Eltain
Deity
Haters gonna hate, afterall, nuclear kid.
INES III: Storm Tapestry
- Thread starter Imago
- Start date
You misunderstood me. I think it's a pretty good idea and I'm kicking myself for not thinking of it. Not hating, admiring.
Besides, why'd I waste time hating nations who likely won't live to see the end of the decade
Besides, why'd I waste time hating nations who likely won't live to see the end of the decade
Eltain
Deity
Neverwonagame3
Self-Styled Intellectual
- Joined
- Sep 5, 2006
- Messages
- 3,549
OOC:
In my view, the Confederation should probably have seperate flags for its individual members. I, however, didn't invent the idea so there is admittedly an argument against that.
Stories:
A BarRoom Prologue
OOC: I'm having trouble thinking of any good ideas- this is the best I can come up with so far. I'm hoping I can start a bit of a storyline here...
Even in war, some people really know how to enjoy themselves. Heraclio was one of those people. Dodging the thrusts of some weird French guy, he put up a good pretence but wasn't really focused on the fight. He just loved breathing in the rush of the adrenaline of it all- the excitement as he dodged a-
With that thought, he was knocked to the ground. The Frenchman had finally gotten a hit- and a good one at that. Shouting in triumph, the man raised his arms in the air-
At which Heraclio knocked him out with one punch. Looking on in awe at his own achievement, he watched as the arrogant foe collapsed pathetically onto the floor. He was too bloodied and bruised to really take in the victory- but that guy had been pretty good. Really good...
In my view, the Confederation should probably have seperate flags for its individual members. I, however, didn't invent the idea so there is admittedly an argument against that.
Stories:
A BarRoom Prologue
OOC: I'm having trouble thinking of any good ideas- this is the best I can come up with so far. I'm hoping I can start a bit of a storyline here...
Even in war, some people really know how to enjoy themselves. Heraclio was one of those people. Dodging the thrusts of some weird French guy, he put up a good pretence but wasn't really focused on the fight. He just loved breathing in the rush of the adrenaline of it all- the excitement as he dodged a-
With that thought, he was knocked to the ground. The Frenchman had finally gotten a hit- and a good one at that. Shouting in triumph, the man raised his arms in the air-
At which Heraclio knocked him out with one punch. Looking on in awe at his own achievement, he watched as the arrogant foe collapsed pathetically onto the floor. He was too bloodied and bruised to really take in the victory- but that guy had been pretty good. Really good...
Lord of Elves
Suede-Denim Secret Police
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- Oct 31, 2009
- Messages
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Second is the Balt Confederation, when it was part of LIARS, below Japan is Germany.
Eltain
Deity
What's the crazy last one then?
TheLizardKing
Let's talk Michelle.
What are you doing?
Neverwonagame3
Self-Styled Intellectual
- Joined
- Sep 5, 2006
- Messages
- 3,549
OOC:
Please don't name any of my leaders, Nuclear Kid. I want to keep my options open, after all- I'm trying to get a decent story idea, and it may involve any aspect of my nation.
Stories:
The Washed Up Stranger
"I'm telling you- he was awesome! I've never seen anything like it! He's world class- he's got to be!"
"Heraclio, he can't be world class! There aren't that many world class fighters in the world- given how few aren't involved in the war somehow, the odds that he'd be in a place like the Cook Islands..."
Being the sort of guy he was, Heraclio couldn't resist boasting. The trouble was that in a bar full of drunken young men and the outlandish claims that went with it was hard to really look that impressive. Even to Heraclio's friends, apparently...
"Look Raquel, I've had a lot of fights. You've seen e'm- I've fought and smashed hundreds of guys in here. And yet this guy almost beat me!"
"That's not necessarily a big deal, you know- there are only about 100 competent fighters around here, tops. He'd probably just some pub champion like you."
"Raquel, I can tell stories all night, but if you're not going to believe them I don't know why I bother!"
Raquel smirked at that. He was about to reply when he noticed a strange French man walk up to the barkeep and request a drink (in French, so he didn't know which one). It didn't take a genius to put two and two together, after all.
"There- that's him!" exclaimed Heraclio. "I'll prove it to you- this guy is really good!"
Before Heraclio could stand up, the still-mysterious stranger turned to his left and gave them a look. Raquel's curiousity was piqued- not by the claims of an allegedly awesome fighter, but by the look on the man's face. Whoever he was, he looked less than thirty and yet as world-weary as an old man.
"Hi there, I'm Heraclio!" exclaimed Heraclio. "I'd assume you remembered me- we fought earlier."
"I must be getting old- to lose to one like you..."
"Yeah, well, tough luck! By the way, you have any fighting championships?"
The man sighed. "If I tell you, will you leave me to have my drink in peace?"
"Yeah- whatever! Now, what'ya got?"
"I haven't been fighting professionally in six years, but I've kept up my skills by fighting the biggest and toughest men I could find. Before that, I was two-time champion in the Gascony Finals and one-time French National Champion. If you want more, look me up- my name's Eric Legarde."
Heraclio immediately started boasting (getting in Raquel's personal space whilst doing so), but Raquel had more important things on his mind. This was the revolutionary leader Eric Legarde? And Heraclio somehow beat him? This raised way more questions than it answered...
Please don't name any of my leaders, Nuclear Kid. I want to keep my options open, after all- I'm trying to get a decent story idea, and it may involve any aspect of my nation.
Stories:
The Washed Up Stranger
"I'm telling you- he was awesome! I've never seen anything like it! He's world class- he's got to be!"
"Heraclio, he can't be world class! There aren't that many world class fighters in the world- given how few aren't involved in the war somehow, the odds that he'd be in a place like the Cook Islands..."
Being the sort of guy he was, Heraclio couldn't resist boasting. The trouble was that in a bar full of drunken young men and the outlandish claims that went with it was hard to really look that impressive. Even to Heraclio's friends, apparently...
"Look Raquel, I've had a lot of fights. You've seen e'm- I've fought and smashed hundreds of guys in here. And yet this guy almost beat me!"
"That's not necessarily a big deal, you know- there are only about 100 competent fighters around here, tops. He'd probably just some pub champion like you."
"Raquel, I can tell stories all night, but if you're not going to believe them I don't know why I bother!"
Raquel smirked at that. He was about to reply when he noticed a strange French man walk up to the barkeep and request a drink (in French, so he didn't know which one). It didn't take a genius to put two and two together, after all.
"There- that's him!" exclaimed Heraclio. "I'll prove it to you- this guy is really good!"
Before Heraclio could stand up, the still-mysterious stranger turned to his left and gave them a look. Raquel's curiousity was piqued- not by the claims of an allegedly awesome fighter, but by the look on the man's face. Whoever he was, he looked less than thirty and yet as world-weary as an old man.
"Hi there, I'm Heraclio!" exclaimed Heraclio. "I'd assume you remembered me- we fought earlier."
"I must be getting old- to lose to one like you..."
"Yeah, well, tough luck! By the way, you have any fighting championships?"
The man sighed. "If I tell you, will you leave me to have my drink in peace?"
"Yeah- whatever! Now, what'ya got?"
"I haven't been fighting professionally in six years, but I've kept up my skills by fighting the biggest and toughest men I could find. Before that, I was two-time champion in the Gascony Finals and one-time French National Champion. If you want more, look me up- my name's Eric Legarde."
Heraclio immediately started boasting (getting in Raquel's personal space whilst doing so), but Raquel had more important things on his mind. This was the revolutionary leader Eric Legarde? And Heraclio somehow beat him? This raised way more questions than it answered...
Lord of Elves
Suede-Denim Secret Police
- Joined
- Oct 31, 2009
- Messages
- 6,976
You would almost think we're being treated to a wanted list. 
You would almost think we're being treated to a wanted list.
Very close
It's almost ready XD
Neverwonagame3
Self-Styled Intellectual
- Joined
- Sep 5, 2006
- Messages
- 3,549
Stories:
The Havana Champion
OOC: Seperate from the storyline I'm trying to build, but will hopefully tie back into it.
Havana, Cuba, Confederation of World Archapeloges. February 8 2059
"And now, presenting the defending World Champion of Battle of the Confederation of World Archapeloges, Michael Strongman!"
With a mighty war cry, the hulking brute entered the arena. Two and a half metres tall and more than two hundred kilos in weight, he knew perfectly well that his size would make the perfect impression on whoever was unlucky enough to be his enemy. One more match, and it would be officially acknowleged that nobody in the Confederation could match him...
In a living room on the other side of Havana, soon-to-be-ex Foreign Minister John Dillinger watched the leadup to the fight while drinking down another bottle of beer. His false friend, Bill, an M.P who John knew perfectly well was hoping to get a Ministry before Dillinger went under, sat beside him.
"Hey Johnny, why do you think he's called Strongman?" asked Bill.
Normally John would have smacked him for such a stupid question, but they were both a bit drunk so he let it past. "Prob-bably a P.R name change- they do it all the time..."
In a loud cry of anger, the Jamaican Battle Champion charged his foe. Launching a quick feint against the chest, he smiled as the man foolishly covered it with his arm. In a lightning-quick follow up, he slammed his right fist into his foe's head. Seeing his foe re-adjust his arm, he danced around landing a pounding right kick to his opponent's chest-
Which did nothing. Michael simply stood there, laughing his head off. The Jamacian champion looked in horror, as his foe continued to mock his ineptitude with his every gesture. Instinctively shifting his footing back to a fighting stance, the clearly weaker man sized up his foe in horror.
"Shouldn't he be fighting?" exclaimed Bill, in a rage that confused John- he'd had the guy down as an ambitious bastard. "We need him in the war!"
"Meh- let the people have their show..." exclaimed John, holding up another bottle to his mouth.
The one-sided hitting of a brick wall continued, as the Jamacian champion launched a desperate flurry of blows. Quickly he abandoned any pretence of finesse, simply slamming his fist into his opponent's skull as quickly as he could. The crowd began to cheer Michael on, as his foe failed to make an impact again and again. Michael simply waited, taking in the cheers...
The Havana Champion
OOC: Seperate from the storyline I'm trying to build, but will hopefully tie back into it.
Havana, Cuba, Confederation of World Archapeloges. February 8 2059
"And now, presenting the defending World Champion of Battle of the Confederation of World Archapeloges, Michael Strongman!"
With a mighty war cry, the hulking brute entered the arena. Two and a half metres tall and more than two hundred kilos in weight, he knew perfectly well that his size would make the perfect impression on whoever was unlucky enough to be his enemy. One more match, and it would be officially acknowleged that nobody in the Confederation could match him...
In a living room on the other side of Havana, soon-to-be-ex Foreign Minister John Dillinger watched the leadup to the fight while drinking down another bottle of beer. His false friend, Bill, an M.P who John knew perfectly well was hoping to get a Ministry before Dillinger went under, sat beside him.
"Hey Johnny, why do you think he's called Strongman?" asked Bill.
Normally John would have smacked him for such a stupid question, but they were both a bit drunk so he let it past. "Prob-bably a P.R name change- they do it all the time..."
In a loud cry of anger, the Jamaican Battle Champion charged his foe. Launching a quick feint against the chest, he smiled as the man foolishly covered it with his arm. In a lightning-quick follow up, he slammed his right fist into his foe's head. Seeing his foe re-adjust his arm, he danced around landing a pounding right kick to his opponent's chest-
Which did nothing. Michael simply stood there, laughing his head off. The Jamacian champion looked in horror, as his foe continued to mock his ineptitude with his every gesture. Instinctively shifting his footing back to a fighting stance, the clearly weaker man sized up his foe in horror.
"Shouldn't he be fighting?" exclaimed Bill, in a rage that confused John- he'd had the guy down as an ambitious bastard. "We need him in the war!"
"Meh- let the people have their show..." exclaimed John, holding up another bottle to his mouth.
The one-sided hitting of a brick wall continued, as the Jamacian champion launched a desperate flurry of blows. Quickly he abandoned any pretence of finesse, simply slamming his fist into his opponent's skull as quickly as he could. The crowd began to cheer Michael on, as his foe failed to make an impact again and again. Michael simply waited, taking in the cheers...
Neverwonagame3
Self-Styled Intellectual
- Joined
- Sep 5, 2006
- Messages
- 3,549
OOC:
Damn it- here's me trying to catch up to Circuit and you do a piece like that...
EDIT: You did, however, make a slight mistake- the Cold War went hot in this timeline, so technically it's World War IV...
Damn it- here's me trying to catch up to Circuit and you do a piece like that...
EDIT: You did, however, make a slight mistake- the Cold War went hot in this timeline, so technically it's World War IV...
Update says otherwise
Neverwonagame3
Self-Styled Intellectual
- Joined
- Sep 5, 2006
- Messages
- 3,549
OOC:
True that- I guess it's a plot hole Imago needs to fix. (he clearly said that the Cold War went hot- hence why nuclear weapons aren't in the timeline. Maybe he can just drop the historical WWI or WWII?)
Stories:
Motivation:
OOC: Experimenting with the use of images to at least catch the reader's attention. Sorry for the crudity. Disclaimer: Given village doesn't actually exist in real timeline.
"Isabella's family are politicians on a national scale! You're not gonna impress her with a few cheap wins in a fighting ring!"
"It's the Mauke Island Championship! That's got to count for something!"
"You think you can win her heart by beating out the contenders from ONE Island??"
And so it had come to this. Whilst Raquel sat quietly in a corner playing Minecraft, Horatio stood in the ring against the reigning champion of Mauke Island. Raquel wouldn't have gone with him if there was any way out of it, but he owed Horatio a big favor for the time he'd been lent $10,000 to get out of a jam.
Under the circumstances, Horatio should have thanked his lucky stars things were going so close to plan. Sure, he was getting his ass kicked six ways from Sunday- but the formal rules of the 'game' of Battle indicated that a fighter had to give up or be knocked unconscious to lose a fight, and through sheer determination Horatio was still up and kicking. Plus, bonus- Isabella was actually there.
"You know, that guy's actually rather attractive."
Raquel shut down his laptop. This plan was actually working? Something very weird was going on here- and it was better that he find out now rather than later. His ears perked, he listened in.
"Really- you think he might have potential?"
"Yeah- I'm not into jocks, but just maybe..."
Horatio was in a bad state- his left arm was in an elbow lock, whilst his opponent's right arm was slowly dislocating his shoulder. Horatio was trying to get his own right arm into a posistion to strike, but given the amount of pain he was facing the man was struggling to think, let alone fight...
"You're seriously considering that loser over the guy pounding his face in?"
"I'll explain later, okay? Uncle Richards has this new technique, and-"
Just as Riquel began to wonder how that had anything to do with anything, Horatio finally managed to get a decent strike against his foe's head. The 'champion' cried out in pain, loosening his grip on Horatio's arm. Horatio quickly grabbed his foe's right arm with both his arms, yanking it off before it could do any more damage.
"I'm not quite sure- but I think he has it."
"Come on, Isabella! There's no way he can-"
For about half a second, Horatio looked in the girl's direction. Isabella gave him a smile- but things rapidly took a turn for the worse. Seeing his chance, the Mauke Island champion slammed his foe against the edge of the ring, slamming Horatio's skull into the wall. Riquel gasped-
And Horatio slammed his fingers into his opponent's eyes. Grabbing his foe's neck with his right arm, he grimaced as his foe proceeded to land a kick against his knee. Barely keeping his footing, he gave out a cry. "Give up!"
Finally, Riquel saw what his friend was doing. Gouging out an opponent's eyes was technically against the rules- but nearly gouging them out wasn't as almost nobody tried it. If the Mauke Island champion was blinded for life, Horatio would lose for breaking the rules and banned from the sport- but unlike his foe, the game of Battle wasn't Horatio's life.
It seemed, however, that the Mauke Island champion had more courage than he'd let on- in a desperate gambit, he grabbed Horatio's left arm with his own, and pulled as hard as he could. Horatio's fingers began to slip, and Riquel began to wonder if it was all for nothing...
"COME ON HORATIO!" cried Isabella. Riquel- and her friend- looked at her in shock, realising the implications of the gesture.
With his last ounces of strength, Horatio focused his fingers firmly in his foe's eyes. "Give UP!" he cried again, not knowing how much longer he could hold...
Aftermath:
The Mauke Island hospital was used to having Battle Fighters there every week- on Mauke Island in particular, fighters were willing to break each other's bones in the name of victory. Luckily for Horatio, Riquel reckoned- he did wonder if a normal hospital could have gotten him up on his feet quite as quickly.
They were just outside the hospital wing. Isabella and her friend were in two seats on the left, whilst Horatio and Riquel were on the right. Riquel did his best to listen in, but after coming on a two hour flight to see his friend fight then done his best to keep tabs on Isabella for said fight he felt fine with playing Minecraft.
"Good fight!" exclaimed Isabella. "I didn't think anyone could match our Mauke Islanders!"
So, noted Riquel, Isabella was a native of Mauke Island. That explained why she was actually at the fight.
"Thanks," replied Horatio, who was still a little tired. "Couldn't have done it without you."
"Perhaps not. Still, good fight."
Horatio blushed, as Isabella's friend studied him curiously. To Riquel, something seemed odd about it all- the glance seemed professional. He noted that detail down as well, after concluding that after all this Horatio would be the one owing the massive favor.
"So, uh, maybe I could ask you out to dinner?"
Isabella thought for a second, staring Horatio down. Horatio looked on expectantly- as did Riquel, to some extent. He knew that a woman of her standing would have to be making political calculations, but-
"I'm sorry, but no."
Horatio, naturally, looked dejected. Riquel sighed, and began to forget his notes.
"I like you", explained Isabella, "But my father would never let me date anyone who wasn't from a rich family, or at least a celebrity or something. I know you've put a lot of effort in, though, and I am grateful for that."
Horatio looked down at his shoes. Riquel paused his Minecraft game, and looked him in the eyes. "Come on, buddy", said Riquel, "Let's go."
Supporting Horatio's right arm with his body, Riquel helped him stagger towards the door. Under the circumstances, he'd forget the favor- he had to, given the state that Horatio was in. Still, he wondered why-
"Say, Isabella. You really think he might go the distance?"
"Probably not. If he doesn't, I guess I'll take up the offer from that Hawaiian buisnessman."
True that- I guess it's a plot hole Imago needs to fix. (he clearly said that the Cold War went hot- hence why nuclear weapons aren't in the timeline. Maybe he can just drop the historical WWI or WWII?)
Stories:
Motivation:
OOC: Experimenting with the use of images to at least catch the reader's attention. Sorry for the crudity. Disclaimer: Given village doesn't actually exist in real timeline.
"Isabella's family are politicians on a national scale! You're not gonna impress her with a few cheap wins in a fighting ring!"
"It's the Mauke Island Championship! That's got to count for something!"
"You think you can win her heart by beating out the contenders from ONE Island??"
And so it had come to this. Whilst Raquel sat quietly in a corner playing Minecraft, Horatio stood in the ring against the reigning champion of Mauke Island. Raquel wouldn't have gone with him if there was any way out of it, but he owed Horatio a big favor for the time he'd been lent $10,000 to get out of a jam.
Under the circumstances, Horatio should have thanked his lucky stars things were going so close to plan. Sure, he was getting his ass kicked six ways from Sunday- but the formal rules of the 'game' of Battle indicated that a fighter had to give up or be knocked unconscious to lose a fight, and through sheer determination Horatio was still up and kicking. Plus, bonus- Isabella was actually there.
"You know, that guy's actually rather attractive."
Raquel shut down his laptop. This plan was actually working? Something very weird was going on here- and it was better that he find out now rather than later. His ears perked, he listened in.
"Really- you think he might have potential?"
"Yeah- I'm not into jocks, but just maybe..."
Horatio was in a bad state- his left arm was in an elbow lock, whilst his opponent's right arm was slowly dislocating his shoulder. Horatio was trying to get his own right arm into a posistion to strike, but given the amount of pain he was facing the man was struggling to think, let alone fight...
"You're seriously considering that loser over the guy pounding his face in?"
"I'll explain later, okay? Uncle Richards has this new technique, and-"
Just as Riquel began to wonder how that had anything to do with anything, Horatio finally managed to get a decent strike against his foe's head. The 'champion' cried out in pain, loosening his grip on Horatio's arm. Horatio quickly grabbed his foe's right arm with both his arms, yanking it off before it could do any more damage.
"I'm not quite sure- but I think he has it."
"Come on, Isabella! There's no way he can-"
For about half a second, Horatio looked in the girl's direction. Isabella gave him a smile- but things rapidly took a turn for the worse. Seeing his chance, the Mauke Island champion slammed his foe against the edge of the ring, slamming Horatio's skull into the wall. Riquel gasped-
And Horatio slammed his fingers into his opponent's eyes. Grabbing his foe's neck with his right arm, he grimaced as his foe proceeded to land a kick against his knee. Barely keeping his footing, he gave out a cry. "Give up!"
Finally, Riquel saw what his friend was doing. Gouging out an opponent's eyes was technically against the rules- but nearly gouging them out wasn't as almost nobody tried it. If the Mauke Island champion was blinded for life, Horatio would lose for breaking the rules and banned from the sport- but unlike his foe, the game of Battle wasn't Horatio's life.
It seemed, however, that the Mauke Island champion had more courage than he'd let on- in a desperate gambit, he grabbed Horatio's left arm with his own, and pulled as hard as he could. Horatio's fingers began to slip, and Riquel began to wonder if it was all for nothing...
"COME ON HORATIO!" cried Isabella. Riquel- and her friend- looked at her in shock, realising the implications of the gesture.
With his last ounces of strength, Horatio focused his fingers firmly in his foe's eyes. "Give UP!" he cried again, not knowing how much longer he could hold...
Aftermath:
The Mauke Island hospital was used to having Battle Fighters there every week- on Mauke Island in particular, fighters were willing to break each other's bones in the name of victory. Luckily for Horatio, Riquel reckoned- he did wonder if a normal hospital could have gotten him up on his feet quite as quickly.
They were just outside the hospital wing. Isabella and her friend were in two seats on the left, whilst Horatio and Riquel were on the right. Riquel did his best to listen in, but after coming on a two hour flight to see his friend fight then done his best to keep tabs on Isabella for said fight he felt fine with playing Minecraft.
"Good fight!" exclaimed Isabella. "I didn't think anyone could match our Mauke Islanders!"
So, noted Riquel, Isabella was a native of Mauke Island. That explained why she was actually at the fight.
"Thanks," replied Horatio, who was still a little tired. "Couldn't have done it without you."
"Perhaps not. Still, good fight."
Horatio blushed, as Isabella's friend studied him curiously. To Riquel, something seemed odd about it all- the glance seemed professional. He noted that detail down as well, after concluding that after all this Horatio would be the one owing the massive favor.
"So, uh, maybe I could ask you out to dinner?"
Isabella thought for a second, staring Horatio down. Horatio looked on expectantly- as did Riquel, to some extent. He knew that a woman of her standing would have to be making political calculations, but-
"I'm sorry, but no."
Horatio, naturally, looked dejected. Riquel sighed, and began to forget his notes.
"I like you", explained Isabella, "But my father would never let me date anyone who wasn't from a rich family, or at least a celebrity or something. I know you've put a lot of effort in, though, and I am grateful for that."
Horatio looked down at his shoes. Riquel paused his Minecraft game, and looked him in the eyes. "Come on, buddy", said Riquel, "Let's go."
Supporting Horatio's right arm with his body, Riquel helped him stagger towards the door. Under the circumstances, he'd forget the favor- he had to, given the state that Horatio was in. Still, he wondered why-
"Say, Isabella. You really think he might go the distance?"
"Probably not. If he doesn't, I guess I'll take up the offer from that Hawaiian buisnessman."
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