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Posted: 2008-04-26 09:13pm
by Fyrwulf
Sidewinder wrote: I'm fairly certain the pistol was carried as a BACKUP weapon to something more useful at longer ranges, i.e., a rifle. Note that most pistols have a maximum effective range of 25 METERS, and most people have great difficulty using a pistol to score hits within SEVEN! (See here.)
No, the Glock was his primary weapon for the hunt. The whole point of using a large caliber semi-auto is the skill required to actually kill the game in question. And yes, while your average person isn't going to be very proficient with a pistol at longer ranges, 100 yards certainly isn't out of the question for a pistol (no more than 900m for an M-16 in the hands of a skilled marksman.) And note that I'm not advocating that a pistol should be used for long-range shooting against Baldrics, although it'd be far easier to hit a Baldric at 100 yards than it would be a human target, I was in fact suggesting that 10mm SMGs used as police carbines should become the primary weapons of police officers.

Posted: 2008-04-26 09:18pm
by Fyrwulf
KlavoHunter wrote:Uh, actually, it's not going to be police officers doing the first responding anymore, really - It's going to be the USVs with the big semiautomatic anti-Baldrick rifles.
Nonsense. It takes time to muster even a quick reaction force split from a standing unit, never mind basically poorly-trained militia. Police officers in cruisers actually patrolling the streets will always be first responders to any terrorist-style attack, which is not to say they will be the most effective response. However, properly equipped and trained they could certainly be used as an effective delaying force until the USV units arrive to deal with the situation.

To suggest that the function of the police has basically been reduced to Baldric-fodder because human-derived crime (which covers the vast majority of the more violent crimes, never mind the more mundane stuff) has been reduced is equally nonsensical. Humans are humans, what drives certain humans to commit the vast majority of crimes will not go away simply because demons came knocking and got their asses promptly handed to them.

Posted: 2008-04-26 11:21pm
by JCady
Darth Wong wrote:Wouldn't one prefer something with a longer effective range than a handgun, since baldricks are so dangerous when they get up close to you? If they get close enough, you can mortally wound them and they'll still disembowel you before they expire.
The usefulness of the 10mm AUTO is that it is the most powerful calibre available for a "normal" semiautomatic pistol (the Desert Eagle being an oddball special that fires revolver rounds).'s a backup weapon at best, and the only reason it's better than nothing is that you go to Hell anyway.

You're not taking down a Baldrick with a pistol round; at best, you might slow it down enough for someone else to get away.

Posted: 2008-04-27 12:05am
by KlavoHunter
If you want to take a baldrick down so bad with a carbine, then say hello to the .50 Beowulf mod for the M4 and M16.

Posted: 2008-04-27 12:47am
by Firethorn
Fyrwulf wrote:I was in fact suggesting that 10mm SMGs used as police carbines should become the primary weapons of police officers.
As a carbine is essentially a rifle chambered for a pistol round, I'll have to say that, generally speaking, rifles are rifles and pistols are pistols. In this case, rifle rounds are rifle rounds, and pistol rounds are pistol rounds.

A 10mm, even out of a carbine isn't going to have the power and penetration of a full out rifle round.

Remember, 8 rounds 7.62x54 from an experienced hunter was only sufficient for a 'soft stop' - the baldrick was going down, but could have still caused quite a bit more damage before it finally bled out.

For police use, I'd want to go, at minimum with a 7.62x51.

Posted: 2008-04-27 02:02am
by Sidewinder
Firethorn wrote:As a carbine is essentially a rifle chambered for a pistol round, I'll have to say that, generally speaking, rifles are rifles and pistols are pistols.
A carbine is a RIFLE with a shortened barrel. With the exception of the WWII-era M1 (which fired a round that, although regarded as weak, was still too powerful to be a practical pistol round), almost all carbines fire rifle rounds.
For police use, I'd want to go, at minimum with a 7.62x51.
Maybe the Russian 9 x 39 mm, designed to be subsonic so it can be used with silencers DESPITE having enough momentum to penetrate body armor, will suffice.

Posted: 2008-04-27 03:05am
by JCady
If you insist on a subsonic round, the Russians' subsonic .50-cal would seem the better option.

Posted: 2008-04-27 03:45am
by Darth Wong
Is maximum penetration a good thing in this case? Just how tough is the hide of a baldrick? It seems to me that their skin is not especially tough, and that they're so difficult to kill simply because they are capable of withstanding great injuries without dying.

Posted: 2008-04-27 03:50am
by The Duchess of Zeon
Darth Wong wrote:Is maximum penetration a good thing in this case? Just how tough is the hide of a baldrick? It seems to me that their skin is not especially tough, and that they're so difficult to kill simply because they are capable of withstanding great injuries without dying.
It's not This issue was already covered before, and that's why the .458 Winchester Magnum was chosen as the new service rifle round for the US mass-conscript army: It creates a really big hole, which causes massive blood loss, which leads to a quicker death. That's what we need to do. Cut massive holes in Baldricks.

That's also why we're using hollow point instead of FMJ despite the superiour ballistic performance of the later--we are sacrificing range and accuracy and kinetic energy at long range for a bullet which expands massively when it hits its target (which is what hollow points do), causing a much larger channel through the body resulted in immense and rapid blood loss.

Posted: 2008-04-27 02:16pm
by JCady
You could use polymer tipped bullets, which more or less combine the streamlining of an FMJ with the expansion of an HP. Most big-game hunting rifle rounds are polytips; they just don't use them on handguns because handguns are so short-range that it doesn't matter anyhow.

Posted: 2008-04-27 06:54pm
by Fyrwulf
KlavoHunter wrote:If you want to take a baldrick down so bad with a carbine, then say hello to the .50 Beowulf mod for the M4 and M16.
Which won't be available to normal police because the Army is going to need all that they can get. 10mm Auto is fairly common and any ammo manufacturer that does .40 Short & Weak can convert quickly and easily to 10mm Auto production (same bullet, slightly longer case.)

Posted: 2008-04-27 07:04pm
by Stuart
The Hellmouth, Martial Plain of Dysprosium

“Let’s have any HEAD you have on board.” The voice from outside the tank combined urgency and boredom.

“Would you care to repeat that soldier?” Major Stevenson peered over the edge of her turret. She and her combat group had been waiting in the traffic jam by the Hellmouth for nearly four hours and she wasn’t in the mood for any insubordination. Besides, she was hot, tired and sticky from being inside a tank too long and chewing out a subordinate would be welcome relief. As the thought crossed her mind, she decided she’d probably been in Hell too long.

“I’m sorry Ma’am, but its orders. All outgoing armor is to unload any HEAD ammunition on board for reissue. Its in short supply and the units up on the Phlegethon are going to need it.”

“HEAD? You mean HEAT?”

“No Ma’am. High Explosive Anti-Demon. New round, just started getting the first shipments. Got an iron liner instead of copper. Baldricks surely do hate iron. If you got any Ma’am, we’ll unload it for you.” The Sergeant had noted the battered vehicles and suddenly decided that these units had been in Hell a lot longer than he had. And messing with this Major might be a very bad idea. Especially if the scuttlebutt about a battle brewing was true.

“Hokay. Sergeant, we’ve none of that on board. Any idea how long we’ll be hung up for? I kinda hanker to see a blue sky again.”

“Dunno Ma’am and that’s the honest truth. There’s stuff pouring in all the time. The Russians have been coming in all morning and we had an Israeli armored division before that and I’m told there’s a European armored division behind them. And then there’s the aircraft the brass are towing in. There’s more of our boys unloading down South, or their equipment is. Guys themselves being flown in. Look over there ma’am.”

‘Over there’ was the road leading through the hellmouth. The stream of Russian armor had stopped for a few minutes, their place taken by aircraft tractors, each one towing what looked like an A-10. Only, they were now painted red-gray and they had a mushroom-shaped filter over the engine intakes. Stevenson lifted her mask slightly and took a cautious sniff of the air. It was a lot cleaner here than further into hell, presumably there was some gas exchange through the Hellmouth, but there was a new smell as well. One that achingly reminded Stevenson of home in Bayonne. The smell of tar and oil refineries.

“A blacktop road in Hell. Whodathunkit.”

“Engineers all over ma’am. You should see the roads their building down from the north and up from the ports in the South. And the airfields, they’re sproutin’ like weeds after a thunderstorm. Some of the fighter jocks flew their birds through the ‘mouth but brass put a stop to it. Too risky they said. Look, ma’am, keep your engines running, I’ll get my boys to make a hole for you. Slide you out as fast as we can.”

The Sergeant did his best but it still took more than an hour to get Stevenson’s unit out. Finally, they managed it, sliding her out between the end of the A-10 unit and the start of a Hungarian Su-25 outfit. But, the military police managed it and, once again, there was the silent, undramatic transition as the cloudy red and gray overcast of Hell was replaced by the clear blue of the Earth sky. Just looking at it made Stevenson very happy. Ahead of them, a traffic direction private waved them off the road into a vast parking lot, full of Bradleys, Abrams and Paladins. Plus all the other vehicles that made up the order of battle of an Armored Division. Stevenson recognized the markings, they were all First Armored.

When his Bradley came to a halt, Major Warhol stretched and dropped out of the back, leaving the cramped compartment that had been his home for over a week. Some of his staff from the field operation of DIMO(N) were waiting and he got the customary back-slapping greeting. Behind them, the long cavalcade of vehicles had started moving again, the great Russian ZIL and MAZ trucks being followed by the first of the European Leopard II tanks. Warhol gestured at the convoys that stretched, nose-to-tail, as far as he could see.

“Well, if there wasn’t a Peak Oil problem before, there certainly will be now.”

One of the scientists snorted. “Peak Oil? That…. Oh, never mind. Anyway, we’re hoping we’ll hit oil in Hell. How did it go Major?”

“Not bad, our sims were pretty accurate. The dust is bad though. I’m surprised to see aircraft going in. Licked the filtration problem?”

“Yes and no. The filters cut airflow to the engines by about 20 – 30 percent. So that hits performance. And the time between overhauls is horrible, 50 to 60 hours before an engine has to be pulled and stripped. The good news is the clogging problem’s been licked.”

Something about the way the man put that caught Warhol’s attention. Putting on his most casual voice he asked the question they’d been hoping he wouldn’t. “How did you crack it then?”

There was an embarrassed shuffling of feet. “Well, actually we didn’t. We designed a filter pack and a pod that would use reverse air blast to clean the filters. Only problem was the pilot would have to glide with the engines out while he used it. They didn’t like that. Couple of aircraftmen came up with something better, a series of tabs on the inside of the filter that interfered with the airflow and made the filter shake. The dust in there is dry and that worked like a charm. Doubled or more the time taken for the airflow loss to reach mission-ending proportions.”

Warhol laughed and shook his head. “Right, I just got to say my farewells and then you can bring me up to date on the rest.” Then he set off to where Stevenson was speaking with MacFarland.

“We’re leaving the vehicles here, First Cavalry will be taking them over. First Armored is being split up, First Brigade will be staying as the cadre for the rebuilt division, Second and Third will be cadres for two new armored divisions. We’re all going back to the States for that. Stevenson, you’ll be commanding First Battalion in the new First Brigade. Any idea what you want to name your battalion?”

Stevenson thought for a second. Spearhead was too obvious. “How about the Hellcat Battalion Sir?”

“Good choice. You done good Stevenson. So have your crew. Got a commission for one of them, the others get to jump up the enlisted grades. Who’s best officer material in your crew?”

Again, a quick thought. “Hey Biker? You’re an officer.”

Her driver’s head emerged from his hatch, his attention caught by the use of the crew nickname. As the message sank in he shook his head. “Oh no Boss, you can’t do that to me. Please. Not an Officer.”

The Hospital, Mai Xiao Village, Sinkiang.

“Every morning they came down to the village tea house to drink their morning cup of tea, well laced with an illicit portion of rice wine. There were ten of them now, once there had been fifteen but time and old age had taken its toll and one by one, they had quietly vanished. Even fifteen had been a dramatic fall for sixty of them had left the village in the far off days of 1950 and only those 15 had returned. Now, the ten survivors were old, old men. They youngest, still called ‘the boy’ by his fellows was eighty years old and the oldest, their sergeant, had been a veteran of the People’s Liberation Army even in 1950, and he was far into his mid-nineties. But his moustache still bristled even though it was snow white and his back was still straight.”

“They saved from their pensions to bribe the tea house owner to slip them their rice wine, I knew about it of course, everybody did, but these men were heroes and who denies a hero a little comfort in their old age? The truth was that their small savings wouldn’t buy them the drinks they needed but if the other villagers chose to make up the difference, that was their business, nobody else’s.”

“And so, every day they would come down, and gather around their table, drink their tea and tell their stories. Of how they had held the hill in Korea against the Americans. Of how they had been outnumbered and outgunned and the American artillery never stopped shooting and their planes never stopped bombing but they had held the hill anyway. Every year the story got a little more fanciful, the attacks so much worse, their stand so much braver. They’d tell the stories to everybody who listened, and everybody did because these were old men, whose wives had long died and they were left alone. Lonely as only old men who had outlived their time could be. So the villagers listened to the stories and counted themselves lucky they had not gone to Korea.”

“Then there came that day. The old men hadn’t arrived yet but something else did. A monster, a hideous monster from hell, the one the Americans call the baldrick. The village went black in its middle and the creature stepped out, looking only to kill and mutilate. Most of the men were far away, working in the fields or on the road and could not help. There were just the women and children left and they screamed when they saw the monster and they ran. But the monster could run as well, faster than they could and it started to kill them.”

“As the Party Leader I had a Type 56 rifle in my hut and I got it. I fired a burst at the monster and I think I hit it for it stopped and shook itself. But it wasn’t dead, it seemed hardly hurt and it turned to come for me but it heard more screams where the children were running from the school. It forgot me and went to kill them. I fired again but it was too far away, more than 100 meters.”

“Then I heard a shouted order, one that cut through the noise and screams. The old men were there, all ten of them and they had their old long 3-line rifles. They dropped to the ground in a line, their hands working the bolts of their rifles with the muscle-memory of skills never forgotten. They fired all at once, in a volley and their hands worked the bolts again for another.”

“The monster staggered with the first volley and lurched with the second. It turned away from the children and came for the old men. The sergeant ordered independent fire and the rifles crackled but the monster kept coming at them. The old men’s hearts were brave but their eyes were dim with age and their hands shook, not from fear of course, but from infirmity. I doubt if one bullet in ten they fired was biting home. The monster had a three-point spear and it’s lighting flashed out, killing ‘the boy’ as he fired his rifle. The others did not pause or hesitate but kept on firing until their pouches were empty. How they had kept their rifles and ammunition I do not know and do not intend to ask.”

“With the monster close and their ammunition gone, they fixed their bayonets, they got to their feet and they advanced on the monster, their bayonets leveled. I had changed my magazine by now and I had run over to where I also could fire on the monster. The old men had surrounded it, it was slashing at them with its claws, but they parried its slashes and thrust their bayonets home. They were old men and slow, they could not evade all the blows from the monster and their numbers shrank even as I watched. But the monster was down, on its knees, and the old men, now down to three with their sergeant still leading them, kept thrusting. I had a clean shot and I emptied my rifle into it, saw it bleeding and dying on the ground. It fired its trident again and the lightning bolt hit me. It must have been weak with death for I did not die when the bolt hit my face.”

“So, you see Doctor, my blindness is nothing to be sorry for. What finer sight could I, Party Leader of Mai Xiao Village, treasure as my last than those ten old men saving our children by bringing down the monster with their bayonets?”

Okthuura Jorkastrequar, Tartaruan Range, borderlands of Hell

Yulupki sat unhappily atop the Great Beast as it clambered up the side of the volcano. The track was so rough as to be virtually non-existent, it was really just a relatively level strip that had been cleared of boulders. It had been two months since this particular cone had last erupted and ash-laden smoke was still pouring out of many fissures in its sides. There was no guarantee that the lava would not again start pouring out while the ritual was in progress. However Belial had insisted on placing the portal as deep as possible into the magma, which meant the ritual had to take place on the rim of an active crater.

She was sure the lumbering Beast had picked up on her distaste for its kind and was doing what it could to throw her off. Not that there was much chance of that, as the leather harness held her coils tightly to its back, but the lurching made it difficult to focus and prepare for the task ahead. Naga could manage short bursts of speed when pressed, but in general their speed was much inferior to even the common demon warrior, much less the cavalry or fliers. That made this indignity necessary but not any more tolerable.

Finally the Great Beast attained the rim of the crater and Yulupki was afforded an expansive view of Jorkastrequar. A hundred yards below her a veritable lake of semi-congealed lava bubbled and hissed. Fortunately the copious smoke it was spewing was carried straight up into the sky by the strong thermals, otherwise visibility in the crater would have been near-zero. As planned, the forge demons had erected three great shrines to the barrier spirits, spaced equally around the rim. Each shrine consisted of a row of thirteen copper rods driven into the pumice at three yard intervals, each rod thirty feet tall and tapering from four inches diameter at the base to a sharp point at the top. The rods supported a great spider's web strung in copper, silver and gold wire.

Both the pattern of the web and the bifold curve of rods was the result of millennia of painstaking trial and error, carried out by naga searching for the arrangement that best pleased the spirits that dwelt between worlds. Rumor had it that the existence of the spirits had been discovered quite by accident. Long ago a lone naga had attempted to open a portal to gate a small force of warriors to another world. As luck had it she performed the ritual facing the warriors, who had at that moment presented their tridents in salute to a passing baron. The portal sprang into existence at twice the expected size. The passing baron commended the naga for the strength of her magery, which forced her into a desperate series of attempts to replicate the feat.

Eventually that nameless naga discovered that a close packed arrangement of bronze rods could multiply the effect of her ritual many-fold. This could only be the work of unknown beings existing in the strange realm the portal crossed. The creatures clearly desired the shrines, but could not enter the physical world to construct them themselves. Thus a wordless bargain was struck; the demons would build the shrines, and in return the barrier spirits would aid the naga in their work, adding their psychic strength to the task of opening the portal. As long as the shrines were constructed according to the prescribed traditions, Yulupki had never known the barrier spirits to renege on their end of the deal. This was just as well, because they would need all the help they could get to meet Belial's demands.

In front of each shrine the demon workers had carved out six crude terraces, each of which held thirteen wooden pallets. Three quarters of the pallets were already filled with the long coiled forms of naga, each resembling a giant snake with a scaled and vaguely female humanoid torso in the place of a head. More continued to arrive as she watched, strapped to the backs of lesser Beasts that strained and staggered under their weight. For now Yulupki was basking in the waves of heat, but she knew that it would become unpleasantly hot by the end of the ritual; the insulating pallets would prevent burns to their undersides. Eager to begin the ritual, she commanded the Great Beast to take her to the nearest shrine.

Great Hall of the Adamant Fastness, Tartaruan Range, Outer Rim of Hell

The great hall was filled to capacity with demons, including every minor noble from Count Belial's domain save a few lesser baronets that could not be spared from overseeing production. They were seated at carved stone tables more commonly used for victory feasts. There was little sound other than the padding of servants running to and fro, running errands and bringing chunks of fresh meat refreshment. Save for these minor disturbances, every demon seemed to be concentrating intensely.

The count himself paced back and forth on the raised platform in the centre of the chamber. Sharing the platform with him was the great gorgon Euryale, flanked by her handmaidens Lakheenahuknaasi and Megaaeraholrakni. To a human, the trio looked quite similar. All three were clad in nothing but their shining bronze scales, had for tresses a mass of tentacles each like a cyclopean snake, and possessed both great bat-like wings and a pointed tail that curled about their taloned feet. On closer inspection however, differences were apparent. Euryale's curvaceous figure and enchanting voice (at least, to other demons) clearly favored her succubus heritage. Megaaerah's anemically slim form and reputed skill at portal magery were much reminiscent of her naga cousins. Lakheenahuknaasi 's relatively compact and muscular form, not to mention her straightforward attitude, showed more of a kinship with the harpies.

Also present on the platform was Captain James Shanklin, who was flanked by a pair of demonic guards and looking extremely pale.

“I have one!” Castellean Zatheoplekkar's shout broke the silence. “A male, in a city... called Not-Ingham.”

Within seconds Belial Kornakat was towering over his vassal. “Show me.” Belial entered Zatheoplekkar's mind and from there followed the psychic link to the possessed human. Through his eyes he saw a cramped, cluttered room, dominated by a large glowing picture of two seated humans. Curiously the picture seemed to be moving. Belial pressed harder, mentally wringing the mind of the man for information, faintly amused by the pain he was causing.

“His name is Christopher Hughes. He lives alone, but in a crowded part of the city.” A rasping chuckle escaped Belial's lips. “He believes us to be a fiction invented by their nobility, for the purpose of...” the demon struggled to extract sense from the human's chaotic mind “placing all nations under the dominion of the You En.” He looked questioningly at the human traitor, who had been instructed to keep close by his side.

Captain Shanklin found his hands trembling again. “My lord, I have never heard of this 'U N'. Most likely it is a wild fancy of his. But I do know of Nottingham. It is a city of two hundred thousand souls a mere twenty-five miles south of Sheffield.”

Euryale seemed less satisfied than her lord. “That is closer than 'Birmingham', but still, I would rather not send my handmaiden into the heart of a large human city. You have spoken at length on the potency of their new weapons. The chance of failure is too high.”

Belial frowned. “Keep that one possessed.” he instructed Zatheoplekkar. “Very well. I will allow you another hour, no more. Then she goes.” He gestured at Lakheenahuknaasi, who looked nearly as uncomfortable as Captain Shanklin.

Fifty minutes later, the only other Nephilim that the assembled demons could locate was in Leeds, which if their tame human was to be believed seemed little better than Nottingham. Lakheenahuknaasi considered her options. She could wait until nightfall, but if she flew low over a settlement filled with humans she was still likely to be seen. If the rumors about the fate of Abigor's harpies were true this could be a suicidal proposition. Perhaps it would be better to enthrall a few humans and get them to sneak her out of the city somehow. Undignified, but less likely to get her killed by the humans. On the other talon, delaying for long enough to disrupt the Count's schedule would likely get her killed on her return, if she was allowed to return at all.

Lakheenahuknaasi 's musings were interrupted by an excited squeal. “Sire, sire, I have one! A human woman! She is in an uninhabited wilderness, somewhere to the west of the target.” He shrank back as the Count forced his way into the psychic link. “As you can see my lord, vanity was her undoing.”

This time Belial let loose with a full-blown maniacal laugh. “Indeed I can Guruktarqor.” The human female was cleaning her hair in some kind of indoor waterfall. For some reason, the mysterious effect that was protecting humans from entanglement had ceased to work with this one. A few minutes of vulnerability were enough to allow the demons to find her and gain purchase in her mind. “That one will be going directly to the eighth circle.” He nodded to Euryale.

All eyes were now on the hall's central platform, which now stood empty save for the gorgon queen. She spread her wings and closed her eyes, joining the psychic link to the possessed human girl and focusing intently on that target. Static discharges resembling miniature sheet lightning danced over her wing membranes as she poured psychic force into the connection. Several pregnant seconds passed before finally the familiar black sphere of nothingness swelled into existence in the centre of the room.

Belial gestured to a waiting squad of lesser demons. “Entertain me.” The small strike force was eager, loyal and expendable. Roaring battle cries, the demon warriors charged single-file into the portal and disappeared. The count closed his eyes, concentrating on distant events. A vicious grin slowly spread over his face. His eyes snapped open again and fixed on Lakheenahuknaasi. “Now it's your turn.”

Posted: 2008-04-27 07:22pm
by Hawkwings
Yes! More story!

I find the demons' explanation for the increased portal size amusing. But hey, if you've got a lot of time, even trial-and-error will get you a ways.

And is this the first of Belial's little raids to all over?

Posted: 2008-04-27 07:25pm
by LadyTevar
Somehow I think the Shower Scene from Psycho just got replaced.

The question is how many other people will get caught in the shower as they remove their foil hats to bathe?

Posted: 2008-04-27 07:32pm
by Teebs
It looks like Belial's attack will be truly nasty if they'd putting the portal inside a volcano. Upcomng nuclear retaliation?

Posted: 2008-04-27 07:32pm
by tim31
The story of North Korea's own greatest generation taking on a baldrick was just sensational.

Posted: 2008-04-27 07:45pm
by GrandMasterTerwynn
tim31 wrote:The story of North Korea's own greatest generation taking on a baldrick was just sensational.
Actually, no, Sinkiang is in China. If you recall your history, China intervened in the Korean War on behalf of North Korea. The ten old men are veterans of the Chinese PLA.

Posted: 2008-04-27 08:04pm
by fusion
Finally, that took long enough... :)

Can't wait to see how its going to all come together.
I don't get the "uninhabited" part...
So are the demons going to appear in the second story of a house? :D

Posted: 2008-04-27 08:06pm
by Singular Quartet
I'd guess in the shower (hence the indoor waterfall).

Oh, and Stuart? The Korean War Vets were awesome.

Posted: 2008-04-27 08:08pm
by tim31
GrandMasterTerwynn wrote:
tim31 wrote:The story of North Korea's own greatest generation taking on a baldrick was just sensational.
Actually, no, Sinkiang is in China. If you recall your history, China intervened in the Korean War on behalf of North Korea. The ten old men are veterans of the Chinese PLA.
I've been schooled now.

Posted: 2008-04-27 09:22pm
by Chris OFarrell
I have to admit I love the huge antenna they built and the story of how trial and error utterly accidentally led to its evolution from a bunch of guys holding up their tridents in salute, to the mesh they have now.

It reminds me of the Arecibo Radio Telescope, if I'm surprisingly this correctly, with the 'crater' under it the active volcano.


So if I get this weapon right, they are basically going to pull a sphere of lava/magma from inside the Volcano into midair above a target? That really COULD be very nasty. Not a nuke, but utterly devastating to everything under it if the sphere is big enough.

Posted: 2008-04-27 09:29pm
by The Vortex Empire
Killing a Baldrick with Bayonets, nice.

Posted: 2008-04-27 11:00pm
by Firethorn
The Vortex Empire wrote:Killing a Baldrick with Bayonets, nice.
Still, I can't help but imagine their reaction when they're pulled out of some spot in hell by US forces.

Of course, Chinese can sometimes be rather philosophical about stuff like that.

Posted: 2008-04-27 11:23pm
by Edward Yee
Hawkwings wrote:I find the demons' explanation for the increased portal size amusing. But hey, if you've got a lot of time, even trial-and-error will get you a ways.
Actually, I found it interestingly logical -- although the difference between humans and them is that apparently no one has chosen to test the "spirits' willingness to put up with demon attempts to know about what makes them tick, or even why the spirits can't make their own shrines"... (I'm referring to Luga's talk about "cyunse.")
Firethorn wrote:Still, I can't help but imagine their reaction when they're pulled out of some spot in hell by US forces.
Dooo it dooo it dooo it dooo it [repeat as necessary until this scene makes it in]

P.S. What's the Eighth Circle of Hell reference for?

Posted: 2008-04-27 11:51pm
by tim31
I assume for her vanity(washing her hair). Refer to the Divine Comedy for who goes where when they die, based on what they did in life.