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Well well well... I come back from a year of quiet and anonymous4401, you're still writing!
And as fresh as ever. I took a peek at some of your other current projects, and I have to say that this Tibet EU3 is my fave you have running. Although the Littoral Insanity is good for a laugh or 3 with the charecter's you've created.
I do have to say (and without ANY negative stigma), are you in journalism yet? Because you're ready.
A lot of the Prof's I know would be excited to see your quality of work.
So, when's the next batch of votes so I can make some more Uber Anony bucks?
.. And have mine expired?
And as fresh as ever. I took a peek at some of your other current projects, and I have to say that this Tibet EU3 is my fave you have running. Although the Littoral Insanity is good for a laugh or 3 with the charecter's you've created.
I do have to say (and without ANY negative stigma), are you in journalism yet? Because you're ready.
A lot of the Prof's I know would be excited to see your quality of work.
So, when's the next batch of votes so I can make some more Uber Anony bucks?
.. And have mine expired?
I just found this now and read through. It's hilariously funny! And I'm already feeling the abstinence... neeeed... uupdaate... (brains)
"Hello?"
"Hey Chris, this is Karen again."
"Oh hey! So Professor Warden went through with it, huh?"
A sigh. "Yes, he did. And I'm worried."
"About a time paradox? You went through the calculations yourself; you know better than to be worried! Professor Warden's machine just creates a branch timeline at the point of destination and sends its subject there. Or more accurately finds an already existing timeline that is close enough to ours at that point that a Swedish historical gaming company would use it as a model for that time period and sends it there."
"That was... a strange analogy."
"Yes it was and I have no idea why or how I came up with it. But the point is that he's not causing some sort of Grandfather Paradox in the past because he's not really in our past, just something that looks like it."
"But that's not what I'm worried about."
"Well if it's about liability then you shouldn't have to worry. Professor Warden's been planning this for decades, he has living wills and letters of recommendation and all that prepared somewhere. Probably still in that third drawer of his desk."
"No, it's not that, I know about those. I signed off on them. It's-"
"Your dissertation? Well at this point you should be practically done but if you really need some help then I could certainly help, having worked on practically the same-"
"No! It's... Can't somebody just be worried about their advisor's personal safety beyond what is needed for their degree?"
"Er... How long have you been in academia again?"
"Ooh I can't- Look, aren't you working on something based on Dr. Warden's work over in Chicago? Something that works very much like his time machine does but only for observation?"
"Oh yes, that's what I'm working on. I mean, the team that I'm on is working on. Yes, I'm on that team."
"Can't we use that to, you know, keep tabs on him or something? Make sure he didn't die of exposure while sobbing from misery on a desolate Tibetan mountainside?"
"Oh no, you can't just ask us to do that on a lark. I mean, this technology is very energy-consumptive! It costs us a fortune to just record fifteen seconds of footage of some 16th-century peasant eating bread. Speaking of which, Professor Warden's trip should have blacked out the entire Northeast, from the estimates I drew up when I was there."
"It did. It's very dark right now and I'm calling from a satellite phone, which is very expensive."
"Oh. Well. Then it should be on the news or something." *Click* "Oh, it is."
"Look, we can get funding for it. While you guys have been watching the past as it was, you've never watched the past as somebody from the present has been trying to change it, and I don't think there's anybody in the present who wants to change the past more than Dr. Warden, as silly as his goals may be. And think of it! We can finally have something to compare the history of our world with. History can finally be something that's vaguely testable, and not just guessing at patterns and pulling trends out of thin air. I'm sure there's some sort of funding in that, isn't there?"
"Hey, it's that Hispanic lady reporter! Wow, she's a fox! And if those rumors I heard about you were true, you'd be able to appreciate it too. I mean, are they true? Just curiou-"
*click*
"Hey Chris, this is Karen again."
"Oh hey! So Professor Warden went through with it, huh?"
A sigh. "Yes, he did. And I'm worried."
"About a time paradox? You went through the calculations yourself; you know better than to be worried! Professor Warden's machine just creates a branch timeline at the point of destination and sends its subject there. Or more accurately finds an already existing timeline that is close enough to ours at that point that a Swedish historical gaming company would use it as a model for that time period and sends it there."
"That was... a strange analogy."
"Yes it was and I have no idea why or how I came up with it. But the point is that he's not causing some sort of Grandfather Paradox in the past because he's not really in our past, just something that looks like it."
"But that's not what I'm worried about."
"Well if it's about liability then you shouldn't have to worry. Professor Warden's been planning this for decades, he has living wills and letters of recommendation and all that prepared somewhere. Probably still in that third drawer of his desk."
"No, it's not that, I know about those. I signed off on them. It's-"
"Your dissertation? Well at this point you should be practically done but if you really need some help then I could certainly help, having worked on practically the same-"
"No! It's... Can't somebody just be worried about their advisor's personal safety beyond what is needed for their degree?"
"Er... How long have you been in academia again?"
"Ooh I can't- Look, aren't you working on something based on Dr. Warden's work over in Chicago? Something that works very much like his time machine does but only for observation?"
"Oh yes, that's what I'm working on. I mean, the team that I'm on is working on. Yes, I'm on that team."
"Can't we use that to, you know, keep tabs on him or something? Make sure he didn't die of exposure while sobbing from misery on a desolate Tibetan mountainside?"
"Oh no, you can't just ask us to do that on a lark. I mean, this technology is very energy-consumptive! It costs us a fortune to just record fifteen seconds of footage of some 16th-century peasant eating bread. Speaking of which, Professor Warden's trip should have blacked out the entire Northeast, from the estimates I drew up when I was there."
"It did. It's very dark right now and I'm calling from a satellite phone, which is very expensive."
"Oh. Well. Then it should be on the news or something." *Click* "Oh, it is."
"Look, we can get funding for it. While you guys have been watching the past as it was, you've never watched the past as somebody from the present has been trying to change it, and I don't think there's anybody in the present who wants to change the past more than Dr. Warden, as silly as his goals may be. And think of it! We can finally have something to compare the history of our world with. History can finally be something that's vaguely testable, and not just guessing at patterns and pulling trends out of thin air. I'm sure there's some sort of funding in that, isn't there?"
"Hey, it's that Hispanic lady reporter! Wow, she's a fox! And if those rumors I heard about you were true, you'd be able to appreciate it too. I mean, are they true? Just curiou-"
*click*
All hail the great anon, God of AARpdates! (now, quick, one more before I have to eat brains again, the neighbours are starting to complain about the smell)
In my opinion, these days China should have been ruled by TIbet, Taiwan, Japan or Korea 
anything But China itself
I just noticed i haven't written here before. I'm glad such an AAR was brought back to excistence.
anything But China itself I just noticed i haven't written here before. I'm glad such an AAR was brought back to excistence.
I just want to know two things:
A) Just how hot is this lady hispanic reporter?
B) Are the rumours true?
A) Just how hot is this lady hispanic reporter?
B) Are the rumours true?
"Mahmud!" cried the Archbishop of Tibet, Norzang Sonam, on yakback, as his voice echoed throughout the snow-laden mountains of Koch. "Oh, Mahmud!"
"What?" growled the former and very short-reigned King of Bengal, Mahmud II, as he crawled out of the snow trench that was now his home. His vestments, once regal, were long tattered. His sword, once leading and inspiring rebel armies, was now rusted and brittle. And he himself didn't look so good either.
"Oh I just wanted to talk, Mahmud. Well not really talk. More like demand, maybe a little threaten, you know?"
By now Mahmud II was out of the trench and flanked by three of his soldiers, who were in the same terrible shape that he was, if not worse.
"Look," he said with a distinct tiredness. "Can't you just ignore us? Like you did a year ago?"
"Ah, but I ignored you because the other option was to lower taxes, and such a proposition is so absurd that it is to laugh!"
And Norzang did so, for a good five minutes.
"Ah, that was a good laugh. But it turns out that by allowing your rebel forces to besiege Koch, it made it so that our taxmen from what was once Bengal couldn't travel through Koch to deliver their receipts to Lhasa!"
"Look, I explained this last time, that's not my fault-"
"Oh Great and Might Rebel King Mahmud the Second!" cried a third man, interrupting Mahmud. He had the look of a Tibetan official, and was leading a pack-yak laden with many treasures. "I, a humble Tibetan tax collector, submit my takings to you, lord of this province!"
"I told you already!" shouted Mahmud, turning to this man. "I can't take your money! And your dumb Archbishop is right here! Just give it to him instead!"
"But I cannot do that Just and Wise Rebel Lord Mahmud!" responded the tax collector. "You are besieging this province, thus I am not allowed to take my receipts to Lhasa!"
"Wait, dumb Archbishop?" said an insulted Norzang. "I'll have you know, I recently received a message that I was once more welcomed at foreign courts with full courtesy! And I'm pretty sure being called a 'dumb Archbishop' isn't a courtesy!"
"Well I'm not a foreign court anymore, Norzang. I haven't been one since you annexed my kingdom four years ago. I'm just a rebel leader now."
"Oh, so that's why you can't take the money and use it to replenish your regiments like I can. But wait." Archbishop Norzang turned to the tax collector. "If Mahmud cannot take your money, and you cannot take your money to me, then where does the money go?"
The taxman shrugged. "I do not know, Archbishop, I never thought about it before. I guess I will just have to take these taxes back to the provinces and give them back to the people."
"The people!?" Norzang choked. "That's terrible! Mahmud, we have to do something about this terrible situation!"
"While I agree that money being in the hands of the peasants instead of in the hands of their rightful absolute rulers is terrible, I must say that you have been doing something about it."
"Oh right. Oh now I remember what I came here to talk to you about! Could you get the rest of your army together again so that we can do battle one more time?"
"That's the thing, Norzang." Mahmud indicated the three soldiers behind him. "This is my army."
"Oh. Well then there's nothing stopping me from defeating you single-handedly is there?"
"No, I suppose not-"
Before Mahmud could get out the words, Norzang had already charged forward and impaled him through the heart with his lance, grinning all the while. Mahmud died instantly, and the force of the blow was so strong that the end of the lance erupted from his back and into the stomach of the soldier behind him. The soldier would manage to push himself off of the spear only to die the slow and agonizing death that was death by a stomach wound in the cold snow below. Not bothering to extract his lance, Norzang dropped it, pulled out his sword, and swung at the soldier to the right. The soldier tried to react by lifting up his own sword, but months of malnutrition left him too weak to even hold it aloft, and Norzang's blade quickly dug into his neck, severing the spinal cord. The last soldier, seeing all of this, threw away his weapons and knelt, praying feverishly to Allah. Norzang only smiled and ordered his yak to rear up, to trample the last surviving man. And it did so, knocking the man down, breaking his ribs, crushing his throat, and finally caving in his skull even as the man supplicated his deity to protect his surviving family, who he loved very much, who would have to live without him, with his last breath.
Norzang paused to survey the results of his work. The once-pure, driven snow crimson with blood, the low wail of an impaled man dying in agony, and the powerful stench of the collective voided bowels of the dead and dying men, the smell of death. But to him it was the smell of money, of finally receiving the taxes of the oppressed Bengali peasantry. He smiled.
"What?" growled the former and very short-reigned King of Bengal, Mahmud II, as he crawled out of the snow trench that was now his home. His vestments, once regal, were long tattered. His sword, once leading and inspiring rebel armies, was now rusted and brittle. And he himself didn't look so good either.
"Oh I just wanted to talk, Mahmud. Well not really talk. More like demand, maybe a little threaten, you know?"
By now Mahmud II was out of the trench and flanked by three of his soldiers, who were in the same terrible shape that he was, if not worse.
"Look," he said with a distinct tiredness. "Can't you just ignore us? Like you did a year ago?"
"Ah, but I ignored you because the other option was to lower taxes, and such a proposition is so absurd that it is to laugh!"
And Norzang did so, for a good five minutes.
"Ah, that was a good laugh. But it turns out that by allowing your rebel forces to besiege Koch, it made it so that our taxmen from what was once Bengal couldn't travel through Koch to deliver their receipts to Lhasa!"
"Look, I explained this last time, that's not my fault-"
"Oh Great and Might Rebel King Mahmud the Second!" cried a third man, interrupting Mahmud. He had the look of a Tibetan official, and was leading a pack-yak laden with many treasures. "I, a humble Tibetan tax collector, submit my takings to you, lord of this province!"
"I told you already!" shouted Mahmud, turning to this man. "I can't take your money! And your dumb Archbishop is right here! Just give it to him instead!"
"But I cannot do that Just and Wise Rebel Lord Mahmud!" responded the tax collector. "You are besieging this province, thus I am not allowed to take my receipts to Lhasa!"
"Wait, dumb Archbishop?" said an insulted Norzang. "I'll have you know, I recently received a message that I was once more welcomed at foreign courts with full courtesy! And I'm pretty sure being called a 'dumb Archbishop' isn't a courtesy!"
"Well I'm not a foreign court anymore, Norzang. I haven't been one since you annexed my kingdom four years ago. I'm just a rebel leader now."
"Oh, so that's why you can't take the money and use it to replenish your regiments like I can. But wait." Archbishop Norzang turned to the tax collector. "If Mahmud cannot take your money, and you cannot take your money to me, then where does the money go?"
The taxman shrugged. "I do not know, Archbishop, I never thought about it before. I guess I will just have to take these taxes back to the provinces and give them back to the people."
"The people!?" Norzang choked. "That's terrible! Mahmud, we have to do something about this terrible situation!"
"While I agree that money being in the hands of the peasants instead of in the hands of their rightful absolute rulers is terrible, I must say that you have been doing something about it."
"Oh right. Oh now I remember what I came here to talk to you about! Could you get the rest of your army together again so that we can do battle one more time?"
"That's the thing, Norzang." Mahmud indicated the three soldiers behind him. "This is my army."
"Oh. Well then there's nothing stopping me from defeating you single-handedly is there?"
"No, I suppose not-"
Before Mahmud could get out the words, Norzang had already charged forward and impaled him through the heart with his lance, grinning all the while. Mahmud died instantly, and the force of the blow was so strong that the end of the lance erupted from his back and into the stomach of the soldier behind him. The soldier would manage to push himself off of the spear only to die the slow and agonizing death that was death by a stomach wound in the cold snow below. Not bothering to extract his lance, Norzang dropped it, pulled out his sword, and swung at the soldier to the right. The soldier tried to react by lifting up his own sword, but months of malnutrition left him too weak to even hold it aloft, and Norzang's blade quickly dug into his neck, severing the spinal cord. The last soldier, seeing all of this, threw away his weapons and knelt, praying feverishly to Allah. Norzang only smiled and ordered his yak to rear up, to trample the last surviving man. And it did so, knocking the man down, breaking his ribs, crushing his throat, and finally caving in his skull even as the man supplicated his deity to protect his surviving family, who he loved very much, who would have to live without him, with his last breath.
Norzang paused to survey the results of his work. The once-pure, driven snow crimson with blood, the low wail of an impaled man dying in agony, and the powerful stench of the collective voided bowels of the dead and dying men, the smell of death. But to him it was the smell of money, of finally receiving the taxes of the oppressed Bengali peasantry. He smiled.
Also note that Tibet doesn't win the battle until they outnumber the enemy 200 to 1
Yak cavalry aren't all that reliable. They have to be encouraged to charge towards the enemy; their natural instinct is to run away.
Just read through the whole thing. Very funny. Will be following the adventures of Andrew, Norzand and Company.
