Are you sitting comfortably? Then I will begin this tale of Russian pride and Spanish persecution. ........ .... .. My opponents civilizations were growing far more than my measly little squat. I had three cities, or, more aptly named, towns, in the great motherland of Russia. There was an incessant barrage of surveys telling me that my civilization was a miniscule spec on the resource and vegetitation heavy continent in which we quaint Russians dwelled. Eventually, my rock hard willpower crumbled under the accusations of mediocracy, and I decided to expand. We were being raided by barbarians every few years from the east, the north and west was nothing but ocean, but the south, was a clear, open, forest of oppurtunity, and I was feeling too lazy to attack the barbarians. You know, the ammassing of a great army and such, just didn't appeal to me. All I wanted was that dye in the southern forest so I could turn my hair blue and my clothes pink. I didn't want a war. Alas. War is what I had. I took the settler south, with escort from one of my lowly warriors. I feared attack from the barbarians, but at the time they were nothing but warriors themselves, I did't want to waste time training axemen to guard one li'l settler off for a peaceful lifetime trip in the dye forest. We settled the town, and began construction of a granary. My workers began building roads to bring luxuries and other resources into the town, and all was well. But as the villagers observed ther view from their beautiful new homes in the trees they saw something totally unexpected. Queen Issabella was marching a two battallion army of Axemen northward. Not towards the new tree town.. But straight to the capital. Reports were sent back urgently through the chain of workers building the roads, and the population of the new town boarded up their windows, and prepared, as well as they could for the army that would be sent to them. By the time news got back to Moscow the small Spanish army was but 30miles away, poised for attack. Moscow began training Axemen to defend the town, as there was a quaint single battalion of Archers patrolling the towns perimeter and nothing more. As the Axemen approached, the citizens panicked, unsure whether the new battalion of Axemen would be fit for fighting soon enough, or even if they'd be good enough. The Archers had provided a good service in the past, warding of barbarian raiding parties and such, and they could undoubtedly hold off a single battallion of Axemen. But two... well, that was twice what they could cope with. If those Axemen weren't ready in time, the shock of a southern expansion turning into anhiliation of the country's capital would tear apart Russia, leaving it as fodder for the barbarians, or the Samurai to the east. But luck was on the side of the Russians this time. The new battalion was ready as the spanish charged the gates of moscow. Arrows rained down in the countryside surrounding the capital, crushing almost a whole battalion of Spanish Axemen. Once they reached the gates however, the fight became a free for all brawl, archers grabbed bottles, pitchforks.. whatever they could find and battered the remaining soldiers of the first Spanish battalion into a bloody mess that would take two whole weeks to clear from the streets of Moscow. As the second battalion appeared, the archers fled, their numbers diminished, and their ranks exhausted.. but forth came the Russian elite. The weilders of the mighty Russian War Axe. Forth they came with a furious might, and crushed the Spanish with no fight. Heads were removed from necks, legs from waists. The Spanish didn't even know what was coming, and their entire army was decimated in less than half an hour. The battle was won. The Russians had successfuly defended their home town. Their capital city. The heart of the motherland was safe. For now. But from the south came reports that the Spanish were building a new army. One twice the size of the original. So again, the hardy Russian people prepared. They brought in stocks for a possible siege. They built barricades in the steets to slow the enemy advance., They trained soldiers, built thousands of War Axes. Moscow became a fortress. But.. the lowly little town to the south, bringing dyes for hair and pretty views was forgotten in this time of hardship. They were left with a few hundred warriors, weilding nothing more than clubs and pitchforks, while the elite guards, amassing to something around seven thousand soldiers, were given the perfectly crafted War Axes and beautiful fortifications. An army of four thousand emerged from Spain. Marching straight through this forgotten town. A town who's lifespan was so short, it's name has been lost and forgotten since it's destruction. The Spanish slaughtered the people of this town. They murdered, raped, gutted, killed. No citizen was spared. Not even for slavery. The buildings were burned and the corpses left to rot in the ashes of their beautful utopian home in the trees. The Spanish marched forth. News of the destruction reached Moscow before the Spanish armies. Morale dropped, as did the dedication of the city watch. The settlers of the forgotten city were born and bred in Russia, they left with promises to friends and family they would return with stories of a wonderful new land. The city watch, and the Russian army had many relatives and friends on the settling expedition to the south. The Russians have a very close community, your problem is my problem is a phrase they love to recite often. So all were affected. When the Spanish reached Moscow they came to the city limits before they were noticed. A few hundred Russians were killed in the rush yo the fight. Their eagerness to kill the ones that had slaughtered their friends, their comrades, brought them their own deaths. The Russians fought bravely, they fought hard. But they fought drunk. The Spanish fought hard, but they fought scared, they could not even concieve of such a large army under Russian control when they set off. But here it was and they fought like monsters, their eyes red, full with fire, anger. Revenge. The Russians lacked discipline in the final battle. But they had courage, they had nothing but revenge left in their minds and lives. They became monsters under this rage and eventually overcame the tactical blunders and crushed the Spanish by sheer brute force. If there had been one hundred men they would have quickly taken down the Spanish army, but the thousands upon thousands there did nothing but trip over the others feets for a long while. So eager to go into battle they were. So eager to give their lives for their lost ones, their loved ones. So eager to avenge them. And revenge was gained. The armies that crushed the now forgotten town to the south were slain. The survivors hung slow. And the leaders heads sent back to Spain to show what happens when an Army comes to Russia with ideas of slaughter or capture. Issabella then signed a peace treaty. Which will last until the Russians build their armies up to a sufficient size, that they can crush the Spanish in one quick swoop. And, with that, ends my story, undoubtedly some words and sentences may be in need of a bit of cleaning. But so is that old Russian empire. The streets will soon be flooding with blood as they were when the archers took up arms to defends against a battallion of crazed Spanish Axemen. But this time, the blood will pour on Spanish soil. So, I bid you farewell, as I must travel south, put on a pole, Isabbelle's head and mouth.