Children of the Fatherland: MP conversion game

[Foelsgaard]

Death to the polish nazi-hyenas!

[Emperor Ike]

Death to the polish nazi-hyenas!

[FrozenWall]

Hyenas? I was thinking Ike current situation was more analogous to Anastasia

[Gollevainen]

100 years of Peace

The small boat passed the rock where Dôn was standing… the morning mist surrounded the silent men that rowed their boats toward south. Even if Dôn would have made herself as visible, she wasn’t sure whether they would have seen her even then. The Mist was thick. Dôn could still make difference between the men…Prince Reko sat on the helm position and the deep ruts in his face left little secret from his thoughts.

So many times before Dôn had seen those marks upon the faces of her grandsons and their children… Children of the Dôn, always worn out from the horrors of war that never satisfied their dreams or fulfilled their destinies.
For Gwynneth, Wales and England… Those were the words of Fulgues, son of Gwydion. Now it was for Liivinmaa, Vuojonmaa and Suomi. Names changed, men grew older and died, but always the next generation would take their place.
Dôn knew glory well; Vanity of the men seeking to magnify their position was nothing that mortals could claim for themselves exclusively. But in the Fairside, the foes and opponents would always remain the same, the battle and arguments would change and differ. But with mortal men…
It was like war and expansion was breastfeed to them from early on, for generation after generation. The men would change, even the countries would change but the reasons for war would remain there.

Dôn looked upon her children, all clad in iron and wearing helmets with demon faces curved upon them. They didn’t spoke anything; they just roved with their gauntlet covered fists squeezing their war-axes and lances. Was it that her children would always hold the role of the indifferent ones? Would her children always fight the undefeatable? Take the hardest burden and fight until the death with nothing more to win but their stubborn pride?

It had been long peace for Dôns. For almost century had passed since the pyre of England. Reko wouldn’t even remember the Frankish speech that his fathers and grandfathers spoke. So much had been forgotten and the new generation belongs to Wales as much as did windflowers to winter.

Yet they spoke the same things, with same weary faces. They fought for their homes and their futures and they were told and tossed around by the mightier lords and the Children of Dôn split their heart blood for vain and for nothing. And still they fought. The Kingdom of Chazaria couldn’t brag much these days with its situation or with its armies. Yet the Dôn’s stood there, all men, lads and little boys bearing arms and fighting the oppressor, with patriotism and passion unequalled in the world.

Still the Tsar had told to Reko that these lands were his land and only his highness would decide upon and over their fate. Dôn had stood there with his side when he was told that century’s long loyalty, valiancy and heroism they counted nothing. Dôn had stood there with Prince Reko’s side when he had told the Persian ambassador to stick the offer of Ukrainian throne to the darkest depths…years before this war and misery. Prince Reko was man of his word and loyal not only to his tsar but to those who he had given his word. He had chosen the hard way to maintain his honor and still stand loyal for his liege… he had even asked Gollevainen and Dôn herself to arrange the Russian chaotic succession crisis so that the foes in the south wouldn’t dare to intervene.

And he was told to prepare to lose everything. They weren’t his lands. He wasn’t even a bailiff for the Tsar; he was his pet dog to barking to amuse him, but to bark what the Tsar wanted to hear.

And Dôn would see that all from Reko’s face. Even behind his fearsome faceguard. He saw man leading 20,000 men into a battle in a war that didn’t anymore concern him, because his sayings wouldn’t matter in these things…in these wars…

Dôn feared that look; it wasn’t a look that foresaw anything good…
Dôn had seen it before, many times, when her grandsons had decided to gamble with the fate of the isles, with the fate of their own breathed.
For Gwynneth, Wales and England, but this time there were no place to run for cover. Dôn shook her head… war princes with looks of war kings on their faces. 100 years of peace was lot better.

[Emperor Ike]

So am I being Anastasia and Russia is Rasputin?

[FrozenWall]

So am I being Anastasia and Russia is Rasputin?

In the darkest of nights, evil will find you.

[Emperor Ike]

In the darkest of nights, evil will find you.

So you consider Russia to be evil?

[Gollevainen]

hey, I wrote deep and sensitively emmotional AAr and you guys discuss about Anastasia?
newsflash, she had it coming, now back in enjoying my art!

[Emperor Ike]

hey, I wrote deep and sensitively emmotional AAr and you guys discuss about Anastasia?
newsflash, she had it coming, now back in enjoying my art!

We are discussing the matters at hand and matters related to it. You should be happy that you get my AAR reward.

[FrozenWall]

So you consider Russia to be evil?

Have you not been keeping up on Blaynes updates? Theres like daemons and hell-portals n'stuff over there yo!

[OrangeYoshi]

hey, I wrote deep and sensitively emmotional AAr and you guys discuss about Anastasia?

Nothing you say in your AAR is new. We talk about new and interesting things here. *nods*

[Gollevainen]

But I wrote it with my heartblood?
I practically came in there...
Ungratefull little......

[Foelsgaard]

But I wrote it with my heartblood?
I practically came in there...
Ungratefull little......

Thank you for that inspiring mental image.

[Emperor Ike]

But I wrote it with my heartblood?
I practically came in there...
Ungratefull little......

Dont anger the western powers or you will lose your independence.

[Gollevainen]

Well lets say that I whiped all spills carefully and with dedication

[OrangeYoshi]

Well lets say that I whiped all spills carefully and with dedication

Oh dear...

[Foelsgaard]

But I don't want to think about Golle's heartcome spillings!

[FrozenWall]

Apparently they'll let anybody be king these days...

[Gollevainen]

what? I was trying to prove that im houseproof and cleaned up my mess

[King of Men]

Patient is the Eagle; and patient, too, is the sun-crowned lion, that waits by the waterhole for its prey.

They seek no glory; they make no defiant show against superior strength. The eagle's eye glares, from the mile-high crag, to find the prey that cannot fight back. The lion hunts the weakest antelope in the herd, not the broad-shouldered leader.

And yet, what can one say of those who would make war on the trackless plains of the Rus? Even the Eagle's gaze may be lost in these shimmering distances. The steppes swallow up men, armies, entire nations, as though plunging them into the bottomless ocean. A thousand men, ten thousand, a hundred thousand, marching shoulder to shoulder, cannot fill even the smallest part of this boundless horizon. Like ants crossing the floor of a palace, they are lost in emptiness. To strike when a foe is weakened is inglorious; but to dream of conquest in such a space is ambition to the point of madness. Let the man scorn who has never dreamt grandly. His own smallness will be his just and terrible punishment. The eagle and the lion take no notice of such. They strike when they sense weakness, no matter the size of the foe.

The steppes have never been governed. Oh yes, men have reigned here, have even ruled for a time; the Czars have drawn lines on maps, have claimed the allegiance of the tribes, have even won tribute from them to be displayed pridefully in the palaces of Novgorod. But to govern, to impose the rule of paper law on peoples who can move their flocks a hundred miles in a week and melt into the horizon? As well govern the sea, as well impose one's laws on the inrushing tide!

Crowns and trumpets and thrones, all are vain under this pitiless sky. Here the only throne is the saddle, and a good horse is worth more than its weight in gold; for gold cannot always buy horses, but the man with a horse and a strong bow may be assured he will find gold.

In the end, the grand ambition retreats in the face of reality; the width of the steppe is too much for any army. The highest-aimed arrow must eventually waver and fall; but the arrow aimed low, or never fired at all, cannot flash silver in the sunlight. It is the man who dreams of building new countries, and not the carping critic who calls the project a castle in the skies, who will leave behind more than the dust of his body for posterity. If the Bear is not dead, still its claws have been clipped, its fangs muzzled. Salami is sliced thinly, but in the end the sausage is gone. To regain the Black Sea coast has been the ambition of generations of Emperors. Only by contrast with the wildly daring vision of a Cossack State does victory feel like defeat.

The Eagle is patient. There will be other carrion.