-
We have updated our Community Code of Conduct. Please read through the new rules for the forum that are an integral part of Paradox Interactive’s User Agreement.
deltren said:
While almost all comments encourages an authors, this one migh be more of the discouraging kind...
Last edited:
I think I agree on most of the facts but that I disagree on the interpretation.The Yogi said:
White gets dirty easily, as anyone who's ever had to do laundry will agree. It's practically impossible to get the stains out, so in a sense any real white becomes tinged with assorted stains over time.
But I believe that there is a real difference between smudged white and gray. Not least because smudged white will generally aspire to the standard of whiteness, rather than pretending that the whole matter is irrelevant.
The essential divide between black and white is not between perfect good and total evil. Neither can really exist among mortal humans on this Earth. It is between people who would, on balance, rather live without hurting anybody and people who wouldn't. It is between people who do care about doing the right thing, even if they don't care all the time, and those who don't.
Salalah
Emirate of Oman
Sunday, June 16th, 1940
Three men dressed in Arab kaftans and turbans sat around a dirty and decrepit wooden table in the back room of an inn of generally similar qualities. The other patrons of the establishment paid them no heed, and small wonder. Only at a closer examination was it apparent that only one of them was an Arab – the other two were clearly of European stock, and one was elderly. And only someone very close could have realised that the trio weren’t speaking in Arabic, but in English.
‘The Germans have a dig going on in the Rub Al Khali, some sixty miles north of here,’ Sallah said, ‘at a place known as Shis'r Fort, a place everybody thought to be a XVI century ruin. There’s a lot of uniformed men, but more civilians, German colleagues of us, I’d guess. The uniformed ones have weapons but do not carry them openly. They’re not trying to keep the site secret; they have ordered things here in Salalah, food mostly, and they have it delivered to the camp. While they have their own airstrip at the dig, they have also brought in a lot of heavy equipment, trucks and the like, through the port here. The guy I spoke with had driven several camel caravans with melons up there, he knew exactly where it was.’
‘Sallah, you’re invaluable!’ Indy beamed. ‘Well, let’s waste no time here; we’ll hire some horses or camels get ourselves over there!’
The flight from Cairo to Salalah in Oman with the air freighter of Sallah’s relative had been uneventful, unless assorted poultice escaping from their cages in mid flight could be considered events worthy of mention. Once in place, Indy and Klaus had taken up room in an inn while Sallah went out into the throngs of people to find out the word on the street about Duhrn’s dig. He came back with a wealth of information the European archaeologists probably couldn’t have gathered in a week. That and camels. They wouldn’t get very far without camels.
‘What is your plan, Dr Jones?’ Klaus Falken wondered. ‘Once we get there, won’t we just get arrested?’
‘Tell me Klaus... What do your old colleagues think of you and the ban on you?’
‘I’d guess many would be outraged, Indy. The Nazi party’s interference with the universities is far from popular, especially not among us students of history. Many resent the politisation of our results and findings and how they’re now supposed to conform to the ridiculous ideas brought forth by Duhrn’s associates within the Ahnenerbe. At best I could be seen as a martyr for the cause of academic freedom. At worst... well, there is no lack of Nazis at the Universities either. Even Professor Heidegger supports them.’
‘I think you’re about to put your standing to the test, my friend.’
Shis'r Fort (Ancient Irem)
Kingdom of the Saudi
Monday, June 17th, 1940
They reached the site on camelback by the second sundown. There were many tents spread out around the cave with a waterhole, which was all that remained of the subterranean reservoir that had once served as water supply for the prosperous city of Irem. A substantial number of people in civilian outdoor clothing were loitering between the tents, and Indy, Falken and Sallah boldly guided their camels into the maze of tents.
Nobody paid them any attention. Suddenly Falken dismounted and walked over to two greying men who were deeply engaged in a discussion in German, which as far as Indy could pick up revolved about the dating of some fragments of pottery. The two Germans turned toward the approaching Arabic-clad man with frowns of irritation.
‘What do you want?’ they snapped.
For all answer, Falken removed the veil of his turban, smiling happily.
‘Wilhelm, Gustav, how have you been?’
‘Klaus!’ The two men shouted in joyous surprise and rushed forward to embrace their long lost colleague. ‘You old scoundrel! Where have you been?’
After introductions had been made, Indy and Sallah learned that the two men were Doctors Löwe and Novacheck of the archaeological institution of the University of Wittenberg and old friends of Klaus Falken. They had disapproved mightily of his proscription and had no qualms about keeping his presence secret to the SS.
‘Their camp is above the cliff’, Dr Gustav Novacheck explained. ‘It was the Ahnenerbe that invited us to come here, but now they don’t seem to give a damn about us or the finds we do. Can you believe it, a lost city of legend, buried under twelve metres of sand and they act as if they couldn’t care less! Not that I complain about that, mind you, it’s a welcome change to see the Party mind it’s own business and let us academics get on with our job. It’s just that it’s so unlike them. A few days ago they were very worked up about something, I got the distinct impression they had made some kind of find even though they never come down to the dig, but after some discussion they decided to await the return of their leader, Sturmbannführer Duhrn, before proceeding, whatever that meant. He has been away to Germany since we arrived here, but he came back just a few hours ago. Barely spoke to us, the arrogant bastard. I got the distinct impression he and his men will be going somewhere tomorrow – they have been going over their terrain vehicles all evening.’
Indy pondered that for some time. ‘Listen,’ he said finally. ‘We need to find out exactly what it is Duhrn and his boys are up to, and the only way I can see that happening is by coming with them tomorrow.’
‘They’ll find us out and kill us for sure!’ Sallah protested. ‘I can’t pass for an SS-man, no matter how I dress up!’
Indy nodded. ‘I agree, it would be far too dangerous for you and Klaus – it’s better that I do this alone. You two stay here, where Klaus can fit right in as another explorer of Lost Irem.’
While Sallah seemed agreed to the plan readily, Professor Falken was not so readily convinced. ‘You’re not German, Indy, and while your command of the language is commendable, you could never pass yourself off as one. I should be coming too!’
Indy shook his head. ‘Nah. If Duhrn’s finds you out, alone in the desert, he’d kill you on the spot for sure. I’m used to dealing with his type, if worst comes to worst, I might be able to fight my way out and escape.’
Soon thereafter, Indy crept alone on one of the SS men guarding one of the ochre-painted SdKfz-251 halftracks who stood parked in a Germanicaly neat row at the edge of the camp. A jump, a punch and the German dropped. Indy quickly dragged him in between the parked vehicles were Sallah waited. The American adventurer quickly changed clothes with the senseless German, who was wearing an uniformish outfit in light tan, much resembling the uniforms worn by Hauptsturmführer Dietrich’s Egyptian taskforce back in 1936, although this time without the insignia. It included a tropical helmet, sand goggles and a scarf that together would do marvellously for concealing the identity of the man wearing them, and Indy did just that. While Sallah dragged the unconscious man away, now dressed in Indy’s discarded kaftan to be kept hidden and under guard in the archaeologist camp, Indy took over his guarding duties. He dutifully watched the halftracks until morning, when a uniformed Günther Duhrn appeared followed by a crowd of his men.
Indy moved as if to help them when they began packing the tracked vehicles with provisions and equipment, but was sent off with a friendly rebuke by one of the men.
‘It’s OK buddy, go sleep in the halftrack. You must be exhausted after keeping watch half the night. Or did you take a Weckamin* to stay alert, eh? Those are not good for the Schwantz, didn’t you hear?’
The American shook his head and laughed, assuming the comment was meant as a joke. He then hunkered down in the back of a halftrack and feigned sleep as one after another of the heavy vehicle’s engines rumbled to life and they rolled off in a line heading into the deep desert. It was not long before the feigned sleep became genuine. He dreamt of terrible things hiding under the sand, lurking and waiting for unwary people to come to close, and didn’t wake up until sudden shouts had made him stumble groggily to his feet. Indy couldn’t know it, but the expedition had reached the Nameless City.
*”Weckamin” (tranls. “Wakeamine”) was the colloquial name for the meta-amphetamine pills used by the Wehrmacht to keep men alert when going without sleep.
Emirate of Oman
Sunday, June 16th, 1940
Three men dressed in Arab kaftans and turbans sat around a dirty and decrepit wooden table in the back room of an inn of generally similar qualities. The other patrons of the establishment paid them no heed, and small wonder. Only at a closer examination was it apparent that only one of them was an Arab – the other two were clearly of European stock, and one was elderly. And only someone very close could have realised that the trio weren’t speaking in Arabic, but in English.
‘The Germans have a dig going on in the Rub Al Khali, some sixty miles north of here,’ Sallah said, ‘at a place known as Shis'r Fort, a place everybody thought to be a XVI century ruin. There’s a lot of uniformed men, but more civilians, German colleagues of us, I’d guess. The uniformed ones have weapons but do not carry them openly. They’re not trying to keep the site secret; they have ordered things here in Salalah, food mostly, and they have it delivered to the camp. While they have their own airstrip at the dig, they have also brought in a lot of heavy equipment, trucks and the like, through the port here. The guy I spoke with had driven several camel caravans with melons up there, he knew exactly where it was.’
‘Sallah, you’re invaluable!’ Indy beamed. ‘Well, let’s waste no time here; we’ll hire some horses or camels get ourselves over there!’
The flight from Cairo to Salalah in Oman with the air freighter of Sallah’s relative had been uneventful, unless assorted poultice escaping from their cages in mid flight could be considered events worthy of mention. Once in place, Indy and Klaus had taken up room in an inn while Sallah went out into the throngs of people to find out the word on the street about Duhrn’s dig. He came back with a wealth of information the European archaeologists probably couldn’t have gathered in a week. That and camels. They wouldn’t get very far without camels.
‘What is your plan, Dr Jones?’ Klaus Falken wondered. ‘Once we get there, won’t we just get arrested?’
‘Tell me Klaus... What do your old colleagues think of you and the ban on you?’
‘I’d guess many would be outraged, Indy. The Nazi party’s interference with the universities is far from popular, especially not among us students of history. Many resent the politisation of our results and findings and how they’re now supposed to conform to the ridiculous ideas brought forth by Duhrn’s associates within the Ahnenerbe. At best I could be seen as a martyr for the cause of academic freedom. At worst... well, there is no lack of Nazis at the Universities either. Even Professor Heidegger supports them.’
‘I think you’re about to put your standing to the test, my friend.’
****
Shis'r Fort (Ancient Irem)
Kingdom of the Saudi
Monday, June 17th, 1940
They reached the site on camelback by the second sundown. There were many tents spread out around the cave with a waterhole, which was all that remained of the subterranean reservoir that had once served as water supply for the prosperous city of Irem. A substantial number of people in civilian outdoor clothing were loitering between the tents, and Indy, Falken and Sallah boldly guided their camels into the maze of tents.
Nobody paid them any attention. Suddenly Falken dismounted and walked over to two greying men who were deeply engaged in a discussion in German, which as far as Indy could pick up revolved about the dating of some fragments of pottery. The two Germans turned toward the approaching Arabic-clad man with frowns of irritation.
‘What do you want?’ they snapped.
For all answer, Falken removed the veil of his turban, smiling happily.
‘Wilhelm, Gustav, how have you been?’
‘Klaus!’ The two men shouted in joyous surprise and rushed forward to embrace their long lost colleague. ‘You old scoundrel! Where have you been?’
After introductions had been made, Indy and Sallah learned that the two men were Doctors Löwe and Novacheck of the archaeological institution of the University of Wittenberg and old friends of Klaus Falken. They had disapproved mightily of his proscription and had no qualms about keeping his presence secret to the SS.
‘Their camp is above the cliff’, Dr Gustav Novacheck explained. ‘It was the Ahnenerbe that invited us to come here, but now they don’t seem to give a damn about us or the finds we do. Can you believe it, a lost city of legend, buried under twelve metres of sand and they act as if they couldn’t care less! Not that I complain about that, mind you, it’s a welcome change to see the Party mind it’s own business and let us academics get on with our job. It’s just that it’s so unlike them. A few days ago they were very worked up about something, I got the distinct impression they had made some kind of find even though they never come down to the dig, but after some discussion they decided to await the return of their leader, Sturmbannführer Duhrn, before proceeding, whatever that meant. He has been away to Germany since we arrived here, but he came back just a few hours ago. Barely spoke to us, the arrogant bastard. I got the distinct impression he and his men will be going somewhere tomorrow – they have been going over their terrain vehicles all evening.’
Indy pondered that for some time. ‘Listen,’ he said finally. ‘We need to find out exactly what it is Duhrn and his boys are up to, and the only way I can see that happening is by coming with them tomorrow.’
‘They’ll find us out and kill us for sure!’ Sallah protested. ‘I can’t pass for an SS-man, no matter how I dress up!’
Indy nodded. ‘I agree, it would be far too dangerous for you and Klaus – it’s better that I do this alone. You two stay here, where Klaus can fit right in as another explorer of Lost Irem.’
While Sallah seemed agreed to the plan readily, Professor Falken was not so readily convinced. ‘You’re not German, Indy, and while your command of the language is commendable, you could never pass yourself off as one. I should be coming too!’
Indy shook his head. ‘Nah. If Duhrn’s finds you out, alone in the desert, he’d kill you on the spot for sure. I’m used to dealing with his type, if worst comes to worst, I might be able to fight my way out and escape.’
Soon thereafter, Indy crept alone on one of the SS men guarding one of the ochre-painted SdKfz-251 halftracks who stood parked in a Germanicaly neat row at the edge of the camp. A jump, a punch and the German dropped. Indy quickly dragged him in between the parked vehicles were Sallah waited. The American adventurer quickly changed clothes with the senseless German, who was wearing an uniformish outfit in light tan, much resembling the uniforms worn by Hauptsturmführer Dietrich’s Egyptian taskforce back in 1936, although this time without the insignia. It included a tropical helmet, sand goggles and a scarf that together would do marvellously for concealing the identity of the man wearing them, and Indy did just that. While Sallah dragged the unconscious man away, now dressed in Indy’s discarded kaftan to be kept hidden and under guard in the archaeologist camp, Indy took over his guarding duties. He dutifully watched the halftracks until morning, when a uniformed Günther Duhrn appeared followed by a crowd of his men.
Indy moved as if to help them when they began packing the tracked vehicles with provisions and equipment, but was sent off with a friendly rebuke by one of the men.
‘It’s OK buddy, go sleep in the halftrack. You must be exhausted after keeping watch half the night. Or did you take a Weckamin* to stay alert, eh? Those are not good for the Schwantz, didn’t you hear?’
The American shook his head and laughed, assuming the comment was meant as a joke. He then hunkered down in the back of a halftrack and feigned sleep as one after another of the heavy vehicle’s engines rumbled to life and they rolled off in a line heading into the deep desert. It was not long before the feigned sleep became genuine. He dreamt of terrible things hiding under the sand, lurking and waiting for unwary people to come to close, and didn’t wake up until sudden shouts had made him stumble groggily to his feet. Indy couldn’t know it, but the expedition had reached the Nameless City.
*”Weckamin” (tranls. “Wakeamine”) was the colloquial name for the meta-amphetamine pills used by the Wehrmacht to keep men alert when going without sleep.
Last edited:
Interresting, I have always wondered how guards are always same size as Indy. Clothes are everytime right size
You had made a mistake the Manchu didn't regard Chrysanthemum as their emblem.Chrysanthemum is the emblem of court of Japan.And the Manchuius one is Gyrfalcon.
Oh boy! Can't Wait for the update!
I'm genienly obscenly excited
I think I'll go have a scotch...
I'm genienly obscenly excited
I think I'll go have a scotch...
cthulhu said:While almost all comments encourages an authors, this one migh be more of the discouraging kind...
not at all... this is the most creative story aar i have ever read!!
I can't wait to continue to story. It's alot of reading however, and I was tired last nite.
Beyond Excellent work!
Well, Indy is a medium-sized man in good physical condition. He isn't especially tall or short or fat or thin, so clothes sized to fit an ordinary man in good physical condition would probably fit him well enough to escape comment.Korppi said:Interresting, I have always wondered how guards are always same size as Indy. Clothes are everytime right size
Military uniforms aren't tailored, so a little bit of ill-fit is expected.
ksyrie said:
No mistake. The Pan-Asian Empire is ruled by the Twin Emperors of Japan and China, and it's flag has the Japanese Chrysantemum and the Dragon of Manchu China, the one that was on the Imperial flag.
Korppi said:Interresting, I have always wondered how guards are always same size as Indy. Clothes are everytime right size
Not always the right size. Indy jumps the old zepellin guy and his uniform didn't look right on him.
Yogi, great as usual.
How goes the imperial assassination plot?
I wonder how long Indy can keep up his ruse surrounded by Germans and with Duhrn, who knows who he his, around. Reading you has inspired me to go and read some Lovecraft to enhance the atmosphere you're creating. I'm sure terror awaits in the Nameless City.
I just wanted to thank all of you who voted for this AAR in the Readers Choice AARwards of Q4. We reached a very creditable 4th place in the Favourite Narrative category and also, technically, in the Favourite AAR category (although there were five AARs with more votes than EOFM).
This was actually more than I deserved, since updates were very slow during that quarter. I hope you'll all be back to give your votes for Q1 2007 when I'll deserve them better!
This was actually more than I deserved, since updates were very slow during that quarter. I hope you'll all be back to give your votes for Q1 2007 when I'll deserve them better!
Well, quality and quantity are not the same thing.
On which note, we want more quantity!
On which note, we want more quantity!
We already have satisfactory quality, as demonstrated by the award.
What we don't have is satisfactory quantity.
Of course, the higher the quality the higher the amount of quantity required to satisfy, so this may be a losing game for Yogi, sort of like working harder in a Soviet factory.
What we don't have is satisfactory quantity.
Of course, the higher the quality the higher the amount of quantity required to satisfy, so this may be a losing game for Yogi, sort of like working harder in a Soviet factory.
As a side note, I naively thought that real life was the primary source of literary inspiration - so that asking too much from the Yogi and depriving him of the right to have a life besides this AAR would eventually, in the end, hinder his hability to produce top quality material.Simon_Jester said:
But now I realize how mistaken I was. Forced labor all the way !
Dinglehoff said:
If I recall, German uniforms NEVER quite fit Indy- in Raiders for example when he nicks the uniform in the sub pen, he gets repremanded by an officer because he can't button up properly, although he sorts that out quick sharpish