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Post by Admin on Oct 14, 2014 15:59:40 GMT
Ok, based on discussion in this thread, here is the official description of this faction.  Brief Description: When the People's Republic of China fell, there were literally billions of refugees. The vast majority of these people died from starvation and violent chaos soon after the War, but many millions still survived. In the western, more rural provinces, the destruction from the War itself was not as bad, and many refugees fled there. The only way to survive was to continue to follow a socialist/communist style economy, sharing all resources. There was difficulty deciding who to be in charge, but eventually a theocracy formed, based on ancient Chinese folk religion. The religious leaders took charge of the communities, taking and distributing all the food and resources and managing the people. For the millions of refugees, all they wanted was a sense of order in life and the universe and enough to eat. The temples provided that. Even with this organization, it was very difficult to produce enough food in the desert areas controlled by the Temples. Mixing their theology with ultimate communist ideals of sharing everything, they turned to a very ritualized form of cannibalism, where certain people would either be selected by lot or as volunteers (with rewards to their surviving family members) to feed the nation. Population: 50 years ago there were 4 million people. Starvation and cannibalism has brought that number down to 1 million. Government: A Socialist/communist Theocracy. The Temple leaders have control of all the resources and direct all the activities and work of its citizens. Technology Level: For the common citizen, very low. Higher technology is preserved in the temples. Many citizens work in the temples' factories, thinking they do holy work, when they are actually extracting crude oil, refining it, constructing and repairing weapons, etc. There is limited electricity, mostly used in the Temple in each community (source of all light for the people, etc). Purpose in Invading Minerva: Need for an external threat to bind the nation together, prevent insurrection. They also want Minerva's resources. They don't WANT to be cannibals, they're just starving. But Minerva won't help them because of their cannibalistic practices. Military Resources: A HUGE population of people willing to fight and die. Use mainly overrunning tactics and melee weapons. Select few (Temple Guards, etc) have access to firearms. What Needs to be Planned: Mostly, what do you think of the faction, do you want to join it, help develop the finer details, what resources can be committed to an invasion, how many people, weapons, etc. Don't make actual invasion plans here. That will be in a private thread. Mostly, just say you want to be part of this faction and your thoughts on the official description. |
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Post by theleakingpen on Oct 14, 2014 18:54:47 GMT
Hmm, the technological temple structure makes me think a bit of harry Harrison's Deathworld II. I like. I can see a lot of secrets of technology that only the priesthood knows, and couches in spiritual terms. You'd need a priesthood that can "summon" spirits and uses the supernatural world as a whip towards the general populace to keep control, methinks.
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Post by Adriano The Fabulous Fennec on Oct 15, 2014 11:29:54 GMT
Nice ! The Theocracy thing is really attracting ^^
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Post by theleakingpen on Oct 15, 2014 17:10:13 GMT
Sudden weird worldbuilding thought. The ritual cannibalism. For every 5 people randomly chosen, they are collected and one person is again randomly chosen. All 5 have their heads bowed, eyes covered. The four who die are killing in an instant, the survivor released. Being the survivor, having willing given yourself up to feed the community, and being found by the gods to live instead, is a minor honor, often celebrated by a tattoo or other permanent mark, and "chosen" are often after seen as leaders. However, they are still part of the lot system. If again chosen, and AGAIN the one spared, they are known as Twice Chosen. Almost invariably the higher leaders of the theocracy are twice chosen, for the gods themselves have decreed that they are more valuable to their people than as food, nurturing not their fellow mans bodies, but their minds and souls. Ideas?
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Post by Admin on Oct 15, 2014 17:13:04 GMT
I like it. A good way to determine who enters the priesthood/monk class in Temple leadership. BTW, theleakingpen, you should now also have access to a private board if you have thoughts you wish to write out but keep private from your in game "enemies"  |
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Post by theleakingpen on Oct 15, 2014 23:29:36 GMT
oh absolute, I've seen it, but this felt more like larger scale worldbuilding. less secret info.
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Post by Admin on Oct 16, 2014 0:56:18 GMT
Oh definitely, feel free to do larger worldbuilding here, just making sure you knew about the secret board |
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Post by theleakingpen on Oct 16, 2014 19:40:51 GMT
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Post by Admin on Oct 17, 2014 18:12:09 GMT
Good resources! Keep in mind that in the decade leading up to WW3, the oil market goes crazy. Heck, the oil shortage is the direct cause of many invasions and military operations, to try to take others' oil. And what you couldn't take, you often exploded out of spite Just saying, there is probably oil there, but not at every spot and not a ton. |
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Post by Adriano The Fabulous Fennec on Oct 17, 2014 18:13:04 GMT
Only some drop of oil ^^
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Post by theleakingpen on Oct 17, 2014 18:25:29 GMT
so the harder to destroy and slower to exploit shale oils are going to be the better bets. alright! that... hmm... that helps a lot.
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Post by theleakingpen on Dec 2, 2014 17:17:08 GMT
Hey all, not sure where to post this, rough draft of a piece of fan fiction exploring the way the ShenJiao both select, and more importantly, think about the ritual cannibalism that has come to define their neo taoist culture.
Pema stood with the five others in her group. Heads bowed, they inhaled the burning smoke that rose from the small fire in the center of the room. Head swimming, they rose their hands as one, chanting.
“Spirits of my ancestors, hear me. Spirits of the earth, hold me fast. Spirits of the air, fill my body with life, that I may give life to my people. Grandfather, I am coming to you!”
Each called to a family member, either one they had known, now joined to the Heavenly court, or for some a fabled ancestor, famous for some great deed, who they identified with. Pema could think of nothing but her grandfather, his kind face, his worried, grief stricken eyes the first time she had found herself called to be here, several years ago.
***
“Grandfather, come on. You’ll be late for the Choosing.”
The slow thunk thunk thunk of oak on stone preceded his entrance to the small living room where the family waited.
“Pem, be patient. If it is my day to join the spirits, they can wait for my old bones.”
With this, he bowed to the small shrine along the wall, pictures and icons of past family festooned among the symbols of several major spirits. A quick prayer said, he rose and continued.
“Besides, I’m halfway to jerky already. The Fa Tu Fa will find my flesh quick to convert to qi row.”
“Father, don’t speak like that! If the spirits will it, but don’t tempt them!”
The old man tousled Pema’s hair. “Ah, your mother fears blasphemy. Let us go then.”
An hour later, they stood with the rest of the village, lined up by age. Each line had at its head a priest in a golden robe and white mask, holding a bag. Pema waited, nervously, with other youths from her village, many of them attending their first Choosing as a participant, just as she was. Youths walked past her holding black painted sticks. They attempted to stay stoic, but jubilation showed in many faces, strange disappointment in some. Pema reached the bag.
“May the spirits choose well.”
The intonation came from a voice as bright as the mask it wore, not nearly somber enough for the occasion, Pema thought.
“May the spirits choose well.” She repeated his words, reaching in, and pulling out a white stick.
He closed his bag, standing.
“THE SPIRITS HAVE CHOSEN!”
Perma stood staring at the white stick, paint still slightly tacky, as people flooded around her. Her family hugging her, crying, her grandfather, holding her close, his eyes full of pain.
“Don’t cry for me grandfather. Share in my spirit, and may it nourish you.”
The ritual words came from her by rote, and she was turned away. The next day passed in a blur, the unreal haze she lived in aided by the smoke of the incense burned as her body was washed and cleaned by the Attendants of the Chosen, their golden masks hiding their identity and any emotions they may feel about their job. Later, when she would think about it, one set of jade green eyes were haunt her memories, but as it happened, she cared little for what happened to her.
As the sun fell, the six Chosen were led to a small room, dark but for a small ritual fire burning.
The golden masked Attendants stood, one leading the chanting.
“The spirits have Chosen these people of the earth.”
“They are Chosen!”
“They shall give of their life to the people of the earth.”
“They are Chosen!”
“Their souls shall join the Heavenly Host!”
“They are Chosen!”
“By their sacrifice they shall make their people strong!”
“THEY ARE CHOSEN! THEY ARE CHOSEN! THEY ARE CHOSEN!”
A wooden box was opened by one of the Attendants, black bags given to each. They walked, slowly, solemnly, to each stand behind one of the six Chosen. In her drug addled state, Perma still knew what was to come, and bowed her heading, waiting for the end. Each bag opened, and from the corners of her eyes she could see the Attendants to each side of her raise a white tube. She felt the hollow tip of the one meant for her press against the back of the neck.
It will be quick. I won’t feel a thing. The thoughts echoed as she saw motion around her of the priests raising a hammer, ready to slam down on the rods at the end of the tubes, pressing a sharpened bronze spike deep into their brains, killing them instantly.
As one, the six called out. She felt her lips form the words, calling to her great great grandmother, a warrior who had died in battle protecting their farm from marauding Turks over three decades ago.
“Spirits of my ancestors, hear me. Spirits of the earth, hold me fast. Spirits of the air, fill my body with life, that I may give life to my people. Lien Bu, I am coming to you!”
“THEY ARE CHOSEN!”
As one six hands flashed down. Perma staggered for a moment, the blow on the back of her head painful, but not sharp, not stabbing. She fell to her knees, and saw that her five fellow chosen fell flat to the ground, lumps of unmoving meat. She reached to her neck, gingerly touching a lump already rising on the back of her skull. She looked up at her Attendant, confused, as he showed her the black tube in his hands, spikeless.
Jade green eyes stared through the holes in the mask, moist with tears.
“You have been Chosen. The spirits wish you to serve your people in life.”
The words echoed through her mind as the six in gold quickly collected the bodies, leaving with them to prepare the Qi Row, the Flesh of Life that had saved her people.
***
Again, the words formed on her lip as she called to her grandfather. The hollow tube rested on her neck. The past several years had been one of service, training to lead her people, wearing the golden mask herself on three occasions, as only those Chosen to live were allowed to be the tool of the Shen in Choosing those who would die. She closed her eyes, reached out and brushed her left shoulder, the tattoo there a reminder. Like many who were chosen to live, she had the symbol of the Choosing, that identified those Chosen, inked into her skin, a permanent reminder of the Spirit’s faith in her.
“THEY ARE CHOSEN!”
She waited for the blow, the spike, the pain. Again, she felt herself driven to her knees, in an instant the girl she once was brought back to the fore, shadowing over the woman she had become.
Perma opened her eyes, expecting to see her grandfathers shining smile. Five bodies lay on the ground around her, golden masked Attendants over them. She rose to her feet, turning. As if in some bizarre parody of the past, repeating itself, the Attendant held up to her a black pipe.
“You have been”
Pema cut the woman off with a motion of her hand, pulling her jacket open, exposing the tattoo. Eyes behind the mask widened, and the Attendant dropped to her own knees, head bowed, hands clasped together around the black tube.
“Twice Chosen!”
A flutter and stir, as the Attendants all came, some touching her tattoo, all then kneeling in veneration.
“Xuan ze ze” “Twice chosen.”
Pema stood, as much in a daze as the first time she looked at the white stick she pulled. Her life would change again, she knew. The spirits felt her of more use to her people alive, still. She reached down, taking the black tube from the grip of the Attendant, clutching it in her hands.
Twice Chosen. Tool of the Spirit’s. She gripped the wooden tube hard, resolved steeling in her heart. She would not let her people, her ancestors, the Spirits of the land, down.
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Post by Admin on Dec 2, 2014 17:37:50 GMT
This is awesome!
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