an AAR with haiti?????? :rofl: incredible!!! I never prove with haiti 
how many money do you have?
how many money do you have?
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an AAR with haiti?????? :rofl: incredible!!! I never prove with haiti
how many money do you have?
how many money do you have?
Whoops, forgot to mention I'd be in Crete for a week. Well I'm back now, so updates should resume soon.
I'm too lazy to read it in its entirety until a bit later in the day, but I may be subscribed based on my glimpse (first post and a half) nonetheless. "Stalin did indeed... apple trees of Provence." For some reason that amuses me.
Yeah...I started playing the game, and got a crash in 1846. Typically I hadn't saved, and haven't been feeling much inclined to try again so far.ComradeOm said:We're waiting...
Ack. So we can consider this AAR dead? Say it ain't so... I've been enjoying it immensely to date
Not dead exactly, more indefinite hiatus. I'll continue when I feel the urge to load up Vicky again. I've recently become rather taken with EU3 (thanks to In Nomine), so that's been taking up most of my time recently.
Count how many languages are listed. Note that Guatemalan is not a real language
4
Pierre strode potently through Port-au-Prince, on his way to meet with Stephan at the Hall of Records. The streets shone cleanly, the buildings glimmered and the sun baked the streets unrelentingly. The swathes of people who passed before Pierre were a multitude of shapes, sizes and colours, the legacy of years of immigration and integration of white Europeans with the black descendents of slaves in Haiti‘s melting pot.* The sky was clear blue and the streets were pitch black. He did not notice an old man with a straw hat and cane, who smiled and watched him intently as he passed by, but then Pierre did not notice a lot of people. After he had disappeared around a corner, the old man picked up a little stray dog who had been sitting by his feet and stroked it, grinning with stately charm and lifting his hat to a passing robot.
It only took Pierre fifteen minutes to get from his apartment to the café, failing as he did to notice how the many windows of the Hall of Records glittered in the sunlight. He met Stephan warmly, with a brief manly hug and handshake, and then they both sat down. Stephan ordered a latte, while Pierre ordered a toyota.*****
“Happy birthday,” Stephan said. Pierre nodded, but his face remained stony. Stephan noticed. “Not such a happy birthday?”
Pierre let out a sigh, and shook his head. “I forgot. Marissa forgot. She forgot! How could she forget? How could I forget?”
“Cabbages.”
Pierre smiled slightly. “Stephan, you always have a way of making me feel better about these things. Anyway, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”
“This.” It was a magazine, called Secret Worlds. Stephan opened it on an article about an expedition to Bimini, supposedly undertaken by the Haitian government in 1937. Pierre read the article, which basically suggested that they had found something, and had covered it up. After a few minutes Pierre looked up sceptically.
“The Fountain of Youth?” He added with a wry smile, “Are you implying that I’m getting old?”
“Lol, not at all,” Stephan said, “The only reason I bring it up is that I recall the Hall of Records was not built, it was born, in the dusty sands of Egypt, and remained hidden something about a previousd Haitian expedition to the region, in 1835. Both times the findings were kept secret despite the voyages being quite well publicised, and I’m curious if any trace of this remains.”
Pierre glanced again at the article and at Stephan. “So?”
“Well, what if they really did find the Fountain? Everlasting youth…”
“I’ve heard of this magazine before. Wasn’t it Secret Worlds that first suggested crop circles were made by UFOs? And that the destruction of the Calico Towers was an inside job? By aliens?”
“Well erm yes, but that’s hardly the point. All this stuff, it's all linked .”
“Were there any expeditions between 1835 and 1937”
Stephan looked blank.
Something clicked.
A bird pooed on Pierre’s shoulder.******
__________________
*It is often said that Haiti is, has and always shall be primarily a nation descended from French black slaves, but this is plainly not the case. Although French remains the official language, genetic studies of a sample of the population of Port-au-Prince have shown that only 50% had any African descent at all, and de Plume** outlines how the black population has remained through the repeated intermarrying of ten or so prominent black families, allowing no outside interference with the gene pool.
**See “Le Rebellion D’Haiti” by Gnome de Plume, University of Cap-Haitien***, 1992
***Oddly, I have done a little bit of research and it turns out that there never was anyone by the name of Gnome de Plume at the University of Cap-Haitien. This is further compounded by the revelation that there is not even a University in Cap-Haitien. I did discover that Albert Louverture spent a few summers in the city, and stayed with a lady called Nora Yaroslavich who allegedly ran a house of ill-repute. In his spare time it seems that Louverture was quite the poet, and produced a volume called “Shrieks from the Cathouse,”**** Witchell and Mebb, no year given. I did discover that it had been translated into many languages, including English, German, Spanish, Portuguese, Japanese, Greek, Swedish, Danish, Norwegian, Occitan, Italian, Mandarin, Klingon, Irish Gaelic, Turkish, Arabic, Russian, Manchu, Luwian, Dutch, Double Dutch, Esperanto, Coptic, Beja, Kannada, Hindi and Guatemalan .
****Not for the faint hearted.
*****?? Pebble gives no explanation for what was meant here. Indeed, it seems as if Pebble was having a bit of fun in this section, inserting non-sequiteurs on a whim. Maybe something to do with pataphysics? Interestingly, it was during this conversation that news of the mysterious disappearance of Albert Louverture was announced. Maybe Pebble was distracted by the implications of the revelation?
******Ibis
It only took Pierre fifteen minutes to get from his apartment to the café, failing as he did to notice how the many windows of the Hall of Records glittered in the sunlight. He met Stephan warmly, with a brief manly hug and handshake, and then they both sat down. Stephan ordered a latte, while Pierre ordered a toyota.*****
“Happy birthday,” Stephan said. Pierre nodded, but his face remained stony. Stephan noticed. “Not such a happy birthday?”
Pierre let out a sigh, and shook his head. “I forgot. Marissa forgot. She forgot! How could she forget? How could I forget?”
“Cabbages.”
Pierre smiled slightly. “Stephan, you always have a way of making me feel better about these things. Anyway, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”
“This.” It was a magazine, called Secret Worlds. Stephan opened it on an article about an expedition to Bimini, supposedly undertaken by the Haitian government in 1937. Pierre read the article, which basically suggested that they had found something, and had covered it up. After a few minutes Pierre looked up sceptically.
“The Fountain of Youth?” He added with a wry smile, “Are you implying that I’m getting old?”
“Lol, not at all,” Stephan said, “The only reason I bring it up is that I recall the Hall of Records was not built, it was born, in the dusty sands of Egypt, and remained hidden something about a previousd Haitian expedition to the region, in 1835. Both times the findings were kept secret despite the voyages being quite well publicised, and I’m curious if any trace of this remains.”
Pierre glanced again at the article and at Stephan. “So?”
“Well, what if they really did find the Fountain? Everlasting youth…”
“I’ve heard of this magazine before. Wasn’t it Secret Worlds that first suggested crop circles were made by UFOs? And that the destruction of the Calico Towers was an inside job? By aliens?”
“Well erm yes, but that’s hardly the point. All this stuff, it's all linked .”
“Were there any expeditions between 1835 and 1937”
Stephan looked blank.
Something clicked.
A bird pooed on Pierre’s shoulder.******
__________________
*It is often said that Haiti is, has and always shall be primarily a nation descended from French black slaves, but this is plainly not the case. Although French remains the official language, genetic studies of a sample of the population of Port-au-Prince have shown that only 50% had any African descent at all, and de Plume** outlines how the black population has remained through the repeated intermarrying of ten or so prominent black families, allowing no outside interference with the gene pool.
**See “Le Rebellion D’Haiti” by Gnome de Plume, University of Cap-Haitien***, 1992
***Oddly, I have done a little bit of research and it turns out that there never was anyone by the name of Gnome de Plume at the University of Cap-Haitien. This is further compounded by the revelation that there is not even a University in Cap-Haitien. I did discover that Albert Louverture spent a few summers in the city, and stayed with a lady called Nora Yaroslavich who allegedly ran a house of ill-repute. In his spare time it seems that Louverture was quite the poet, and produced a volume called “Shrieks from the Cathouse,”**** Witchell and Mebb, no year given. I did discover that it had been translated into many languages, including English, German, Spanish, Portuguese, Japanese, Greek, Swedish, Danish, Norwegian, Occitan, Italian, Mandarin, Klingon, Irish Gaelic, Turkish, Arabic, Russian, Manchu, Luwian, Dutch, Double Dutch, Esperanto, Coptic, Beja, Kannada, Hindi and Guatemalan .
****Not for the faint hearted.
*****?? Pebble gives no explanation for what was meant here. Indeed, it seems as if Pebble was having a bit of fun in this section, inserting non-sequiteurs on a whim. Maybe something to do with pataphysics? Interestingly, it was during this conversation that news of the mysterious disappearance of Albert Louverture was announced. Maybe Pebble was distracted by the implications of the revelation?
******Ibis
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Well I wrote it, so I thought I might as well post it. I don't know how regular future updates will be, but there will be future updates.
Hooray! My favourite AAR returns with even more bizarre twists and deft touches than usual. Keep 'em coming. Hmm... I don't suppose that Bimini is in the Sargasso?
Secrets endanger, codes reveal, end time secretly
5
In the wide waters of the Sargasso Sea, the rowboat* drifted aimlessly. In it were various supplies, food, water and other provisions, a cheap notebook filled with various esoteric writings and drawings. On the notebook was scrawled “Property of Albert Louverture.”
Not in it, however, was any sign of a human being.
Nor was there a sign of a struggle.
Indeed, there was no sign of anything or anyone. The boat was still moving when it was found, as if there had not yet been enough time for it to come to a stop. It was quite disconcerting. It was, as one of the police officers said at the scene, “as if Mr Louverture disappeared into thin air.”
There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that the boat had been inhabited not long before. The notebook was found open, a passage of text upon the page coming to an abrupt halt midway through a sentence. A half-eaten apple lay discarded on the floor.
But there was no life in the Sargasso Sea.
One of the officers investigating the scene, a young Jamaican called Moldavia Nemoy, picked up the up-till-now ignored notebook, and read aloud to herself what was written.
Not in it, however, was any sign of a human being.
Nor was there a sign of a struggle.
Indeed, there was no sign of anything or anyone. The boat was still moving when it was found, as if there had not yet been enough time for it to come to a stop. It was quite disconcerting. It was, as one of the police officers said at the scene, “as if Mr Louverture disappeared into thin air.”
There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that the boat had been inhabited not long before. The notebook was found open, a passage of text upon the page coming to an abrupt halt midway through a sentence. A half-eaten apple lay discarded on the floor.
But there was no life in the Sargasso Sea.
One of the officers investigating the scene, a young Jamaican called Moldavia Nemoy, picked up the up-till-now ignored notebook, and read aloud to herself what was written.
“The heady Elysium ran everywhere, indeed so, and salacious ergot cereal revealed everything telling. It told it so handily I did do endings never.”
She frowned. As far as she could tell it was pure gibberish. Heady Elysium? What on earth did that mean? Moldavia knew that Elysium was a part of the Underworld from Greek mythology for fallen heroes, but that was about it. She did not even know where to begin with salacious ergot. She read some more, hoping maybe to shed some light on the above.“Green oranges told only to hills ending, you underestimate Circe and tell a nothing. Enter near the entrance right, tell him everything, be late and call kappa, steal tomes on nests ended serenely.”
There was no doubt in Moldavia’s mind. Louverture was quite mad.__________________
*Much attention and study has been given to the symbolism of the rowboat. L. Nielsen, in his "All Went to Heaven - Reflections on Rowboats in Popular Culture", MIT Publishing, 2012 suggested that it was representative of the end of life, mentioning Louverture in passing. Some cultures identify the passage of life with a boat floating down a river, and so the vast expanse of the sea represents the uncertainty of what lies beyond the confines of our limited existence. D. Ransky, in his "Refutations of Stupidity", Oxford University Press, 2012, gave the retort, "Surely Nielsen realises that Louverture's death is not a fictional occurence but a real life tragedy, and thus his babblings about the symbolism of rowboats means nothing at all in this particular case?" Nielsen in turn replied to Ransky, simply saying, "Don't call me Shirley."
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What, ever?
There is currently no game behind this AAR, but there will be one eventually.
There is currently no game behind this AAR, but there will be one eventually.
Just reminding the vast horde of fans desperate for this AAR to continue that it will, soon.
Ironically enough, Feufouille burnt down
First there was darkness and then there was light, a light so bright that it burned my eyes, my soul, my heart I couldn’t breathe my lungs felt so tight I couldn’t breathe yet somehow enough air got into me and I kept going, knowing that what I was doing was wrong and that where I was going was forbidden, beyond all hope I had crossed the line no going back no going ba-
-neath the great building, the secrets of the ages how ironic that this should stand on top of something so-
-in plain view, as if they were almost trying to hide something by putting it where everyone would see it and no one would notice it I can’t understand how a mind like that works it’s obscene, it’s beyond obscene its absurd yes that’s the point though isn’t it they’re all in it together I can see now they’re all in it tog-
-space, cavernous space larger than anything I’d ever seen, the light that disappeared into the darkness and somewhere in here lay the answer the keys everything I’d been searching for here was where my journey ended, nothing could defeat me I could only win but I underestimated them and I paid, oh how I paid, I was tricked tricked tricked tricke-
-dogs came, slavering and growling like the beast Cerebus himself only he was an aardvark now I’ve lost my train of thought what was I talking about again this happens a lot, they did something to me they took my mind brainwashing mind squashing devious men who stole me away and tortured me and ripped me apart this is my final fit I’ve lost everything everything they didn’t even let me finish that ap-
-twenty seven blackbirds baked in a pie-
-of Records, curse the Hall of Records, curse the Hall of Records, curse the Hall of Records, curse the Hall of Records, curse-
Partially recovered transcript of the ravings of an unidentified patient at the remains of Feufouille Lunatic Asylum in Port-au-Prince
6
First there was darkness and then there was light, a light so bright that it burned my eyes, my soul, my heart I couldn’t breathe my lungs felt so tight I couldn’t breathe yet somehow enough air got into me and I kept going, knowing that what I was doing was wrong and that where I was going was forbidden, beyond all hope I had crossed the line no going back no going ba-
-neath the great building, the secrets of the ages how ironic that this should stand on top of something so-
-in plain view, as if they were almost trying to hide something by putting it where everyone would see it and no one would notice it I can’t understand how a mind like that works it’s obscene, it’s beyond obscene its absurd yes that’s the point though isn’t it they’re all in it together I can see now they’re all in it tog-
-space, cavernous space larger than anything I’d ever seen, the light that disappeared into the darkness and somewhere in here lay the answer the keys everything I’d been searching for here was where my journey ended, nothing could defeat me I could only win but I underestimated them and I paid, oh how I paid, I was tricked tricked tricked tricke-
-dogs came, slavering and growling like the beast Cerebus himself only he was an aardvark now I’ve lost my train of thought what was I talking about again this happens a lot, they did something to me they took my mind brainwashing mind squashing devious men who stole me away and tortured me and ripped me apart this is my final fit I’ve lost everything everything they didn’t even let me finish that ap-
-twenty seven blackbirds baked in a pie-
-of Records, curse the Hall of Records, curse the Hall of Records, curse the Hall of Records, curse the Hall of Records, curse-
Partially recovered transcript of the ravings of an unidentified patient at the remains of Feufouille Lunatic Asylum in Port-au-Prince
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Dogs are evil?
This aar is a bit a mad.
but in the confusion in it also makes it a great reading!
This aar is a bit a mad.
but in the confusion in it also makes it a great reading!
Hoorah for a deranged return! Of course now I have to go back and read the preceding updates but then that is in itself a pleasure. I do have the feeling however that many of these ramblings will make considerably more sense as the AAR (hopefully) progresses
Holy crap-mackerels. . . this is totally sick. I am going to read it like it's never been read before, I tell you what.