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Showing content with the highest reputation since 07/25/2018 in all areas

  1. 5 points
    First of all thanks to Duke, Joe and Chinese for letting us in the event in the first place. Although our experience with NRP had always been negative, the first rounds of the campaign were a blast to being a part of. However after the last incident we,the officers of the 65th that is, have decided that there is no reason to continue participating. This decision was taken because of 3 main factors which I will briefly go over Abuse and bias in the admin team I first addressed this in this thread. Although everything was explained about those questionable decisions, this doesnt apply to yesterday's events. For anyone not attending that day, what happened is basically that the CF got denied 2 officer slots at the start of the round for no reason. 2 admins, sneaky and Duke were contacted in the middle of a non live round however according to them they got vetoed by Scandy and Minisiege who chose to continue the round. Minisiege later stated that a CF officer told them we were ready. That was a lie. All officers at the time were present in the voice chat where a massive mic spam had commenced over the officer issue, as such all of them were aware of the situation. The only one not present, Doctor Noob also denied telling any admin. This ''mishap'' caused the CF to lose an entire round which the admins refused to correct or acknowledge. I would also like to point out that in the first battle El Presidente reset an entire round in the middle, in order to sort out CC officers. This action seems to only be forbidden to non CC players Let us also not forget the ridiculous maps which seemed to always give an advantage to the CC. The second to last one was absolutely horrible as it gave the CC a fortified hill position with a total of 5 cannons and 3 howitzers that overlooked the entire map while the CF only had one hill with one mortar that was bypassed by the enemy's arty height advantage and a town whose walls were transparent to cannonballs. These were issues that arent necessarily abuse but something I will address right below 2. The stance of the responsible admins All the issues that have been brought up could have been dealt with a simple reset, an invalidation of a round or a simple side swap. Every such initiative though was denied for no good reason by the acting admins who later reflected blame to Duke and even the regiment itself. Time after time, in both events ''mistakes'' were simply covered up or played down while their effects (again only in CC's favor) remained on the campaign map. 3.''Meta game'' abuse by the developers Although I was the only one involved with the dev process from my reg the effects on many decisions impacted the campaign as a whole. This is the only time in this thread I will name the 19th as a cause, as all of the people who tried to push an agenta were from that regiment (the opposite isnt true- many 19ths stayed out however). Presidente vetoed rules and suggestions that would have negative effects to his faction, 19th hordes appeared occasionally to rule out or support opinions by relentless spamming and insulting, and other 19th members attempted to give themselves buffs from the moment they lost the 1st battle (this included: A ban on faction co operation, the GR losing 3 AP for violating a rule which came into effect AFTER they had acted on it, a 3rd CC army spawning, faction leaders being banned and many more). I would like to once again give a thank you to people like Duke and Joe who put their heart into the campaign to make it as enjoyable as possible, and a small ''fuck off'' to people like presidente who put their personal gain above the enjoyment of others. Have a nice day/evening/night. Edit: was asked to include this as well
  2. 5 points
  3. 5 points
    When Medlico, Earballs and Sandy were accepted as admin only to get purged for inactivity a month later. It was at that point I stopped getting excited for new applicants ;(
  4. 4 points
  5. 4 points
  6. 4 points
    Excuse me, but this is a no bullying zone. Any continued bullying will result in a visit from your local law enforcement agencies.
  7. 3 points
  8. 3 points
    Onkel_Erwin

    Introduce Yourself!

    Evening, my name is Onkel Erwin and i play M&B-NW since 2015 (on the NRP Server since 2016) with several breaks in the last few months, so my melee is as good as my english grammar i guess. The endless hours i spent on the NRP Server was the best time i had in the M&B DLC and it is always a pleasure to rejoin the server for another round. Im working as a mortician (more common is undertaker i think) and spent most of my leisure for reenactings. I think those were the important things so see you soon and "Für das Vaterland!"
  9. 3 points
    Dimitry

    NONOFFICIAL MEME THREAD

    The infamous terrorist @SacrificialLamb shortly before being detained by prison guards near Dinner. The image perfectly captures his sorrow after realizing his failure to bring down JailBreak and save NRP. (Credits to ourpony and @DukeOfWellington)
  10. 3 points
    obamanoodle

    NRP Character Applications

    NRP Username: obamanoodle Discord Alias:obamanoodle Character Name: obamanoodle GUID: 1570865 Faction: Crown Colonies Why do you want a character: [Soldier] I just want a character so I can do the stuff??? idk I just felt like it
  11. 2 points
    Imagine making alt accounts to avoid punishments and not get em banned /REJECTED
  12. 2 points
    WaterPolo

    Complaint - Broke (resolved )

    Complaint resolved after speaking to both sides. We will take this complaint serious and try to implement new rules into Campaign 6.0 like not allowing Admins to be Officers during events to avoid conflict.
  13. 2 points
  14. 2 points
    Due to the overwhelming success of all 4 of NRP Campaigns so far, work on the five campaign has been underway for quite some time and will be bigger and better than the one before. The small campaign dev team have been working hard behind the scenes to bring you this next campaign and hopefully the best one yet. Due to duke not being apart of this campaign I myself had taken over and started with a small team if you are wanting to help with the campaign development then please do pm me on discord Isaac#9406 Keep in touch with this thread to see the upcoming campaign dev blogs.
  15. 2 points
    Chef Boyardee

    Slaves

    SLAVES are players that broke server rules by doing something worth a ban. Instead of normal ban(blocking acces to server) NJB adds such player to SLAVE group. SLAVES: -are unable to join guard team in any case. -can be killed without any consequences. -have chat cooldown (1 minute). -chat color is black. -can't use gates. -can't use any objects (for example chests). -can't TK in jail siege. -can't use polls How to spot SLAVE? They always wear special hat:
  16. 2 points
    Generalissimus Kenway

    Goodbye, CC

    The Crown Commonwealth is no more. And I wish not to make this tragic news even more unbearable and, as such, I will keep this short. To all the brave and loyal members of the CC, I say: Thank you. Thank you, to all who never left our cause Thank you, to all who never flinched in spite of whatever was thrown at them and Thank you, to all who fought till the end. Now, the reason for this heart-breaking defeat that has befallen us cannot be easily pinned down, though it is obvious that mistakes were made, both in the in-game battles and the Campaign Map moves. I do not wish to go into much detail but I feel personally accountable for several of those terrible blunders and I wish to solemnly apologise to the great people of the CC and to our King - I hope you can forgive me. And now I invite you to listen together with me to this beautiful song and reminisce about the good old days one last time before we let go of it all... forever. Goodbye, CC.
  17. 2 points
    1. Officer Slots The issue with the officer slots was cleared up already by myself to you in the discord. None of "us"-those being the people who encouraged Minisiege to reset the round despite CF's apparant lack of officers-did so because: a) As I said, basically nobody had any idea you were even a part of it. From the start of the event, the lack of presence in the NRP Discord's CF Channels gave everyone the impression that they had basically no officers anyway. I played the entire event and only became aware that your regiment was taking officer slots midway through the final event. We weren't told "The 65th didn't get their slots", just "CF have no officers" which was one of Duke's many mishaps and fuck-ups in that event due to the fact he apparantly had a stressful day. b) It was the final round of the event and we'd already had a clusterfuck of a reset prior, and several other confused episodes when Duke started a round when nobody was ready or restarted it pointlessly. We were frustrated and wanted to get on with it. 2. The Map The first map was heavily in CC's favour and chosen by Duke. Take your issues with that up with him. 3. "Responsible Admins" Theorhetically only 1 admin runs the event, who uses "CAMPAIGN_ADMIN." Other admins-notably Duke-often weighed in or took their own initiative around him in this occasion which caused much, much confusion. Another case of Duke being the one you need to take this up with. There is no "reflecting blame" on Duke. In my opinion he fucked this event up extremely hard, I only avoided saying so at the time due to the fact he seemed stressed and under pressure. 4. "Rigged Faction" From what I saw, Presidente didn't want rules suggested long ago to be brought in just for the sheer fuck off, likely also because it would fuck his faction over if done so-assuming you mean the attrition rule. On the flipside, he also suggested or allowed things to the detriment of him and his faction. Addressing each point made here: a) "BAN ON CO-OPERATION" the ban on alliances is something from the start to prevent the shitshow caused in the last campaign by players taking huge sweeping things into their own hands, such as rebellions and alliances. Blame me for making 3 factions instead of 2 if you like, but them saying "you can't ally" isn't them being corrupt, it's them pointing out that a Faction that is fighting a war of independece against another faction shouldn't be able to ally with it against a 3rd one. b) GR losing AP for a rule (not sure what this refers to) c) I believe extra armies were spawned to deter the alliances above by making people under pressure? Not sure on this one either. I know you fucking despise Presidente Dimitry but a lot of your points here are moot. You and your regiment didn't use the NRP discord and relied largely on people who simply weren't running the event to convey the fact that you were even a part of it, which they evidently failed to do adequately. What can be chalked up to a simple lapse in communication and dreadful performance by Duke due to extrernal stress on the day has now erupted into melodrama the likes of which I haven't seen in a long time. I do not take the time to post much anymore but I can not and will not sit here and have you attack the Campaign as a whole just because you believe Presidente and his faggy regiment have some big massive conspiracy to ruin it for everyone. I think it's a real shame that your regiment are deciding to bin it all out your spite for 1 mildly autistic yorkshireman but Presidente isn't some big evil fiend and has had ample opportunity to fuck everyone for his own personal gain for about 2 years now, and on 0 occasions has he done so. Every single time he puts the server as a whole before himself. tl;dr- This was a failure in communications, not helped by the fact that you and your regiment hid away in another discord giving everyone the impression that CF was a dead faction before the event even started. But thanks very much for now making the life of those running the campaign even harder as they scramble to settle the inevitable unrest that will come as a result of this drivel. Just call Presidente a blithering retard and move on with your day instead of all this shite.
  18. 2 points
    1. Admin team is rigging the campaign. 2. Jailbreak opinions don't matter. 3. 65th bad lmao. 4. Greece bad lmao. 5. fug prasedonti.
  19. 2 points
    Outnumbered 7:1, (14:2) two Confederate volunteers attempted to hold the Republican hordes at bay while their regiments regrouped. El Presidente was the sole survivor of the encounter, the blood of seven men infused to the tip of his bayonet. This is to commemorate that fateful day, for the few who are reached by fame and adoration, and the many who are not.
  20. 2 points
    The Battle of Noisne “…And our last mistake was remaining calm when the sentries didn`t return. Rumor is some bloke found them strung up from a tree, throats slit and all. They`d seen the rebels, and the rebels saw them. Only problem is, they saw us before we saw them.” -Private Nigel Farage Although the battle of Noisne has been generally considered to be a complete humiliation on the part of the Crown Commonwealth- perhaps with some merit- let this summary first show the things that the invading faction did correctly. For one, the landings itself were a complete success, as sleeper agents fed misinformation to the local captain of Confederate forces. As a result, a beachhead was promptly established, and engineers began construction of a deep-sea dock for larger warships and transport craft to offload their materials. This was, ultimately, unnecessary (and even detrimental, as the half-completed dock was captured and used by the Confederation to launch an invasion of Erlovsk), but a logistical marvel nonetheless. And the retreat- a retreat into the sea, no less- was carried out with minimal casualties. However, it is the space between debarkation and retreat which is the subject of controversy. Perhaps it was unwise for the first battle of the Crown Commonwealth to be one of an overseas invasion, but after the quick capture of Erlovsk Island and the surrounding islets, the general staff was confident of a continued string of victories. Unlike the previous war, where the adversary was a highly-centralized juggernaut with an equally prestigious military history, the Confederation was united only by common assent. If this mutual consent towards unification was shattered, hopefully along with their armies, than the war may have been over in a few weeks. In that case, speed was necessary, lest a common sense of unity develop in their nation. The Confederation of Liberated Lands, in comparison, had no élan to rely on. Their peoples could claim no noble heritage, and their previous attempt at self-governance under the Soyuz was met with betrayal and subjugation. They had not a single victory- except against a revanchist zealot band, who had since been martyred among the Confederation- to reflect on with pride. What they did have, however, was freedom. And when that freedom was jeopardized, scores of civilians grabbed their muskets, rifles, and even axes to support the army. What they brought along with them, as well, was knowledge on the terrain, as well as likely positions the Commonwealth army was planning to capture. The Confederate army arrived at the designated battlefield, a hilly pastureland which could conceal entire regiments. As planned, Commonwealth forces marched inland towards the seat of the council at Drepesk, where they were planning to install a collaborationist regime. As it just so happens, the minor Russian lord which they chose to lead the regime was among the first casualties of the battle, as an opening cannon barrage hit him directly. Just as the columns recovered from the shock and began to rearrange themselves into battle formation, a musket volley tore through their lines, and many of their ornately dressed officers stained red cotton with redder blood. However, not all was lost for the Commonwealth. Many of the civilian soldiers foolishly broke formation in an attempted charge, only to be cut down as they reached the enemy with point-blank fire. The Commonwealth soldiers responded by charging forward themselves, now with a heavy numerical superiority. Confederate lines collapsed during the retreat. Even worse, the artillery couldn`t provide support without the risk of shelling their own men. Seeing the situation, the surviving Commonwealth officers ordering their tired men to advance on the battery itself, and silence it for good. Unfortunately for the Commonwealth, the Confederate rearguard halted the retreat and rallied the soldiers on top of the artillery hill. With their lines of sight clear, the artillery loaded grapeshot (and, according to legend, even stuffed nails and bullets into their cannons) and provided cover. But the advance did not halt, and soon there was a great struggle amongst the cannons. However, despite enemy numbers, it was the Confederacy which prevailed, using their uphill advantage. When the order to retreat was finally given, many Commonwealth forces tripped and clambered over each other in the resulting mob, and were easily slain by revengeful Confederates. Some cavalry even managed to wheel around the mob and cut off their retreat, dooming the entire mass. The war would not be over in a few weeks, as planned. There would be a second front. It was not military aptitude or bravery which saved the Second Commonwealth Army from destruction, but the fact that their enemy became fatigued after killing so many of their men. Still, the invasion was not completely defeated yet. Even after such an embarrassing display, the rearguard had managed to escape and rendezvous with the rest of their comrades. They met in the middle of a wheat-field, using the stone walls as cover. Using cavalry to lure in the enemy, they managed to surround a pursuing Confederate force, which retreated into a nearby farmhouse. Thus, the battle turned into a siege, as Commonwealth artillery and skirmishers slowly withheld away at the defenders. Three times, the Confederate cavalry sallied out, and three times they were repelled. Finally, an assault was launched on the meager garrison, and the ranch-house was finally taken. This would prove to be the final hurrah for the invasion force. Reinforcements were certain to arrive within the hour, and the decision to withdraw was already made. When the rest of the Confederates reached the ranch, they found a host of walking wounded with nothing left to lose. But lose they did. Confederate infantry assaulted their position in the ranch-house and cut them down. A small detachment attempted to encircle around and strike the artillery, but were spotted and shelled into oblivion. But, in a way, they had succeeded in delaying the bulk in the Confederate army, and the Commonwealth force as a whole made it onto their ships just as enemy scouts reached them. The Battle of Noisne had ended. But the aftermath proved to be even more decisive than the conflict itself. In their haste to evacuate, the Commonwealth fleet had not consulted their maps correctly, and landed on the mainland instead of the Island of Erlovsk. The Confederate army captured the island immediately afterward. Furthermore, Nirok Island, which remained ungarrisoned, was captured, putting the entire west coast of the Commonwealth at risk. Not only had the Commonwealth failed to push the frontlines away from their continent, but the Confederacy now how the equipment and morale to face them again. Of course, there were other threats to the Commonwealth, too. Gunpowder still stained the air at Noisne when a beleaguered ranker informed his officer at the Burly island garrison that Republican transport craft had been sighted. -All credit to BulletMagnet (SINQUISITOR)
  21. 2 points
    Player name: The Tax Collector Which faction do you want to lead? France Why do you want to lead said faction? There is only one emperor, and while my enemies are many, my equals are none.
  22. 2 points
    NRP Username:Aymanamri GUID: (Displayed in the bottom left hand corner in the text log when you join the NRP Server)962291 Steam: (link to your profile)https://steamcommunity.com/id/347607954/ Preferred Faction:Grande République Preferred Role: (General/Leader/Second in Command/multiple)General Why you'd like to lead:I am a NRP Veteran and i am a very active player on the NRP server so I would like to lead a small regiment in the grande république as a GENERAL VIVE LA FRANCE
  23. 2 points
    Name Obershutze_Muss Requested medal(s) Captain's Medal Vouches Alex, Drazal, Drift, old potato, shut Reason(s) After the death of the German Legions officer, I rallied my troops and the jerry troops, and we basically went through a circumnavigation of the enemy's position, as we kept a close eye on the arty as they constantly shelled us as we ran up the hill from the left flank of their position, and realizing we had a limited number of troops, I told everybody to spread out and make death as unlikely as possible, fear be struck me as we started taking casualties, and I started to panic as I came upon a freikorps regular, I shot my pistol at him, missed, and moved around and watched a melee occurring before me between a British chad and a German pussy. We eventually took the arty after a brief but brutal hand to hand fight with bayonets and swords, and the remaining Germans were either shot down or bayoneted. We quickly claimed victory and I was later called the best officer of that game, for I had gotten reminiscent results from my previous assaults as a officer. Visual Proof 1 Visual Proof 2 Visual Proof 3 Visual Proof 4
  24. 2 points
    NRP Username: bush_did_711 GUID: 1210704 Preferred Faction: La Grande République Preferred Role: General Why you'd like to lead: I have been with the Grande République for the entire campaign now, and i refuse to let everything me and my men fought for to be destroyed by rebels and upstarts. I remember when blue standards stretched from the Colonies' ports to the tundra of the Soyuz. I remember the glorious charges and battles, where we stood side by side, fighting for Tax, for liberty ,for the revolution. Well, i am willing to fight for these ideals once again, and this time... There will be no peace treaty, no cowardly naval invasion to stop the standard of liberty from flying atop every town and fortress in the land. Also because i wish to curb stomp the CC again.
  25. 2 points
    Here is my screenshoots from JB: Earballs kicking me where it hurts (august 2017). Shimmel and Shalmeon (august 2017). Sam with Mrs Wankers (november 2017). Very fat Earballs (april 2018). No comments here (june 2018). Earballs, James and my own Mrs. Piggyface (august 2018).
  26. 2 points
    Isaac

    New RP idea (Golden Ramrod RP)

    when you stop being a jew.
  27. 2 points
  28. 2 points
    Bullet Magnet

    Graveyard of the Fallen

    ok lads. sorry for the delay but this big boi is packed with story. cheers. Name: Ross MacIntyre Affiliation: Crown Colonies Place of Birth: Oxford, England, United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland Place of Death: Province U16, Crown Colonies By the stipulations of the society of this world I am soon to be departing, my surname is MacIntyre. Once these letters reach the stated address, I assume it will be handed to the one resident that shares my stated surname: Mother. Mother, I know we both know who my real father is and I forgive you. I only ask that you give these letters to him. I know it will help with the mourning back at the manor, not just for him. I`m sorry. Yours, Ross Dear Mother, I was in queue at the recruiting station when I fell into conversation with a most peculiar man. Unlike the others, he seemed to hold himself in great regard. Polished shoes- shoes alone were an anomaly- paired with lines of buttons on a trimmed suit and a funneled hat. Instinctively, I raised my arm halfway to a salute, believing he was to be my officer. The latest issue of The Lion`s Roar was wrinkled and contorted under his grip, with an inflammatory title posted upon its front page. This was the crisis of the year, one chapter in the Empire`s struggle against its continental adversaries. As a result of this pattern the vagabonds of Oxford had fallen into a certain routine; they would stroll over to the nearest office, aided by the myriad of freshly-repainted signs of His Majesty pointing the way, volunteer for six months or so, then invest their government bonds on the riskiest venture they could find. You know I am no vagabond, and neither was this man, merely a citizen wishing to serve the Empire. We soon fell into a sauntering conversation about all sorts of topics to be brought up with a stranger, and I caught myself gazing anxiously over my shoulder to see if the man before me had moved ahead a pace. Whenever that happened, the men behind us would contort their faces in a gesture which gave no sympathy for our conversation. This pattern continued until the tired clerk in the booth itself was visible behind rows of unkempt caps and patchwork shirts until the man made a proposition: one responsible for the pages of parchment before you. We were to write down our experiences over a series of letters, which would be assembled by a friend of his into a book. I urged him to keep his voice down in case any other people overhead and decided they wanted in on this deal, but was all too eager to agree myself. Of course, not everything will make it into that book, so I will use the generously provided ink and paper to chronicle a more personal outlook on the war I am soon to fight- for whom, I do not know. I was pondering this when it was finally my turn to address the less than interested official and sign my life on the document. If you want to know, I wrote `MacIntyre` as my surname, and that singular action took more time than I would like to admit. I`m sure the clerk took that time to have a bit of a rest. He probably thought I was just nervous. Yours, Ross Dear Reader, This book, filled from cover to cover with stories of soldiers from all over the Empire fighting this particular war against our French rivals, is more than just the story of battles. My comprehension of its purpose is to inform the populace of the lives of the men who fight them. Though I understand the chapters penned by myself may not be the most popular of this assortment, I cannot in good faith write nothing but tales of virtue and valor- for fear of repetition if nothing else. Besides, if one sees military history as a string of battles, one is ignoring the concept of history. Wars are not fought by fresh-painted figurines on miniature squares of grass, much to the dismay of amateur historians across Europe. They are fought by men- no, by each individual man- across every army. In case no other author takes this approach, I will be more than happy to fill the void. My name is Ross, and I was raised in a house. My mother worked for a wealthy plantation tycoon in his manor in Oxford, and I soon joined the workforce. Life was never as difficult as would be expected from a servant, as my master`s business was never short of money. He was a sugar tycoon, and his ancestors were the first to set sail for Jamaica the moment the first colonists returned to England encumbered by their newfound wealth. Sugar was no different from gold, no other one of God`s creations could turn an unkempt field into a vein of riches. This afforded a distinct amount of luxury, which trickled down from his office to the dens of the servants. As a kid, I was even able to sit at the table. I remember that I was watching steam gusts rise from the only spare kettle when he calmly pushed aside the door to the kitchen, letting it bound back to its original position with an undignified thud. He took a deep draw from a scratched pipe, holding it like the crew of a tempest-tossed sloop clings to a mast, or how a soon-departed veteran clings to his beloved. A thick plume emerged from a small gap between his lips, rising evermore to join the great nothing. There he stood, tracing lines between each particle. He swiveled his head towards the kettle, which had been emitting its signature piercing screech for no short amount of time. He then looked at me, in a sense of dread I have never seen, and doubt I will see, even in the eyes of the dead and dying I am soon to encounter. I averted my eyes, and lifted the kettle off the flame, cutting the noise. He took a seat, while I filled one teacup and took out a saucer from the cupboard. There was a clink as the saucer and teacup was rested on the table, where they laid undisturbed. I stood at attention by his side, before noticing that I had left the kettle off of the flame and- "It is war." He took out a previously unnoticed newspaper from his lap and pressed it onto the tabletop with an open palm. The front-page made it clear, several armies of the Grande République had crossed the border into colonial territory, and had waged a path of war and destruction across the frontier. Due to the delay in communications and the described speed of their advance, they could have even reached the walls of The Citadel by the time we received the news. Accompanied by the announcement were diplomatic statements by the various great powers, each stating their inaction with varying forms of flowery language. (One notable exception was Russia which, in traditional muscovite fashion, showed open hostility to both Britain and France). -Ross Dear Mother, I promised that I would try to write every day, but circumstances have made that impossible. You`ll be glad to know that I have been assigned to the Fifth Colonial Volunteer Regiment, which I have been told is among the most prestigious in the colonies. Excuse the blackpowder stains on this page; I assure you they are even harder to remove from uniforms. The cause of the mess is not my own; the man standing behind be in volley-fire practice stood further back than he should have, and his discharged musket sprayed powder all over me. He could have possibly shot my ear off if I was unlucky! I am not one who wishes to speak ill of someone without their knowledge, but our officer never noticed the whole incident, even the messy aftermath. I should hope he takes better care of us on the battlefield. On a less somber note, I acquainted myself with the damp cabin I would be spending the next few months lodged in. A few of the others lost their footing, even when they got off of the `gangplank` and onto the vessel itself. Their future dealings with the crew should prepare us for the trials of combat even better than the training. The moment we land, I`ll send over a full list of letters. Please keep them to yourself. Yours, Ross Dear Reader, As you have most likely read, none of us wished to repeat the voyage across the seas. I suspect no small number of us will choose to stay here, be buried here, rather than make the journey home. Perhaps that was the intention, for a nation which supposedly has access to the finest ships in the world would most likely take better care of their soldiers. Rows of maggot-infested hammocks with holes so large a child could fall through them were abound from bow to stern. We were packed in so close that any large wave would crash the men in one row into the men in the next, or even send them tumbling out. The weather was not kind to us either. There were sporadic storms appearing in and out, separated by days of no wind. If God were to look down upon earth, He would not be blamed if He thought He saw a chessboard in the middle of the sea. When we finally disembarked, it took time to become accustomed with land again. I can see why the sailors chose to stay on board, muttering insults as we marched off of the gangplank and onto the cobblestone docks. They had their home, had a people of their own, and weren`t happy at all to risk loosing it to a bunch of... "land lubbers" was the term they used (along with many others). I can`t say I blame them, I too have been robbed of my home. Although the object of my angst did not march towards the great unknown, but stayed there, forever in my sight but forever out of reach. We were greeted by a herd of onlookers soon after disembarking. At first, I thought they were merely admiring the faded colors on our uniforms, as well as our unusually pale skin. The officer, who took care to be spotted from miles away, beckoned the flag bearer and musicians to his flanks and organized us in a column. It had been months since we had done any drilling maneuvers, as the ship`s captain would make a fuss any time we went on the top deck for fear of capsizing. This was the source of incessant debate between the two, where one participant was a gristled man of six feet and as many cutlasses, and the other was a freshly commissioned landowner. As the two uneven lines were formed on the banks of the ocean, the marching order was heralded by a thunderous call. Caps and bonnets poked out of windows further down the street, with momentary shock soon replaced by apathy. It was then I noticed the mud-stained footprints on the stones before us, lined in a similar formation as ours. We were far from the first soldiers to land at that dock, and I am even more certain we weren`t the last. They had grown tired of it all, of armed men marching up and down the streets, through the path, and into the forests. But I saw no rage in their eyes, just a somber reverence- no different from the ones the wives of the men beside me released on the docks of England. Words would have ruined the moment. The fifers and drummers began the first few notes of The British Grenadiers, and the column moved onwards. -Ross Dear Father, This will be the only letter directed to you. I`ve known you for a long time, half the manor did too. But the rest of the world doesn`t know, so nothing I have written before this is important. I suppose they never will, as you should be delighted to know that I am on my deathbed. Not in your service, but in service of the Empire. Excuse the blood stains on this page, not all of it is mine. But I am not scared, this barnyard hospital reminds me of the home you made Mother and I live in. You thought a bit of preferential treatment here and there would excuse that? It hasn`t. What was your plan when you brought my mother down from Scotland in one of your hunting trips? How could you claim to love someone, but make them work as a servant? I can`t say I forgive you, but I can say I understand. Your world does not allow scandals. But you brought me into this world, the son and heir to your fortune. Of all the listless souls in the world, God granted me a life of so much potential. Potential crushed by you. I remember that day you told me that there was war. You stood and you looked me right in my eyes. That was when I knew I was your son, when you showed concern towards me. Perhaps your concern was not unfounded, given my current situation. But did you really believe that? Were you tricking yourself into believing your treatment of me was justified because you stopped and stared? I think so, father. Pathetic. This isn`t a topic I can nor want to write about any longer. I`m on borrowed ink and stolen time. Once you finish reading this, you may continue to deny your past, perhaps fire my mother or some more of your servants in a fit of rage. You may do any number of things. You have that freedom. Bury me as a MacIntyre. -Ross Dear Mother, I am well. But unbeknownst to me and the rest of the wold at large, there seems to be a large presence of Russians on the island. They seem to live lives completely independent from any central authority, which is in great contrast to their native land. When I was first informed of their existence, and their current hostilities to the French (and to a lesser extend, us), I believed they would prove to be an equal match for our mutual adversary. Unfortunately, the French war machine was not slowed on the snowy banks of province R4. Once more, the anarchistic nature of the Russian society has failed them; large elements of the military and peasantry have risen up in open rebellion against the government in the name of a pagan deity: "Blee". It seems that even on the opposite side of the world, nothing can quench a Muscovite`s thirst for blood. I do fear, however, the implications of this chaos. Their main government has decided to side with the French in order to crush the rebels. If they should succeed, we would be facing two enemies and a larger front. The fate of the war and the colonies seem to rely on a few hundred angry farmers. In other news, word has come in of a Republican army heading towards our position. They have nothing to prove, but everything to prove it with. They are numerous, we are few. We can only hope that they become overconfident, that they ignore their casualties in previous engagements and make one fatal mistake. We`ve camped next to a small wine town, which was evacuated days before by military police. The mayor lived in a big brick château-fortress overlooking the town, one which some of the local troops were eager to burn down once they set their eyes upon it. According to them, he had been "One of the cruelest men to ever demand and receive authority". When I asked some of his former subjects to clarify their anger, they went on a flustering tirade on how they had labored their lives away and had never tasted a drop of their wine. I told them- rather, I wished to tell them- that labor does not guarantee reward, and they should be content that they had lived in relative stability. But the colonials are much like the land they inhabit: untamed and untamable. Regardless, I informed the officer and he moved their tents to the part of the field furthest away from that strange town. They also had a fully armored warship in the middle of the town. I still have no idea why. Yours, Ross Reader, I fear I shall not make it out of this. Every time I move I am restrained and subdued by a piercing blanket draped over my right side. The blood has dried a horrible brown. The surgeon and his aides all give pitiful glances behind curtains, too overwhelmed by pitched squeals of pain to think of their patients. The stench, of wet and drying fluids exposed to the outside world seeps through the masks and noses into the throat and lungs. We are faceless and decrepit, rounded up and classified in the most world`s undignified classification: wounded. They would rather be in the lyceums and operating theaters of London than a sweltering tent in yellowing grass in a field which may be evacuated at any given time. But they stay, changing blankets and checking temperatures, sneaking in coffins late at night when most are asleep. This document may be the last thing I write, and will be my only encounter of the battle. I must preface this by saying that I found no space for glory on that battlefield. No glory in men butchering each other in droves, and stepping over the corpses to continue the foul encounter. The time of Homeric heroes, of god-kings facing each other and living and dying by their own skill, has ended. The men behind the curtain can testify. The ones who come home and trod down the streets of Britain will be their proof. Camp that morning was more chaotic than ever. The Third Army had seen much fighting, to the point that there were hardly any veterans among us. They broke rank and huddled in their own corner of the camp, staring into the dying campfire and abandoning their bowls of porridge and bread by their side. Most had exhausted their ink and paper rations, and had little to do but sit with the few men that understood. I do not wish to give the impression that these men were weak-willed; they were all locals and participated in the sporadic outbreaks of war between the mayors before the invasion. But those were half-hearted shooting matches where each side would grab drinks with each other at the days end. This was different. A few men at the other side of the camp broke out into a roar of laughter. Typical rationing was a pouch of grain and lettuce (with meat if you could find a wild animal and mask the sound of a discharging musket with the help of a few friends). The cook came out with trays of dried bacon and poached eggs to be followed by his assistant lugging a keg of Earl Grey with a platter of toast and black pudding balanced on top. As the master was swarmed, he called out for immediate assistance, causing the poor servant to drop the keg and run over with the platter. When he saw an opening in the tempest, he rushed out only to find that the keg was gone, and men were hacking away at the sides with bayonets. They raised their canteens to the many holes and filled it to the brim with steaming tea. When many found their canteens were already filled with water, they unceremoniously emptied it into the grass and joined the chaos. I too had my fill in the shade of that great château, never wondering why the veterans were so hesitant to partake in this sudden feast. I shall remember those hours fondly, before the trumpet sounded and the men created the most precise formation the British army had ever seen. Our scouts had found a site which the officers deemed to be suitable for defense. The slops of the hills wove up and down like a symphonic melody, occasionally forming into valleys and plateaux before moving once more. Between it all, an equally indecisive stream split the field before converging into a stagnant pond. It was on one of these hills that the pride of the New Colonial Army was at first revealed: The Rocket Launcher. They had been shipped along with their specialists in segregated ships, and transported exclusively through sparsely populated provinces away from the front. They had dodges waves of refugees, Republican infiltrators, and the colonial wildlife for one moment of action- which they delivered. Volley after volley of the rockets rang out and spread lines of smoke across the sky, normally accompanied by a resounding `Hurrah` by the reserves. The French lines scattered and hid behind the terrain, but I am certain that no small number of the missiles hit their target. We had little time to admire the fireworks, however, as the regiment was ordered, along with a gang of scots too bloodthirsty for their own good, to secure the only land crossing at the end of the river. From our mound, we could see that the French had deceived our rocketeers and had maneuvered away from their position using the hills as cover. Most worryingly, a full company of cavalry had using their speed to dodge any rockets fired towards them, and sprung out of a nearby wood. The men knew that by the time the rockets saw the deception and adjusted their sights and range, the enemy would be upon us. The bayonets were fastened tight. As the first Republican horseman reached the top of the mound, saber arched over his head, he was hit by two musket balls in the upper chest, with a third striking his steed in the center of its forehead. As they collapsed, the men behind him slowed to move around their dead comrade, only to be hit and downed themselves. More horsemen came to the top of the hill, and valiantly tried to charge into the line, but their silver armor did nothing to prevent the musket balls from piercing through and killing them as their horses rode harmlessly off to one side. One of these men had his horse shot from under him and the momentum carried him to the feet of a musketeer, who quickly finished him off with a pocket knife and continued to reload. Unwilling to share the same fate, the remaining horses pulled back and circled our lines like vultures. Before there was a moment`s reprieve, however, the infantry made it to the top. The second deception had become clear: as we battled the cavalry, the infantry climbed the the slope unmolested and with bayonets ready. On the edge of the hill they began to form a firing line, and one eager musketeer discharged his weapon, going through the throat of one of the men, who had been staring into a bowl of porridge hours before but was now silently writhing and clutching at the wound. Before any more shots could be fired, however, we spontaneously charged the unready enemy, pushing many off the edge and skewering more where they stood. But the few survivors held their ground long enough for reinforcements to reach the ridge and it was soon us who were giving ground. I remember I saw one of them, no more than two feet, that was about to join his friends at the top. I remembered I still had a bullet in the chamber of my musket, so I lowered it at him. I his last moment, he outstretched his arm as if he wished to grab it, before the bullet went through his palm and into his head. His slid face-down the muddy slope, with his arms fully outstretched, reaching towards his comrades. It looked as though we finally had the advantage when the Republican cavalry wheeled around and charged into our exposed rear, yearning to avenge their fallen compatriots. Pressed between the infantry and the cavalry, the officers decided to fall back before the position became untenable. I shall never doubt the bravery of those scots, whose officer volunteered to cover the retreat of my regiment. Outnumbered and exhausted, they knew their fate even though it was never spoken- words would have tarnished the severity. By the time we made it to the fortified rocket position, a few stubborn scots had still managed to hold the position, shouting curses in their native gaelic that were incomprehensible to everyone on the field. We stood there in silence, broken only by the repetitive whoosh of the rockets beside us, either unable to look or unable to look away. When the French soldiers all turned towards us and let out a war-cry, we knew that we had to earn the lives of those scotsmen back. And that, I can say with pride, we did. The French had revealed themselves during the hill assault, and their chants were soon replaced with cries as a rocket landed in the center of their column. They attempted to move into a nearby set of trees, but light infantry and rifles disrupted their formations and took down at least one of their officers. The disrupted, overconfident, and vengeful lines suddenly emerged from their positions, hoping to catch the rifles in the open like they had done in previous battles. However, the cavalry was too weak and too far away to catch them, and the skirmishes fired one more volley before falling back. Rockets flew over our and their heads and into the french mob, the men of which were too focused on the enemy in front of them to move out of the way. Grenadiers threw bombs once the skirmishers were almost at our position, covering the battlefield in smoke and cries. Just as the last skirmisher made it behind the lines at took position to fire over our heads, my line let loose a volley. Scored of French dead littered the field, the men behind them having to climb over yet another obstacle, making them especially vulnerable to the second volley. The grenadiers threw another volley of grenades, blowing men and corpses alike to bits. Seeing the futility of the assault, one of their trumpeters raised his instrument to his lips to signal a retreat, but was shot before he could give the order, letting out a pathetic note through the trumpet as he fell. And so, the misguided attack continued. Grenades, rockets, bullets, and the occasional bayonet halted the Republican advance, turning the once-green bluff into one charred crater of mud. When the French finally broke, it was not because of any orders, but of their own volition, with the few remaining bullets in our bags used to great effect against the retreating foe. We did not pursue, partly because of the treacherous terrain we had created, and partly due to our exhaustion. Lunch was less impressive than breakfast that day. In fact, it was not even planned. We were quite offended when was returned to camp and saw the quartermaster organizing his staff to move the tents, and saw all the rations had been loaded onto carts heading for The Citadel. Clearly, they had expected the imminent arrival of a triumphant French army, and had decided to take the initiative. Apparently they used three months worth of food on that breakfast, all so the rest could be shipped away with haste. Thus, we spent the next hour in subdued anger, now funneled towards one more source. This was broken however, when a few overly energetic soldiers decided to explore the beached warship that was placed only a few hundred yards from camp. We were still reasonably far from the sea, and no significant bodies of water were nearby, at least, none which could support an oceangoing vessel. Off they went, dragging a mix of curious soldiers out on patrol with them to enjoy the sight. Many of the younger colonial troops hardly remembered their voyage from Britain, and had only seen ships when they came delivering supplies- or more recently, soldiers. I myself had seen enough of ships for a lifetime, and I distinctly remember thinking of how much I would loathe the long journey home. I would still loathe going home. All the letters I should have written, ones written in anger which I never should have sent. Perhaps a slow and agonizing death is the best course of action for me. They were on the ship, just dancing and drinking some of the last drops of tea in their canteen for a while. A long while. Had they been productive, perhaps none of us would be in this present situation. They payed dearly for their flippancy, however, and I am not one to speak ill of the dead. The side of the ship exploded into a shower of splinters. Soon, there were more explosions landing in the center of the camp, crushing lines of tents and striking unsuspecting men. The French were upon us! Plumes of smoke arose from distant hills- hills which should have been spotted by the patrols, revealing the location of the cannons. They had been smart, placing them well out of range of our rockets and our conventional artillery. What`s more, the resulting chaos allowed their infantry to move in formation towards the camp. The poor souls in the ship were soon surrounded, and only precious few brought muskets and rifles with them. Still, they had the good sense to knock down most of the scaffolding, and the warship was built with the purpose of withstanding artillery fire, so they remained in relative safety for the time being. The rest of us made a dash for the château, which not only looked over the battlefield, but was protected by a long brick wall. Some brave souls attempted to raid the armory to find extra blackpowder and munitions, but it had all been prematurely evacuated along with the rest of the supplies. Everywhere the eye rested, there was another column of French infantry converging on our positions, completely unscathed from musket-fire. The walls of the château meant little, as few men had the time to find a loaded gun and shoot it. As the enemy began to scale the walls, the bayonets were fixed on without orders, and the melee began. I managed to skewer one of them halfway over the top of the wall, pulled him over to our side, and thrusted once more into his stomach- no time to think nor to mourn. My other comrades were not as lucky as I, gradually loosing ground to ever-growing pockets of French troops helped each other over. Morale faltered as many of the remaining defenders attempted to barricade themselves in the house itself, only to be either caught and stabbed on the way there or trapped when the French set the building alight. I decided to breach the line with a relatively intact company, and take refuge in the village. We managed to break through a few isolated soldiers and dash towards the hopefully unoccupied village. But, as I feared, we took heavy fire in the open from the soldiers which stormed the château. The filed was littered with the dead and wounded, fruitlessly crawling towards the village before bleeding out where they lay. I can only guess that half of us made it to that village, which soon proved to have no better fortifications than our previous location. I saw a low stone wall garrisoned by a few other men, on the outskirts of the village. It had no protection towards its East side, which was covered by a filed of wheat. I had just arrived when a French company emerged from the field out of the corner of my eye. I remember little of what happened next, but I believe I managed to shoot one of them before their villainous counter-fire struck me just below the ribs on the right side. Everything went momentarily grey before I regained consciousness. Another man, bleeding heavily from two wounds in the chest, had collapsed on top of me. It seemed the French were no more repulsed by this killing than we were. One of them marched towards us, looking over his shoulder. Satisfied that no one was looking, he reached down to the other wounded man and snatched the ring from his finger. The man jumped to life, grabbing his short sword and swinging erratically at the soldier, who sprung back in fear and let out a squeal of pain. Two other soldiers rushed up from behind him and buried their bayonets inside of the man`s chest, silencing him for good. The thief, clinging on to his left cheek, was assumedly accosted by the others, before the officer broke up the whole ordeal. And that is when I passed out. The story was that one of them found that I still had a pulse, and managed to keep me in a semi-comatose state along with some of the other survivors. Then, in an uncharacteristic display of civility, we were exchanged for the few French prisoners we had captured at a 1 to 3 ratio. Our government had decided it needed every soldier it could get, and theirs wished to reinforce their propaganda narrative of a "lightning war". I remember none of this. But whatever our government wanted, they forgot that they had no place to store us while we were supposed to heal. A good quarter of the men in this tent could survive if they we wounded in the wealthy districts of London, but the wildness of this land festers within wounds- as it does in mine. And I must remember that I am here of my own will. I was the victim of no press gang nor smuggler, but of my own ambition. To impress... to prove my worth. Whether my death, far from any battlefield, is valorous enough- if there is any valor in this war- is not a question I to which shall see the answer. I can`t write on this anymore. -Ross MacIntyre These letters and entries were all found among the possessions of Mr. MacIntyre.
  29. 1 point
    WaterPolo

    si

    thank you
  30. 1 point
    we must prove our mental superiority over nrp with cringy memes and 80pop on average And btw dolan played y'all
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  32. 1 point
    I call Benis on that :DDDDDDDDDDDD
  33. 1 point
    Literally delays campaign giving devs a harder time and says he wants to it to die because of his personal opinion on someone "not jeopardising the community in any way" "hurting the community. " somewhat ironic given that the community was fine before this drama and it will remain just fine after, have you considered your attitude of "everyone here is 1 IQ , i am far superior and i saved nrp all hail me" might be the one hurting the community? I mean it already caused multiple people to not attend campaign events...
  34. 1 point
    Sorry on my part for the lateness but the recap of the battle of Nirstok is just in! props to Bulletmagnet. “Not many people remember this, but I was there at Nirstok when the English first tried to invade us. In a way, I feel pity for them, even after they did so much against my people. My people… feels odd to call a group of likeminded individuals a people. Or call them mine. What they, the English- and I suppose this goes to the French, too- didn’t seem to realize is that you don’t need a king or emperor, or anything like that to rally a populace to your side. There was hardly a single conscript in the army, and the ones that were [conscripted] were probably on their way to the recruitment office anyway. But I suppose that’s the way they like it: after all, a free-thinker would have learned that invading the taiga is never a good idea. Again. Right: the battle. That’s why you’re here…” -Lieutenant Vadim Putisk (ret.), 1st Ostroga Infantry The sun rose in the east, as it often tends to do, over the crippled remains of the Grande République, which had finally forsaken the entirety of its name. What warmth could the sun provide to a battle defeated in spirit? The skin proved impenetrable. But as the rays reached further west, sorrow turned to unbridled joy, no long march from sadism, at the sight of the dying empire. Though ancestral grudges were by no means new to the continent, no nation found itself to be the focus of such hatred as the Grande République. For the Crown Commonwealth, this golden time was reinforced by the return of the first wave of veterans from the front, having served their time at arms. With their loved ones no longer at risk, the civilian populace rallied for a major offensive to be made: the target was irrelevant. But the ones at the top knew that the Republic was now a mere secondary front. There was only one nation which consistently proved itself able to defeat Commonwealth armies, and now it was time to meet resistance with resolve. On the other side of the Erlovsk Sea, spirits were similarly high. The war, it seemed, was now firmly placed off of the island, and the lamentations of war would rise from the mouths of their enemies, not their countrymen. And for the Confederacy, apathy was bliss. While the free citizens of Drepesk and Sarkow could sleep easily, the same could not be said for the populace of Noisne- recently named to the less French-sounding Nirstok as per public demand. Unusually hardy- by the standards of the Confederacy, no less- their paranoia towards outsiders often reached points of zealotry. Perhaps this was not entirely unmerited; Nirstok was the site of the first battle in the war, and had been the site of constant probing attacks by both of their enemies. And they’d become quite good at defending themselves. Each home had a musket, each musket had a bayonet, and each bayonet had a spare. All of this courtesy of the governments of His Majesty and L’empereur. Ostensibly, the army stationed in the province was assigned to recruitment duties. But they just wanted to learn something about fighting from the locals. They would get their practice soon enough. “They packed us up like cattle, and didn’t bother to tell us where we were going. And they were awfully rude to Lysander. They’re not used to the weather down here, and especially not life at sea. And that goes for the both of us. But when the air turned from crisp to sharp, it didn't take much guesswork to figure out that we weren’t going to the east. ‘We will break them here’, said the officer, ‘and then we march on Drepesk- right at their heart”. The lads ate it all up.” -Lance Corporal Dan Cameroon, 5th Livington Cavalry In their haste to embark their forces, the Commonwealth has forgotten one thing: the tide. When the first landing craft set off from the ships, it was pushed back into the hull and capsized: two hands lost. Even worse, the fleet was well within eyesight of the shore, and could do nothing but watch helplessly as more and more Confederate regiments assembled at the landing ground, and took up defensive positions. Six hours later, the tides reversed their course, and the defenders were met with the washed up corpses of the drowned men landing on the pebbled shore. Some of the villagers, strung up the bodies to a tree with the words with a welcoming phrase spelled out in broken English tied to their chests. The Commonwealth landed enough numbers at once to dissuade the Confederacy from intercepting them, and made their way inland. They soon cam across the Confederate positions on a large hill, overlooking the one road leading to Drepesk. They had established an artillery position at the top, fortified with sandbags and rudimentary trench works. The cannons harassed the Commonwealth columns as they tried to assemble at the base of the hill, but the terrain provided sufficient cover. Furthermore, they brought and entire rocket battery with them, which could fire a dozen rockets in the time it took a cannon to fire once. The angle of elevation, however, provided significant cover for the artillery crew. Since neither side could inflict any substantial damage, the Commonwealth decided to assault the position before they ran out of rockets. The regiments advanced in good order, but were in the open, and the cannons had a clear line of sight. Using canister shot, they were able to carve large holes in the densely packed formations. The lines formed a line at the midway point up the hill, and fired a volley, but many of these shots flew overhead or hit the ground harmlessly. Sharpshooters at the top picked off officers with ease, working their way down the line to the infantry. The lines, freed from whatever fate those officers would impose on cowards, ran down the hill, taking fire as they went. A great cheer erupted from the Confederate lines, and a few men jumped from their trench works to go after them. This few turned into entire platoons, pushing past the officers, who were preoccupied waving their pistols in the air. But their enemy was faster. Though not intentional, the newly formed gap in the Commonwealth line allowed for a wave of reinforcements to be funneled in, who met the disorganized Confederates on the slope of the hill. A horrible melee fight ensued, with numbers alone proving to be the deciding factor. All the while, whenever the Commonwealth troops seemed to be gaining the advantage, Confederate artillery perched on the edge of the hill would fire canister into the crowd, choking the advance. But they were exposed at the ridge, and a lucky shot from the rockets managed to render the cannons inoperable. With nothing to stop them, the Commonwealth surged up the hill and descended upon the few who remained at the top. Those who ran found to their horror that the once dense foliage on the other slope had been all but burnt away by the myriad of rockets which had missed their targets, and there was absolutely no cover to shield them from pursuing volleys. Faced with certain death, many surrendered on the spot. With the hill captured, the Commonwealth moved on to their secondary objective, an old farmhouse situated atop one of the hills overlooking Drepesk. From there, once secured, an assault on the city itself could be made. This was the furthest any Commonwealth army had ever made it into Confederate territory, and they found that their supply lines were often victim to partisan raids. The weather itself was particularly poor, with snow reaching up to the knees- a man who fell in needed to assistance of two other to stand up again, and a further still to procure a blanket. So it came to be that when the army finally arrived at the farmhouse, it was night and even colder than before. A patrol was sent out in search of dry firewood, but they did not return. Even if everything went according to plan, it would have been likely that whatever tracks they made leading back to the base would have been filled in with snow. But that was irrelevant to them, because the cavalry scouts of the approaching army had noticed the foreign invaders and slaughtered them. And so, the encamped army had nothing to warn them of the Confederate advance. The infantry descended on the camp with frightening haste. Though most of the encamped found it too cold to sleep, they were no shape to fight a battle. With the designated musket storage on the other side of the camp, the men at the edge had nothing to fend off the attackers with but fire-pokers and the occasion pocket knife. Not only were the Confederate bayonets sharper, but their muskets were longer, and their users were used to the infamous taiga nights. The perimeter was overrun within moments, and the chaos ran into the tent formation. They were fast enough to catch the residents unaware, who considered the noise and moving shadows from outside to be the works of a few disgruntled rankers. As the Confederates approached each tent, they had two or so men fire a shot in, and finish off any survivors with their bayonets. This proved to be especially effective, and by the time the camp in entirety was roused they had made it row by row to the officer quarters. The officers were spared the same fate as their men when they jumped their would-be assassins with their sabers just as they opened the canvas flap, and quickly mounted the horses. The cavalrymen, whose horses had been stolen in their flight, formed a solid line at the end of the main lane and fired whatever shots they could scavenge down, with more roused Englishmen joining in. Though their attempt was valiant, there was no way they could save everyone. In fact, by resisting, they had given the Confederates enough time to wheel in their cannon, loaded with grapeshot. The line let off one desperate volley towards the cannon, but to no avail, the shots landed harmlessly around it. The cannon fired true. When news of the disaster now known as the Battle of Hillstead Plantation reached the secondary Commonwealth camp, the decision was quickly made to withdraw from the island. Once again, the Confederacy had turned away an invading force. This victory, though certain in securing their western flank for the next few months, was unfortunately overshadowed by the more prestigious eastern front, where the Grande République was reduced to a single stronghold at Rouez, which had both a Commonwealth and Confederate army eying over its gilded tops. Both sides had time to lick their wounds in the west, but whomever could capture Rouez first could claim dominance over two islands. The race for Rouez had begun. -BulletMagnet (Sinquisitor)
  35. 1 point
    What about emoji like this.
  36. 1 point
  37. 1 point
  38. 1 point
    Fatty

    A new home for Jailbreak

    fuk yea
  39. 1 point
    Isaac

    New RP idea (Golden Ramrod RP)

    assassination is not a proper roleplay . A proper RP is random weapon rp.
  40. 1 point
    Sarissa

    The future

    Year 3781, the last human survivor on the Earth is surrounded by robots rebelling against their creators
  41. 1 point
  42. 1 point
    Name Generalissimus Kenway Requested medal(s) Cavalry Captain's Medal Vouches [992nd]Gen_MichaelBae - my cav partner Reason(s) I'll upload quite a few screens and as you can see the 2 of us completely decimated the entire enemy team (and carried ours at the same time) and our duo was undefeated for 4 rounds straight. You can see we annihilated not only infantry but cavalry, and we were efficient not only on horseback but dismounted, too. Visual Proof 1 Visual Proof 2 Visual Proof 3 Visual Proof 4
  43. 1 point
    hauptmann

    Hall of Heroism

    Historic depictoion of the Second Battle of U20
  44. 1 point
    ChickenLordMoses

    Hall of Heroism

    I witnessed magnificent bravery today. In the face of certain death those men did not surrender or waver but fought to the end. Regardless of the number of incoming enemies. Every french death resulted in two of theirs and was hard fought by. Repose en Paix mes soldats courageux
  45. 1 point
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