Go, Go, Polarian Empire! 
*gets popcorn for inevitable RUSSIA STRONG response*
*gets popcorn for inevitable RUSSIA STRONG response*
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Children of the Fatherland: MP conversion game
- Thread starter King of Men
- Start date
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W00t??
Some dirty polar bears in MY baltic...
The grand prince of Finland is allready almost 1 meter tall, so the Polak's should know their place
Some dirty polar bears in MY baltic...
The grand prince of Finland is allready almost 1 meter tall, so the Polak's should know their place
Breaking news! An Polarian scientists has read the future from the bottom of an Vodka bottle and the future looks like the following. No specific date couldn't be retrieved from the scientist as he was so 'shocked' by his discovery but we were able to draw an picture based on what he said.
Hahaha... no.
For being the smallest player you know damn well how to convince all your neighbours to partition you. Good job.
Oh, and, RUSSIA STRONG.
Oh, and, RUSSIA STRONG.
All of his neighbors ? Well, make that all of his neighbors but one, Denmark is a fan of the Polarian ambitions.
Or the mighty Polarian Imperiator considers diplomatic deals to be beneath his station, only blood will still the apetites of the Polak hordes!
Yoshi, you're breaking my heart! You're going down a path I cannot follow!
I think Croatia and Polaria ought to fight it out, winner takes all. This game needs nothing more than a dwarf deathmatch! The Great Powers will all agree not to interfere except for throwing peanut shells into the ring.
In the left corner, wearing orange, the current third-rank champeen and favorite, Croatia! Eighty thousand pounds of sheer nastiness packed into thirty provinces, and overflowing in all directions! Let's hope it's all reserved for the challenger; you wouldn't want to get any of that on you! Let's hear it for their King: Rad-o-mir Drag-o-mir! Rad-o-mir Drag-o-mir!
Aaaaaand... in the right corner, in cyan, the challenger and underdog, Polaria! Not quite up to the champeen's weight class, but you'd never know it to look at the scrappy little guy! Watch him champing at the bit, he's raring to go! I always say, gents, it ain't the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog! We have a real contender here, you might be looking at the new third-rank champion! Let's hear it for the Dominar!
Gentlemen, place your bets!
In the left corner, wearing orange, the current third-rank champeen and favorite, Croatia! Eighty thousand pounds of sheer nastiness packed into thirty provinces, and overflowing in all directions! Let's hope it's all reserved for the challenger; you wouldn't want to get any of that on you! Let's hear it for their King: Rad-o-mir Drag-o-mir! Rad-o-mir Drag-o-mir!
Aaaaaand... in the right corner, in cyan, the challenger and underdog, Polaria! Not quite up to the champeen's weight class, but you'd never know it to look at the scrappy little guy! Watch him champing at the bit, he's raring to go! I always say, gents, it ain't the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog! We have a real contender here, you might be looking at the new third-rank champion! Let's hear it for the Dominar!
Gentlemen, place your bets!
Once, the world was divided into the Senate and People of Rome, and some outlying barbarian tribes; once, there was Civilisation and there was Wilderness, and wherever you stood you knew which side of the line you were on.
It remains so.
Alas, the torture-wheel of time turns, and Golden Ages come and go. There is still a dividing line between civilisation and barbarism, and there is no doubt in the mind of any Roman about what side of that line they are on; but where once the Senate treated with barbarians as with subject peoples, it is now necessary to act on the legal fiction that areas in rebellion are ruled by sovereigns, equal in status to Rome - as though any but the anointed of the Senate, the true successor to the governing body that has met for more than a thousand years, could have a mandate from Heaven! There is only one state in the world that is not a pretender squatting in the ruins of sacredness; and indeed even this understates the case. If the truth were told, there is only one state, which may nonetheless find it convenient to treat with sufficiently powerful confederations of barbarians as equals.
Of those confederations, the most powerful is that of the Rus, stretching as it does from the Danube and the Vistula (!) and far east into the steppes. The earth shakes with the thunder of their cavalry; where their army passes, rivers are drunk dry and deep forests grow in a single year upon the mounds of fertiliser they leave behind. Or so we are told; for the truth is that the Czars keep themselves to themselves, and have yet to mobilise their earth-shattering hordes for war. Withal they are a courteous folk, holding to the true religion, who have given Rome no cause for enmity, and have indeed shown their friendship by voluntarily returning land to the true sovereign. Only one thing shadows this relationship, namely the Rus' concern for their Slavic brothers in Croatia - an uncouth and unreliable tribe, prone to breaking truces if they think they can get away with it. Fortunately, Rome has no ambition to rule such a people, and can therefore live in peace with the Rus for the foreseeable future, in a comradely spirit of letting sleeping Behemoths lie.
The Balkan border can remain where it is; Italy is another matter. Once it was a principle of Roman policy not to make peace with an enemy who stood in arms on Italian soil. That was lost when the Goth and Lombard garrisons rebelled. Still, if Greece is now the heartland of the empire - for an ideal of citizenship and service does not depend on geography - Italy remains its birthplace. If its recovery brings Rome into conflict with the current occupiers, so be it. Rome has never shied from any battle in the cause of honour. There is a true, rightful ruler of Italy, and there is a verminous pretender, and that's all there is to it. And the recent splinterings in the German polity surely demonstrate that God knows it too, and is acting accordingly. (And about time, the Romans might add if they weren't a pious people, not given to arguing with our God, but accepting His word in all things. After all, if He had gotten His divine finger out a century ago, those who live today would not have seen these glorious accomplishments, nor have had any share in their doing.) However, as soon as the Germans accept the inevitable and stick to their side of the Po, all will be well and Rome will again establish a market on the Danube to buy their sausages, as in former times.
From Christians to infidels: The anciently Roman provinces of Egypt and Syria, not to mention the African provinces - indeed, half the Mediterranean, our sea - is held by the Fatimid Caliphate. Rome, unlike some well-known barbarian ethnicities, takes the long view. It is tolerable for a few decades or a century. But the bottom line remains: It cannot stand. The treaty that made the eastern border peaceful has succeeded beyond all expectations; affairs in the west are now well settled to Rome's satisfaction. Not in this decade, perhaps, but in the next, or the one after that, the Eagle will turn its red-eyed glare east once again. On its head are the laurels of victory; in its right claw it wields the sword of sovereignty, with the left it proffers to the ancient enemy, Persia, the olive branch of shared interest. The Eagle may rest, for a time; but it does not forget.
It remains so.
Alas, the torture-wheel of time turns, and Golden Ages come and go. There is still a dividing line between civilisation and barbarism, and there is no doubt in the mind of any Roman about what side of that line they are on; but where once the Senate treated with barbarians as with subject peoples, it is now necessary to act on the legal fiction that areas in rebellion are ruled by sovereigns, equal in status to Rome - as though any but the anointed of the Senate, the true successor to the governing body that has met for more than a thousand years, could have a mandate from Heaven! There is only one state in the world that is not a pretender squatting in the ruins of sacredness; and indeed even this understates the case. If the truth were told, there is only one state, which may nonetheless find it convenient to treat with sufficiently powerful confederations of barbarians as equals.
Of those confederations, the most powerful is that of the Rus, stretching as it does from the Danube and the Vistula (!) and far east into the steppes. The earth shakes with the thunder of their cavalry; where their army passes, rivers are drunk dry and deep forests grow in a single year upon the mounds of fertiliser they leave behind. Or so we are told; for the truth is that the Czars keep themselves to themselves, and have yet to mobilise their earth-shattering hordes for war. Withal they are a courteous folk, holding to the true religion, who have given Rome no cause for enmity, and have indeed shown their friendship by voluntarily returning land to the true sovereign. Only one thing shadows this relationship, namely the Rus' concern for their Slavic brothers in Croatia - an uncouth and unreliable tribe, prone to breaking truces if they think they can get away with it. Fortunately, Rome has no ambition to rule such a people, and can therefore live in peace with the Rus for the foreseeable future, in a comradely spirit of letting sleeping Behemoths lie.
The Balkan border can remain where it is; Italy is another matter. Once it was a principle of Roman policy not to make peace with an enemy who stood in arms on Italian soil. That was lost when the Goth and Lombard garrisons rebelled. Still, if Greece is now the heartland of the empire - for an ideal of citizenship and service does not depend on geography - Italy remains its birthplace. If its recovery brings Rome into conflict with the current occupiers, so be it. Rome has never shied from any battle in the cause of honour. There is a true, rightful ruler of Italy, and there is a verminous pretender, and that's all there is to it. And the recent splinterings in the German polity surely demonstrate that God knows it too, and is acting accordingly. (And about time, the Romans might add if they weren't a pious people, not given to arguing with our God, but accepting His word in all things. After all, if He had gotten His divine finger out a century ago, those who live today would not have seen these glorious accomplishments, nor have had any share in their doing.) However, as soon as the Germans accept the inevitable and stick to their side of the Po, all will be well and Rome will again establish a market on the Danube to buy their sausages, as in former times.
From Christians to infidels: The anciently Roman provinces of Egypt and Syria, not to mention the African provinces - indeed, half the Mediterranean, our sea - is held by the Fatimid Caliphate. Rome, unlike some well-known barbarian ethnicities, takes the long view. It is tolerable for a few decades or a century. But the bottom line remains: It cannot stand. The treaty that made the eastern border peaceful has succeeded beyond all expectations; affairs in the west are now well settled to Rome's satisfaction. Not in this decade, perhaps, but in the next, or the one after that, the Eagle will turn its red-eyed glare east once again. On its head are the laurels of victory; in its right claw it wields the sword of sovereignty, with the left it proffers to the ancient enemy, Persia, the olive branch of shared interest. The Eagle may rest, for a time; but it does not forget.
Perhaps it would then be prudent for the Caliphate to break that left talon and let the Roman bird limp home to concern himself with other Romes...
My money is on Russia gobbling everybody.
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Where’s a cousin, there's a cuisine
“Oh excuse me; I didn’t know that the little prince had visitors. I’m so sorry.” A woman looking like a seal made hasty counter-movement to her rather erupt entrance to the nursery.
“Never mind, we weren’t up anything too serious…were we?” Dôn replied and grinned little bit foolishly to Reko, who answered with laughter and threw all his pinecone figures towards Dôn…
“Now that’s a nasty boy! You cannot throw your toys against visitors.” The choppy woman intervened immediately and chided the prince by lifting him up despite the boy’s loud resistance.
“I really don’t mind, the boy weren’t any more evil than a tree in the forest dropping its seed upon me.”
“Well your highness, we are trying our best that the new Prince will live up to his father in manners and …HEY! No spitting at me you little…!”
And Dôn left the nanny to rebuke the child for a while and stood up to take the comfortable distance. While he glared outside the castles Small window, there were lot of crying and screaming and eventually a rather sulky looking toddler approached Dôn again, saying “Anteeksi.”
Dôn smiled. Reko was to be the first Finnish speaking Dôn to hold the title. She did not oppose it, so he answered, with her accent: “Ei kestä kiittää.”
And the boy was sunshine again in almost instant and scooted away to his games…
“You must be one of the Dôn’s by mere looks and appearance. If, my lady forgives me such out spoke.”
Dôn smiled in his thoughts, yeas I am one of the Dôn’s. “Yes you are correct. And I don’t mind people speaking to me, when they have something to say.”
“It’s just so much of talks these days. Your highness has surely heard the gossip and all. Not all women want to be called as Dôn Ladies these days.”
Dôn smiled with some steel in her look. The nanny knew enough to gather little bit of shame to her appearance before she continued.
“And not that it’s anyway fault of the poor girl; I mean the count of Savolax is not much older than this little bodkin here, but must there have been someone to stop her! Or him! Oh that such noble woman would marry her own father’s bastard brother…”
Dôn let the woman continue…she knew enough details and manners of this marriage to know better not to speak out loud. As well as she had knew about Pierre’s relationship to his young cousin. Men…
“It must surely be that they dwell there, andra sidan havet …those Swedish folk are queer as any…”
With fairies, having marriage to even one’s own brother was not something to even raise an eyebrow, but for men, these things carried big importance. Such a pity really. To Dôn, it was often hard to guide her offspring’s for making perfect match at the same time taking account what the men’s weird religions considered as sin or not…
“And those Egyptians! Every Dôn family outside this guidance that seems to dwell here had sold their sons and daughters to the Fatimid’s. Soon there will be Pharaohs instead of Princes here in Finland…
Dôn smiled. Pierre had hated Egyptians to the gut. But to Dôn, all man was equal…equally inferior, she kept reminding herself. Prince Reko abrupted her thoughts, by climbing up to sit on Dôn’s lap.
Among the other rabble he demanded a song where the nanny such mentioned:
“How would little Reko look like if he would be wearing that Pharaoh’s headgear!”
The Boy laughed
Dôn smiled gently. After all, weren’t Pharaoh’s kings instead of princes...
****
On her way out from the nursery, he met the old man again. It had been while since he had appeared at the same time in the castle with Dôn. Behind him walked a foreign looking man, olive skinned and dark haired and thoughts of Pharaohs and Nile visited in Dôn’s thoughts. He could have been Persian or Greek as well, so little his simple linen garments revealed to outside. The Old man steered him and the other man following him into a small room, but himself he remained and waited until Dôn came close.
“The deeds of the realm once again in hand?” Dôn asked.
The man grinned and said: “A court of a toddler with advisors still in level of toddlers aren’t in the focus of the world I’m afraid.”
“Was that supposed to be deneal to any dodgy deals that are to be signed there in the room?”
Dôn smiled her question trough her lips and the Old man sucked his own but still managing to grin in mockery.
“Well weren’t you planning to visit Tavastehus soon? You might have that chat with Guigues that the principality really needs…”
And Dôn grinned and passed by.
Session 17: In which not much happens.
Of note:
AI Bavaria declares war on West Rome and Loire. Fun ensues!
AI Croatia launches no less than 3 Crusades on the Caliphate, Cordoba, and the Caliphate again. Shoo, shoo.
Russias God-King dies and is replaced by a mediocre kid.
Persias big bishopric rebells.
The Eastern Empire withdraws from the Po.
The grandson of the Patriarch of Constantinople, who was set to inherit the east Med islands, dies from a tragic case of axe-to-the-face. The Caliphate denies any links to the assassin, or any of the other assassins sent to remove the meddling brat.
Of note:
AI Bavaria declares war on West Rome and Loire. Fun ensues!
AI Croatia launches no less than 3 Crusades on the Caliphate, Cordoba, and the Caliphate again. Shoo, shoo.
Russias God-King dies and is replaced by a mediocre kid.
Persias big bishopric rebells.
The Eastern Empire withdraws from the Po.
The grandson of the Patriarch of Constantinople, who was set to inherit the east Med islands, dies from a tragic case of axe-to-the-face. The Caliphate denies any links to the assassin, or any of the other assassins sent to remove the meddling brat.
Principality of Finland also denies all links to the assasinations. This time it wasen't us...
It was KoM. We all know that but if everybody blames you the mob believes us. They wouldn't believe that their one true sovegrein would assassinate people? Welcome to the family of scapegoats.
Yeah so much fun. Nothing like having to fight for a white peace against an AI which means that you have to occupy all of their domain provinces. AND then a bug happens and undoes a session worth of work. Fantastic!