Churchill's Hat
Mortal
Hello, I am playing a marathon game with Russia in Earth 18 Civs on Beyond the Sword. The premise is that there are certain 'immortals': some are leaders(Catherine, Alexander), but some are ones I invented (Blokovsky, Oblonskiev). Anyway, it picks up around 550 AD gametime, or roughly the High Middle Ages for the most advanced nations (Russia, Persia, China and Arabia).
Prologue
It was a cold, misty night, the kind that made mortal’s teeth chatter. Blokovsky, however, was not in the mood for pretending or playing games; his foe knew all too well who he was, and his height put him above the rank-and-files. He, in turn, also knew who his foe woods, marching into the forbidding Muscovite woods. As his band of troops approached the chariots, who, in their stupidity, had chosen to hide in this forest, though they’re horses were clearly spooked and they’re glistening wheels made them a prime target. Hadn’t they learned anything from the Motherland’s conquest of Germany? Dirt covered wheels were the best method for making chariots, and he had laughed as he saw the German axemen rushing out to defend their country that day, bewildered and half-asleep as they saw Russian chariots charging out of what had seemed clear ground.
But, alas, the Siberians hadn’t learned their lesson. Perhaps Polous would help them learn it. Or, more precisely, perhaps Polous’s head would help them learn it. As the Greek charioteers fell to a man to his trained spearmen, though, he searched in despair for Polous. Damn him! Can’t even show his face to fight! Has he no honor left to defend? He thought, but Polous was not there. As an all-to-eager chariot rushed towards him, he smote them with his giant blade, then grimly carried on bringing down chariots until the GSR had lost a decisive battle.
* * *
“Burn it to the ground!” yelled a commanding voice, as Greek women rushed outside their shacks, cursing their luck. The fire soon spread as chariots spread around the city, throwing nets on any fleeing Greeks and capturing them as a bargaining tool. As the ‘city’-if one could call it a city, for, despite the protests of the Greeks, it was clearly not, just a small town in between Russia, Rome, and Spain, and it was clearly not Greek either, with a small garrison stopping the Russians, Romans, but mostly Spanish from revolting—which is what they had done recently. While the captain of the guard had made an attempt to rally his troops, his head was swiftly and fiercely chopped off without a second though by a moderately tall woman looking to be in her late twenties with long brown hair tied back in a pigtail underneath hear three cornered green hat, wearing a dark green military uniform with gold trim adorning the sides.
* * *
“Burn it to the ground!” yelled a commanding voice, as Greek women rushed outside their shacks, cursing their luck. Blokovsky was particularly annoyed at Polous for robbing Blokovsky of the enjoyment of killing him. Perhaps razing this cold city of Greek filth for the Motherland would convince him to pay for the olive branch. Ha! The fool was more shrewd than he seemed—Blokovsky knew this, as he had convinced to go to war with Russia. Alexander, on the other hand, was a complete moron. Blokovsky couldn’t believe that the gift of immortality had been given to morons like Alexander, Frederick or Louis. The only difference between the three of them was Alexander had two smart underlings. Frederick and Louis had the Motherland. Pharsalos would be hot tonight, though. There would be no need for hypothermia. Blokovsky, assessing what he had wrought, nodded a short, curt nod towards his second-in-command, and left the smouldering ruins. He had work to do.
* * *
Oblonskiev had finished making his speech to the Swedes, and he immediately went to hunt beaver. This is the good, simple life, he thought, and I have earned this. He had been a loyal supporter in the early days, and had controlled Moscow when Catherine and Blokovsky had left for Germany. Maybe tomorrow he would eat venison-who knows? This was the life!
By the way, this story is more a story than a report about civ told in the manner of a story, and remember that if you're looking for move of a game report, check another thread.
Prologue
It was a cold, misty night, the kind that made mortal’s teeth chatter. Blokovsky, however, was not in the mood for pretending or playing games; his foe knew all too well who he was, and his height put him above the rank-and-files. He, in turn, also knew who his foe woods, marching into the forbidding Muscovite woods. As his band of troops approached the chariots, who, in their stupidity, had chosen to hide in this forest, though they’re horses were clearly spooked and they’re glistening wheels made them a prime target. Hadn’t they learned anything from the Motherland’s conquest of Germany? Dirt covered wheels were the best method for making chariots, and he had laughed as he saw the German axemen rushing out to defend their country that day, bewildered and half-asleep as they saw Russian chariots charging out of what had seemed clear ground.
But, alas, the Siberians hadn’t learned their lesson. Perhaps Polous would help them learn it. Or, more precisely, perhaps Polous’s head would help them learn it. As the Greek charioteers fell to a man to his trained spearmen, though, he searched in despair for Polous. Damn him! Can’t even show his face to fight! Has he no honor left to defend? He thought, but Polous was not there. As an all-to-eager chariot rushed towards him, he smote them with his giant blade, then grimly carried on bringing down chariots until the GSR had lost a decisive battle.
* * *
“Burn it to the ground!” yelled a commanding voice, as Greek women rushed outside their shacks, cursing their luck. The fire soon spread as chariots spread around the city, throwing nets on any fleeing Greeks and capturing them as a bargaining tool. As the ‘city’-if one could call it a city, for, despite the protests of the Greeks, it was clearly not, just a small town in between Russia, Rome, and Spain, and it was clearly not Greek either, with a small garrison stopping the Russians, Romans, but mostly Spanish from revolting—which is what they had done recently. While the captain of the guard had made an attempt to rally his troops, his head was swiftly and fiercely chopped off without a second though by a moderately tall woman looking to be in her late twenties with long brown hair tied back in a pigtail underneath hear three cornered green hat, wearing a dark green military uniform with gold trim adorning the sides.
* * *
“Burn it to the ground!” yelled a commanding voice, as Greek women rushed outside their shacks, cursing their luck. Blokovsky was particularly annoyed at Polous for robbing Blokovsky of the enjoyment of killing him. Perhaps razing this cold city of Greek filth for the Motherland would convince him to pay for the olive branch. Ha! The fool was more shrewd than he seemed—Blokovsky knew this, as he had convinced to go to war with Russia. Alexander, on the other hand, was a complete moron. Blokovsky couldn’t believe that the gift of immortality had been given to morons like Alexander, Frederick or Louis. The only difference between the three of them was Alexander had two smart underlings. Frederick and Louis had the Motherland. Pharsalos would be hot tonight, though. There would be no need for hypothermia. Blokovsky, assessing what he had wrought, nodded a short, curt nod towards his second-in-command, and left the smouldering ruins. He had work to do.
* * *
Oblonskiev had finished making his speech to the Swedes, and he immediately went to hunt beaver. This is the good, simple life, he thought, and I have earned this. He had been a loyal supporter in the early days, and had controlled Moscow when Catherine and Blokovsky had left for Germany. Maybe tomorrow he would eat venison-who knows? This was the life!
By the way, this story is more a story than a report about civ told in the manner of a story, and remember that if you're looking for move of a game report, check another thread.
