Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
Stormbringer said:
That was just a suggestion, Storm. No need to fly off the handle.
NES2 V - The Great Game.
- Thread starter das
- Start date
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That was just a suggestion, Storm. No need to fly off the handle.
Reno
The Studio Ghibli Fanatic
Calm down people.
Kozmos
Jew Detective
Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
Um...what?
EDIT: Fixed.
EDIT: Fixed.
Insane_Panda
Deity
To: The slaves of the world
From: The Abolitionist French Nationalists
RISE UP AND BREAK THE SHACKLES OF YOUR OPPRESSION! CAST OUT YOUR WHITE OVERLORDS!
Please.
From: The Abolitionist French Nationalists
RISE UP AND BREAK THE SHACKLES OF YOUR OPPRESSION! CAST OUT YOUR WHITE OVERLORDS!
Please.
das
Regeneration In Process
*mutters* Silly persons...
Anyway, I have been asked to make a comment about China in this NES by a person I won't disclose because you probably guessed it.
A Comment About China: IMHO we should wait for 24 hours, if Azale doesn't confirm his reign over China within that time it will be passed back to alex994.
That was a comment about China. Hope you're happy now.
EDIT:
IC:
From: Andorra
To: Nationalist France
We aren't entirely white, and are slightly on the pinkish side due to all that undrunken blood, so we suppose that we don't qualify as white overlords.
DEATH TO THE ALBINOS!
Anyway, I have been asked to make a comment about China in this NES by a person I won't disclose because you probably guessed it.
A Comment About China: IMHO we should wait for 24 hours, if Azale doesn't confirm his reign over China within that time it will be passed back to alex994.
That was a comment about China. Hope you're happy now.
EDIT:
IC:
From: Andorra
To: Nationalist France
We aren't entirely white, and are slightly on the pinkish side due to all that undrunken blood, so we suppose that we don't qualify as white overlords.
DEATH TO THE ALBINOS!
Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
From: Persia
To: Andorra
Your lack of support in this war has been most upsetting. Where is the Armade?
To: Andorra
Your lack of support in this war has been most upsetting. Where is the Armade?
Insane_Panda
Deity
Yes, Nationalist France shall annex you if you do not send the Armade.
Thlayli
Le Pétit Prince
In a totally unrelated note, this thread is now 75.5% of the size of ITNES, and is 1,154 posts away from passing it.
Moderator Action: Cleric and andis-1 warned for spam.
Please read the forum rules: http://forums.civfanatics.com/showthread.php?t=422889
Please read the forum rules: http://forums.civfanatics.com/showthread.php?t=422889
Heavy breathing, the sound of artillery fire. Explosions and gun fire. This is what he lived for. Cock, release, aim, fire. Another man falling, another man dead. Cock, release, aim, fire. Another. Cock, release, aim, fire. Another. Cock, release, aim, fire. Another. Cock, release, aim, fire. Another.
He had to reload, he couldn't let his comrades down. They were all crouched behind cover in their 'bunker' supporting another bunker 30 feet away with cross fire against the advancing enemy. Click, tap, tap. Another cartridge of ammo gone, falling against the ground.
Cock, release, aim, fire. Cock, release, aim, fire. It seemed to be no end. No matter how many he killed, how many his comrades killed, there seemed to be no end. The trenches in front, packed lightly with men firing at the advancing enemy, the tops of their hats peaking out from the man-made defense. Cock, release, aim, fire. Cock, release, aim, fire. Too many dead to count. Cock, release, aim, fire. Too many that he had killed himself.
Reload, reload. No dice, out of ammo. A nearby soldier was dead, clutching his Krag for dear life, life that he lacked. A swift movement, and the soldier had a weapon again. Cock, release, aim, fire. Cock, release, aim, fire. Cock, release, aim, fire. Click, click. No ammo. No ammo.
Bayonet fixed. He would not let his enemy over run this bunker without a fight. Yet the enemy were retreating, and there were more sounds of gun fire. Allies! Allies had come. An artillery shell impacted slightly in front of the trenches, kicking up dirt and grime. He covered his eyes. Through the smoke, the Scandinavian battle flag could be seen.
Click, tap, tap. He reloaded. The fight was not done yet. Other positions were under attack, and it was the expectation of every Scandinavian soldier to fight for their brothers, no matter what. A respect given to the dead, the company moved out. To provide allies to others still fighting, to counter attack the retreating enemy force. This war would end, and it would end soon. By valor, by courage, by...
Cock, release, aim, fire.
Cock, release, aim, fire.
Cock, release, aim, fire.
Cock, release, aim, fire.
Cock, release, aim, fire.
Click, click.
Dead.
A Scandinavian Soldier
He had to reload, he couldn't let his comrades down. They were all crouched behind cover in their 'bunker' supporting another bunker 30 feet away with cross fire against the advancing enemy. Click, tap, tap. Another cartridge of ammo gone, falling against the ground.
Cock, release, aim, fire. Cock, release, aim, fire. It seemed to be no end. No matter how many he killed, how many his comrades killed, there seemed to be no end. The trenches in front, packed lightly with men firing at the advancing enemy, the tops of their hats peaking out from the man-made defense. Cock, release, aim, fire. Cock, release, aim, fire. Too many dead to count. Cock, release, aim, fire. Too many that he had killed himself.
Reload, reload. No dice, out of ammo. A nearby soldier was dead, clutching his Krag for dear life, life that he lacked. A swift movement, and the soldier had a weapon again. Cock, release, aim, fire. Cock, release, aim, fire. Cock, release, aim, fire. Click, click. No ammo. No ammo.
Bayonet fixed. He would not let his enemy over run this bunker without a fight. Yet the enemy were retreating, and there were more sounds of gun fire. Allies! Allies had come. An artillery shell impacted slightly in front of the trenches, kicking up dirt and grime. He covered his eyes. Through the smoke, the Scandinavian battle flag could be seen.
Click, tap, tap. He reloaded. The fight was not done yet. Other positions were under attack, and it was the expectation of every Scandinavian soldier to fight for their brothers, no matter what. A respect given to the dead, the company moved out. To provide allies to others still fighting, to counter attack the retreating enemy force. This war would end, and it would end soon. By valor, by courage, by...
Cock, release, aim, fire.
Cock, release, aim, fire.
Cock, release, aim, fire.
Cock, release, aim, fire.
Cock, release, aim, fire.
Click, click.
Dead.
A Scandinavian Soldier
A four man team lay in various degrees of cover. Each one of them hiding, observing, waiting. Waiting for what? Even they forgot. Each one of them unsure, each one of them afraid. Yet not unwilling to do their duty. What were they afraid of?
Perhaps death.
Perhaps failure.
Even perhaps being afraid.
No one wants to be a coward.
So they waited, in the cold, in the rain. They waited to do their duty, to fight their fight. They waited for death. They waited for the enemy. They waited without knowing. Suddenly, artillery fire was heard. Shells exploded with great force in the distance. That was what they had been waiting for. The signal.
First, a single man from the four man team began running from his cover. Then, many other hidden teams began running, until a great mass of men began running towards the signal, unsure and afraid. Heavy breaths were heard, and the gleam of their guns as they ran. It was not a beautiful sight, but a terrifying one.
They were all afraid.
Of death.
Of failure.
Of being a coward in their comrades eyes.
They were all afraid. Yet not unwilling.
Not unwilling to die for their duty.
To experience pain for their comrade.
To go above and beyond the call of duty.
For all of them that made that fateful charge, for all of them that conquered fear for duty, who conquered fear for their comrades; they were heroes. They were couragous. What makes a man courageous is not whether a man has contempt of fear, but whether he has fear, and conquers it. For every man that fought in the Eastern War, for everyman that fought in the Holy Roman Empire, they were heroes. Unmarked graves, survivors, and the wounded. All of them, all of them, would be heroes. They would be the courageous.
Perhaps death.
Perhaps failure.
Even perhaps being afraid.
No one wants to be a coward.
So they waited, in the cold, in the rain. They waited to do their duty, to fight their fight. They waited for death. They waited for the enemy. They waited without knowing. Suddenly, artillery fire was heard. Shells exploded with great force in the distance. That was what they had been waiting for. The signal.
First, a single man from the four man team began running from his cover. Then, many other hidden teams began running, until a great mass of men began running towards the signal, unsure and afraid. Heavy breaths were heard, and the gleam of their guns as they ran. It was not a beautiful sight, but a terrifying one.
They were all afraid.
Of death.
Of failure.
Of being a coward in their comrades eyes.
They were all afraid. Yet not unwilling.
Not unwilling to die for their duty.
To experience pain for their comrade.
To go above and beyond the call of duty.
For all of them that made that fateful charge, for all of them that conquered fear for duty, who conquered fear for their comrades; they were heroes. They were couragous. What makes a man courageous is not whether a man has contempt of fear, but whether he has fear, and conquers it. For every man that fought in the Eastern War, for everyman that fought in the Holy Roman Empire, they were heroes. Unmarked graves, survivors, and the wounded. All of them, all of them, would be heroes. They would be the courageous.
For the Un-named Courageous
1889
Mayor of H-Marker Lake
Contempt, those were cool.
Disenfrancised
Beep Beep
1889 said:
Quoted for agreement
Why thank you! But I'm not done yet, just needed someone to break up my posts
Artillery crashed into the ground around the small village. Small little farm homes collasped as black smoke rose into the air amid the screams and gun fire. Fear rose into the air along with it, screams of the dying, screams of the abandoned. Soft sobs could be heard, great gasps for mercy, for the end. An end to war, an end to violence. They cursed the soldiers who fought outside their borders and the soldiers in defensive positions inside the village, but still, they waited, huddled and afraid in the center of the town.
Gasp. Gasp.
Drip. Drip.
Bang.
Another house was hit, the black artillery smoke all that could be seen. A small childs tears hit the ground as he cried for his mother. Gasps of fright, gasps of shock. The town was being hard hit in the enemies attempt to defeat their enemy. Many villagers got up to help, but were held by back the defending soldiers.
It is dangerous.
We are here to protect you.
Don't throw your life away.
The explanations fell on deaf ears. No one wanted to listen. Lives could be saved! Yet they ignored the possibility of further death. An artillery shell would not stop for the purpose of saving lives. It would not matter to that material, unthinking object of war. Nothing mattered.
Bang.
Thud, thud.
Gasp, gasp.
Heavy breath. The Scandinavian soldier ran admist the falling artillery shells, exploding with black smoke. He kicked in the burning door, and it made a loud thud. He ran into the house, picking up the injured women in his arms, before running out of the home. It collasped onto itself as he left. He gasped for air, the smoke entering into his lungs. The women gasped for life, her red blood running down her face from the explosion.
Gasp, gasp.
Drip, drip.
Bang.
The soldier ran with the innocent bystander in his arms, gasping for breath as he ran to the medical center near the center of the city. Villagers saw his heroism, and watched in awe as he ran, ignoring the shells falling around him. Tears fell from the eyes of those who knew the women, happy at her contempt of her certain death, joyful of the soldiers actions for a villager which would not matter to his army.
Bang.
Gasp.
Another artillery shell exploded right near the running soldier and his innocent charge. The soldier knew what he had to do. He fell ontop of the women, and jerked when the sharpnel from the shell flew into his soft body. But not the womens. His warm blood coated the ground, and his sacrifice was seen with gasps of fear and sadness by the villagers. The soldier was not dead yet, and he continued to try and carry the women to the nearby medical camp. Several nearby soldiers ran to the scene, and picked up the two injured and rushed them to the medical base.
Gasp, gasp.
Drip, drip.
They reached the base, and the two injured were taken to several over worked doctors and nurses. As the injured soldier was about to be treated, he grabbed the hand of the doctor.
"I'm already dead, sir. I've done my duty to the innocent, now you do yours."
The doctor looked into the eyes of the already dying man, and nodded once. The soldier smiled a sad smile, and his eyes closed. Blood dripped from his wounds onto the ground. The doctor merely nodded again, and motioned for the innocent women gasping for life to be saved. For duty to the innocent, for the sacrifice required in duty.
Gasp, gasp.
Drip, drip.
Bang.
*****
Artillery crashed into the ground around the small village. Small little farm homes collasped as black smoke rose into the air amid the screams and gun fire. Fear rose into the air along with it, screams of the dying, screams of the abandoned. Soft sobs could be heard, great gasps for mercy, for the end. An end to war, an end to violence. They cursed the soldiers who fought outside their borders and the soldiers in defensive positions inside the village, but still, they waited, huddled and afraid in the center of the town.
Gasp. Gasp.
Drip. Drip.
Bang.
Another house was hit, the black artillery smoke all that could be seen. A small childs tears hit the ground as he cried for his mother. Gasps of fright, gasps of shock. The town was being hard hit in the enemies attempt to defeat their enemy. Many villagers got up to help, but were held by back the defending soldiers.
It is dangerous.
We are here to protect you.
Don't throw your life away.
The explanations fell on deaf ears. No one wanted to listen. Lives could be saved! Yet they ignored the possibility of further death. An artillery shell would not stop for the purpose of saving lives. It would not matter to that material, unthinking object of war. Nothing mattered.
Bang.
Thud, thud.
Gasp, gasp.
Heavy breath. The Scandinavian soldier ran admist the falling artillery shells, exploding with black smoke. He kicked in the burning door, and it made a loud thud. He ran into the house, picking up the injured women in his arms, before running out of the home. It collasped onto itself as he left. He gasped for air, the smoke entering into his lungs. The women gasped for life, her red blood running down her face from the explosion.
Gasp, gasp.
Drip, drip.
Bang.
The soldier ran with the innocent bystander in his arms, gasping for breath as he ran to the medical center near the center of the city. Villagers saw his heroism, and watched in awe as he ran, ignoring the shells falling around him. Tears fell from the eyes of those who knew the women, happy at her contempt of her certain death, joyful of the soldiers actions for a villager which would not matter to his army.
Bang.
Gasp.
Another artillery shell exploded right near the running soldier and his innocent charge. The soldier knew what he had to do. He fell ontop of the women, and jerked when the sharpnel from the shell flew into his soft body. But not the womens. His warm blood coated the ground, and his sacrifice was seen with gasps of fear and sadness by the villagers. The soldier was not dead yet, and he continued to try and carry the women to the nearby medical camp. Several nearby soldiers ran to the scene, and picked up the two injured and rushed them to the medical base.
Gasp, gasp.
Drip, drip.
They reached the base, and the two injured were taken to several over worked doctors and nurses. As the injured soldier was about to be treated, he grabbed the hand of the doctor.
"I'm already dead, sir. I've done my duty to the innocent, now you do yours."
The doctor looked into the eyes of the already dying man, and nodded once. The soldier smiled a sad smile, and his eyes closed. Blood dripped from his wounds onto the ground. The doctor merely nodded again, and motioned for the innocent women gasping for life to be saved. For duty to the innocent, for the sacrifice required in duty.
Gasp, gasp.
Drip, drip.
Bang.
For the Innocent saved
MjM
Deity
So many stories. Ill have to crank out some soon...
This is my tenth story this turn I believe. And I've already finished my orders...
*****
Crash, crash.
Crash, crash.
The harsh waves crashed against the side of the cramped naval ships off the coast of Estonia. Huddled soldiers clutched their Krags closer to their chests, closing their eyes in fear for what was to come. A few men threw up, the ever moving sea not agreeing with their stomachs.
Crash, crash.
Clutch.
The waves continued to crash unabated, against the prayers of the soldiers for it to stop. Anxiety and restlessness took over every soldier there, jittery nerves and desperate prayers for family and friends. Many expressed their anxiety in different ways: some ignored it, offering up the tough man face even though it wasn't true, some prayed, some cried, some thought of home. It was this anxiety that prepared them for what was too come.
Courage under fire.
Heriocs.
Victory and defeat.
Death.
Crash, crash.
Crash, crash.
Yet none of that mattered upon the crashing waves. Fleeting thoughts of those subjects came and went as the soldiers prepared themselves, steeled themselves in preperation for what was to come, by first conquering their fear upon the waves. Of the unknown yet to come. They cleaned their guns, wrote letters, stared at the hull walls in stony silence.
Crash, crash.
Crash, crash.
When it began, they would be ready. They would cast off their anxiety into the crashing waves, they would take their destinies by the hand in the cold water of the Baltic. They would leave everything behind. Yet that wasn't now. That wasn't the present. The present was in the waves. In the not knowing. The hanging darkness beyond their sight.
Crash, crash.
Crash, crash.
Bang, bang.
Splash.
*****
Crash, crash.
Crash, crash.
The harsh waves crashed against the side of the cramped naval ships off the coast of Estonia. Huddled soldiers clutched their Krags closer to their chests, closing their eyes in fear for what was to come. A few men threw up, the ever moving sea not agreeing with their stomachs.
Crash, crash.
Clutch.
The waves continued to crash unabated, against the prayers of the soldiers for it to stop. Anxiety and restlessness took over every soldier there, jittery nerves and desperate prayers for family and friends. Many expressed their anxiety in different ways: some ignored it, offering up the tough man face even though it wasn't true, some prayed, some cried, some thought of home. It was this anxiety that prepared them for what was too come.
Courage under fire.
Heriocs.
Victory and defeat.
Death.
Crash, crash.
Crash, crash.
Yet none of that mattered upon the crashing waves. Fleeting thoughts of those subjects came and went as the soldiers prepared themselves, steeled themselves in preperation for what was to come, by first conquering their fear upon the waves. Of the unknown yet to come. They cleaned their guns, wrote letters, stared at the hull walls in stony silence.
Crash, crash.
Crash, crash.
When it began, they would be ready. They would cast off their anxiety into the crashing waves, they would take their destinies by the hand in the cold water of the Baltic. They would leave everything behind. Yet that wasn't now. That wasn't the present. The present was in the waves. In the not knowing. The hanging darkness beyond their sight.
Crash, crash.
Crash, crash.
Bang, bang.
Splash.
For their plunge into the Unknown
Kozmos
Jew Detective
Ok who punched the button...I havent made any more 'o rly' posts after Reno threatened he will squeal like a rat...
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