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Say, since some here might have an interest in historical shenanigans, I figured this might be fun for some. But in Tradgames there is a habit of Nationgames. Basicaly, someone runs the game andp resents a historical (or ahistorical situation) and different players pick historical or made up roles in them. They play out the arguing in the thread, and everyone mails their actions to the guy who runs it who then gives a description of what happens. Currently one's going on in late 19th Century Japan, more specifically an alternate one where the short lived Ezo Republic, last bastion of samurai actually managed to hold out. You'll find it here
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Mar 3, 2014 21:24
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| # ¿ Apr 28, 2024 23:50 |
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We're being infantry in a siege! Come join us! Starts in 40 minutes!
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Mar 20, 2014 00:21
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In half an hour, we're doing US line battle. Our dearest Nurdbot is gonna try to get us Cav so we can all charge at bayonets and die. Come join the Mumble!
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Apr 12, 2014 00:27
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Indeed. And hey, in this era, French soldiers would gently caress you up. It's kind of empty making French surrendermonkey jokes when half of Europe got their poo poo kicked in by France. Also, it's not my native tongue, so any actual French goons watching, my apologies for any horrible France inthere.
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Apr 17, 2014 23:57
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And in 40 minutes we shall once more tread on the field of honour.
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Apr 26, 2014 00:25
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So, there's this castle, and we're gonna get in it/keep others out of it for the glory of In about 30 minutes.
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Apr 29, 2014 18:23
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And here we go again. Rifles in about 25 minutes.
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May 6, 2014 00:35
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You know what this thread needs? 19th century Napoleon fanfiction. Nurdbot gave it to me. Of course, it's all written in archaic French. And initial searches didn't provide a translation. So I'll be doing my best to provide you with a one. Napoleon and the Conquest of the World It is one of the fatal laws of humanity that nothing reaches its goal. Everything remains incomplete and unfinished, men, things, glory, fortune and life. Terrible law! Which kills Alexander, Raphaël, Pascal, Mozart and Byron, before the age of thiry nine years. Terrible law, who does not let a people, nor a dream, nor an existence pass until its measure is full. How many have sighed after those interrupted dreams, begging the Heavens to finish them. How many, faced with these unfinished histories have searched, no longer in the future or in the time, but in their thoughts, a remainder and an end that can perfect it. And what if Napoleon Bonaparte, crushed by that fatal law, had, unfortunately, been broken at Moscow, knocked back before forty five years of his age, to go die on an island prison, at the end of the ocean, instead of conquering the world and sitting on the throne of the universal monarchy, would that not be a thing to draw the tears from the eyes of those who read such a history? And if that, unfortunately, had existed, would the man not have the right to seek refuge in his thoughts, in his heart, in his imagination, to replace history, to conjure this past, to touch the hoped for goal, to reach the possible grandeur. Presently, here is what I have done: I have written the history of Napoleon from 1812 till 1832, from Moscow in flames until the universal monarchy and his death, twenty years of an unceasingly growing grandeur who lifted him to the apex of omnipotence above which there is but God. I've ended up believing this book after having read it. So, the sculptor who just finished his statue and sees a god in it, kneels before it and adores it. Chapter One: Moscow Those old Russians have more than love for their old capital. It's devotion. For them, Moscow is the sacred city and its view reminds them of God that much, that, when they see their Jerusalem after arriving on the Salut mountain, they kneel and salute it by making the sign of the cross. The French army, arriving the 14th September 1812 on the peak of that mountain, had something of the enthusiasm of the Muscovites: and when the emperor, who had preceded the army which climbed en silence by a few meters, had first placed the foot on the top of the mountain and that he cried "Soldiers! Behold Moscow!" that cry repeated like the thunder, and the last ranks, who didn't see anything at all yet, cries as well "Behold Moscow" She was there, that city, with its thirty two suburbs, its thousand bell-towers, its golden Cupolas, its eastern, indian, gothic, christian spires; immense city, which lounges among the numerous hills on which it rests, looking like a caravan of all the people in the world, who had stopped there, and raised their tents there. The French army deployed on the Salut mountain, contemplated this magnificent spectacle and walked dazzled eyes slowl circles of the Kremlin with the sparkling clock-towers of Ivanweliskoi. "There it is!" said the emperor as he spurred his white horse, and he traversed the ranks with this splendor of the conquering one which illuminated his face. The army then continued its march."Halt!" cried he, and his order fell like a wave through the ranks, thousand voices obeying, from marshal to sergeant, cried in turn "Halt." The generals gathered close to him, and he held council before the sacred city. She seemed calm and submissive, like a defeated enemy that trembles, but perhaps too silent. The generals awaited his words. "They won't come!" he mumbled and he marched quickly among those men who stepped back before his paces and spied to see what thoughts would escape from his lowered eyes. Then, fifteen minutes later, as if he was tired of waiting for something, he asked king Murat what this calm meant. "Who would have believed" said he "that some Boyard wouldn't come out with the useless golden keys to the city." At the same time, an officer of ordnance arrived, he announced that general Miloradowitch just evacuated the city, and that his rearguard had already left. Another officer arrived then with some Frenchmen found in the ports of Moscow. They learned that it was deserted. Two hundred fifty thousand Muscovites had pulled out of their Jerusalem. Moscow was deserted!.... "Let's march then," said the emperor; "it's up to my army to repopulate it." Chapter 2: Rasptochin Napoleon liked to sleep in the beds of other kings, and to rest in the palaces where his appearance had exiled them from; the army received the order to stay in the suburbs, he went straight for the Kremlin, en there, when evening had come, he wandered on the highest towers, alone and silently, looking at this calm of a city without life and a sky without sun; all that was dreary and painful to so active a soul. He saw his army that settled themselves in the distant suburbs: in the city reigned a long silence, and the calm everywhere, except in a few scattered palaces who seemed to to show some life under the generals who had chosen them for their stay. Only a barbaric cry, Scythian voices made themselves heard from a great distance, en now and then; you'd think they replied at each other. Midnight came. The horizon became red. From the middle of the city, flames rose: It was the bazaar that burned, then the churches, then the houses, then the suburbs; everywhere fires broke out, Moscow reappeared in the night, all sparkling, with its thousand clock towers of flame and its cupolas of fire. The emperor understood this disaster; he remembered Wilna, Smolensk and those burned cities who marked his route. "Let it die then!" cried he, and he gave the order to immediately leave the infernal city. The soldiers had already gotten up before that order. The cry of "Fire!" rang out from all sides, but only pushed by French voices, and the first sleep in the middle of the conquered city was troubles in the horror of the fire. The orders were executed. At five hours in the morning, the troops withdrew outside Moscow, and reclimbed the slopes of the Salut mountain. Scouts that had penetrated to Petrowski, palace of the czars, about a league from the capital, prepared it for the emperor, who moved there with his general staff and, half a league further, a castle with a grand appearance had been noted, general Kirgener moved there with his engineer troops to take it and fortify that position. But in view of that castle and within only a few shooting ranges, one saw whirlwinds of smoke escape followed by brilliant flames and partial explosions. That magnificent home, enveloped completely, soon seemed nothing but an immense hearth. In the distance, a few carts moved away with great speed. General Kirgener ordered to pursue them, but they were so far ahead, that they didn't hope to catch them, and they'd already vanished from view when they fell in the middle of a group of Frenchmen. Other soldiers arrived, and they brought them to the general. In the main vehicle was a man of middle age, tall, lean, with a grave visage and an elevated forehead. At the first attack, he had tried to defend himself; but when he saw that longer resistance was in vain, he surrendered and appeared before general Kirgener who, as he didn't se any exterior sign on this stranger, asked him his name. "What does it matter to you?" answered the unknown man. The general, irritated by this answer that he considered insolent, alreay thought he had to get vengeance when the unknown said. "My position is thus, sir, that it is only to the emperor that I must talk to and make myself known." The general hesitated, but the confidence of this man made him comply, and he sent him to Petrowski. The emperor visited the posts of that residence and walked over one of the courtyards when the cart with the unknown entered it. An officer who followed it unmounted from the horse, and made known the circumstances of the capture and the intention of hte prisoner to explain himself only in front of the emperor. Napoleon looked fixedly at the stranger, gave the order to evacuate the courtyard and when only Duroc and him remained: "Who are you?" asked he of him. "A man who had believed to escape your majesty's vengeance, but who, charged with an immense action, does not fear naming himself responsible and making himself known. I am the governor of Moscow, Rasptochin." "And what is this action?" said the emperor, growing pale. "Your majesty knows it and sees it." and Rasptochin motioned with his arm at the lake of fire in which the sacred city drowned. "The fire!!" "Yes, sire." "It is the work of a barbarian, sir; your knowledge of the crime wil let you guess the punishment." "It will be my final sacrifice, sire: I await it with calm." "A sacrifice! What do you mean to say." "I had all my fortune in Moscow and in my castle; it's in my home that the fire was first lit; I have sacrificed all to my motherland, there rests but my life." "Better to say you sacrificed your motherland, by drowning it in flames and reducing it to ashes." "And there are only flames and ashes where your majesty may triumph over." The emperor walked rapidly, his lips pale and simmering. "What madness!" said he "what foolishness You would like to be the Russian Brutus, sir, but are this your children you've killed." "It's up to my motherland to judge me, sire." "Your motherland!" and he stopped and looked at him with shining eyes. "Your motherland! But who tells me that this is not rather a horrible holocaust that you do to your sovereign. Who says me that this is not the sacrifice of Moscow to Petersburg, and the old Moscovie that you sacrifice to a new Russia." And he stepped closer to him, he said to him with a bitter smile "How much has it gained you, you fire?" Rasptochin frowned at the smile and paled, of anger perhaps. "Russia will judge me after your majesty, and people will speak of me otherwise, sire, when I've been put in front of the firing squad." "The firing squad, that is the torment of the brave, sir, and the arsonist..." "cannot be a coward!" "Infernal mystery." mumbled Napoleon as he stepped back in surprise. He added after a few moments. "If there's only blind patriotism in all of that..." he didn't finish. "Your majesty has judged me," said Rasptochin with joy "I can die." "No! You do not deserve it, nor are you worth the effort perhaps. Give him safe conduct. Leave, sir, your action remains yours completely, but whatever it is, doubt will blacken it... Go." Rasptochin left, and the emperor returned to the palace. Shogeton fucked around with this message at 14:25 on May 7, 2014 |
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May 7, 2014 13:22
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Guess what time it is? It's time to die horribly again in a line battle!
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May 18, 2014 18:21
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Chapter 3: The departue of the army The french army had appeared before Moscow sooner than the Russians had anticipated; thus, instead of finding it in ashes, the fire barely started when it arrived. The military magazines couldn't be consumed and immense resources could still be found in the city, where the Grande Arméé could rest and await reinforcements. However the emperor, who didn't want to let time pass by uselessly and who wanted to take advantadge of the season while it was favourable, ordered the departure for the 20th september, and after having gathered a council, he decided to march on Petersburg. The morning of the 20th, the Grande Armée, with whom the troops of the princes Eugene and Poiatowski had come to unite with, marched with a number of hunderd sixty thousand men and four hundred pieces of artillery. Before its departure, it was present for the last gasps of Moscow. That sea of fire had devoured itself, and the thrilling city discharged only here and there clouds of smoke from the ashes. The emperor said, as he showed it to the army with disdain and for the last time "There is but one capital of Russia anymore, let's march on it." Chapter 4 Batlte of Novogorod The order had been given to all divisions of the Frnehc army, disseminated in the different Russian provinces, to position themselves on the way betwene Moscow and Saint-Petersburg. Fourty thousand Prussians and Austrian rejoined the emperor at Voloklamsk. Furhter, the divisions of Grouchy and of Latour-Maubourg reunited with the corps of hte king of Naples, which they were a part of, and after them arrived the troops of the kingdom of Italy and of the German confederacy. It was on the way to Saint-Petersburg were on the 23rd the combat of Klin took place, and one hte 26th that of Twer, where the Russians lost five thousand men. The next day another division of the French army, commanded by general Montbrun, defeated them again at Staritza. In this last affair, general Montbrun was struck to death and immediately replaced in his command by general Caulaincourt. In the meantime the Grande Armee, still victorious and two hunder fifty thousand men strong, moved towards Petersburg with great haste. from his side, Emperor Alexander had recalled all forces of the empire to him. The royal prince of Sweden, Berdnadotte, his allie had joined him with thirty thousand Swedes. He had received by the ports of the Baltic Sea a reinforceement of twenty-five thousand English. He concentrated these formidable forces in Novogorod and the surroundings, had the city fortified and awaited, with an army at least equal in numbers to the French army, emperor Napoleon who advances from victory to victory on that magnificent route between the two Russian capitals. The 7th of october, around noon, under a cloudless sky, the two opposing great armies detected echother and deployed facing eachother. But the movement of these immense forces had taken too long, night fell and God delayed his decision of the destinies of Europe to the next day. The next day, 8th of october, arrived and the grand battle took place. What a battle! And what a victory! Europe, the world knows them. And it would be pointless to give other details than the emperor himself dictated in the quick bulletin we'll transcribe here. Bulletin of the Grande Armee The day of the 8th of october will be glorious among all days of glory. The Grande Armee had fulfilled the hopes of the emperor, the battle of Novogorod illustrates that for ever. Three hunderd thousand Russians, Swedes and English ahd taken positions at the walls and the plains before them, on the road to Twer. The French army, two hunderd fifty thousand strong, occupied the left side of the road and the three hills that dominated Novogorod. The battle started at nine o' clock, at four o' clock in the evening everything was done. Sixty thousand men of the enemy army are dead, more than seventy thousand have been made prisoner, the rest has drowned in the lake, or dissipated in front of us. At two o' clock, Marshal Kellerman, at the head of his division had taken a cannonball in the low stomach and died on the battlefield. Emperor Alexander and Marshal Bernadotte, placed on one of the heights to the right of the road, were turned around by the corps of general Compans, and have been made prisoner. Of the twenty five thousand English, barely two thousand have escaped death. The Grande Armee has lost about six-thousand men and has taken eight thousand wounded. The Emperor moved forward on Saint-Petersburg, taking with him the Czar and the former crown prince of Sweden. The enemy army has lost the English general in chief, three field marshals and twenty two general officers. We have to mourn, together with marshall Kellerman, the brave general Friant and several other generals. Generals Grouchy and Rapp were wounded. Soldiers, your bravoure and your conduct have been admirable, I thank you for it. Napoleon. Thus was the bulletin, trustworthy expression and still confused of the miracles of that jourey. It had been a long time since history had offered a disaster like this, and this catastropy of two souvereigns falling to the power of the victor. The emperor, without deigning to see them, continued quickly with his march with the army towards Saint-Petersburg; it was there that he wanted to entreat with his enemies.
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May 24, 2014 02:03
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Battle in 40 minutes, Line infantry!
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Jun 16, 2014 18:24
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| # ¿ Apr 28, 2024 23:50 |
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Skoll reaches out from beyond to tell you abut Bannerlord
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Dec 21, 2015 18:01
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