So I've decided to take a trip down memory and recreate the very first game I ever GM'd. I was about 15 or 16 years old at the time, and ran a very successful game. It averaged 500 posts for the first two months, and then about 280 posts for the next 6 months. I think thats somewhere close to 3,000 - 4,000 posts all told, and that was all on one mission! In Game, the unit suffered about 80% Casualties (50% dead, 30% wounded) but it was quite fun.
The game follows a fictional unit in World War II, using real evens to inspire some fictional events that make the mission and unit important to the outcome. A such, there are few (if any) erotic elements in this game, but those details can be worked out later given the nature of E. There will certainly be lots of blood and vore, but probably little if any in the way of actual sex (beyond lewd jokes).
I am also going to be very picky with who I let join this game. I am looking for quality writers and people who do not mind a posting-order AND slow posting rate. This WILL NOT be a post-every-day game and if you do not have the patience for the slow type of game then you may as well leave now.
What I am looking for is a select group of gamers who know that their characters can (and probably WILL) die at some point, become wounded, and have at worst a basic understanding of WWII and its Weapons. There is also the possibility for a more complex game involving a few choice slots for female players/characters. This is still up for debate.
Right now, I want to see what the general interest for a game of this sort is like. Please respond to me in PM with the subject '504th Interest Thread' if you would like to be considered.
And yes, this is part of the test - if you reply to this thread or with a subject line other then that, I know that you can not follow simple rules so this game will be too complex for you.
And now, this was the original opening post:
Tunisia, North Africa
Staging Area, 504th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 82nd Airborne Division
A convoy of Jeeps and Trucks rumbled along a dusty desert road, dodging other
vehicles headed in the opposite direction. Drivers honked and cursed at one
another as they encountered the innumerable traffic jams of an army on the
move. On either side of the road, baking in the heat, lay burnt-out wreckages
of German Vehicles - tanks, trucks, and cars alike. Some still smouldered,
the last of the gas burning out.
Dust clouds billowed from the trucks, covering them in a thin layer of sand
and grit. The heat was marginally bearable, well into the hundreds. The shade
of the trucks helped keep the men cool. Some were used to the heat; others,
those who had only been moved there recently, sat sweating in morose silence
and had already emptied their canteens. The war in North Africa was finally
over, but the Desert Fox had fled, called back to France weeks before. So
close, yet so far.
These particular Jimmy Trucks and Jeeps were odd. They were completely
covered, as if driving in a winter landscape. The men inside, around 10 men
in each with all their equipment, were a rag-tag band of veterans from
various outfits. Some were British, some Canadian, others were Americans from
various ethnic backgrounds. They had never fought with each other before, and
except for the Machine Gun and Mortar Teams, all were strangers.
As their journey neared its end, they heard a Wing of planes flying low
overhead. The Trucks and Jeeps stopped as they reached the entrance of a
compound. The MP Guards waved them through and then the convoy growled to a
stopped once more. This time, the drivers hopped out and opened up the backs,
letting in a blast of hot, humid air. As the men assembled in Roll Call
lines, they looked around. The compound was massive, and stretched off in all
directions. Wooden barracks had been constructed to their left, with a trim
line of HQ buildings in front of them. In the distance stood larger, tin
buildings, obviously hangers. And beyond those lay an airfield with AA
Batteries Positioned seemingly randomly along the perimeter. The Barbed wire
fence and pillboxes - mostly empty - served as a safety perimeter.
The sign above the nearest HQ building could just be read through the blowing
* * * * *
504th PIR, 82nd Airborne Division
Special Action Detachment
Captain S. McDriver, M Company CO
Major T. Burns, Regimental Liason
* * * * *
None of the men could say they had heard of this "Special Detachment", or of
M Company. No one even had any idea what the M stood for. As the men
struggled to get their bearings, a small group of officers appeared out of
the HQ building, walking over to stand in front of new arrivals.
A short, hard-looking Captain in his mid 40s stepped forward to address the
men. He was balding, and his gray eyes squinted against the sun and the sand.
As the Captain stepped forward, a sergeant called, "Ten HUT!" and the men
snapped to attention.
"Men," the Captain began. His voice was loud and piercing. "Welcome to M
Company. My name is Captain Scott McDriver -- I'll be your Company CO. You
men are probably a little confused, so I am going to do what I can to fill
you in on our current situation." The Captain looked around and grinned.
"Everyone here must have done something very right or very wrong to end up in
this unit. Regiment has been working with the OSS and the SAS to build a
Special Action Detachment here in the 82nd. Several months ago, we put out a
call for the toughest sons-of-bitches in the Armed Forces from all our Allied
countries. The idea is to assemble a group of troopers from the US and Great
Britain, from Canada and Australia, heck, from all over the place -- and to
see if these men can fight together as a unit. We are going to be tackling
some tough missions, so we requested proven soldiers that were self-reliant,
intelligent, and mean as hell. And,to be blunt about it, your names came up.
So you all should be very proud to be here. But don't start patting each
other on the back just yet -- we've got a long road ahead of us, and some
tough times. I'm going to introduce you to Grant Gamble -- he's my executive
officer and is platoon leader for first platoon. He is going to read off your
The Captain pats a young first lieutenant on the shoulder, and he steps in
front of the crowd. The LT is lean and fairly tall, but he moves casually and
stands with a relaxed slouch. "I'm Lieutenant Gamble," he says. "Welcome to M
Company -- we're glad to have you all aboard." His low voice seems soft after
the shrill voice of the Captain, but, even in the wind, is clear and
confident. "I'm going to call out a list of NCOs. Sergeants, when I call your
names report to the specified officer and platoon. Squad leaders will meet
their officers and be given their squad assignments -- it will then be up to
you to assemble the men in your squad.
The LT shields his eyes with a tanned hand and reads from a clipboard. "First
platoon NCOs will report to me. They are: Sergeant Mick Tucci, Sergeant Peter
Simon, Sergeant John Heeney...
"Second platoon NCOs will report to Lieutenant Wade. They are..."
After the NCOs have been named for each platoon, Lieutenant Gamble looks up
at the assembled men. "If your names were called, report to your officer. The
rest of you can put down your packs and take 15 minutes to get something to
drink. There's some water set up for you all across the parade ground -- we
know it has been a long trip."