Yes, unaccounted for.

>>10816553
Putincat smiles upon his human visage.

Wait, wtf? Ruskies are already outside of the Underdark?

Yessssssssssssssssssss

Ahh yeah, Got my drinkage and I am prepared for the next installment.

>>10816553
Unaccounted, yes...

>>10816575
I shall repost some from the last thread and re-cap, as needed.

They had exited the Underdark after the fight with the BBEG went down.

>>10816634
The BBEG were those Ettin Nazis right, someone correct me if I'm wrong, or if I missed something.

>>10816539
>Ракеты огня
Лолщто? What's that supposed to mean?

ｓTＯｐ dDOsＩnＧ Anｄ COＰＹiＮg_wｗＷ.aｎｏmNTmaＬｋ.ｓＥ RｅＭoＶＥ ＡｌL_M ｉＮ_tｈat_ＵRL ＦOoL
hnrmrc jqvo kp mflrhnyuhwdaxurvj

>>10816679
>Ettinazis
I will never tire of writing that word.
Yes, they were soundly defeated by Comrade Monk, who nuked their amulets, whereupon they got themselves shot to death. Our hero then faced off with the evil Drow/Lord-Baron and distracted him, who then turned into knife practice by the assembled Spetsnaz survivors (now reduced to fifteen).

The group, including Flarius, is now in Icewind Dale, chillin' like villains.

>>10816684
>щто
что?

>>10816684
According to a translator, "Fire Missiles: yes/no?".
My Russian is way, way out of practice.

>>10816703
То самое.

>>10816711
I see. Then, I guess, the text on your picture would look a bit more authentic this way:
>Цель зафиксирована
>Расстояние: 2500 м
>Открыть ракетный огонь: да/нет

Bad translations aside, shall I get to the story, Comrades?

>>10816762
>То самое.

So, am I correct to assume it is just a typo?

Bump of pure optimism.

>>10816763
Absolutely. I cannot wait to see what has become of them.

>>10816763
Yup.

>>10816783
It's not. It's an intentional misspelling.

To recap, the last entry I wrote...
In the fullness of time, the wagon trail left the cave; it made it to the surface. The good Comrade Cerek recovered, becoming a new member of the team, just after they realized they'd have to go through training around six times worse than their own just to qualify as a bad monk. The wealth, in the true spirit of Communism, was shared equally... between the brothels and the bars and the weapon shops and the armor shops and the dry good shops.

It also purchased a nice chunk of a island chain, just off of the coast of the mainland.

So begins the story of the glorious People's Republic of Faerun.

Oh, and an additional bit..
>Meanwhile, in Menzoberranzan, at House Xorlarrin...
>Well, fuck. Now what?

Good evening Writecomrade. Good to see you again. Can't wait to see your continued work.

>>10816838
>intentional misspelling

Why? I'm sorry I have to ask but my Russian has got rather rusty.

FOR THE PARTY!
.
.
.
.
Wait...
What time period of Russia are we?

>>10816861
For the same reason it's LOL WAT rather than LOL WHAT.

>>10816883
I see. Thank you.

>>10816783
It's sorta like a meme

Btw
>Открыть ракетный огонь: да/нет
Может просто
>Открыть огонь: да/нет

>>10816861
Mostly because "щто" when said sounds somewhat ridiculous compared to "что" but still is recognizable (for russians anyway as I mistakenly thought OP to be one).
It is kinda like misspelling words to show the accent they're supposed to be said with, except while perfectly valid in English, it just doesn't work in Russian with 99% of words.

>>10816906
Though about it, but there's no rockets. And rockets are awesome.

>>10816945
>Thought
Sorry for being a moron.

Meanwhile, in Icewind Dale...
The gathered troopers stood in mild amusement at the scene before them: a town in flames, the systematic looting of ships in the harbor, the stripping of libraries, laboratories and government records, all being carried to the assembled fleet of steam-powered transports idling nearby, each one a veritable moving fortress, their guns long-since idle but still eager to feed on ammunition and excrete death.
>Another glorious day, Comrade Alexander?
Turning to his commanding officer, the Soviet nodded with pride.
>These people will learn, sir. They just need a few more objective lessons in behaving themselves.
Below them, the troopers had finished up the majority of the fighting and post-battle cleanup, readied for inspection.
>Shall we, Comrade?
The two walked down the stone steps of the observatory, the telescope now placed with care in packing crates, readied for its trip to its new home: Cerekgrad.
>Let's review the troops, Alexander.
The assembled mercenaries-turned-recruits in the New World Soviet Army were lean, mean and clean-shaven; uniforms were a flat black jumpsuit design, the boots dulled black leather with grip-ready studded soles. Each one carried a heavy crossbow, their armor a mesh of old-world technology and new-found chainmail.
>Atten-shun!
In every language, a drill instructor is understood; something primitive in all men's minds tells them the scary man wants them to stand straight, look observant and comply with their whims. Few, when any, misunderstand it.

>We have accomplished a great thing; we have prevented an outbreak of rebellion here. Soon, the fullness of our proud nation shall stand above the corruption of capitalism, of disloyalty, of disobedience. Soon, the assembled nations of this world shall see the glory and the power of our flag as it covers the world.
He smiled, beaming with pride; their strict "human only" hiring standards had paid off: they had increased their ranks by over a thousand with just their accumulated finances, ten times that with their force of will and recruitment techniques.
>Soon, we shall march on Waterdeep.
The men cheered. Towns, villages and seaports throughout the surrounding region had fallen to the strange men with disciplined force; one after another, magic failed and their strange mechanical wizardry prevailed. A fireball means little to troops warded against heat damage, more so when they have cut the throats of the most virulent warmages days beforehand. The vicious night fighting by men who could see for miles in the dark was no match for men trained to hide from far worse methods of detection; Spetsnaz do not accept technology as an acceptable crutch, not while Soviet steel can still be drawn. Sniper fire was an amazing thing, made even more impressive when rabble-rousing miscreants had their heads detonate at a thousand yards. When coup attempts were found the next day, dangling from wire nooses, the word went out: you will obey, you will believe and you will only lose if you fail to understand - the Soviets had come, and with them, the Faerun word for "red" now also meant "the oncoming horde".

The troops, most of them fresh from farm country, were proud of themselves, with good reason: the seat of local insurrection was now a cloud of ashes in their lungs, crushed bricks beneath their boots and blood on their knives. Their arm patches, of the now-infamous golden sickle and hammer on a field of red, was the sigil of power they knew was a ward against bad luck and evil men; each one was trained by a professional crew of sinister men, forged from raw materials already hardened by a world of twisted magic and foul creatures' depravities: they were New Soviets, one and all.
>Sir?
A lone voice from the ranks, a hand raised in earnest. Maxim gave his customary nod of approval. Questions were permitted during assembly, provided they remained civil and germane to the issues addressed.
>Speak your mind, Comrade Golic.
A beaming smile. Maxim knew their names, or seemed to.
>Sir, several associates and I wondered: when will we learn how the tanks are made?
A pause, and Maxim pointed his authority-ridden finger at Comrade Golic, saying
>When we build the factory, Comrade. Do you feel your home village could do well with the work and pride which goes with it?
Comrade Golic gave this a moment's consideration; his indoctrination was thorough and almost complete.
>They better, sir.
Maxim smiled.
His work here was nearly complete.

This is beautiful.

>>10816995
>>10816956
I... I simply do not have a higher honour to give you, Writecomrade. You already have the Hero of the Soviet Fa/tg/uys First Class, what else is there to throw at you?

>>10816536
ｓｔoＰ_dｄOsｉｎｇ_ａnd cＯPyｉNＧ Ｗｗｗ.AＮoＭＮｔmａLＫ.Sｅ_rＥＭOｖＥ ａLＬ_Ｍ_iｎ_TＨaT Ｕｒl ＦOol
inskfz mcvionvoqxzohcgzn zsq y d

>Meanwhile, in Waterdeep...
An assembly of nobles, diplomats and civic leaders stood in quiet attention as the testimony continued. A witness to the Red Horde's depredations had survived long enough to give their statement. A legate stood by, asking questions to prompt the witness' memory.
>And what happened afterwards?
The witness, a one-eared elf from one of the Icewind Dale's few lush forests shuddered, the raw terror evident in their surviving amber eye.
>They.. started ... they started to kill. They killed like a rolling thundercloud... first, they shot them men. Then, the warrior women... then the...
Sobs were heard, deep and heartfelt; the noise of soul-deep agony of the spirit.
>... they started to kill our children. They forced them into trees and set them ablaze.
The legate paused, considering this.
>The trees, Sarla?
The elf looked up, his face scarred with the mark of intentionally-left castrated survivors: the sickle and hammer on the forehead.
>No..
He weeped, his one eye raining tears.
>...the children.

>>10817139
>No..
He weeped, his one eye raining tears.
>...the children.
Oh Motherland, yes.

And next week, a larger force of U.S. Marine Scout Snipers show up, quickly rousing the peasants into full blown DEMOCRACY REVOLUTION NOW!

Because starving worker castes and Warriors just barely less Badass then your overlords showing up and offering to let them choose their leaders DOES NOT END WELL FOR RULING CLASS.

>Meanwhile, in Cerekgrad...
Whistling a happy tune, Maxim walked through his newest accomplishment: the production facility which would produce his army's finest weaponry. The collective was known as "The House of Fire", for its constant stream of smoke and need for fuel. Immense steam generators with safety features a-plenty kept it warm, if not downright tropical inside. The waste product and tainted water were pumped directly into an open hole to the Underdark, polluting an area long-since pacified by intensive cleanse-and-burn warfare. It had been a busy year, and Cerekgrad only grew with every passing day. Settlers from far away were quarantined, indoctrinated and given productive labor positions, and still - it remained one of the fastest growing cities in the world. With its own draconian police force seemingly able to hear through walls, it was without a doubt a pinnacle of Soviet achievement. The New KGG, now known as the Red Eyes, kept strict order but knew where to relax its apparent attention. His were a happy people, and Cerek was a grand leader: the Czar title was strictly ornamental.

The scientists, such as they were, looked up as he passed, saluting when possible, nodding when otherwise engaged. Taking an interest in a few projects, each one with a Spetsnaz "minder", he reviewed progress with them.
>Sir, we are nearing completion on Project Seafarer.
A pause, looking to the tubular mass, a thick tower sticking out of the top midsection, still being welded.
>Soon, we shall rule the waters as much as we do the ground.
Maxim smiled.
The Krasnyy Oktyabr would sail on schedule.

And the Orks that just finished conquering Drow Tales stop by. Dakka the shit out of everything, recruit Spetsnaz as Freebooters and go to the next planet.

>>10817195

inb4 first response being "Fuck off Amerifag"

>>10817254
No, no. We'll just pleasantly ask him to join our glorious People's Republic.
>>10817195
Would you like to do that, capitalist? Would you like to join our glorious People's Revolution of Faerun?

>>10816606
They - heroes

Ooh, is this Part 2? God damn, I have good timing, just got back from three days in the woods. Hey again, Russian writefag.

>Meanwhile, in Waterdeep...
The assembly had broken up shortly after the testimony, small fact-finding groups assembled in haste: something must be done, the unofficial word said. One of the noble houses, the Pallami family, renowned for its loyalty and steadfast nature, had gathered their own witnesses and prepared its own reply to the Red Horde. Their eldest advisor, the sage and luminary Marek Pallami, spoke with his closest family.
>Run. Run far, fast and for a long, long time. This Red Horde shall ride upon this place like a whirlwind. It is a plague.. and it is growing.
The members of his family stood in horror; to abandon their homeland, in this time of need... it seemed unthinkable. Almost treasonous.
>They infect the minds of the working people... they overturn the economy.. they make armies from farmers.. we stand to lose our world. Our only hope is to outrun it.
Shock, dismay and outrage greeted him, a sudden cloud of noise surrounding him as he gestured to lower their collective voices.
>They number only six or seven thousand today... tomorrow, it can be much, much worse. We must take our family's heritage and pride, and place it aside. If we do not, it shall be our death.
With brief arguments, they fell to his line of thinking. Plans were made to distribute the family's holdings, sales plotted and travel maps drawn up. For the next six weeks, they dismantled their house, taking to the road as well-armed merchants and wayfarers. As the last wagon left Waterdeep, Marek Pallami turned to the corner where a man in black stood. Removing his disguise, he smirked.
>They bought it.
Disruption of the enemy camp by impersonation is a long-term strategy; magic makes it easier.

>Meanwhile, back in Cerekgrad...
The two deep cover agents had reported their successful efforts, giving the intelligence bureau a sense of accomplishment. Maxim reviewed the reports, giving his approval of the war effort's newest addition: subterfuge is an old art, and Russia is famous for producing artists of unusual skill. Handing the report back to his intel chief, he looked out over the construction yard: the metal tube was nearly complete. Three more weeks and it would glide beneath the ocean, Faerun magic and Soviet technology producing one of the finest weapons of war ever seen on this world. Its arsenal was fearsome in its own right; their expertise had paid off with recent discoveries below ground - Project Tunguska was a success, albeit one with a covert body count. The lumps of sealed graves in the workers' boneyard attested to this.
>Sir, we have reports of raiders approaching from the eastern side of the island. It appears to be a small fleet of warships. Estimation is four thousand ground troops.
He frowned, finding this input disturbing, but not an active concern - his men could hold the island indefinitely; teleportation raids were no longer a problem since the completion of the protective Red Curtain defense system. His only concern was naval incursions, and even then, he had a readied reply.
>Send out the Frogmen.

>Meanwhile, aboard the naval fleet approaching Cerekgrad...
The marine troops about to land were nervous. Few had seen a member of the Red Horde, with only a few amongst them having survived a battle with them. None of them seemed eager to join the fray early, unlike the fresh meat atypical to a marine landing party.
>Nervous, soldiers?
A lieutenant reviewing his platoon took notice of a cluster of Red Horde witnesses, all gathered together in the rear of the lead vessel's crew assembly area.
>No, sir.
They didn't look nervous; they looked .. calm. Almost serene.
>We've seen what happens when the Red Horde rises against an army. It does not give us fear. It gives us certainty.
The lieutenant, a veteran of a full two dozen raids, strikes and invasions, took on a puzzled expression.
>Certainty? How so?
The leader of the survivors gave a wry smile.
>We are certain we march with our Gods blessings upon us.. and that we face Hell's own on those beaches. It tells us that we are doomed, but shall be in paradise regardless of our sins.
The lieutenant stepped clear of them, unsure of whether or not it was some elaborate hazing ritual or not. Soldiers could be an odd lot, insubordinate in strange ways. An errant messenger saluted him, drawing his attention.
>Sir, the captain wishes to speak with you.
Breaking from the crew area, he entered the captain's quarter, slipping through an unfamiliar black curtain, seeing...
Six wetsuit-wearing Soviet men, each bearing a waterproof bag over their black weapons; the infamous deathspitters.
>So glad you could join us.
The lieutenant saw the other bodies in the room, each one resting on a tarp, stripped of valuables and intel.
>Pfft.
>Pfft.
>Pfft.

>Meanwhile, in Menzoberranzan, House Xolarrin...
The ten corpses rested on biers, each one sitting upright, singing through a gag in their mouths; spirits are not bound by the usual methods of silencing a prisoner, more so if its a Soviet. They tended to sing when questioned. As the final note broke, they remained upright, prompting the slave attending them to rush down the corridor, moving to the library. He bowed before his Matron, hands splayed out and visible; to do otherwise invited one of her four arms to bear him into the next world with a dagger or spell - neither would be preferential to her long-term affections.
>My Lady, they have stopped singing again.
Closing the book she was reading, she gave a dismissive nod.
>Summon the necromancer.
The time had come to learn more of their world and their methods; she was most interested in learning about their weapons and war crafts. The eight tomes before her were dictated interrogations from the dug-up bodies, and soon, she would have their full compliment of knowledge added to her own. Looking to her door, she saw the demi-lich specialist she'd hired; necromancers rarely work cheap, but this was personally motivated.
>Time to ask them more questions, my darlings.
Its two heads turned to her.
>Provided you keep to your end of the bargain: the men who killed my father will suffer to their last breath and beyond.
The Matron of House Xolarrin gave an ice-chilling smile.
>Maxim is mine.

>>10817589
One of the Ettins had a kid who is a necromancer? FUCK

>Cerekgrad...
The ships in the harbor stood at the limit of the guns placed around its perimeter; anchored in relative safety, two were burning to the waterline while three more sank quietly. The crews surviving the scuttling efforts of the six deployed Frogmen frantically swam for lifeboats and thrown lines, desperate to free themselves of the shark-ridden waters. Rumor had it that the Red Horde had planted the sharks there to keep people from making naval landings... few disputed that rumor.
>And so learns another nation of the folly of invading Soviet territory.
Maxim gave a hearty laugh, his troops joining him. The vessels at sea were beginning to turn away, leaving only the dead and badly-wounded in the water. His Frogmen walked out of the water at the beach, removing their gear and donning their uniforms anew. Attendants nearby gathered drifting supplies from the wrecks, one being towed in by a barge-like vessel, destined for the House of Fire; it ate everything it could, growing larger with every new idea, completed project and absorbed technique or spell.
>Sir, we ... we have a problem.
Maxim quirked his bushy brows, looking to his conscripted assistant; an earnest boy, sole survivor of some kind of atrocity by the Drow's allies, the Illithids - he had remarkably little intelligence on the reclusive subterraneans.
>Here, sir. This report just came in over the skyvoice.
The locals had taken to naming the radio network and other Soviet technology; he considered it a minor superstition, sometimes amusing. He read the report in silence, crumpling it in rage.
>Take me to the man who gathered this report.
He threw the offending report into a trash fire outside a guard shack, where it smoldered away into ash, the last line still visible:
>Chechens spotted, confirmed in Anauroch.

>>INTERMISSION FOR FIVE MINUTES
Enjoy this picture for the duration.
Its just a cat.

>>10817693
DAMNED BE. FUCKING CHECHENS.

>Meanwhile, in Waterdeep...
The rogues' gallery was full to capacity; the underworld had gathered to discuss the new opportunities which lay before it. The leader of the most prominent faction, the Guildmaster of Thieves, Paran Finehair, spoke to the masses.
>The Red Horde has made an offer.
The room went as silent as the mausoleum it stood beneath; this was the real matter at hand.
>They offer us an opportunity to continue our efforts, provided we pay tribute and pledge allegiance to their city-state.
Jeers, catcalls and boos bellowed out, outraged at this statement. With a few gestures, he gave the indications for silence anew, taking some time to bring the crowd to a semblance order again.
>They offered an alternative, as well.
With that, the room saw a split form in the crowd; a group of red-cloaked men marched in, bearing a pair of large wooden chests on poles, setting them on the floor by the dais the spokesman stood upon.
>They offer the first chest to those who take the offer.
It was opened by a Soviet trooper, his face hidden behind a black mask, revealing a collection of gems, precious metals and rare poisons, each one labeled with a major organizations' name: the Cutthroats, the Rage of Irewood, the Free Blades, the Nine Swords, Kings of the Alley (Waterdeep chapter), many others.
A man in the back shouted:
>What is the 'alternative'?
A few laughs echoed, mostly from those who had not been specifically given a rare enticement.
>This.
The red-cloaked trooper nearest the chest opened it.
Out of it, a pair of Drow assassins, known by their works more than their ebon features, rolled out, coated in broken glass, nails, wire, thin leather cord, salt and the carcasses of dead insects stitched into their eye sockets.
>You can take what you want from this chest.. or you can be delivered in the next one.
The rogues' gallery was silent. So much for their hired help taking out the Red Horde's leadership.

GODDAMN CHECHENS.

Brutal yet effective. I like the Red horde's style.

>>10818009
Mikhail Lermontov had a great quote about Chechens - "Their god is freedom, their law is war."

>>10818024
How much you want to bet that Maxim did the drow in himself?

>Cerekgrad...
The Spetsnaz had gathered in the largest warehouse, emptied of its workers and filled with loads raided from vessels and land-based transports, ranging from rugs to spices, from exotic lumber to common nails - they were fast becoming an economic force, just reselling the gear they'd stolen from its rightful owners. Already, they had coffers overflowing, despite their constant need for food, fuel and technological advancements; magical supplies were rare treasures, seldom worth the effort of raiding - purchasing it endeared them to spellcasters who learned it was better to befriend the bear while it was happy than to outrage an angry one. The smoking ruins of wizards and priests who'd felt different made converts of most.
>Gentlemen, our mission has not been a total loss. We have spread the truth and the glory of our way of life, and the Chechens have been spotted near our territory. It will be a hard trip to get to them, and we know only a little of their territory beyond this...
A pause, taking a deep breath.
>It is a desert. It is vast, it is strange and it is filled with monsters unlike others we have seen before. It will be all of the fun and excitement of Afghanistan with none of the friendly locals. Also, we have less armor, limited munitions and communications will be difficult.
A hand went up in the second row, one of the conscripts.
>Sir?
Maxim gave his nod, noting it was his assistant who raised his hand.
>What's Afghanistan?
He smiled.
>Its the place that makes men like Maxim out of boys like you.
Alexander chuckled, seeing his commanding officer's expression. Mild laughter swept the room.
Comrade Golic raised his hand again.
>Yes, Comrade?
The boy spoke again, his face earnest as always.
>I would like to volunteer to go immediately.
The men of the original crew smirked; the boy would learn what it is to bleed in Hell itself, soon enough. The trouble might prove in keeping him from kicking in the gates all on his own.

We. Must. Archive. It.

>>10817738
>>10818009

WHAT ARE YOU SHOUTING FOR?
I'M RIGHT HERE DAMMIT!

>Meanwhile, in House Xorlarrin...
The Matron listened to the last words of the final corpse, just as the first one being questioned began singing that terrible song again; they had a pattern - one would be interrogated, the rest would sing the song once, then go quiet. When the last one was questioned, they would sing for weeks at a time. She'd taken to installing deaf servants in the room, but she missed a cycle once due to this oversight. Since then, she placed new members in there to keep the vigil; it was affecting morale, no matter what. The bastards just kept singing...
>Is that all, then?
The necromancer gave its double-nod, gesturing to the door. They stepped clear of the now-noisy room, moving to the observatory, its ceiling painted with glowing stars of fungal blooms; a perfect match for the night skies far overhead. Settling into their customary chairs, they consumed the House's special herbal tea, distilled from the collected tears of hobgoblin children.
>They speak of war like it was a pleasant pastime or hobby.
The Matron nodded, her hands fluidly moving over her robe, smoothing out creases.
>Indeed. They seemed to want little else but to kill their enemies. Your insights are appreciated, Denzi, child of Herr Müller.
The ettin necromancer smiled twice brightly, teeth visible.
>Call me 'Eva'. Papa always did.
The Matron smiled back, her teeth even and sharp.
>A beautiful name. "Eva". I shall name my newest daughter that, I believe.
Frau Müller brightened considerably. She opened her own robe, pulling a small red leather-covered tome from within it.
>I think this book may prove a handy thing.
She laid it on the hovering glass sheet between them, its title visible.
>"Mein Kampf"?
A double-nod again.
>"My struggle".

>>10818176
>Eva
>Mein Kampf
My face when they have more fascist scum to crush soon.

WE HAVE FOUGHT THE FASCISTS BEFORE, WE SHALL FIGHT THE FASCISTS AGAIN. THE GREAT PATRIOTIC WAR WAGES ON.

NOT ONE STEP BACK.

NOT ONE STEP BACK.

NOW THEN, ALL STAND FOR THE NATIONAL ANTHEM.

>Cerekgrad, near the shoreline...
The invasion force was readied; weapons issued, communications systems checked, supplies stored and fuel levels topped off. They were ready for the war to come. Many had survived a score of battlefields, prior to conscription - most had seen twice that since, more often the victor within days than ever before. The scouts laid out their maps, consulting with commanding officers, the sergeants reviewed battle doctrines and the grunts began their usual method of relaxation: complaints, minor crimes and heavy boasting. Walking through their midst, the Commisars: hand-picked, each and every one, trained in Spetsnaz's mysterious fighting arts, they were the prime motivator for the ground troops and adherence to their doctrine was a survival instinct hammered in during training.
>Not one step back.
On Earth, it was said in fear; in Faerun, it was said in pride.
The sound of clapping drew their eyes and ears, seeing Maxim standing over them, astride the lead transport, one knee bent on its main gun.
>Today.. we ride into the waters to the mainland. Tomorrow, we ride into the future to the Motherland!

>cont'd.
The men cheered, raising their newly-minted, factory-made AK-47s to the air. Each bullet, handmade by teams of slaves in a distant underground camp, a crew of taskmasters approving each round; if you made a bad round, you did not eat that day. Goblins do two things well - obey in total fear and make small things function when motivated properly. The cave ate raw materials and spat out 7.62x39mm rounds, or as the goblins called them "death spit".
The Red Horde ate these bullets by the thousands, the slaves said... and they were always, always hungry.
In squads, they entered the strange vehicles, each one bearing their heavy gear loads with pride and enthusiasm; few had seen such wealth and opulence... the spoils of war were a safe world, devoid of terrorizing monsters, twisted spellcasters and cruel leaders. They were pacifying their planet, gladly, wholeheartedly and with the enthusiasm of true Soviet soldiers.
The tanks and APCs rumbled to life, pouring into the back of the submarine's massive cargo area, parking in rows of five, ten deep. The Red Horde marched out to sea.

Soiuz nerushimyj respublik svobodnykh
Splotila naveki Velikaia Rus.
Da zdravstvuet sozdannyj volej narodov
Edinyj, moguchij Sovetskij Soiuz!

Slavsia, Otechestvo nashe svobodnoe,
Druzhby, narodov nadezhnyj oplot!
Znamia sovetskoe, znamia narodnoe
Pust ot pobedy, k pobede vedet!

Skvoz grozy siialo nam solntse svobody,
I Lenin velikij nam put ozaril.
Nas vyrastil Stalin - na vernost narodu
Na trud i na podvigi nas vdokhnovil.

Slavsia, Otechestvo chashe svobodnoe,
Schastia narodov nadezhnyj oplot!
Znamia sovetskoe, znamia narodnoe
Pust ot pobedy k pobede vedet!
My armiiu nashu rastili v srazheniakh,
Zakhvatchikov podlykh s dorogi smetem!
My v bitvakh reshaem sudbu pokolenij,
My k slave Otchiznu svoiu povedem!

Slavsia, Otechestvo nashe svobodnoe,
Slavy narodov nadezhnyj oplot!
Znamia sovetskoe, znamia narodnoe
Pust ot pobedy k pobede vedet!

>Meanwhile, in Waterdeep...
A book found its way into circulation. It was easy to read, printed in the common languages. It became a cult favorite, almost literally. It was simple to understand, the concepts almost universal - defiance against oppression, the people united, the enemies crushed. Soon, it was a buzzword in polite civilization. It was banned, outlawed and burned in heaps in the street; the rulers found it was too dangerous to keep in the hands of the common folks. They called it poorly-written fiction, at best, unfit for consumption. The more it was banned, it grew in popularity for the secret societies. Soon, they saw it on banners in bad neighborhoods; the city guard refused to enter those streets, which caused them to become a Mecca for the like-minded. It grew in the ghettos, in the farmland, in the workhouses.
Its author, long-since buried, was unmoved by this effect; his afterlife was a busy one, free of all worldly concerns. If he could see its great flowering, he doubtlessly would salute them all, each and every private reading which turned into a rally or riot.

>Meanwhile, in House Xorlarrin...
The two sat in the library, reviewing the efforts of the scribes, each one working furiously; the spellcasters of the House had given them extra limbs to increase their speed, and still - demand was growing.
Each copy of the book bore the face of the writer, his small mustache now a common affectation amongst the popular leaders, and even some low nobles.
>Just as planned.

>>10818399
BIBLE FIGHT?

>>10818425
FRIDAY NIGHT
BIBLE FIGHT

>Neverwinter Woods...
The tanks and APCs, their steam engines billowing soft clouds of soot-ridden vapor, hammered through the trails and paths of the mysterious forest, flattening crude barricades and weak defensive structures without slowing. Inside of the main supply vehicle, named The Silo, troops feverishly packed crates of freshly-minted ammunition as it was deployed through a glowing ring set in the cargo area - delivery from the factory warehouse, each case carrying their new ammo. The magical gates, now used for relaying supplies and intel, were capable of dimensionally transporting materials for spellcasters, in their original use - the People's Republic of Faerun had a different idea.

The crews of the tanks, trained in the somewhat limited fashion, were quickly grasping concepts learned by almost a hundred years of armored combat: Soviets are big fans of learning from history, and their design motif was one part anachronism and three parts functionality. T-34s, under normal circumstances, ran on diesel engines. The newly-made T-96s ran on captured steam mephits, generating six times as much power, provided they were well-fed: most of the tanks had names which matched their given mephit, except for Maxim's customized tank: it ran on something he paid handsomely for, and it was known as "Stalin's Fist". On it, a message was written, just below the main gun's wide muzzle.
>Mighty is the arm.
Behind them, the smoking ruins of their passage from the sea, a scattering of destroyed settlements unwilling to convert to their way of life. The ground troops had a readied reply for those unwilling.
>If you will not convert, tonight, you sleep underground.
They made converts and mass graves; progress, progress.
Ahead: the road to the Chechens' territory, the mysterious desert...

>Waterdeep's rogues' gallery...
Everywhere, the tan uniforms. Early-on, the adoption of the ubiquitous apparel came to the underworld. The efforts of the Soviets had only driven them into insular rebellion, taking on the doctrine of the Nazis. Slowly, it became apparent - the elves were to blame. They were expelled, en masse, slaughtered when they resisted. Then, it was the gnomes. When it came time for the Dwarf to take the blame, it turned into a furious battle - house to house fighting was rampant. Summon creatures fought in close quarter in markets; terrorism was on the rise, state security in question.. the leaders turned to the criminals, asking for help - the few adventurers who remained had elected against political favoritism, choosing the neutral path when possible. With the rise of the Third Wave (as the movement had become known as) the people had a savior step forward: a survivor of an Underdark envoy, a wizened luminary and veteran of a Red Horde assault... the Paladin Renwith the Just.

He stood before the rogues' gallery, his thin mustache a bush of black neatly trimmed beneath his nose, stating:
>We must wage war on Cerekgrad itself. Winter be damned.

>>10818667
>winter
>Nazis
>Soviets
>war
Yeah.. that'll end well.

Gentlemen, we ARE archiving this, right?

By the way, first part is here:

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/10702457/

>>10818684
Already been archived comrade.

Writefag, you know that you must one day write about how they encounter the Red Wizards of Thay. Will they join up, will they fight, will they avoid each other? Szass Tam with his undead hordes may be a problem, I mean, bullets can't be effective against skeletons, zombies, bone golems and similar. And there are thousands of them. They never tire, they never fear, they never hunger... And Szass Tam himself is like, "Wail of the Banshee up in this motherfucker". I tell ya, they HAVE to ally.

>>10818697

Nice to hear that, comrade.

F5 F5 F5 F5 F5

>On the road...
Scenery became a blur as the miles were devoured by hungry treads. Ahead, the palisade of mountains was visible, the valley splitting them making a "V" of light, guiding them into its Hell-like embrace, and still they kept the hammer down on the accelerators. The machined parts, lovingly cast from admantine and steel mixtures, had heat tolerances in awe-inspiring levels; the magic of creation-based spells made reproducing them all too easy; enforcing spellcasters to labor was a simple matter of motivational exercises: survival was guaranteed for early-joiners. The factories now produced a tank a shift, three shifts a day, every day of the week. The growing fleet became a parking lot, the parking lot became empty as the battlefield maps expanded. And it refilled, again and again.

Smiling with his commanding officer, Alexander gestured to a distant castle-like building set into the cliff walls facing the road.
>Looks like a military outpost. Possibly a fortress.
The column drew to a halt, the assembling of officers almost herd-like behind Maxim's tank. Tents sprang up like mushrooms; a camp site was forged from the diminishing forest, the perimeter expanded like a battle-ready tumor. Sentries began their patrols as the scouts surveyed the land ahead. A report echoed back over the skyvoice to Maxim's aide, who handed him the radio.
>The fortress is owned by the Glimdarl tribe of Dwarfs, sir.
A look to his chief intel officer, the erstwhile leader of the KGB office in Cerekgrad, who relayed this:
>We sent an envoy there two months ago, sir. No reports back, assumed dead. You ordered us to break communications completely.
The aide, listening at the radio, reported:
>The envoys have reported success. We stand in the shadow of Glimdarlgrad.
The Dwarfs had picked a new ally.

>>10818805
>Soviet dwarves
I am pleased. You are a good writecomrade, comrade.

>House Xorlarrin...
Her House army had swollen in size a hundredfold. It had absorbed free companies of mercenary Houses, loose tribes of hobgoblins, deep dwarfs, kobolds... it was a true army. It had with it the leaders of a dozen major combat groups: converts from the surface world, slaves who'd proven to be true believers and everywhere, the faces of the citizens of Waterdeep who had survived the trip below ground, to join their brothers and sisters of the Tan Tabards.
>People of the Underdark.
Her voice, augmented by magic, was heard throughout the mile-wide cave.
>We stand where the Red Horde once fought to save the life of their king, Maxim the Terror.
The shredded, looted remnants of the battlefield still showed signs of the siege; scorch marks along the walls, toppled boulder falls, the fragments of the exploded iron door above.
>Now, here is where we shall forge the new world. Let this hallowed place be our fertile ground, and let the seeds of war be sown here! Now! By us! For victory is ours if we strive for it! WE. SHALL. OVERCOME!
The upraised fists and salute gave her all the affirmation necessary.
>Now... we must build the tools for war. Frau Eva, show them.
A tarp was dropped, revealing the mass beneath. A thousand examples of stolen technology stood before them.
>We call them death-wands. They eat these.
She held up a single bullet.
>We now have the tools to fight... and to win.

>Cerekgrad...
The newest recruits finished their training aboard the new vessels; the fleet's holding pen was immense, but now it was almost overflowing. The technological advancements were keeping the spellcasters busy, day and night, with the newest innovation about to be tested.
>Comrade Igor?
A white lab-robed figure held the sacred clipboard of office; one of the Engineer-Priests. He smiled, gesturing to his assistants, each one grunting as they set down their newest accomplishment.
>as per your order, we have fulfilled our quota, but would like to show you something we have done in our spare time, Comrade.
He beamed with pride, motioning for the assistants to activate it.
>What does it do, Comrade Belkin?
The Priest-Engineer smiled with obvious pride.
>Why... it kills. It kills all of its targets.
It resembled a long metal tube, with a trio of claw-tipped arms at the front, a large cluster of similar arms, albeit thicker, at the rear.
>How, precisely?
The lab-robed man motioned, showing its features.
>Using the same explosives we recreated for you called 'Shem-tax' (is that the proper word? Your tongue, it is confusing...) we have filled its inner portions with it, then loaded in a captive water elemental, located here..
A shrieking, watery blurble escaped from the gallon-sized aquarium revealed inside its complicated workings.
>... which propels it forward into an enemy vessel. Then, after it claws a hole in the vessel's hull, it frees the elemental, who then detonates the 'shem-tax'.
Comrade Igor smiled broadly.
>We have something similar, where I am from. We call them 'torpedoes'.

All of my love /tg/.

My F5 is broken now...

I guess, it's the end of part 2. We will wait for next chapter, glorious writefag.