Capto Iugulum: 1920 - 1939
- Thread starter EQandcivfanatic
- Start date
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
I'd rattle my saber if I had one! STAY OUT OF MY BELOVED FLORIDA mister, or I'll teach you who's da baws around here.
SamSniped
DJ Goodboye
Orders coming in.
Quisani
Gaming Person
Japan would like to congratulate placing members of the Pacific Concord, as well as the Roman Empire for hosting.
Nintz
King of the Britons
I presume this means Spain?
If so, that's all I got.
Luckymoose
The World is Mine
I presume this means Spain?
If so, that's all I got.
No, he meant Hispaniola. That republic in the Caribbean that I liberated.
TerrisH
Mischief?
hmm, got an unexpected gold. still, nice for such a small nation like mine to get them.
Nintz
King of the Britons
Mixed up Hispaniola and Hispania. D'oh.
So I got ... none? Really?
So I got ... none? Really?
Spain's athletes are dead.
Blue Bacon 3
Prince
- Joined
- Jun 10, 2012
- Messages
- 401
OOC: Balompie Gold for New Zealand! Also Balompie Bronze and Gold in Boxing for Peru (not as good as 3 gold and 1 silver and 2 gold and 2 silver in their last two Olympics, but very decent). Well done athletes!
No more order revisions will be accepted beyond this point. New order sets will still be accepted.
J.K. Stockholme
Right Opposition
Terrance888
Discord Reigns
Can classless societies have class? I don't know, because I canceled'em for the good of Democracy!
No more orders of any kind accepted beyond those point. I think we're looking at a Sunday posting of the update, but don't rule out tomorrow either. It's a big update, but I'm feeling productive, plus this update has the first real carrier battle I've gotten to do since Return to Our Roots 2.
Grandkhan
Telvanni Master Wizard
Medal Points Tally
Giving 3 points for Gold, 2 points for Silver, and 1 point for Bronze.
Angola: 4
Argentina: 1
Bosnia: 3
Bulgaria: 6
Cechy-Moravia: 1
Colombia: 3
Croatia: 1
Cuba: 11
Denmark: 6
Florida: 2
Guangxi: 12
Hispaniola: 3
Hollandia: 7
Hungary: 4
Jacksonia: 1
Kalinga: 2
Kongo: 6
New Zealand: 3
Oranjien: 2
Paraguay: 5
Peru: 4
Roman Empire: 16
Romania: 5
Russia: 13
Scandinavia: 8
Switzerland: 3
Uruguay: 1
United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland: 17
United States of America: 12
Vinland: 3
Medal leader is the United Kingdom at 17, followed closely by the Roman Empire in second at 16 and Russia at 13.
Honourable mention goes to Cuba with 11, Guangxi with 12, and the United States of America with 12.
Giving 3 points for Gold, 2 points for Silver, and 1 point for Bronze.
Angola: 4
Argentina: 1
Bosnia: 3
Bulgaria: 6
Cechy-Moravia: 1
Colombia: 3
Croatia: 1
Cuba: 11
Denmark: 6
Florida: 2
Guangxi: 12
Hispaniola: 3
Hollandia: 7
Hungary: 4
Jacksonia: 1
Kalinga: 2
Kongo: 6
New Zealand: 3
Oranjien: 2
Paraguay: 5
Peru: 4
Roman Empire: 16
Romania: 5
Russia: 13
Scandinavia: 8
Switzerland: 3
Uruguay: 1
United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland: 17
United States of America: 12
Vinland: 3
Medal leader is the United Kingdom at 17, followed closely by the Roman Empire in second at 16 and Russia at 13.
Honourable mention goes to Cuba with 11, Guangxi with 12, and the United States of America with 12.
Grandkhan
Telvanni Master Wizard
A story, a teaser for the update (if EQ doesn't mind) and some arc-welding.
The Death of Lars Jensen
Lars Jensen, at one point Denmark's most hated man, looked up from his book. The sound of marching was getting louder now, as were the yells of thousands of people. He sighed, and walked over to his kitchen to get a glass of water. I am getting too old for this, he thought, as the dull ache in his legs began again.
"Damn it, Boye, you've done it now," he sighed. Beyond the bulletproof glass that he had installed on his window to deter the occasional gunshot by a drunk Proletarist or Liberal, the group of Proletarist rioters were assembled under the window of his Copenhagen apartment. Their black and red flags fluttered in the cold Winter wind, and he could see them huddling into their jackets. Obviously the burning of the houses of the rich wasn't keeping them warm enough, Jensen thought to himself.
There was a knock on the door. After there was no answer, it began again, more insistent this time. Jensen ignored it and sat back in his armchair. His wife had passed away. His children were living in Greenland now, well away from the stigma of the Jensen family name. His housekeeper had fled when the riots had began, if she hadn't joined them herself. He had seen several women among the rioters at his doorstep - perhaps she had been one of them. It didn't matter, really. It was going to be alright. Just him against the Proletarists.
With a crash, the front door burst open. Fifteen angry men, dressed in the drab colours and clothes of Copenhagen's urban labourers, rushed through the door, their guns raised. Jensen's keen military eyes noted the guns themselves. A Scandinavian make, or he was a bird. Fairly obvious, now that he thought of it. It was going to happen sooner or later. Denmark was too close to the Proletarists and too weak to go without interference for long.
The Proletarists marched into the house. Their leader, a small, wiry man with glasses and a cold, thuggish smile, made a motion, and they took up positions around the room. Their drilling was sloppy, Jensen thought, and their positions were poor. Clearly the cream of the Proletarist crop had not been sent to arrest him. He wondered if he should be offended. Then again, why would they? Jensen was not a tower of Danish society, or the exemplar of the military. No, his acclaim was gone, just like his power and his respect. All gone in those fateful days of 1906.
"General Lars Jensen?" the leader said, finally.
"Just Lars Jensen, now," Jensen responded.
"Citizen Jensen," the leader began, pompously and formally, as he pulled a sheet of paper out of the pocket of his jacket. Jensen could practically hear the capital letters as he went on. "You have been tried and sentenced in absentia by the Revolutionary Tribunal of the Proletarist Republic of Denmark for Crimes Against the People. To whit, you have been tried for 1, Aiding and Abetting the Dictatorial Monarchy. 2, Using the Military to Usurp the Rule of the People. 3, Ordering and Facilitating the Repression of the 1906 Proletarist Uprising. And 4, 32 counts of Repression of the Proletarist Cause."
Jensen smirked. "An impressive rap sheet. And tried and sentenced in absentia? Very democratic."
The leader looked at him coldly. "As written by Colleague Marott, those who have repressed the People deserve no democracy. There can be no rights for those who seek to take them away."
Ah, an intellectual. Far worse, he thought to himself. At least a regular Proletarist would have some remorse. The intellectuals were so convinced in their ideology they would not brook any remorse. No, for the intellectuals of the Proletarist parties, there was only the sheer conviction in Proletarism and the rights of the people. This man would kill him, and walk home feeling as if he had done a civic duty.
"The Revolutionary Tribunal of the Proletarist Republic of Denmark has already decided your fate," the leader continued, reading from the paper. "For your crimes, the Tribunal has sentenced you to death. This task force is here to carry out your sentence." He nodded to several of the soldiers, who took up positions around Jensen's chair.
"Your coup will fail," the ageing general interjected. "All do, in the end."
"The Proletarist Revolution is historically inevitable. The People will rise, and they will break the shackles the rich place upon them. We are the Vanguard of History. We will not fall."
"I said the same about mine. I seized power to keep Denmark from falling to chaos, to ensure our victory in the war. And I was successful, or so I thought. But I could not win the war. I could not keep Denmark's power. And so did my revolution fail, and I stepped down? But if I didn't? What would I be then? I would grow into just another plutocrat, the same as I had rose up against. So will you, if you manage to succeed."
"We are the Vanguard of History," responded the leader, "and history is on our side. The Revolutionary Council will not make your mistakes, General."
"So we will see," Jensen responded.
"Do you have any last words?" the leader said, finally. Jensen nodded. He rose from the armchair, and straightened himself up for the first time in six years. He would go out with pride, as a man, not as an old fool hiding from his mistakes in the past.
"No revolution lasts forever."
The Proletarists raised their guns, and fired.
And so died General Lars Jensen, the most hated man in Denmark.
The Death of Lars Jensen
Lars Jensen, at one point Denmark's most hated man, looked up from his book. The sound of marching was getting louder now, as were the yells of thousands of people. He sighed, and walked over to his kitchen to get a glass of water. I am getting too old for this, he thought, as the dull ache in his legs began again.
"Damn it, Boye, you've done it now," he sighed. Beyond the bulletproof glass that he had installed on his window to deter the occasional gunshot by a drunk Proletarist or Liberal, the group of Proletarist rioters were assembled under the window of his Copenhagen apartment. Their black and red flags fluttered in the cold Winter wind, and he could see them huddling into their jackets. Obviously the burning of the houses of the rich wasn't keeping them warm enough, Jensen thought to himself.
There was a knock on the door. After there was no answer, it began again, more insistent this time. Jensen ignored it and sat back in his armchair. His wife had passed away. His children were living in Greenland now, well away from the stigma of the Jensen family name. His housekeeper had fled when the riots had began, if she hadn't joined them herself. He had seen several women among the rioters at his doorstep - perhaps she had been one of them. It didn't matter, really. It was going to be alright. Just him against the Proletarists.
With a crash, the front door burst open. Fifteen angry men, dressed in the drab colours and clothes of Copenhagen's urban labourers, rushed through the door, their guns raised. Jensen's keen military eyes noted the guns themselves. A Scandinavian make, or he was a bird. Fairly obvious, now that he thought of it. It was going to happen sooner or later. Denmark was too close to the Proletarists and too weak to go without interference for long.
The Proletarists marched into the house. Their leader, a small, wiry man with glasses and a cold, thuggish smile, made a motion, and they took up positions around the room. Their drilling was sloppy, Jensen thought, and their positions were poor. Clearly the cream of the Proletarist crop had not been sent to arrest him. He wondered if he should be offended. Then again, why would they? Jensen was not a tower of Danish society, or the exemplar of the military. No, his acclaim was gone, just like his power and his respect. All gone in those fateful days of 1906.
"General Lars Jensen?" the leader said, finally.
"Just Lars Jensen, now," Jensen responded.
"Citizen Jensen," the leader began, pompously and formally, as he pulled a sheet of paper out of the pocket of his jacket. Jensen could practically hear the capital letters as he went on. "You have been tried and sentenced in absentia by the Revolutionary Tribunal of the Proletarist Republic of Denmark for Crimes Against the People. To whit, you have been tried for 1, Aiding and Abetting the Dictatorial Monarchy. 2, Using the Military to Usurp the Rule of the People. 3, Ordering and Facilitating the Repression of the 1906 Proletarist Uprising. And 4, 32 counts of Repression of the Proletarist Cause."
Jensen smirked. "An impressive rap sheet. And tried and sentenced in absentia? Very democratic."
The leader looked at him coldly. "As written by Colleague Marott, those who have repressed the People deserve no democracy. There can be no rights for those who seek to take them away."
Ah, an intellectual. Far worse, he thought to himself. At least a regular Proletarist would have some remorse. The intellectuals were so convinced in their ideology they would not brook any remorse. No, for the intellectuals of the Proletarist parties, there was only the sheer conviction in Proletarism and the rights of the people. This man would kill him, and walk home feeling as if he had done a civic duty.
"The Revolutionary Tribunal of the Proletarist Republic of Denmark has already decided your fate," the leader continued, reading from the paper. "For your crimes, the Tribunal has sentenced you to death. This task force is here to carry out your sentence." He nodded to several of the soldiers, who took up positions around Jensen's chair.
"Your coup will fail," the ageing general interjected. "All do, in the end."
"The Proletarist Revolution is historically inevitable. The People will rise, and they will break the shackles the rich place upon them. We are the Vanguard of History. We will not fall."
"I said the same about mine. I seized power to keep Denmark from falling to chaos, to ensure our victory in the war. And I was successful, or so I thought. But I could not win the war. I could not keep Denmark's power. And so did my revolution fail, and I stepped down? But if I didn't? What would I be then? I would grow into just another plutocrat, the same as I had rose up against. So will you, if you manage to succeed."
"We are the Vanguard of History," responded the leader, "and history is on our side. The Revolutionary Council will not make your mistakes, General."
"So we will see," Jensen responded.
"Do you have any last words?" the leader said, finally. Jensen nodded. He rose from the armchair, and straightened himself up for the first time in six years. He would go out with pride, as a man, not as an old fool hiding from his mistakes in the past.
"No revolution lasts forever."
The Proletarists raised their guns, and fired.
And so died General Lars Jensen, the most hated man in Denmark.
Blue Bacon 3
Prince
- Joined
- Jun 10, 2012
- Messages
- 401
Yeah, it's lovely!
So both Florida and Denmark are having revolutions - looks like a hot update inbound.
So both Florida and Denmark are having revolutions - looks like a hot update inbound.
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