I am a spaz and post a lot, I am into diplogames so if I grab the chance I post, so piss off!
A field outside of Venice, Italy...
It was an unusually crisp Venitian day, the sky was covered in ominous overcast, as the two armies stood opposite of eachother, staring eachother down, considering the other side.
Thoughts of dissonance ran on both sides "Can I kill my brother?" "Are they right?" "Will we lose?" were the sentiments of the Europopeans as they looked at eachother.
Michael Collins was in command of the Republican force, which was from Ireland, and the Republican chapter there better known as the I.R.A., Bonaparte was here, but his forces entrenched in Timanskij, awaiting official word from Martel. "What do you think Mick?" asked Bonaparte.
"I think we have a fight on our hands, should I give them our terms?" answered the Irishman.
"Don't see why not, go to!" ordered Napoleon.
With that Collins rode his steed into the center of the field, with a booming voice he yelled "I am here to deliver the terms!"
"What shall I do sir?" asked an underofficer of Wellington, commander of the Royal Armed forces in Italy.
"Go, hear his terms, deny them, but humor the rebels" the officer quickly rode towards the center of the battlefield, but Collins held up his hand.
"It is not the puppets of his majesty Martel I deliver these terms to, I deliver them to my countrymen, your soldiers." the officer, stopped, and returned to his position, flanking Wellington. "Good Europeans, you are loyal to your King, maybe your God first, but your King as a representative of the almighty himself. For that, you should be commended. However, to what reasoning is your King divine? What makes him above you? Because his father killed? Pah! Such acts should not be considered Royal in the least, to murder for a throne ordained by your Lord? That is heresy in its pinnacle. Ah, but to live free under your God, and only your God, tis truely divine." the Irishmen began pacing on his steed from side to side accross the lines "You see, you all are here to fight and die, and you will die I can garuntee it, for a single man. One man. No more and no less a man than you, well perhaps less, I do not see him on this field today. Whereas you fight for a single man, we fight for all of you! You are fighting your supporters, you are fighting your future, you are fighting for your demise!" Collins held his fist into the air, "The very nature of man is freedom, we are not servants, God hath given us mind and soul, we are creatures of reason. Do not give into the blasphemous rhetoric of your King, he is wrong, and as he is wrong we are right, and as we are right, we shall be victorious. Those are my terms, fight us if you will, either way you shall die a slave..." Collins rode back to his lines and nodded to Napoleon. Napoleon then rode into the center of the lines as Collins had...
"Ugh, the theatrics of the Rebels, I cans't stand much longer my Lord" said the underofficer to Wellington.
"Let them speak, it will make our victory all the more sweet."
"You know me, I am Napoleon Bonaparte. Wellington, my lad, you served under me in Persia. To think, so long ago. Well then, I only have a few things to say to you men. The ones that stand under the ensign of Martel, and of the Pope. When you perish today, on this field, you will not die in vain. Your wife, and your children, and your families will cry, but I can assure you, your death will be THE GREATEST thing that has ever happened to them, loyalists, you will all perish on this field of battle for a lost cause, things are changing, we will win." with that he rode back to his lines.
"Well then, I believe they are done. ARCHERS!" yelled Wellington. The flags were raised, and the archers moved forward. "Take aim!" numerous officers repeated the order, the Archers held their bows into the air, about sixteen of them threw their bows to the ground, and began walking towards the rebels. "SHOOT!" yelled Wellington, a rain of arrows littered the sky.
"SHIELDS!" yelled Collins, the rebels quickly raised their shields into the air and crouched low to the ground, nearly half the front lines were killed, around a quarter of all others died.
"SECOND ARCHERS" yelled Wellington, a new line of Archers came forward, and pointed their bows to the sky. "SHOOT" he yelled. The rain of arrows again took a heavy toll on the Rebels.
"We will now finish these rabble, Templars, full charge!" The Knights Templar charged the Rebel lines.
"PIKES, PIKERS HO!" yelled Collins.
The pikers rushed forward, pulling their pikes up, some of them were too late, the Templars took a heavy toll as well, more than half the rebels had been destroyed.
"Pull Templars, order a charge, infantry." said Wellington, in a very cocky manner.
"PULL KNIGHTS, INFANTRY HO!" yelled the underofficer, the Templars, not suffering much losses retreated.
"INFANTRY APPROACH!" yelled Wellington. The Infantry began a steady march towards the Rebel lines.
"Blast, f*cking Brit Wellington, alright men, we cannot fight them like they wish. We are gun'ta bayt the piss out of em', I want a full charge, bezerk ere', no prisoners lads." said Collins.
"CHARGE!" yelled Collins as he rode his horse hard into the center. The Rebels followed quickly, screaming as they ran down the hill.
"Aye, they wish to take us down like the Barbarians do, pathetic, fire the Catapults." the underofficer looked at Wellington.
"Sir, our men, we must call a retreat."
"Why? The Rebels will notice, we won't hit too much of our men, we must take them down Adolf, war is hell." Wellington replied.
"Aye, tis, FIRE CATAPULTS!" with that the clumps of mud and brick, affixed with Greek fire went to the sky. Numerous men died, Collins rode steadfast.
"C'mon ye' lasses, we must win ere' CHARGE!" he yelled.
"I lost my sword sir, I have to stop running!" yelled a German rebel, running alongside Collins.
"Fight with yer hands ye pisser, we must win ere!"
"Were gonna lose sir, we are defeated!"
Much of the Rebel infantry was taken out, only around six hundred men still survived, the Royals had over one thousand still in backup.
"HOLD CATAPULT!" yelled Wellington, "alright, we will run Templars again and follow with Infantry, this is it we finish them off here."
"TEMPLAR CHARGE, INFANTRY APPROACH!" yelled the underofficer.
"You will be a great man one day Sergeant Hitler, remember that." said Wellington as he pulled his sword and lead the charge.
The battle of Venice claimed over two thousand lives, the Rebels were narrowly defeated, Napoleon and Collins both escaped with their lives, Collins lost vision in his left eye due to a puncture from a spear. The remaining Rebels (203) retreated towards Vienna, most of which abandoned the cause, leaving only 62 returning to Timanskij, where another invasion would be planned.
The Rebels had lost on the field, but the Royals that left told their friends of the speeches of Collins and Napoleon, as did the surviving royal soldiers, the speaches went down in history. The Rebel cause became stronger, more men left their homes for Timanskij, the Rebels lost the battle, but the war they were determined to win...
A field outside of Venice, Italy...
It was an unusually crisp Venitian day, the sky was covered in ominous overcast, as the two armies stood opposite of eachother, staring eachother down, considering the other side.
Thoughts of dissonance ran on both sides "Can I kill my brother?" "Are they right?" "Will we lose?" were the sentiments of the Europopeans as they looked at eachother.
Michael Collins was in command of the Republican force, which was from Ireland, and the Republican chapter there better known as the I.R.A., Bonaparte was here, but his forces entrenched in Timanskij, awaiting official word from Martel. "What do you think Mick?" asked Bonaparte.
"I think we have a fight on our hands, should I give them our terms?" answered the Irishman.
"Don't see why not, go to!" ordered Napoleon.
With that Collins rode his steed into the center of the field, with a booming voice he yelled "I am here to deliver the terms!"
"What shall I do sir?" asked an underofficer of Wellington, commander of the Royal Armed forces in Italy.
"Go, hear his terms, deny them, but humor the rebels" the officer quickly rode towards the center of the battlefield, but Collins held up his hand.
"It is not the puppets of his majesty Martel I deliver these terms to, I deliver them to my countrymen, your soldiers." the officer, stopped, and returned to his position, flanking Wellington. "Good Europeans, you are loyal to your King, maybe your God first, but your King as a representative of the almighty himself. For that, you should be commended. However, to what reasoning is your King divine? What makes him above you? Because his father killed? Pah! Such acts should not be considered Royal in the least, to murder for a throne ordained by your Lord? That is heresy in its pinnacle. Ah, but to live free under your God, and only your God, tis truely divine." the Irishmen began pacing on his steed from side to side accross the lines "You see, you all are here to fight and die, and you will die I can garuntee it, for a single man. One man. No more and no less a man than you, well perhaps less, I do not see him on this field today. Whereas you fight for a single man, we fight for all of you! You are fighting your supporters, you are fighting your future, you are fighting for your demise!" Collins held his fist into the air, "The very nature of man is freedom, we are not servants, God hath given us mind and soul, we are creatures of reason. Do not give into the blasphemous rhetoric of your King, he is wrong, and as he is wrong we are right, and as we are right, we shall be victorious. Those are my terms, fight us if you will, either way you shall die a slave..." Collins rode back to his lines and nodded to Napoleon. Napoleon then rode into the center of the lines as Collins had...
"Ugh, the theatrics of the Rebels, I cans't stand much longer my Lord" said the underofficer to Wellington.
"Let them speak, it will make our victory all the more sweet."
"You know me, I am Napoleon Bonaparte. Wellington, my lad, you served under me in Persia. To think, so long ago. Well then, I only have a few things to say to you men. The ones that stand under the ensign of Martel, and of the Pope. When you perish today, on this field, you will not die in vain. Your wife, and your children, and your families will cry, but I can assure you, your death will be THE GREATEST thing that has ever happened to them, loyalists, you will all perish on this field of battle for a lost cause, things are changing, we will win." with that he rode back to his lines.
"Well then, I believe they are done. ARCHERS!" yelled Wellington. The flags were raised, and the archers moved forward. "Take aim!" numerous officers repeated the order, the Archers held their bows into the air, about sixteen of them threw their bows to the ground, and began walking towards the rebels. "SHOOT!" yelled Wellington, a rain of arrows littered the sky.
"SHIELDS!" yelled Collins, the rebels quickly raised their shields into the air and crouched low to the ground, nearly half the front lines were killed, around a quarter of all others died.
"SECOND ARCHERS" yelled Wellington, a new line of Archers came forward, and pointed their bows to the sky. "SHOOT" he yelled. The rain of arrows again took a heavy toll on the Rebels.
"We will now finish these rabble, Templars, full charge!" The Knights Templar charged the Rebel lines.
"PIKES, PIKERS HO!" yelled Collins.
The pikers rushed forward, pulling their pikes up, some of them were too late, the Templars took a heavy toll as well, more than half the rebels had been destroyed.
"Pull Templars, order a charge, infantry." said Wellington, in a very cocky manner.
"PULL KNIGHTS, INFANTRY HO!" yelled the underofficer, the Templars, not suffering much losses retreated.
"INFANTRY APPROACH!" yelled Wellington. The Infantry began a steady march towards the Rebel lines.
"Blast, f*cking Brit Wellington, alright men, we cannot fight them like they wish. We are gun'ta bayt the piss out of em', I want a full charge, bezerk ere', no prisoners lads." said Collins.
"CHARGE!" yelled Collins as he rode his horse hard into the center. The Rebels followed quickly, screaming as they ran down the hill.
"Aye, they wish to take us down like the Barbarians do, pathetic, fire the Catapults." the underofficer looked at Wellington.
"Sir, our men, we must call a retreat."
"Why? The Rebels will notice, we won't hit too much of our men, we must take them down Adolf, war is hell." Wellington replied.
"Aye, tis, FIRE CATAPULTS!" with that the clumps of mud and brick, affixed with Greek fire went to the sky. Numerous men died, Collins rode steadfast.
"C'mon ye' lasses, we must win ere' CHARGE!" he yelled.
"I lost my sword sir, I have to stop running!" yelled a German rebel, running alongside Collins.
"Fight with yer hands ye pisser, we must win ere!"
"Were gonna lose sir, we are defeated!"
Much of the Rebel infantry was taken out, only around six hundred men still survived, the Royals had over one thousand still in backup.
"HOLD CATAPULT!" yelled Wellington, "alright, we will run Templars again and follow with Infantry, this is it we finish them off here."
"TEMPLAR CHARGE, INFANTRY APPROACH!" yelled the underofficer.
"You will be a great man one day Sergeant Hitler, remember that." said Wellington as he pulled his sword and lead the charge.
The battle of Venice claimed over two thousand lives, the Rebels were narrowly defeated, Napoleon and Collins both escaped with their lives, Collins lost vision in his left eye due to a puncture from a spear. The remaining Rebels (203) retreated towards Vienna, most of which abandoned the cause, leaving only 62 returning to Timanskij, where another invasion would be planned.
The Rebels had lost on the field, but the Royals that left told their friends of the speeches of Collins and Napoleon, as did the surviving royal soldiers, the speaches went down in history. The Rebel cause became stronger, more men left their homes for Timanskij, the Rebels lost the battle, but the war they were determined to win...
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