and there was a flaming explosion near where he was which obscured him from Moose’s sight. He looked around and saw his BARs lying under the Kubelwagon where he dropped them, and Smitty came bounding down the tower he had been firing from.
Moose saw Smitty fall backwards from a shot, blood spraying, and a halftrack with a flamethrower mounted on it came around the corner obviously hunting for him.
He quickly strode forward to the Kubelwagon, his mouth set in a grim line, teeth gritted.
“I’ve had just… about… enough… of you Kraut b*stards”, Moose growled as he grabbed the jeep with both hands and hoisted the entire thing over his head. One of the Germans inside could still be heard, moaning from his grenade wounds.
The halftrack stopped, then immediately began backing up, and the gunner yelled in surprise as he tried to bring the nozzle of his flammenwerfer to bear. The assistant gunner screamed and threw a leg over the side as if to jump clear.
With a grunting heave Moose hurled the Kubelwagon into the Hanomag, the wailing of the one remaining live inhabitant cutting short with a PHOOM! as the impact crushed the side of the halftrack, flipping it and igniting its flammenwerfer fuel tanks in a spectacular explosion. Pieces of Kubelwagon, halftrack, and Germans bounced and spun flaming all around the area.
Scooping up his BARs by their straps, Moose stumbled through the thick, dark smoke over to where he saw Smitty slumped against the tower’s wall, legs twitching.
There was blood pumping out from his wound as Smitty’s eyes fell on Moose and then went unfocused, rolling up in his head with a wheezing sigh.
“Aw jeez Smitty”, Moose cried out as he dropped his BARs and fell painfully to one knee next to him, his own wounds troubling him.
He noticed the pressure bandage, and applied it as best he could with his gigantic hands, cinching it tight and adding another of his own to staunch the bleeding. Covering Smitty up with his parka for warmth, he elevated his legs on his pack and listened to his chest.
Rounds from MP-40s and Kar98s started spack-ing into the wall near him, and Moose glanced back to see the remainder of the German flanking squad moving across the street, firing their weapons at him.
With a wordless growl that increased to a rumbling roar of fury and anguish, Moose spun and rose up to his full height of nearly ten feet, a BAR coming up in each massive hand at the rushing Nazis.
He stood over Smitty, bellowing, sweeping the street back and forth with both BARs stuttering their own livid counterpoint, Germans screaming, falling, and sending volley after volley of shots at him, until both his weapons clicked empty.
…
(EDIT: my gosh, I wish I could spell)
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Broccli_Head
Explorer
keep it comin'!
incredible stuff. just finished watching BoB. i agree with what caixa said. this story truly evokes the grittiness of WWII and adds that cool superhero element. hope they survive!
incredible stuff. just finished watching BoB. i agree with what caixa said. this story truly evokes the grittiness of WWII and adds that cool superhero element. hope they survive!
Rel
Liquid Awesome
I've been busy for the last week or so and just got caught up on the SH. It just gets better with every update. And the style of play is one that I absolutely love: Make the PC's extremely bad ass - then throw so much nastiness at them that they need every bit of it just to survive. 
I can't wait for more!
I can't wait for more!
The_Universe
First Post
Awesome! Keep it coming!
