My point was more "so what the hell is a province?"
The Sun is Setting: A WWII/Fall of Colonialism IOT
- Thread starter CivOasis
- Start date
My point was more "so what the hell is a province?"
Economies are based off of a combination of industry and tech, and then are influenced by RP.
Infrastructure is probably the closest thing to provinces in this game, since it's the primary drive of your tech and economy, and they can be captured. Can also be destroyed, if you prefer.
That doesn't define a province though. Is Ceylon a province? It and India? Them and all my Indonesia stuff? Everything I have in the south hemisphere?
If you're asking in the traditional IOT sense, it doesn't work that way. If you're asking in terms of substates, then you can propose things within reason based upon geographic bounds - whether you want to pick on historical boundaries or what you think is reasonable is fine.
- Joined
- Mar 14, 2011
- Messages
- 4,131
I can't do it on a map right now, but divisions are gonna look like the following:
Korea
Machuria
Sakhalin+Kamchatka
Northern Japan
Central Japan
Southern Japan
The Philippines and east pacific islands
Taiwan and nearby islands
Shandong
Hainan and southern patch of Guangdong
India
Hawaii and western pacific islands
Alaska
Columbia
Assume all of these will be renamed to something more fitting.
Korea
Machuria
Sakhalin+Kamchatka
Northern Japan
Central Japan
Southern Japan
The Philippines and east pacific islands
Taiwan and nearby islands
Shandong
Hainan and southern patch of Guangdong
India
Hawaii and western pacific islands
Alaska
Columbia
Assume all of these will be renamed to something more fitting.
mrrandomplayer
Hopeless Situation Warrior
Is it too late for me to join? If so, can I join as a subdivision of another nation?
You can join as a subdivision of whoever; just PM first me with roughly what you want to be, and I'll make it work (and then you post here, and get your 50 EP).
NedimNapoleon
Weird Little Human
He can takeover my empire if he wishes
Mosher
Mushroom dad
The Caliphate offers an alliance to China, South America, and any other monarchy.
christos200
Never tell me the odds
The Great Qing Empire accepts this offer.
Declaring a soft lock on orders; You can still submit, and if you do so before I begin the update, they'll count. Update will hopefully go up later tonight, otherwise tomorrow evening.
STILL MISSING ORDERS FROM:
Nedim
TE
Omega
Christos
AA - your orders need to be edited
RC
RS
STILL MISSING ORDERS FROM:
Nedim
TE
Omega
Christos
AA - your orders need to be edited
RC
RS
Robert Can't
Éponine
A dingy rolls up onto the rocky Croatian shore. On it sit a man and a woman a small sail fluttering in the wind. The Man is a rough looking sea captain and the woman a young noble. "What country, friend, is this?" asked the woman.
"This is Illyria, lady." The captain replies hopping out and pulling the boat ashore. He goes with a rope to a nearby tree and ties it firmly. The wind tugs and his clothes and his salt encrusted hair. The sky is a tumultuous sea of grey mirroring the dark blue mass which they had come from. The tree stands as grey as the sky even its green leaves seeming grey. The whole world seems grey, like a captured film.
The woman steps off the boat, it is plain from her face she has been crying. Crying not as the wind cries through the crags or a newborn child, but as a lover wracked with grief. Her face shows it, a loss in her heart. Yet her words come out firm and purposeful, her journey having taken off the bite of the grief and left her with an inner anguish. "And what should I do in Illyria? My brother he is in Elysium. Perchance he is not drown'd: what think you, sailor?" The last phrase trails off hollowly. She knows her brother to be dead, she came to that conclusion long ago.
"It is perchance that you yourself were saved." The captain spoke from the tree, not turning back to her and the rocky coast as if the land had captivated him. That grey land of hills and trees marred only by the bright colours of the odd cluster of meadowland flowers.
A life awaited them here, a pair of survivors of a most horrible shipwreck. Illyria offered them something, its grey hills drew them in. The bridges and the wooden trellises tamed the air and promised them a peace harmless with nightingales.
But on the day they had been washed up, no nightingales sang.
----
Gavrilovich lies atop his tower in great Sarajevo. In his courtroom he entertains a bizarre menagerie of courtiers and artists. The room is framed by waving ribbons in pink and blue, the walls covered in images that bend the mind to even view. The architecture too reveals the deep seated madness of Gavrilovich's world the shape of the room was not something that could be easily discerned.
With a clap of his hands he called an end to their reverie of life and summons them back to that state of being of before, that world without end. "If music be the food of love, play on;" he begins. He strides amongst them, they greet him and laugh and cry and they play on. He kisses a young man, "Give me excess of it." he skips on stroking the cheek of a young woman "That, surfeiting, the appetite may sicken, and so die." He laughs and skips off again.
He descends upon a young lad, scarcely twelve, as the lad fades and dies beneath the power the stream of being that flowed from him and all his guests "That strain again!" He cries out "It had a dying fall." And the feeling wafts over again, the laughter of children, the gossip of the old wives and the beating of the girl's heart deep in her bosom, like the treasure of an obscured grey memory, pulsing with feeling. "O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound that breathes upon a bank of violets stealing and giving odour!" The power of the room continues, pulsing with vibrancy. Joyful melodies and birdsong filling the air, that obscure memory surfacing to the forefront. The power reaching a maddening crescendo as it opens itself up revealing naught but a girl with a carnation in her hair.
"Enough! No more!" He screeches deafeningly, the music stops, everything stopped. Everything but the room and its courtiers still dancing and singing in euphoric brilliance. He comes down from the joy he had been in and finds himself walking away from the young boys managed corpse only muttering "'Tis not so sweet now as it was before."
One courtier held in his hands a bunch of flowers, among them was a red carnation. He pictured in his mind again the girl. "O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou," he made his way over to another young woman and took her in his arms "That, notwithstanding thy capacity receiveth as the sea." He snatches a small kiss on her lips before diving in for another, more passionate and longer.
"Nought enters there of what validity and pitch soe'er but falls into abatement and low price," He wandered away from her grabbing at others as he walks back the way he had initially come. The great seat sitting in the middle of all the pandemonium. "Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy," he sees girls and boys; his menagerie, and the music fills the air with one last horrific chord as he takes once again his seat above them all. "That it alone is high fantastical."
He claps his hands and falls to sleep, sending his guests back to their reverie. A sleeping man atop a throne surrounded by figures of waxwork.
A thrush flies in through a non-existent window and sits atop a girls head. The blue and pink ribbons billow in an imaginary wind.
Best Comrades Forever!
Orders:
The Sarajevo Postal Institution: Research Base in Sarajevo (Infrastructure)
The Venetian Arsenal: Research Base in Venice (Naval)
The Sarajevo Psychological Institution: Research Base in Sarajevo (Armies)
The Milanese Futuristics Association: Research Base in Milan (Infrastructure)
"This is Illyria, lady." The captain replies hopping out and pulling the boat ashore. He goes with a rope to a nearby tree and ties it firmly. The wind tugs and his clothes and his salt encrusted hair. The sky is a tumultuous sea of grey mirroring the dark blue mass which they had come from. The tree stands as grey as the sky even its green leaves seeming grey. The whole world seems grey, like a captured film.
The woman steps off the boat, it is plain from her face she has been crying. Crying not as the wind cries through the crags or a newborn child, but as a lover wracked with grief. Her face shows it, a loss in her heart. Yet her words come out firm and purposeful, her journey having taken off the bite of the grief and left her with an inner anguish. "And what should I do in Illyria? My brother he is in Elysium. Perchance he is not drown'd: what think you, sailor?" The last phrase trails off hollowly. She knows her brother to be dead, she came to that conclusion long ago.
"It is perchance that you yourself were saved." The captain spoke from the tree, not turning back to her and the rocky coast as if the land had captivated him. That grey land of hills and trees marred only by the bright colours of the odd cluster of meadowland flowers.
A life awaited them here, a pair of survivors of a most horrible shipwreck. Illyria offered them something, its grey hills drew them in. The bridges and the wooden trellises tamed the air and promised them a peace harmless with nightingales.
But on the day they had been washed up, no nightingales sang.
----
Gavrilovich lies atop his tower in great Sarajevo. In his courtroom he entertains a bizarre menagerie of courtiers and artists. The room is framed by waving ribbons in pink and blue, the walls covered in images that bend the mind to even view. The architecture too reveals the deep seated madness of Gavrilovich's world the shape of the room was not something that could be easily discerned.
With a clap of his hands he called an end to their reverie of life and summons them back to that state of being of before, that world without end. "If music be the food of love, play on;" he begins. He strides amongst them, they greet him and laugh and cry and they play on. He kisses a young man, "Give me excess of it." he skips on stroking the cheek of a young woman "That, surfeiting, the appetite may sicken, and so die." He laughs and skips off again.
He descends upon a young lad, scarcely twelve, as the lad fades and dies beneath the power the stream of being that flowed from him and all his guests "That strain again!" He cries out "It had a dying fall." And the feeling wafts over again, the laughter of children, the gossip of the old wives and the beating of the girl's heart deep in her bosom, like the treasure of an obscured grey memory, pulsing with feeling. "O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound that breathes upon a bank of violets stealing and giving odour!" The power of the room continues, pulsing with vibrancy. Joyful melodies and birdsong filling the air, that obscure memory surfacing to the forefront. The power reaching a maddening crescendo as it opens itself up revealing naught but a girl with a carnation in her hair.
"Enough! No more!" He screeches deafeningly, the music stops, everything stopped. Everything but the room and its courtiers still dancing and singing in euphoric brilliance. He comes down from the joy he had been in and finds himself walking away from the young boys managed corpse only muttering "'Tis not so sweet now as it was before."
One courtier held in his hands a bunch of flowers, among them was a red carnation. He pictured in his mind again the girl. "O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou," he made his way over to another young woman and took her in his arms "That, notwithstanding thy capacity receiveth as the sea." He snatches a small kiss on her lips before diving in for another, more passionate and longer.
"Nought enters there of what validity and pitch soe'er but falls into abatement and low price," He wandered away from her grabbing at others as he walks back the way he had initially come. The great seat sitting in the middle of all the pandemonium. "Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy," he sees girls and boys; his menagerie, and the music fills the air with one last horrific chord as he takes once again his seat above them all. "That it alone is high fantastical."
He claps his hands and falls to sleep, sending his guests back to their reverie. A sleeping man atop a throne surrounded by figures of waxwork.
A thrush flies in through a non-existent window and sits atop a girls head. The blue and pink ribbons billow in an imaginary wind.
Best Comrades Forever!
Orders:
The Sarajevo Postal Institution: Research Base in Sarajevo (Infrastructure)
The Venetian Arsenal: Research Base in Venice (Naval)
The Sarajevo Psychological Institution: Research Base in Sarajevo (Armies)
The Milanese Futuristics Association: Research Base in Milan (Infrastructure)
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