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No, but this has nothing to do with what I posted, which refers to simulating a human being. An actor is doing nothing of the kind.

Doesn't it? For an actor, or any person, to pretend to be a subject, requires the actor to simulate the subject.

Dude, Turing equivalence! Anything that measures time in Planck intervals can simulate human history using bloody rocks. If you insist on giving the Angel such abilities, you should think it through! In any case, I explain the mistakes as a lack of data; processing speed be damned, garbage in, garbage out. The Angel seems reliant on its human servants for information about the world; that's an extremely limited bandwidth, relative to its processing speed. What's more, humans were clearly quite alien to it at the start, and you can't simulate what you don't know enough about. So its simulation capabilities in 1140 are quite a different beast from what it can do now, with an extra 500 years of data.

I notice two implicit assumptions:

1) Because it measures time in Planck intervals it can compute on those time scales.

2) It has nothing more important to do with its computing power than simulating future histories, complete with melting eyeballs.

It may be in that one or both of these are incorrect.

Also, just because I haven't let the audience in on everything, doesn't mean that I haven't thought it through. Generally if something weird is going on in my AAR, it is intentional.

fasquardon
 
This is rarely true. Most magical traditions have all sorts of attempts to propitiate the spirits/gods/whatever that supposedly power them. Generally you get something valuable in exchange for something cheap, but then that's equally true of technology.

Hmm, that's a good point most mythology actually has magic that's bloody expensive. Most "free lunch" magic I can think of is from modern literature.

fasquardon
 
Dyson spheres, Planck intervals, Turing equivalence... By Jove! Is everybody a damn physicist? I learned more weird physics on the brief time it took me to read this AAR than I've done the rest of the year. And it's a tuesday afternoon! Mercy! Oh gods, mercy!
 
Doesn't it? For an actor, or any person, to pretend to be a subject, requires the actor to simulate the subject.

No, he imitates the subject. More accurately, he imitates what some playwright thought that the subject might do if he had lots of time to think about his lines and his main objective in life was drama. (Hence the phrase, "willing suspension of disbelief".) Which at some point involves a weak form of simulation, yes; human brains evolved basically to predict other members of the tribe so we could get the bananas. But we do this by reflection, not simulation proper; we ask "what would I do in situation X", and just run our own decision-algorithm, which presumably is very similar to our target's. (As an aside, this is why some explanations that objectively speaking are quite complicated, like "Angry thunder gods cause lightning", seem simple to us: We can run our own anger-algorithm easily, and it feels quite fundamental - you're not aware of the huge number of atoms moving about when you're angry, you just feel the state itself. So it looks as though there's only one simple thing, although the Shannon information involved is actually huge.)

It looks to me as though we're almost arguing semantics; I'm using the word 'simulation' in a sense with which you are not familiar or do not agree. For me, to simulate a process means to calculate every step using the same laws of physics, although obviously on a different substrate. If you calculate outcomes of the process using some sort of approximation or higher-level rules, you are imitating. Admittedly, it is fairly rare that we have the computing power to do full simulating in this sense, so the word gets used a bit carelessly.

[You assume that] because it measures time in Planck intervals it can compute on those time scales.

Good point, that does not follow. Although you did state that the discussion above is taking place on the timescale of microseconds.
 
Eigthteen century Warfare or How Niklas I became the Niklas The Paratroopcavarlieer among the military​


Gollevainen entered the tent and gave his best attempt to look unimportant, such like an any normal old and white-bearded fellow delving in the HQ tent...
“Excuse me lord minister.”
Gollevainen glanced out from mere unfamiliarity to his new title... Prime minister. It had its appeal. He smiled. The adjutant who had interrupted him tried to look polite and meager at the same time he seemed to attempt of some sort of disapproving pose of such civil official messing in the army's quarters.
“Yeas?”
“May I ask what brings his highness into here?”
“A plan...”
“A Plan? What sort of plan?”
“A master plan of the new extension of Gollenople's new beach suburbs....A WAR PLAN! Isn't this the HQ of the 3rd army corps?”
But before Gollevainen had even mastered his self pleasing expression rightly in its place, the Adjutant gave his best appearance of modesty disguised mockery.
“Krrhmm...”, He begun. “Actually this is the HQ of Group Riga...*

*****​

Winter 1719, Somewhere around Tornio Valley.

“So instead of storming our brave cavalry via Prussia to help our allies, you've think its wiser to bring them here in the far reaches of the earth?”
“Yeas...”
“So instead of keeping pressure for Prussian MI by fortifying our frontier and tying down substantial amounts of enemy regiments, Its wiser to bring them here in Lapland?”
“What lies there beyond the river?”
“Mmmm...”
“Migth it be Prussia?”
“Yeas but, In my obinion, the Sweden Isn't...”
“Well to me it is...”
“Your highness...”

And so they rode on. The Finnish cavalry, to whom god himself had secured a spot of glory among humans military tradition, crossed the border first time ever to a foreign land.
And that land was severe and cold forest, dark and inhabitable, differing none of the land they rode from. The winter pushed them hard and men wrapped themselves into every clothing their hands reached and the horses pounched restlessly from each others, as the hastily gathered 1st Bothnic Army, consisting the IIIAK and Group Riga rode among the narrow paths that the Prussian mapping (inaccurate as usual) claimed as highways.

The shattered army defeated the storms and winter, among that few hungry packs of wolves and some miscellaneous group of thugs sieging a rich estate in Upsala in hope of good loot, claiming to be Norwegian patriots, and therefore High Yngling blood liberating their land from the Prussian oppression. Gollevainen saw trough their true varjag - corsair nature and let them to be hanged as the local nobles thanked them and gave them good regale for their work.
As the springtime approached, so did Stockholm, the city of logs, Gollevainen's goal and destiny. An army of 30,000 Prussian horsemen kept garrison there in the small enclave of Prussian Scandinavia. What had been army of 100,000 Finnish horsemen, had bled into a bunch of mere 50,000 scavengers, cold, hungry and desperate man, with few idea why they were in here and not in somewhere cozy and warm...
Gollevainen – If being honest, had little of idea why they were in here at first place neither. It just felt somehow important...not militarily, nor especially politically – the Roman ambassador had just inquired whether the Finnish King was planning to join the war in near future – accidentally or not forgetting that Finland was among the first to Declare the War on Prussia as it attacked Rome.

“Are the mans ready?”
“Beats me, they've rode over thousand mile across the Bothnia...”
“Well have you done the morale rising speeches and promised them virgins and loot and all other that good cross-believers needs when going into a war?”
“...”
“Was that yeas or no?”
“Your highness, I don't think that...”
“Anyway, time of talking is over, let there be time for sword!”
And ceremonially Gollevainen pulled his sabre from its hilt and galloped ahead, feeling more than actually observing his example being caught by the other officers.
“Your highness...!!” A distant screaming of modest bureaucratic tone followed him, but the while the attrition had eaten his best strength and the calming light of Stockholm hide behind them a troop of almost equal enemy, Gollevainen gave his troops a wave and sound of fifty thousand horses thundered this soil in way it seldom had in history.
“Your highness!”
The walls of the city were none, and the castle was build for more of diplomatic pose than actual war fighting. But the Prussian army was not there for mere parade and operetta ground use. Not since the rumored coup de'état, no. Prussian army was said to be most modern and effective in the world, even surpassing the French army that put the western Europeans on their knees rather regularly these days...
“Your highneeeeeeeeess!!!”
A musket fired accidentally here, a horse collapsed from exhaustion in these – but for most of the part, the Finnish Cavalry rode with their best pose and the Prussian troops started to form lines in hastily fashion, still disciplined, but the fear gave their eyeballs a bit wider glow...
“Your Hughnes!”
“What? I can't hear you...”
The noise was intoxicating to anyone with tension for power-trips, and men of such importance like Gollevainen was easily seduced by the pure elementary force of charging cavalry army...
“.We....ave..o....eader...”
“Ader? Or Otter? I cant quite hear you....but do me a favor and tell me your naturespotting back in the camp if we ever get there will you...”
“We have no....”
HAKKAAAAAA PÄÄÄÄLLLLEEE!!
The war cry echoed all around the fields and the Prussians rose their glances in uniform as they would have been all heads of single beast waiting for its hunter. Gollevainen felt little moisture on the back of his eyes...But suddenly the Adjutant was rigth next to him, shouting with his face all read and voice hoarse like after a week long hungover
“WE HAVE NO LEADER!!”

Suddenly three things took place in rather fast succession
Firstly Gollevainen swallowed deep and made some pagan rumble...
Seccondly he fielded his both hands wide ajar and made some more pagan rumbling, this time more constructive fashion to the common good.
In meanwhile King Niklas the first, still at Sauna after his rather unsuccsefull attempt to aquire a new Queen to the realm from among the daughters of some Polish merchant had failed, begun to feel himself glooming light and all around the air begun to feel bit light and unobstructive as it use to be...
Thirdly Gollevainen shouted a commonly known ancient Finnish spell for accuiring missing persons: “NIKKE PERKELE...!”

Then the heaven joined the roam of the battle by its own rumble and emphasized its own part by a beam of light casting directly upon an empty horse, used to belong to an adjutant of Riga's Group HQ.
Then King Niklas the First landed from the sky atop that horse looking bit surprised and dazzled, but managing to keep his noble posture and manly fashion in front of his troops that had little bit more difficulty to do so. He even waved a regal little wave to his troops and after firmly settled on the horse-back, being sure that no other paranormal things were due to come, and then gave a long look for Gollevainen.
“You should give me bit warning next time you pull something like this...”
“I know, I'm sorry....”

And so did rode the 1st Bothnic Army of the Finnish Cavalry first time into a battle in the history of the young nation and the Prussian lines were driven away, all men pulled against the walls of the city and slaughtered there upright. It was like the Prussians had decided to ignore such event by best they could and refused to even give good opponent to make the event remarkable. The warmongering hordes of Checks were now 30,000 men poorer. Rome should be grateful of their allies manouvre.

*****​

“Isen't that rather nice?”
“What is”
“That our Rannikkolaivasto also sailed for battle first time due this operation”
“It did?”
“Yeah...”
“I didn't notice that. Did they....mmm...managed to stay afloat and so on...?”
“Yeah, they even won the fierce Battle of Åland.”
“They did? Had the Prussians even ships there?”
“A Ship...”
“I beg your pardon...?”
“Anyway, Isn't it also nice that while we rode not only from Tornio via the Gulf of Bothnia to Sweden, but the same way around back, the Infantry you sent here marched from Turku straight via Åland into Stockholm...”
“They walked on water?”
“Yeah. Isn't amazing?”
“Indeed.”



For reward: Army tradition
 
What does the worldmap look like right now?
 
Good point, that does not follow. Although you did state that the discussion above is taking place on the timescale of microseconds.

As it is a simulation of a thought process it might only be interpreted as a discussion.

EDIT: World Map?
 
October 30th, 1671
Uppland, Norway

The diagnosis was clear enough: Rash, discoloured tongue, fever, flushed cheeks - scarlet fever. The untreated death rate would be about a third. But a day of penicillin should have the girl on her feet again, needing only a few follow-up doses to make sure the disease was completely out of her system. Grete smiled, and told the girl's mother not to worry; her daughter would surely be well. The voluminous robes that were the standard outfit for Idun-goddess-of-youth-and-healing were good for concealing pockets; she got out the bottle with the brown liquid and carefully poured a measured spoonful. The penicillin was difficult to make, and not to be squandered. "Here, drink this and you'll soon feel better."

The child was old enough to make no fuss, and in any case the liquid was flavoured with honey and clover; it went down smoothly enough. That was when things went wrong. The girl began to thrash about, her hands going to her throat; her breath came in a thin whistle. Was she choking? On what? Grete sat her up - she weighed almost nothing - and pounded her on the back, then when that didn't help grasped her stomach for the Heimlich. Nothing; the girl continued to choke and wheeze. Desperately Grete laid her down again and pounded her chest, then bent down to blow air into her mouth. Her lips were swollen and felt blazing hot. She could feel the girl's heart pounding, fast and arrhythmic. She was doing her best to suck in air, and failing in spite of Grete pushing with her own lungs. Something must be blocking the airway, but what? There was no time to be delicate; Grete pushed a finger down the girl's throat; the airway was constricted, cosing hard on the finger. The girl coughed and spasmed, but breathed a little easier for a minute. The spasms didn't cease, though, and her heartbeat grew rapidly weaker. Her eyes bulged, and she coughed up droplets of blood. Dimly Grete heard the child's mother shouting, "Hanna, what is it? Are you all right?" But there was no time for that. If she could only keep her breathing through the attack, whatever it was, surely she would be all right. Again she pushed her finger down the girl's airway, trying to kep it clear. But this time Hanna did not inhale when she pulled the finger back; she spasmed a final time, then went limp. Grete and the girl's mother stared in horror.

March 9th, 1672
Dovre, Norway

The inner sanctum of the temple at Dovre was packed with Ynglings; the air stank of their anger and worry. As he rose to present the bad news, Bjarte found himself unconsciously groping for a gun; in the uptime, this many furious Ynglings would have meant deaths before the day was out. The downtimers weren't individually as deadly, since there was not enough economic surplus to devote their entire childhood and teens to training, but fifty of them could do him in easily enough. Fortunately they also didn't have the security of position that let uptime Ynglings take offense for trivial slights. They had to work together, and wouldn't take out their frustration on each other. But it was still intimidating to stand in front of fifty of his own caste and smell their rage.

"Comrades, these are the conclusions of Gerhard and myself, with the assistance of the medical-intervention working group, regarding the penicillin problem. Data: Our molds have been contaminated. They are still producing penicillin; that is to say, they kill bacteria cultures. But they also produce massive doses of allergens, enough to provoke anaphylactic shock and almost instant death when administered. It follows that they are utterly useless as medicine; we are now producing extremely expensive disinfectant. Worse, it is not a matter of the working cultures being contaminated. We have tried replacing them with molds gathered from the wild, and most lately from as far afield as England. They all have the same effect."

"First conclusion. We are the targets of a massive biowarfare attack, aimed specifically at our breeding program and the source of our local prestige."

"Second conclusion. Our attacker has access to uptime genetic modification techniques."

"Third conclusion - tentative. Since our attacker clearly could have wiped us out had he so desired, he may be worried about human casualties, his ability to maintain control of his altered disease agents, or both. Alternatively this may be in the nature of a warning shot."

"I have nothing further. Gerhard will now present our thoughts on countermeasures."

The older uptimer rose, nodding. "Unfortunately, there's not much we can do. Changing DNA for a specific purpose like this needs labs on a scale we can't hope to get for centuries, short of giving up secrecy and guiding this timeline through a full-scale industrial revolution. And in that case we would have to abandon our breeding program anyway. We'll have to triage; antibiotics are going to be ineffective for the foreseeable future, all we can do is damage control."

"First, our prestige among the population, which comes basically from our cures. We will tell the exact truth: To wit, that an enemy sorceror has attacked our medicines, and this is why they are no longer working. Our goal here is short-term: When parents have sick children die that might have been cured, they get angry. We want them angry at someone other than the gods who just failed them; an outside enemy is perfect. It even happens to be true, which is pretty rare in propaganda! Longer term, we will still lose massive face. We might even get widespread Christ-worship again, and lose the tribute system that maintains the temple. We can still do a few miraculous interventions with our pink bottles, but the supply is strictly limited; we have thirty-six doses in our possession now, and cannot expect more until 1791. We will need to come up with a different way to maintain our prestige. We might try our breeding stuff on animals and grains; these downtime strains have a lot of room for improvement, and nobody will mind if we just slaughter the culls. But we've taken a heavy blow, no doubt about it."

"Second, our breeding program. Here we are slightly lucky: Our people have noticed the traits that bring the favour of the gods, and assign them prestige in themselves. Doing well at the Dovre Games is worth as much as a large farm in the marriage market, these days. This cultural trait is going to save our asses for the next few decades. Still, a differential breeding rate of a few percent isn't anywhere near so strong a selection pressure as the death-rate differences we were imposing before. And before anyone gets ideas, we absolutely cannot afford to make anyone's death rates higher by direct intervention; the last thing we want is to become the angels of death on top of losing our position as angels of healing! We must therefore accept a very much slowed improvement of our breeding stock. We might get some traction out of vaccines to specific people, but that will only help a bit, because we can't vaccinate everyone or there's no eugenics effect. So we won't get herd immunity and a lot of people will still die of the diseases, vaccinated or not."

"Third, retaliation. We cannot be having unknown enemies seeding biowarfare attacks in our valleys every so often. We must therefore find some way of punishing our attacker. Our first step here is to find out who the attacker is. We've got our work cut out, but we can narrow it down a bit from "anyone not in this room." Grete will present the results from her archive trawl."

Grete was Gerhard's daughter, a woman twenty-four years old. A fortunate combination of genes had given her an open, smiling face that made her perfect for playing a youthful healing-goddess; but at the moment she looked tired and rather drawn.

"Yes. The problem is, our archives are incomplete. We've got very little from before the Diaspora, and no originals. It's all hearsay. Einar Magnusson wrote down what he had heard from Ingvar, who heard from the Yngling kinfolk at Geirvirke. But the chain of uptimers breaks with Gunnar, and the actual papers at Geirvirke were burned with the farm itself in the Diaspora. So we have no details. But we know that Anja Sigridsdatter went to Georgia in her exile, and we know that she sent a letter warning us about strange things in Russia. And we also know that her descendants said there was something strange about Gora Dzhimara. And Ask told Gunnar, who told his son Karl, who told Ingvar, who told Einar, who wrote it down and we still have the paper, that he had spoken to a powerful, nonhuman sentient in that mountain. But that's filtered through so many layers, Odin alone knows what he actually saw. Our best guess is that Anja, or one of her children, started something similar to what we have here; although it is strange that such a program should be able to maintain itself both secret and effective through the centuries with no influx of uptimers to keep it on track. Human organisations should flow like water over that timescale. Still, it's a start, and the only lead we've got, short of investigating the whole world one peasant at a time. Georgia, Russia, the Caucasus, and Gora Dzhimara. That's where we should look first."

The people of the valleys weren't the only ones whose morale could be improved by having an external enemy. A snarl went through the room as a target for the Ynglings' anger was identified. Teeth were bared, shoulders braced. "Georgia... Russia... Gora Dzhimara."
 
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Wow... That's tough. But now that the Industrial Revolution is a few years ahead the next time-travelers should be able to bring some serious bling with them.

On the other hands, aren't they in Norway again? Don't they want to do something about that pinko government over them? :D
 
On the other hands, aren't they in Norway again? Don't they want to do something about that pinko government over them? :D

Well - the pinko government is a problem, yes; but at least it's not interfering in their internal affairs. In fact the York government is leaving Norway more or less to its own devices as long as the timber and metals keep coming; the council at Dovre is de facto ruler of quite a nice swatch of Scandinavia now. Notice, for example, the last four provinces of Prussian Sweden are now Norwegian again, after Prussia's latest brush with Italy, Georgia, and Russia. That's the fruit of a guerrilla campaign not sanctioned by York; certainly those honourable and stolid squires would never dream of taing over land held by another power without a formal declaration of war and peace treaty. They're not above looking the other way from a fait accompli, though. :)
 
Well, some drastic changes in Europe and the Americas. Congratulations on restoring Norwegian rule in Norway, KOM. Although time doesn't seem to have been as kind to Italy, nor to German South America (did a trade of some sort happen?). I see that Byzantium/Georgia has been expanding still.

Not much change in Asia and the Middle East for forty years, though. I notice the Sind-Malacca border moving, but everything else seems identical to where it was. Has anything interesting been happening over there?
 
Byzantium expanded by winning a war against Prussia (with little help from his friends, among them Finland expanded also again into prussia as well)
Also Finland and Byzantium have made a deal over the part of the Rome that was given to it in the great division)
Norway has been regained into its maxium, I see no futher direction to it, unless it manages to regain the Skåne from Germany... but for Finland he will not recive anymore.

Also noteworthy in this map is the slowly begun great Italian diaspora that will juice up things in europe, and the slow decline of the Brettany into a African player.
The sindh/malacca war ended for Mallacas favor mainly couse the player needed to go and didn't trust AI to take over the war:rolleyes: I expect more dratic border adjusments in the Asia as the sessions goes one towards the end...
 
Although time doesn't seem to have been as kind to Italy, nor to German South America (did a trade of some sort happen?).
A trade, yes. Italy is going to become a strictly American power, and Germany is recreating the HRE :cool:
 
Ah be carefull with your words Varyar, If HRE is ressuerected, its good old opponnent Grand Orthodox Alliance (or RC or Samoyeds Pact) needs to crawl back from its grave also:cool::p
 
What happened to Brittanic Spain?
Also, Germany and France seems to be immensely powerful in Ricky...
 
Ah be carefull with your words Varyar, If HRE is ressuerected, its good old opponnent Grand Orthodox Alliance (or RC or Samoyeds Pact) needs to crawl back from its grave also:cool::p
Oh noes! :p

This time I actually ment the historical HRE, not our defunct CK alliance.