Stukov had better also have the Manhatten Project dismantled, or the US may cause problems for him yet!
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grayghost: Strangely, that's a picture of Roosevelt signing the declaration of war papers regarding Japan. Imagine how he would have looked after, say, four years of war?
Delex: In brief, he's a time traveler. Details would be best gotten from the AARs, in my own humble opinion.
SeanB: Perhaps....
VILenin: This is actually the same Azuren he went through the time machine with at the end of Chronological Influences I. But I will agree, time travel does have some unusually consequences.
Imagine what would happen if, say, a malfunction occurred during mid-transport?
ObssesedNuker: The problem is that the United States is years and years away from obtaining anything along the lines of a workable atomic bomb, assuming the US even made the same commitment to the project as it did in RL.
---------------------------------------
February 1st, 1945
The city of Moscow was alive today, an electric charge in the air, stirring the population into an undeniable fervor of jubilee. Braving the cold, people took to the streets. Shouts rang out from all corners of the Soviet capital, cries of joy, celebration, and excitement. In restaurants and stores, people chatted with friends and strangers alike, sharing rumors and stories of the day's events. On the street corners, young boys shouted the news, advertising to eager customers step-by-step recounts and descriptions of what was to happen, and in homes, families and their neighbors crowded around radios to listen to live broadcasts.
The Kremlin was sealed off completely from the outside world. Banners and flags fluttered in the lashing cold breeze from atop the many towers, while the ramparts were manned with hundreds of soldiers, dressed in splendid uniforms and armour. On the ground, immaculately dressed officers led their men in flawless precision parade-ground maneuvers. The Mausoleum of Lenin was closed, the structure covered in a wide array of flowers, wreathes, and portraits of the revolutionary.
Inside the Grand Kremlin Palace, notables from every country and across the world were gathered, surrounded by a lavish display of wealthy and artistic and architectural beauty. Silent honour guards stood vigil on all sides, protecting these important men and representatives of the world's nations. The conversations of dozens of different languages died down as bells began to toll and trumpets blared in the distance, signaling the distinguished envoys and heads of state to begin their procession into the Hall of the Order of St. Andrew.
The already splendidly decorated and lavishly designed interior had been further enhanced with innumerable banners. Emblems of the nation's new flag draped down the luxurious colonnades. The Pope and Orthodox Patriarch could not help but silently note the irony, the representative of President Thomas Dewey, the sullen Hirohito, and the leaders of South America could little ignore the pomp and splendor on display.
Trumpets again proudly boasted from a distance when the procession inside the Hall had completed. Through the doors emerged the Imperial Guard, dressed in ornate blood-red armor, brandishing a balance of archaic medieval weaponry and modern firearms. The Guard moved as if a single entity, perfectly coordinated, perfectly disciplined. But the individuals leading the two separate columns of soldiers down the main aisle were given an even greater breadth. One was recognized on sight by the assembled crowd: Alexander Stukov, looking the part, supposed son and presumed heir-apparent. But the other individual was an enigma: a mystery woman, known only in rumors and feverish whispers in the dark corners of society. On cue, the two stepped up and took their positions flanking the throne at the far end of the hall.
All was then set as Alexei Stukov, Premier of the Soviet Union, arrived in the hall. Adorned with purple robes wreathed in gold, Stukov carried himself slowly down the aisle, passing between the two unflinching columns of Imperial Guardsmen, past the eyes of the onlooking crowd.
Every motion carried with it a hidden meaning. Every piece of gold and jewel-encrusted piece of regalia, the brilliant and elegantly slender sceptre, the sparkling, perfectly-balanced sabre, the rings on his fingers even the robes and armor he now wore, carried a meaning.
At long last, Stukov reached the immaculate throne. In unison, Alexander and Azuren took up the crown resting on the throne and raised it above Alexei's head. Alexei turned to look back down the aisle. The Imperial Guard turned as one to face their leader. With a slight nod and an approving half-smile from his otherwise calm and composed expression, Stukov gently settled himself down on the throne. Almost immediately, the pair flanking him lowered the crown, carefully laying it atop his head.
This was Alexei Stukov's triumph. It was not the outward circus to the wild and adoring masses of the ancient days of Rome, though the people shared in the joy, nor was it the quiet self-congratulation of a humble victor. This was a declaration of Stukov's victory. The army that had brought the largest expanse of land in history under a single banner, that stood indomitable above all others, rested solely under his influence. The bureaucrats and officials that now governed more people on the planet than any ruling class in history answered faithfully and diligently to him. The people cheered his name, threw flowers to blanket his path, and dedicated their lives to him. At his fingertips lay the power to unleash unparalleled devastation on any corner of the world.
Alexei Stukov ruled not just over an empire, he ruled over the future of mankind itself.
And as he crowned himself Emperor in the midst of his loyal servants, fanatical allies, and beaten foes, Alexei's gaze turned upwards. His eyes pierced through the magnificent palace ceiling, beyond the clouds, and into the vast, untouched array of glittering stars calling out to him. Now and forever, the whole planet would feel the chronological influences of Alexei Stukov. This, I assure you, is not over, he thought to himself.
As Alexei Stukov crowned himself Emperor, Alexander stood at his right, staring out into the faces of the Imperial Guardsmen, and recognizing many loyal comrades he had fought and struggled alongside as he passed his gaze from person to person.
As Alexei Stukov crowned himself Emperor, Azuren stood at his left, a knowing smile on her face as she idly toyed with the dagger she had hidden, not needing to gaze out into the crowd to recognize the faceless, nameless palace servants scattered throughout the crowd, pawns to be commanded.
Azuren and Alexander turned their heads slightly toward one another. Their eyes met, and they both smiled in turn for a moment before looking away once more.
Delex: In brief, he's a time traveler. Details would be best gotten from the AARs, in my own humble opinion.
SeanB: Perhaps....
VILenin: This is actually the same Azuren he went through the time machine with at the end of Chronological Influences I. But I will agree, time travel does have some unusually consequences.
Imagine what would happen if, say, a malfunction occurred during mid-transport?
ObssesedNuker: The problem is that the United States is years and years away from obtaining anything along the lines of a workable atomic bomb, assuming the US even made the same commitment to the project as it did in RL.
---------------------------------------
February 1st, 1945
The city of Moscow was alive today, an electric charge in the air, stirring the population into an undeniable fervor of jubilee. Braving the cold, people took to the streets. Shouts rang out from all corners of the Soviet capital, cries of joy, celebration, and excitement. In restaurants and stores, people chatted with friends and strangers alike, sharing rumors and stories of the day's events. On the street corners, young boys shouted the news, advertising to eager customers step-by-step recounts and descriptions of what was to happen, and in homes, families and their neighbors crowded around radios to listen to live broadcasts.
The Kremlin was sealed off completely from the outside world. Banners and flags fluttered in the lashing cold breeze from atop the many towers, while the ramparts were manned with hundreds of soldiers, dressed in splendid uniforms and armour. On the ground, immaculately dressed officers led their men in flawless precision parade-ground maneuvers. The Mausoleum of Lenin was closed, the structure covered in a wide array of flowers, wreathes, and portraits of the revolutionary.
Inside the Grand Kremlin Palace, notables from every country and across the world were gathered, surrounded by a lavish display of wealthy and artistic and architectural beauty. Silent honour guards stood vigil on all sides, protecting these important men and representatives of the world's nations. The conversations of dozens of different languages died down as bells began to toll and trumpets blared in the distance, signaling the distinguished envoys and heads of state to begin their procession into the Hall of the Order of St. Andrew.
The already splendidly decorated and lavishly designed interior had been further enhanced with innumerable banners. Emblems of the nation's new flag draped down the luxurious colonnades. The Pope and Orthodox Patriarch could not help but silently note the irony, the representative of President Thomas Dewey, the sullen Hirohito, and the leaders of South America could little ignore the pomp and splendor on display.
Trumpets again proudly boasted from a distance when the procession inside the Hall had completed. Through the doors emerged the Imperial Guard, dressed in ornate blood-red armor, brandishing a balance of archaic medieval weaponry and modern firearms. The Guard moved as if a single entity, perfectly coordinated, perfectly disciplined. But the individuals leading the two separate columns of soldiers down the main aisle were given an even greater breadth. One was recognized on sight by the assembled crowd: Alexander Stukov, looking the part, supposed son and presumed heir-apparent. But the other individual was an enigma: a mystery woman, known only in rumors and feverish whispers in the dark corners of society. On cue, the two stepped up and took their positions flanking the throne at the far end of the hall.
All was then set as Alexei Stukov, Premier of the Soviet Union, arrived in the hall. Adorned with purple robes wreathed in gold, Stukov carried himself slowly down the aisle, passing between the two unflinching columns of Imperial Guardsmen, past the eyes of the onlooking crowd.
Every motion carried with it a hidden meaning. Every piece of gold and jewel-encrusted piece of regalia, the brilliant and elegantly slender sceptre, the sparkling, perfectly-balanced sabre, the rings on his fingers even the robes and armor he now wore, carried a meaning.
At long last, Stukov reached the immaculate throne. In unison, Alexander and Azuren took up the crown resting on the throne and raised it above Alexei's head. Alexei turned to look back down the aisle. The Imperial Guard turned as one to face their leader. With a slight nod and an approving half-smile from his otherwise calm and composed expression, Stukov gently settled himself down on the throne. Almost immediately, the pair flanking him lowered the crown, carefully laying it atop his head.
This was Alexei Stukov's triumph. It was not the outward circus to the wild and adoring masses of the ancient days of Rome, though the people shared in the joy, nor was it the quiet self-congratulation of a humble victor. This was a declaration of Stukov's victory. The army that had brought the largest expanse of land in history under a single banner, that stood indomitable above all others, rested solely under his influence. The bureaucrats and officials that now governed more people on the planet than any ruling class in history answered faithfully and diligently to him. The people cheered his name, threw flowers to blanket his path, and dedicated their lives to him. At his fingertips lay the power to unleash unparalleled devastation on any corner of the world.
Alexei Stukov ruled not just over an empire, he ruled over the future of mankind itself.
And as he crowned himself Emperor in the midst of his loyal servants, fanatical allies, and beaten foes, Alexei's gaze turned upwards. His eyes pierced through the magnificent palace ceiling, beyond the clouds, and into the vast, untouched array of glittering stars calling out to him. Now and forever, the whole planet would feel the chronological influences of Alexei Stukov. This, I assure you, is not over, he thought to himself.
As Alexei Stukov crowned himself Emperor, Alexander stood at his right, staring out into the faces of the Imperial Guardsmen, and recognizing many loyal comrades he had fought and struggled alongside as he passed his gaze from person to person.
As Alexei Stukov crowned himself Emperor, Azuren stood at his left, a knowing smile on her face as she idly toyed with the dagger she had hidden, not needing to gaze out into the crowd to recognize the faceless, nameless palace servants scattered throughout the crowd, pawns to be commanded.
Azuren and Alexander turned their heads slightly toward one another. Their eyes met, and they both smiled in turn for a moment before looking away once more.
4th Dimension said:
No, no. The Adeptus Aribites must come first...then Space Marines.
All hail the new Emperor of the world!
It is good to see Alexei donning the crown of Emperor again, though I have to wonder if there are any Soviet generals who would still question him for it, as there were last time? And that look Alexander and Azuren exchanged reeks of intrigue! Look out, Alexei Stukov!
It is good to see Alexei donning the crown of Emperor again, though I have to wonder if there are any Soviet generals who would still question him for it, as there were last time? And that look Alexander and Azuren exchanged reeks of intrigue! Look out, Alexei Stukov!
Well, I'm afraid you won't be able to learn what happens next, for, as you may have guessed at this point, is is the end. Alexei Stukov's crowning himself emperor is the conclusion of Chronological Influences III. I hope everyone enjoyed it while it lasted.
Who knows, though. In the future, their might be some continuation of the fate and history of Stukov's new empire. We'll just have to wait and see.
Who knows, though. In the future, their might be some continuation of the fate and history of Stukov's new empire. We'll just have to wait and see.
The next part will be played in Sins of the Solar empire, as Stukov fights to claim the throne of this Galaxy.