Discussion: Fallen Thunder

April 28th, 2012
Atlantic Ocean
Approx. 39.76 Latitude, -70.70 Longitude, 700 feet below the surface
Aboard the Prussian Prince submarine

The steady ping of the brass plating of the Prussian Prince expanding as it gradually ascended from the depths 5 miles from the brightly glowing lights of Talos Island was like a metronome.

Ping…

Each sound signified another 33 feet…he calculated the depth of the submersible vehicle by marking the passing of the metallic report. Where other’s would have synapses firing, silently relaying commands to his body to properly adjust the dials and valves controlling the ballast levels, there was instead the steady whirring and clicking of gears and the steady hiss of steam powering his every move.

Ping…

660 feet

Small crystals of ice delicately broke away from his body, blanketing his chair with a thin layer of frost. The chill of the air would have made his breath visible…that is, if he still drew breath. It had been many years since Gerhardt Eisenstadt had last drawn air, having made such human concerns unnecessary well over a century ago. Whatever remained of his flesh had long since decayed, replaced by the more reliable and stronger Clockwork bodies of his own design and construction. These bodies were the purest incarnation of his genius…his brilliance…the same genius that struck fear in the hearts of all who heard his name. No longer Gerhardt Eisenstadt; He was now Lord Nemesis, and his infamy spanned generations!

The story of his conquest to bring the whole of the United States of America under heel was still told in hushed tones by those who survived the national nightmare. Washington D.C., and most of the U.S., had been his, held in the palm of his enormous brass hand. The populace had been no match for his clockwork army and with their vaunted superheroes spread across the globe fighting the Second World War in Europe and Asia, they were powerless to stop him.

Until Marcus Cole.

Always Marcus Cole.

Ping

396 feet

Every time Lord Nemesis was on the cusp of global domination, on the verge of his final victory, ready to take his rightful place, Marcus Cole…no…Statesman would foil his grand design. There were others over the years, so many others, but it always came back to Statesman. The man was unkillable, not for a lack of trying. Of course, this made the notion that one as simple as Darrin Wade could succeed where he had failed…inconceivable. The theft of Rularuu’s powers was simply adding insult to injury.

It had been tempting to join the Heroes and “Villains” (there was after all only one true villain) in their fight against Rula-Wade. The very presumption that a fool such as Wade had the right to rob Lord Nemesis of his victory…well…This was his victory. He was to be the one to extract the life essence from the broken and battered body of Statesman. Victory was to be his, the plot was written, it was put in motion, it was all to happen…exactly…as…he…planned.
Wade was lucky. This was the only plausible explanation. He had obviously used his obscurity and lack of being an actual threat to accomplish the improbable.

Of course this occurrence was not entirely unforeseen by Nemesis. Even something as unpredictable as Wade dispatching Statesman could not fully escape his genius plans. His robotic feet clanged across the iron floor of the Prince as he walked over to the antique filing cabinet. He delicately slid the door open, flipping through the manila folders until he came across the one he was looking for: Operation Fallen Thunder

The outer folder was dusty, the paper starting to soften and fray from the passing of time. Hand typed on a Smith-Corona typewriter decades before, the plan was simple when compared to his recent, more elaborate plots. He thumbed through the pages…yes…there it was. He would capitalize on Cole’s death (any fool would), but on a far more massive, and final, scale: He would attack all of Paragon City, spreading their defenses so thin that even the combined might of the city’s Heroes would be unable to stop his automaton army. Finally, he would avenge the humiliation he suffered in Washington D.C. so many years ago. Yes, Fallen Thunder would be the lynchpin, a catalyst for other similar plots in the unlikely event it didn’t succeed.

Gears whirred and steam hissed as his mind calculated the probabilities of success, taking into account a single possible outlying factor: Tyrant was not a consideration when the plan was originally conceived. While still a threat, calculations showed that he would soon be irrelevant. The erstwhile ruler of Praetorian Earth was quickly losing his grasp on power due to the multiple incursions of immensely powerful Incarnates (Note: Investigate probability of conquering an alternate dimension.) What was not immediately clear was the alternate Cole’s end game. His notes observed a 5.7% chance of complete surrender and a 6.33% chance of simply detonating a weapon of mass destruction over his own city. There was a significantly higher likelihood of him fighting to the death, less so the chance he would abandon his seat of power. No matter. All of these possible outcomes meshed well with his simple, yet masterful plot.

Lord Nemesis reached over to the brass intercom bell.

Ping

132 feet

“Surface” he said. “Operation Fallen Thunder will commence immediately…under my direct supervision.”

*Squeeeeee!*

Edit: April 28th? Is that the date it starts or is Nemesis reporting a day ahead of us?

I'm sure this is a plot

Awesome! Now announce the dates already.

It's not a plot.

Sweet. I am so going to punch Nemesis right in his ugly brass face. *cracks knuckles*

Quote:

Originally Posted by Nethergoat it's NEVER too late to pad your /ignore list!

I, personally, find steampunk dirigibles far more fun than steampunk submarines. But steampunk submarines are still good. Fortunately, I already have an undersea costume for my steampunk airship pirate character ...

Lore detail: is it canonical that there are no remaining organic components inside the real Nemesis' shell? I had assumed all along that there would be that difference between the real Nemesis and the gazillions of duplicates, that the real one still had the original brain inside. If they're all clockwork thinking machines, what determines which one is the real one, what determines which one the others are trying to put into power? Some tiny little brass nameplate, not usually displayed, with the number 000-0000-0001? Some tiny little complex of gears and springs that engages whenever the copies think of ruling the world themselves? And if Nemesis has no remaining organic components inside him, what did Mender Silos clone himself from (assuming the most common player guess for how Mender Silos beat the carbon law is true)?

Game mechanics: Even if the Nemesis invasion ends up being literally nothing more than a reskin of the Rikti Invasion, with steampunk airships beaming down level-less versions of standard Nemesis troops and unexploded Nemesis Bombs, I'll still call it good. (And if it were to completely replace the seriously un-fun Deadly Apocalypse event that everybody studiously ignores any time except October, I'd call it a vast improvement.) Can we interpret one of Zwillinger's remarks from the other day as saying that whatever this event is, it'll be going on for an entire month?

Please tell me this isn't a one-day event that will be taking place on the one day that I'm 3000 miles away from my computer attending another one-day event.

Or at least tell me there's not a badge I'm going to miss out on by not logging in tomorrow.

FYI, The event doesn't start until next week after Tuesday's maintenance. Just to make sure everyone's not waiting around all weekend on pins and needles . Also, while there will be a live element to it (more to come) the event is also scripted and will run simultaneously on all servers. (We got a weeee bit burned out running live events for a month straight last year .)

omy, and this just leaves the question...what should I wear to this event? Should I smash stuff with a titan weapon? Drain their essence with dark melee? Burn and drain their soul with fire and dark miasma? Choices choices!

"With great moustache comes great responsibility" - Zee Captain

Neat! So how will this all work with timing, for those of us that can't log on at noon on Tuesday? Will it run for more than one evening? Inquiring minds want to know!

Now I've got to choose which character to bring! The adventurer whose namesake was killed in the Nemesis attack on Washington DC or the Nemesis automaton from another dimension where the automatons built their own civilization?

And will the Nemesis enemies be spawning in via zeppelin drops or mole machines burrowing out of the ground?

*sings*

We all live in a brassy submarine, a brassy submarine, a brassy submarine...

Though I have to admit, part of me absolutely refuses to stop going:

The attack sub's captain wondered if this was a joke. The unknown submersible he'd been tracking might as well have been carrying an off key brass band, as noisy as it was. He didn't worry about losing it - half the fleet could hear it. The other half couldn't solely by reason of being in the Pacific or in drydock.

He knew some of the speculation that had gone on. He'd been chosen to follow the contact specifically because of the special nature of some of his crew. Special forces insertions were exceptionally easy when they could just swim out of the specially designed chamber in his sub.

"Johnson's back, sir," he heard, barely muttered.

"Very good. Johnson, report?"

"Just what we thought. It's all brass. How it kept from doing its imitation of a beer can at a frat party at that depth, I can't say."

The captain nodded. "Torpedo room, fire 1...."


*sings*

We all sink in a brassy submarine...



(Yeah, I know, a spoilsport - but really, with all the various underwater detection networks and devices and most subs designed specifically to be exceptionally quiet, something pinging every 33 feet would be like walking into a library screaming and beating a bass drum and cymbals. This would hardly be a surprise! ... and yeah, stuff like that does bug me. I had to stop reading a book - and, basically, an author - after he talked about someone being transported in a private cabin, with attendant and drink cart and extra seats, in an F-106.)

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So uh....what's happening?

We're being invaded. Again. This time, instead of aliens, zombies, or eyeballs with teeth, it's the marching band.