[roleplay]
Wilhelm the elder, OberGruppenFuhrer of Armaments for Duetschland, looked southwards from his villa in Hamburg. He yearned to return to his birthplace of Munchen, but knew instinctively that it was no more. The jungle had almost certainly reclaimed that small outpost by now. That is, of course unless the foul idolatrous banana worshipers had re-built the city. He wondered what they call the place where Munchen was built so long ago. No matter, for Bismark declares in each council meeting that we will reclaim our valuable Dye works there as soon as ‘something’ or other happens. And that’s the problem. Each council meeting it is a different ‘something’.
So the planning continues. A supreme strike force. Stacks of Knights converging on Napoleton and Seeberg. Backed by a horde of Swordsmen, built for this very purpose, but spending their days (and nights) at the clubs in Frankfurt, Leipzig, and Berlin. Meanwhile, while our glorious ruler, the pansy Bismark dithers over the Aztek and Amerikanish problems, the bananas just keep grinding it out over Persia. We have always known that Bismark has no soul, and now we also know that he has no spine. Yes, Knight construction continues, for someday Bismark will run out of excuses and the Fatherland will be made whole.
But I am old, and will most likely not be able to wield a sword when that day comes. Glory delayed is glory denied. And this old swordsman, expert in the way of the edge, wants the glory ever so. What good is it to master the edge if one cannot live life fully upon it?
Wilhelm the elder, OberGruppenFuhrer of Armaments for Duetschland, looked southwards from his villa in Hamburg. He yearned to return to his birthplace of Munchen, but knew instinctively that it was no more. The jungle had almost certainly reclaimed that small outpost by now. That is, of course unless the foul idolatrous banana worshipers had re-built the city. He wondered what they call the place where Munchen was built so long ago. No matter, for Bismark declares in each council meeting that we will reclaim our valuable Dye works there as soon as ‘something’ or other happens. And that’s the problem. Each council meeting it is a different ‘something’.
So the planning continues. A supreme strike force. Stacks of Knights converging on Napoleton and Seeberg. Backed by a horde of Swordsmen, built for this very purpose, but spending their days (and nights) at the clubs in Frankfurt, Leipzig, and Berlin. Meanwhile, while our glorious ruler, the pansy Bismark dithers over the Aztek and Amerikanish problems, the bananas just keep grinding it out over Persia. We have always known that Bismark has no soul, and now we also know that he has no spine. Yes, Knight construction continues, for someday Bismark will run out of excuses and the Fatherland will be made whole.
But I am old, and will most likely not be able to wield a sword when that day comes. Glory delayed is glory denied. And this old swordsman, expert in the way of the edge, wants the glory ever so. What good is it to master the edge if one cannot live life fully upon it?
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