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- Vilageidiotx 12 yrs ago
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Wilted Rose
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8 yrs ago
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I RP for the ladies
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8 yrs ago
#Diapergate #Hugs2018
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9 yrs ago
I fucking love catfishing
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9 yrs ago
Every time I insult a certain coworker, i'll take money from their jar. Saving for beer would never be easier!
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9 yrs ago
The Jungle Book is good.
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Bio
Most Recent Posts
Among the rocks and the trees and the wet, dead grass of the great Patagonian wilderness, the raw-wood village of Battlesteak was filled with the sounds of the Pankration. It was angry drum beats and shouting fans, barking dogs and humph of warriors fighting it out in the ring. Night had came hours before, and the starry infinity above was joined by simple torchlight below.
The Pankration was a simple type of fight, where the only rules were about what one could take into the Arena. Once there, armed with only your hands and feet, you could do whatever you want. These fights were common for the Bearfighter warriors, as they called themselves. Tonight's event was something else, however. Tonight was the Bloodfight.
In the bloodfight, the warriors slit their left arms so that the stingy, sticky blood of their opponents became another weapon. By the end of a Bloodfight tourney, where these matches took place one after another for hours and hours, the dirt of the arena was stained a deep red. A late fight meant more honor.
Brevo was a simple warrior - a man from the Boarhurter clan who's green banner was one of the many that flew on the Bearfighter pole. He was of normal height, and his black hair was joined by a pointed mustache that hung down to frame his mouth. He had won two fights, and surprised everyone when he threw a ceremonial bayoneted AR-15 into a straw-stuffed target on the far side of the Arena, signifying he was ready to go another round.
"Brevo! Brevo!" his clansmen chanted. The next man in the Arena was from the Cattlepuncher tribe. He was taller than Brevo, but much thinner and with only a small amount of peach fuzz on his chin. He was handed a blade, and gleefully cut into his arm. Brevo reopened his own wound, and felt the air swirl around him for a second before he got his balance. Soon, they were fighting.
It was a whirl of fists. Brevo felt the Cattlepuncher's fist strike him in the gut, where he had been struck in the previous round. Brevo tried to get his foe in a headlock, but the slippery blood that covered bother of them let the Cattlepuncher go free. Before Brevo could act, the Cattlepuncher's elbow was in his face. Once, then Twice, and the world flashed to black.
Flag: A pole decorated with multiple thin strips of cloth, each strip representing a different people.
Name: The Bearfighter Confederation. Known by most foreigners as "The Confederation" or "The Hinterland".
Classification: Confederation of Kingdoms, localized democracies, and tribal associations.
Government: A Militaristic form of libertarianism. Somewhat Lacedaemonian in nature.
Currency: Square iron bars, somewhat like railroad ties, serves as their common currency. They welcome the use of foreign currency as well, especially if it is stolen.
National animal: The bear
Motto: "Grrr!"
Continent: South America, on the southern cone
Brief history: In distant history, refugees from the northmost parts of North America fled from a series of particularly harsh winters and settled on the mostly uninhabited southernmost parts of South America. There is no official understanding of why they traveled this far, but their own oral histories report that they did so "to prove that they could." They brought with them mating pairs of several North American animals.
The time that followed their flight to the south is filled with infighting. Here, they developed a unique form of warfare, where they fire an opening volley before tossing their guns like bayoneted javelins, after which time they rush each other in a mess of hand to hand combat. This is most often reported in the myriad of skirmishes they fought against each other - when fighting anybody else, they resort to more traditional means, albeit any situation where they might be allowed to brawl it out is immediately welcomes.
Fearing the influence of foreigners, they united under a mulch-colored banner. The energy of their internal wars have been turned into a penchant for violent games - whether it be wrestling, gun-throwing, pankration, or man-against-animal fights.
Anything else you wish to add: No
It's Ulm or nothing.
> WHERE IS KALASHNIKITTY?
Mahz left'em behind to fend for himself.
That is one of the major caveats of chapter-sizes posts. Takes a long ass time to get one done.
Now that the RPG seems to be stable, i've started to write a post too, but this mutha is going to take a while. I've got 1300 words down and i've barely covered what it needs to cover.
The only ship Evan would be interested in is one he can reskin in ARMA.
Vilage is not home much, so vilage doesn't bother to turn on steam as often.
Our steam chats look a lot like this.
So Boerd said
A facile and idealistic argument. The certain prospect of the loss of nearly all international trade didn't stop Hitler. Germany and Britain were each other's biggest trading partner pre WW1I wish we lived in the world where this was true, but I never mistake the world as I wish it to be with the world as it is.
And don't mistake movies for reality, my young friend. It's not a simple as big-bad-evil guys cackling on mountain tops, with their bottomless bank accounts and endless supply of lackies who don't need food or shelter. The real world is about economics first, especially when talking about geopolitics. The Soviet Union fell to our economy, not to our military, and that was at a time when they had virtually no financial connections beyond the iron curtain.
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