Avatar of Dinh AaronMk

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8 mos ago
Current Never spaghetti; Boston strong
9 mos ago
The last post below me is a lie
1 like
10 mos ago
THE SACRIFICE IS COMPLETE. THE BOILERMEN HAVE FRESH SOULS. THEY CAN DO SHIFT CHANGES.
2 likes
11 mos ago
Was that supposed to be an anime reference
11 mos ago
I live in America, but the m, e, r , i, c are silent
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Bio

Harry Potter is not a world view, read another book or I will piss on the moon with my super laser piss.

Most Recent Posts

I have been involved in several projects with the Russians before.


What did you do with the Kursk?
Anhui Province

Along the Yangtze


The group of four moved up the road with a trunk full. Beneath the marching bags of clothes and personal effects packed tight under the heavy steel hood of the car boot lay three cases of shotgun shells, five boxes of rifle rounds, and a loose collection of pistol rounds in a hemp sack. Laid out like decking boards rested the unloaded armaments to the shell, a shotgun, rifle, and a pair of pistols. The four men that rode with them in the passenger cabins looking out the rattling windows with patient relaxed expressions. If told of what they had in the trunk they would be thought of as being bandits. But at a glance they would be believed to be perfectly normal civilians. They did not wear a severe uniform, or look particularly rough and scarred. There was no dead expression in their eyes. The driver and his companion in the front especially were jovial and casual, singing to themselves and their companions in the back; songs from the War from memory. Rude marching tunes, hopeful victory ballads, and the other dozen sort of things. In their song books they had also learned or transcribed – translated into Chinese – the fight songs of American labor, whose origins of their melodic tunes were alien to them.

In the back the rear two passengers gazed out at the scenery, sometimes mouthing along as they rode. To one side of the car the mountains rose nearby, high foot hills making a long and lazy march upwards. Rice paddies and wheat fields set side by side creating a vast golden and shining emerald and black plate on which the forested mountains sat with their nestled mines deep within. From the near farms were the tractors of the ox drawn cart the car had to share road space with. And they swayed side to side as they passed the occasional spate of rural traffic along the wide dirt highway. There was not much traffic in the oncoming direction, and what came was in loose bunches of blue, green, red, or gray sedans, trucks, and other what-has-yous. Occasionally there would be a man on a bicycle, with cages of clucking hens stacked on either side in a delicate balancing act.

The other side of the road was shared by the wide Yangtze whose far shore at times felt like a distant memory or a suggestion. Its dark gray waters running calm, broken only by small wind-swept waves. In the midst of its great wide body chugged a range of large freighters and barges whose white wakes trailed long behind them. Among the roving fleets too were the ferries and commuter boats that traveled between the cities of the river. All was on the great river as things had been for centuries. Unbroken by time, only changed in its size. Where they had once been boats with sails or oars there were not large steamers and smokers who took over the great Yangtze since the last century and became like a new Mississippi.

The two rear passengers who watched this rode in one of two ways. They mouthed quietly along to the old songs, barely murmuring out the lyrics as the two in the front belted them out and drummed them out on the wooden dash. Or sat in total silence. Of the two one had a leafed through copy of What Is To Be Done by one Vladimir Lenin on his knee.

The car came upon an intersection, and the driver dropped the clutch rather clumsily. They bounced in their seats as the gear dropped and the car roughly began to slow into the corner. It weaved, swaying to the side as it did not so much as drive into the corner, but fall into it. Righting out, the engine rose and it the gear was shifted up. “Sorry about that.” apologized the driver as they went up the road.

It was a narrow gravel track, packed firm by rain and animal carts. Nothing had been up to turn up the gravel and it was all beginning to sink below the fields. They continued on all the same. The sign on the road said they were approaching some small village called Baimaozhen. The village was small, and clustered up along the small canal that went out to the Yangtze. Its rude rural homes were packed tight against the road side where old men sat on milk crates smoking cigarettes and staring at the car as it lumbered through from their field worn and earthly wizened faces. Their ragged clothes hanging lose from sinewy shoulders. A way in the travelers found a lot to park themselves in, and they pulled in. Next door was a tea shop, where the proprietor had set out make shift tables to sit and drink in the summer afternoon. They got out there, stepping out to find a seat. The locals kept a curious eye on the newcomers as they sat themselves down. Moments later a middle aged woman came to them and asked if they would like anything. Tea they said, she went back in. The group sat in silence, waiting.

The minutes went on, and they sat in silence, rubbing their legs which had gone numb in the driving. Squinting into the summer sun they took in the small village with feigned disinterest. The server returned with a tin kettle, steaming with fresh brewed tea and a tray of cups. “Well that be everything?” she said in a reedy voice.

“Yes, I believe so.” the eldest of the four said, looking at his companions to look for signs of disagreement. They had none, “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” bowed the serving woman, “May I ask a question though?”

The eldest raised his eyebrow. He was a handsome young man with a broad brow and narrowly set eyes. His complexion pale and soft. He was beginning to grow the shadow of a beard on his chin and neck that he had not shaved in three days, “Go ahead.” he invited.

“What brings you out here? We don't get many folk like you.”

“Looking for work.” the elder said, pouring his tea first and passing the kettle on.

“You have a car, did you not have good work where you before?”

The eldest smiled politely and laughed, “We had good enough work. But this is only my brother's, really.” he said nodding his head to the silent brooding man next to him. They looked much alike, though the younger brother held himself up much more like a brooding ape. His body dropped against his raised knees as he sat on his milk crate. His heavy hands held out idly in the air. “We thought we could find better work elsewhere. We heard the mills up the river are hiring, and we might try there. Have an adventure.”

“Tongling is quiet a ways away. Where did you leave from?”

“Nanjing, it got very expensive then.”

“Dear!” the woman said in an exasperated tone, “You've been driving for a long time. Why did you not take a ferry?”

“Didn't think it would be fun.” the eldest laughed.

“What it would be like to see the country though, I wish you boys well.” the woman bowed, and parted from the group who by now had poured their tea.

“How long are we going to stay, Aiquo?” one of the travelers said to the eldest, his hair was long.

“I suppose we could stay over night.” replied Aiguo, looking around, “We should find ourselves a place to stay overnight. We can have a break. We'll need to ask for a gas station, the tank is almost empty.” the table nodded their approval.

“What do you think of the town?” asked the other.

Aiguo shrugged, “I am not sure if we will be approached. This is an old man's town. Or all the men are in the field. Once we find somewhere to sleep, we may go out to drink and hear what the men have to say.”

“So we could be here for a while?” the long haired one asked.

“We could be, Chen.”

“Anyways: to a good time. Long live the working people!” Chen said in a subdued voice, raising his cup of tea. The others received the toast, and they drank their tea.
<Snipped quote by Dinh AaronMk>

Nah they can have France, I'll switch to a smaller nation since I have less time than I expected now


The roar of the trains in the station brought a rush of warm wind, dust and papers rose into the air. Though there was much more than the rush of the incoming and outgoing trains to stir the air in the industrial metro. Though it would be a hazard to say it was only the trains that brought this gust. The passing of life and business on the platform rose it higher on their breaths. The watchful gaze and chirping shrills of the whistles of the station men rose it with magic. The alarms and shouted announcements of the conductors to the departure of trains cheering it to greater heights. Children ran between the legs of tall strangers. Somewhere a busker played a song on a Erhu adding to the ritual that brought the particulate to life. Even the station itself seemed to breath its own life. Its construction pulling in air to push it out again. Though the station was only a few years old, the smoke of trains and of people covered the great throat with a patina as a smoker. The concrete floor was scuffed and rubbed smooth by the leather and rattan soles of a millions shoes. All was full of a tense life. And in the green glow of a light shining over a map of China a young man with a fistful of yuan looked up at the routes of the trains.

Shin Yu had for his eighteenth birthday been given a package of bills he had saved away and given the orders to, “go out, see the country I fought for” by his proud father. His gift had lifted the otherwise sallow and distant gaze of his already eighty-year old pa, who was really well into his forties. Some venom in the past had sapped away his life faster than he had to live it. So, he was often tired. It was only the moment the young Yu became an adult that his father found the life remaining in his heart, where it flicker secretly like a hidden jewel.

Shin Yu had prior to any grand plans expressed a desire to join the army. This, several years, perhaps really a year and a half before his eighteenth had at the time made his old father distraught and depressed and he disappeared for a time within himself. But somewhere in the old man he came around or thought of some strange, alien plan to distract him. Whatever it was, he had conjured the money and foisted it on his son and told him to, “go out, see the country I fought for”. And what was a young man to do with such money? He obliged.

Packing out from his provincial village in southern Hunan he meandered the countryside to Hengyang. He went by foot, by ox cart, and even stumbled into a man with a car who brought him to a small town. There, at a train station that he bought a twenty yuan ticket to board and complete the rest of his journey to Hengyang in only an hour. The youth was struck by the city emerging from behind the hills with its great expanse of human life, thriving traffic, and activity. He stepped off the train aroused by it. From the factory smoke to the bustling of the streets, the trams and trolleys, and all the small stores and hidden homes in the old streets. To him it all seemed amazing. He spent a day in the city, living out of his packs and sleeping outside in the parks. He had conspired to see as much of the sights in the city as possible, to be entirely romanced. But he soon found himself disoriented at the city. He became lost. He paid another fare for a street car and arrived back at the train station and looking up at the map.

A handsome youth, he was kissed by the provincial countryside. Dark sunny complexion, bright brown eyes, and his black hair was largely untamed. He had a carved figure about him, and thin stubble of beard grew in the round valleys, the round hills of his youthful cheeks and jaw. Despite the weight he carried on his shoulder, he walked light and bouncy. He could walk as far as any good bull. Though his clothes were old and dirty, it was only by time; care had been made to keep them right and well patched.

If there was anything someone might say was lacking, it was confidence. At least in this moment. He stood at the map of the country following with deep concentration the network of railroads drawn in red. He thought he would go to Nanjing and see the capital, and from there wherever the winds take him. Maybe turn around and go back home if he realized he didn't have the money anymore. But as he stood looking up at the map he found that translating it wasn't as direct as he would think. He fuddled with it, thinking of the rough maps he would draw in the dirt or on a piece of wood to help a friend find something or to be shown by his family what field was to be worked that day. These were all fairly routine: go to the old tree split in the middle like a fish's tail, and head east until you come to the ancient tea shop, follow the road north from the old abandoned store and it will be on the right. This was all known. He could handle the abstraction. It was always handled in words. It all involved land he was familiar in. He could walk it asleep. He knew the way the road was that a brisk walk would get him to the field in twenty minutes with energy to spare. He also knew the relation between the old tea shop and his family's hut, and that if it was rainy to not go to the fish-tailed tree and he could take a higher route that while more circuitous would bypass both it and the tea shop, and he would arrive at the field straight on because all four things were known like the sun and the moon and the stars. But this was new, and its newness confounded him. Because in what direction was anything?

He knew nothing on the map, though he could read the names just fine. But he could not see any of these routes. It bothered him. He became frustrated and turned from the map. Perhaps it would not bother him. Perhaps he could ask. He took his money and went to the window.

If there was one thing that he held in unyielding aw in the station, even as everything else lost the fantasy: it was the railmen. It was not that they were particularly magnificent, they did not wear any grand uniforms like the generals and the soldiers in the pictures books that he had read. It is just that they held a pride that radiated beyond the simple nature of their uniforms. They made up for that in a pride of purpose and of strength that glowed in the way they held themselves. The emblem, small and humble that was its symbol was worn quaintly on their collars. These men were communists. There was not a worker who did not have pinned on them the insignia of the Communist Party. They wore it with an air of coy manner of the mahjong player. “Oh, I do not have the pieces to finish my hand, what do you mean? Don't you want to lay out yours?”

He had known communists, several years ago a group of them passed into his village. They barely announced it, but everyone knew they were communists. Their small group had moved simply to a table at the local tea shop, and ordering dimsum began to speak with the locals, or whoever would come by. At the time Shin Yu was fourteen. He had heard of the communists during the war from his mother, who worked for a time following the army. Back then they were loud and always shouting. Their officers challenging others to an argument over some issue or another before being shouted down by a more superior officer. She talked about how they would often sneak captured Japanese rifles to the camp followers and teach them to shoot, or to sneak the rifles to the villages they passed and how the military police would find several when an old man would surrender a half dozen to the army. She thought back then they were fools and radical. His father was a republican, Kuomintang and never did such things. But when the communists visited the village, they were not loud and even his parents abided them in silent mutual respect, though they never visited them. He had meant to visit them then, but by the time he worked up his courage they had moved on. Shin Yu wondered at these communists though, they were not particularly meek and humble as the ones he knew before, they were far too proud for that. But they were not loud and preachy as his mother had described them. He considered them, not making up his mind.

There was a line at the ticket windows. He stepped in and waited, gazing around. The variety of people were amazing. He was struck always by the sorts he saw in the city. There were Daoist priests, elderly men in the old dress. Younger men in the sleeker western suits. Rugged individuals and a few soldiers. Women in qipao and mothers with children. Others dressed like ladies from abroad. A small huddled group of Buddhist monks stood nearby, gazing out at the station silently and brushing their bald heads with their hands.

“Hello.” said the woman at the counter as Shin Yu stepped up, “Where are we headed today?” she spoke flatly, without intonation.

“I was thinking a ticket to, uh- Ji'an?” he started, he felt himself clam up and his fingers began tapping the wooden counter of the ticket booth, “Though, I'm really trying to get to Nanjing.” he added out of reflex.

“Nanjing then? We can get you a ticket to the capital. You'll need to transfer still.”

“I can? Well, that's good.” a relieved Shin Yu said, feeling an invisible weight lift off of him. “How long will that be?”

“Do you have an appointment there?” the lady said, pulling aside a sheet of paper and starting to fill it in.

“No, I am just out to see the country. I just thought I would go to Nanjing.”

“Well lucky you.” she said with a polite smile, but Shin Yu picked up it was rather wooden.

“You don't look like you're having much fun.” he said as he was handed a ticket. The lady at the booth rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“Eighty yuan, please.” she said.

“Oh, I'm sorry. And: here.” he handed her the bank notes and bowed nervously as he stepped away. He looked down at the ticket. It took him a moment of concentration to read it. But he would be departing from platform four at fourteen hundred. He looked up at the station clock that hung large and looming like an ashen moon over the gate where the trains came from. Barely thirteen hundred. He mumbled to himself, and walked to the platform and found a bench.

He would need to wait some time. But he had waited many time before, so unslinging the weight from his shoulders he sat his rump down on the cold metal bench and began his wait, watching the station life move on around him and the song of the train whistles and the engine noise and the talking and shouting, with the Erhu playing in the background and the calls and shouts of the station and locomotive staff. It fell and slipped into a casual dissonance and he leaned back into the bench.

For much of his life he had known only the relative calm of the countryside. In the mountains and hills where he grew the most that would dissolve the peace were the festivals or the rolling in of a spring and late summer storm. Even the cry of the cocks in the morning was peaceful and in as much harmony as the leaves rustling in the wind or the soft low hum of cicadas. But the bustle of the city and of the urban rail station was new to him.

He laid his head back and breathed a long sigh and waited.
I see your app, @Dusty. But I've also been waiting on one @Mendicant Bias. Although they don't seem to have done anything yet so you may get to take their place. I'm just going to give them a day or something since they were first call, although they haven't been around in a week according to posting history.
Federal Republic of China


Map:

(blue)


"I recently discussed with an intelligent and well-disposed man the threat of another war, which in my opinion would seriously endanger the existence of mankind, and I remarked that only a supra-national organization would offer protection from that danger. Thereupon my visitor, very calmly and coolly, said to me: 'Why are you so deeply opposed to the disappearance of the human race?'"
- Albert Einstein, 1949

“A man sets out to draw the world. As the years go by, he peoples a space with images of provinces, kingdoms, mountains, bays, ships, islands, fishes, rooms, instruments, stars, horses, and individuals. A short time before he dies, he discovers that the patient labyrinth of lines traces the lineaments of his own face.”
― Jorge Luis Borges, The Aleph and Other Stories



The year is 1955, but it is not our 1955. A generation ago the world was warped by the most violent of wars to patronize the human race. In the agonizing nations of Europe the warped alliances and stressed lurching and gnarled warping of the old competitive powers of the world finally broke 1914. A shot in Sarajevo sends the world careening into an abyss as an old empire buckles and breaks in anger. One after another, the nations of Europe and her colonies throw human life at each other in an industrialized slaughter not before seen. The flower of Europe is scorched and frayed on the fields of France, in Africa, in the Middle East, and in Asia as colonies and world spanning Empires converge upon Europe to fight under the clear unbroken sky in a violence more naked and more clear than any earlier soldier would have dreamed from the old world-spanning wars of Europe's rivalries. The smoke that scours the battlefield springs not from cannons or from rifles, but from the chemical death that rolls out from artillery as white hot smoke rolls over spider-webbed trenches to snuff out or drive out the enemy. Up until 1927 the Central and Allied powers thrust into each other seeking weakness, grinding up the flower of their youth, of generations, to attain some upper hand to the glory; though it may be said and wisely, that even by then the great giants of Europe bled themselves weak on the field and withheld their sabers for a time before.

And why is it for a full thirteen years Europe swung and shot at each other, up-ending age old traditions and customs and annihilating themselves? With the two histories of our world and theirs overlain, the fraying of the thread becomes clear. For all the devilish machinations neutrality in America is maintained! Do you see it there? And what happens in Russia? The czar retreats, wise to the plots of reformers and radicals and pulling back to put them under. Germany is relieved, the powers can refocus. The landscape shifts and come into new focus. And the war drags.

Summoned from Asia, summoned from Africa! The colonial askaris come to fight on Europe's shores and ask, “why?”

During and after: revolution, the war ends and it's bitter. Little changes, but nothing can be won. Only things can be lost. The world over changes and as the old European giants collapse into their sick beds to heal their wounds others come scrambling to claim their roost. Has this been settled? It has not. The politics change, the market has changed. The bullet remains chambered in its rifle.




Intro


Welcome to Precipice of War, you may have heard the name. Precipice of War is an old brand of Roleplay, tracing its legacy several forums ago where it was born on the old Spore forums. It changed over time as it migrated, and has been rebooted and retconned now and then. And again it's being rebooted for you. So you might be asking and for clarity's sake: what is the premise of this RP?

As a Nation RP you take on the roll of a country, its politics, and its characters. Though this has not always been the case in PoW, and we have accepted single character applications and even applications for non-government organizations. The world is set in an alternate history, where instead of a single clear and unique winner in the First World War, there is no discernible victor. Instead the war drags on excruciatingly long and then ends without a confirmed “winner” one way or the other. Ceasefires were written in 1921, but the final 1927 peace signed in Rotterdam was merely a means by which to end open hostilities, containing within what minimum is needed to ensure as much. Though unilateral treaties between hostile parties are not out of the question.

For this to happen the US maintained neutrality in the war, and the Russian Empire withdrew early to quell the fermenting revolution. But for the later the price it had to pay for that was dear and despite the wise move was still eroded from within. Over the ensuing decades it became less and less capable and transformed into a pariah of itself.

Now in 1955 we pick up, and the future there is up to you. Because of World War 2 as well, it is taken as fact that the war-time developments that occurred during that war and arose from it do not exist in this RP and the world is technologically stunted. Sorry folks: no jet airplanes and no nuclear weapons for you!



Handy Timeline of Events


POW Timeline (1910-1950)




Russia: The Pariah of the North


One of the unique aspects of Precipice since the beginning was the dissolution of and destruction of Russia. As the history goes, it has devolved into a pariah of itself. While the global community recognizes the Russian Empire as existing as a single entity in respect to its borders, internally control of the country is under competition between the numerous officials and generals of the Empire while the Czar continues to rule from Saint Petersburg, having no real authority over the country. And for the intent of the RP, we are not allowing anyone to take command of the Czar, or no single person. That is why when it comes to Russia we have written a “Czar Bible” to differ to when your story archs pass through the Empire of the Rus.

As of 1955 Russia is ruled in name by Czarina Kira Kirillovna of the house of Romanov. Kira finds herself on the throne. Enthroned based on a series of bad luck events, Kira is broadly considered illegitimate by the Old Guard of Russia and is rumored to be a lesbian because of her inability to so far sire any heirs. She however has adopted a strict state machinery which has alienated the New Guard of Russian politics which has distanced themselves from her as well. Having alienated either camp, what semblance of a state she has is incredibly weak and it is necessary for her to be propped up from outside to prevent a total collapse of Europe.

Because of this, and her not being allowed to be player controlled the following is true:

- Things the Tsar would never do no matter what (and would never give any ground on for these issues):
Kira is absolutely an Anti-Communist and will not accept communist proposals or communists in government.

- Things the Tsar would only do under great pressure and even then reluctantly
Kira is incredibly reluctant to give up her absolute authority and, only being forced to give up power to The Duma under great duress and pressure, but will jump at taking back powers from The Duma.

- Things the Tsar would feel indifferent about and leave to others to sort out
Distribution of Russian territory to foreign adventurers on the pretense they are there to quell the imperial unrest

- Things the Tsar would feel is none of her business and avoid making a choice about
Kira is internationally indifferent, if anything just leaving international affairs to vacationing.

- Things the Tsar would support
Kira would support fellow Absolutists and particularly generals that support the Czar

- Things the Tsar would vehemently defend, to the death if need be
The Orthodox Church

Addition to the Bible will be made by player consensus as the RP progresses. If a new situation arises that is not addressed by the Bible, we will discuss what the most likely course of action she will take and add it to the Bible. The hopes being as things move along an organic and consistent-enough NPC character will develop as everyone fucks around with Russian internal politics. Otherwise: players are free to play as their own autonomous or independent rebellious groups within Russia itself as they are outside of it.




The British Empire: The Federalized Empire


Because of unique OOC circumstances surrounding the British Empire functionally, and its extreme size this RP is observing the passage of the Imperial Federation. The implication of this is that the British Empire, being so badly bruised militarily and politically after the long disaster of the Great War. In hopes of healing the antagonisms within the Empire, Parliament signed into law acts that federalized the empire, and signing them into law the Crown conceded local autonomy to much of its vast holdings outside the home islands, and even granting political autonomy to Scotland the relieve pressure on the core.

However, the effect of the Great War on national consciousness in the colonies and their relationship to the Home Islands was not entirely abated by the Acts of Federalization. Movements ripple throughout the greater Empire in resistance to even hands-off British rule. During the present moment of the RP, crisis is broiling in British India as protest over the murder of Gandhi has spilled over into full scale insurrection and warfare across the entirety of the sub-continent.

To Federal States of the Empire, none are required to come to the aid of the British Homelands and are entrusted to respond to crisis at the imperial core out of good faith. But in the event of crisis at the imperial margins, the British homelands are required to send military aid and respond as-if being invaded, rendering Britain and Scotland the dedicated defenders of a vast realm. Players who come into PoW should be mindful of this.



For as long as the Imperial Federation remains without players it is in an NPC state, and its regions are up to random chance as rolled by me with dice. This shall be done on a regional basis, and the RNG is intended to, for now, simulate the precarity of the realm.

Each region of the Federation is numbered off and follows:
  • 1 - Europe and British possessions in Europe (the Home Islands, Gibraltr, Cyprus)
  • 2 - India and Asia (India, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Burma, Malaysia, etc)
  • 3 - Africa (Occupied Egypt, South Africa, Rhodesia, etc)
  • 4 - Oceania (Australia, New Zealand)
  • 5 - British America (Canada, Jamaica, British Guiana, etc)


On rolling a region with dice, I will roll 1-10 on the intensity of the situation in the area. With a 1 equaling most favorable to the British and 10 most favorable to the anti-British. In some cases because of historical legacy a modifier will have to be used to reflect the legacy of pro-British sentiment. These buying:

  • Home Islands: -5 intensity
  • Oceania: -5 intensity
  • British America: -3 intensity


On rolling and determining the intensity I will narrativize it within the context of ongoing events and write a post as a release from the British Broadcasting Corporation or from Reuters. In all cases of intensities of 4-6 there will be no territorial changes.

Following this, a roll of 4-10 will take place which will be how much time in post count will transpire before the next event.

This does not exclude situations in which the player is interacting with the Imperial Federation of the United Kingdom in any way. In which case the player determines what is happening. Neither does it overlap with a player who has a nation in the commonwealth, in which case I will exclude them from any events or simply stop rolling for that region all together.

In the event there is a roll in which literally nothing happens (Homelands; intensity 4-5) I will simply start over.

Imperial Federation Players

- This is where I would list you chaps, IF I HAD ANY -




The Map and Nation Claim

(the map may include nations filled in for lore reasons specific to a particular player, but does not mean any of these nations are ran by the player who requested them filled out in any way, shape, or form)



Already claimed Nations:
Federal Republic of China (blue) – AaronMk
Germany (gray-brown) – Yam I Am
Dominion of Canada (Burnt Orange) - CaptainBritton
United States of America (Dark Purple) - MaoMao
Mexico (Green) – TheEvanCat
Argentina (Tourqouis) – Wyrm

The basic application format if you're actually committed is:

Nation: (Or name, or name of organization if you are playing as an individual or a non-state based organization

Map: (Or location of residence for the character, or where the organization is headquartered)

History:




Discord:
discord.gg/syzbqMb
I would like to express interest.


Excellent, I will await which ever choice you make.
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