chacmul

los trolos hermanos

7 months in the making +1

The veteran reached into his mailbox, withdrawing the daily mail as he opened the envelope. Upon reading this missive he headed inside of his humble abode. Opening the closet which he had taken delicate care of his uniforms, he then took out quite a old and dusty uniform. "Ah... still in pristine condition, it's been ages since I've wore this one." The veteran chuckled as he then exclaimed. "Viva Mercatorii!"

i am great serbian nationalist actor!!!

The veteran looked over to BIG Sancho, whilst passing him this missive. "We're going to help them as a rescue team, that sound good?" @Wet_Roaches

would like to see elven people being stuffed into a city that's literally post WW2 Austria and see how many gang wars break out in the span of a week Uhhhhh... didn't like, a whole squad of you entered the Zone™? I saw somebody named The Lynx Druid or whatever go in there with a party of six...

Had fun for a good while since me and the gang ran the MRA, but that was stressful in itself because of OOC politics. Ando Alur exclusion zone is fun but the wait is painfully long to get an ST. I do enjoy my 16 hour sreq for some ST signed potions, I'm having fun doing this too much fun. Villainy RP or even minor conflict doesn't happen (besides the green mafias events) often due to a multitude of things, examples include THE Soloman Raven CEO of Racism vs 10 guards. ET should start doing minor events, I like those and they appeal to the ordinary player that isn't carrying around an entire inventory filled with ST signed CRP items. enjoyed the funny little event, beat up knockoff General Zukhov and got a little player signed medal for doing so

describing a person that has some distinction or unique aspect in their skin isn't too hard ...right? except for orenian women, they all look the same.

Dangerous anomalies, dangerous mutants, anarchists and bandits!

mmm powdered water delicious

stay based, Treshure

when's old Elysium getting one?

where's soloman getting executed?

Musin Space Program with blasting kegs

The 31st Never Left The Fields A painting commemorating the M.R.A during the Dobrov battle To the Inspector General and associates of the Ministry of Justice, It’s reached us that you’re beloved Garret Darkwood has returned! We have decided upon your return to active service Mister Darkwood, that the only appropriate response would be to send the blueberries a gift. We all personally hope you enjoyed what was sent, it wasn’t that easy to acquire. -The Mercatorii Revolutionary Army Command and Soldats. An old snippet of a depiction of the House Of Commons burning Harrowed ground. You seek it, you have found it time and time again, stained blood upon the greenery and the orchids no longer dazzled white. Men of both sides ended a part of the cycle before it was their time. Yet still, here and thereafter, you continue this propagation of a conflict that the young can not be bothered to remember, and the old not understanding its need to be forgotten. The Ministry of Justice, if one can call it that, perhaps the light in the dark for a man or woman being robbed upon the roads to and from the Holy Orenian Empire, yet no longer. The Ministry forfeit their reign as protectors to anything say themselves and those they deem worthy of their protection. Such as the way The Holy Orenian Empire and its denizens have fallen to. No longer will cloth of blue mark the justice to which they desire, rather as a constant pollution of which their failures cause nothing but a disease to those in its ire. The Mercatorii Revolutionary Army, our existence dictated by our hatred, we did not desire conflict, we were victims of it. Lust of battle and wretched portrayals of both sides corroding minds innocent and weary, those who hear the horrors of The Holy Empire inside and out, and those who hear of the Mercatore and her people lashing out. But the people of the Mercatore not wishing to catch fire to the mind and to the physical, a war not of administered justice rather, an attempt to gather up the crude pride to which the concept of justice has been lost to. The Mercatorii, again struck your buildings of the Ministry of Justice, yet our ears did not go deaf at the explosions nor the deafening screams of Dobrov. We hear of the faults of you, we mirror each other in so little yet we meet time and time again. The dust returns to the dunes, the corpses to the Almaris, such as one Zand Macheron, slain during another battle in a war to which young generations hear about time and time again. All the while of this conflict, the citizens go without answers, the bandits wishing nothing more than to gain money are free to rampage the streets, and the royalty of Oren remain a stone faced lot to it all. Perhaps a desire to avoid conflict, they have failed, perhaps a reason to instigate it, while they have succeeded it appears they have choked. We bury the dead of both sides, we hope for the same treatment. Yet in this very reasoning the Ministry continues a linear and straight path towards a goal they cannot accomplish on their own. And upon a wailing call the ISA arrives covered in metal wielding fine craft, to which we match. Our existence is threatened, yet the failure to extinguish the spark of desire in our hearts has proven to all in plain sight that by this we have grown in number and in strength to surpass. We destroyed the beacon of false-war, the Ministry Headquarters, we are tired, yet we pushed forward. A body floats within the lake at Henry’s Wharf, the bodies of the Mercatorii laid to rest in hopes that they stay this way. Why must we fight, knowing that all we gain from our excursions is the knowledge that a supposed Holy Kingdom continues to fall further into an abyss? To fight alongside an empire, to die for an empire, against the Norlanders we now know peace with. To be ushered out of the gates when it ends, told from ear to ear that we have been thrown out now that our usage has expired, cast away like the very bombs used time and time again. We were tired, we still tried to push on. We heard the screams as the roaring incendiary metal ripped apart calloused troopers of the Ministry, we were too hardened yet we still did not understand the weight of a victory. Ernest Colbert laid to rest, to what remains of him, along with many others claimed in a futile attempt to some frivolous militant dominance to which we now meet. We have been tired, for many years, seeing time and time again the Ministry rallying by news with more and more malice, only to fall during the hardest of times. The shattering glass hurts more than just the families of the dead MOJ agents. To match the Imperial State, to see brazen and hopeful eyes tear away the veils to only see horror, that is what has happened. We have fought Oren, we are fighting Oren, we have fought for Oren, if this cycle remains another unseen blemish like so many others, it will continue. We are tired, we desire a notion of peace, the bodies stack as high as the walls, blood runs ‘till the Eastfleet. Our people, no longer may pronounce their faith nor heritage without the threats of the Oren military and their populace. Those that loathe us and our ideals, the military, the people, the government, they see it fit that we are cowards whom surrendered, they will propagate it as such. They want to repeat the cycle, send us a final call as fools whom the Orenians triumphed over. To which our own stare at the burning body of a Ministry agent, or perhaps an Imperial State Army officer sinking to the bottom of the deep blue abyss, have no one the slightest idea of the toil one can suffer in seeing an enemy likewise? Yet it matters not, truly, for upon this writing soon to be concluded, the only things that shall be remembered in our cries for peace is what came out of the war the Ministry continues to post propaganda for. Propaganda for a war older than a new-born Mercatore or Orenian. Perhaps as the veil of cruelty is lifted from the eyes of the Mercatorii, so too will the veil lift upon the eyes of Oren, to see their military stumble to the point that we can not bear the thought of the death we cause. We wish to fight for ideals, yet now it seems that all the Ministry wants is victory, to which they can yell with foam at the mouth to the scholars and artisans printing out in fine paper their deeds. We are tired, so says us all, why must we fight when all we suffer is death?

"So..." Petrovich looked at the usual suspects at his table, Roko and Morado, sliding a missive towards them. "Is this just... propaganda?" He said as took a drink from his glass filled with liquor. Leaning forwards he then spoke again. "If this isn't, we going to do anything about it?" @KindOfToast @mosscowi

"The man was Dobrov indeed." He said with a sigh. "One of his shins got sliced from shrapnel. He would have trouble walking if he got treated, Roko."

No Way Out A distinguished pikeman of the MRA standing valiantly on Dobrovs’s steps. It was the 1st of the Amber Cold, 30 SA. The massacre was being prepared, soon to be underway from our valiant 40 Mercatorii. The light drizzle of afternoon rain cleared up, the light grey clouds parted as the Ministry of Justice and ISA troops marched up to the MRA held Dobrov castle. A man named Ernest Colbert demanded our immediate surrender, A man we very well respected even if that may seem hard to believe. We denied, We weren’t here to be pushed around again by the Orenians. We were here to show them our true strength! We had roughly five men alongside our beloved Ro-Agenta Rokossovsky stationed in the tower overlooking the bridge, the rest of the five men on the walls. Nothing was heard other than the soft clicking of the crossbow strings being pulled back, the bolts being placed inside the crossbow’s chambers. The Ministry of Justice agents only suspected Rokossovsky and his men holding it down! How foolish! Ro-Agentea Petrovich and Ro-Agentea Handia Brick were near the wooden barricade with roughly 25 men, lighting molotovs preparing to throw. “Los!” Rokossovsky shouted to his men lining the walls and towers. And a hail of arrows came tumbling from the walls. But wait, they weren’t arrows.. But javelins. Boomsteel javelins! They flew elegantly through the air, as they plunged into the agents below. The sight was horrible to witness, yet something that had to be done. The explosives detonated, releasing shrapnel that tore into the lines below. We noticed something however, our dear friend Ernest had walked back! He had gotten closer to the explosions, and he was promptly executed by the blistering metal shards! Not only him, but what we sought to be about 40 others downed! We couldn’t tell who was alive, and who was dead. Who was clinging on to their life, who’s soul had been released. It was a massacre for all we knew. Bodies laid wounded in the streets, and we changed from the mass of injured. Men cried for their mothers, others dragged the critically incapacitated from the street. Some even dared to fire back at us. Yet we allowed them to be treated, as we are not monsters to those who’ve fallen in combat. We are people too, no matter what is said. We are people just like everyone else, and when placed in a desperate situation we act out of desperation. And those who still stood defiant to our wishes however, drew our attention. A smaller battle ensued, roughly a 40 on 40 as about 11 reinforcements from the hills arrived to our aid. The battle raged on, firebombs were thrown, crossbows were launched, some brave souls engaged in melee warfare. Face to face with their mortal enemies. Silence fell. The raging ceased, from a lion to lamb. The Ministry’s mass wounded were evacuated to Providence where they most likely reside within its hospital. Their dead, left abundant in the streets for the rats to nip. The Mercatore wouldn’t permit this, as they and some bystanders took the Ministry’s fallen and gave them their proper burial. The Mercatorii’s dead also buried, and the wounded treated to a full recovery. We thank our men inside of the Ministry of Justice for their aid in the Mercatorii campaign against the Orenians. Viva la Mercatorii, Erlojuak Mesede Egiten Digu, Mercatore! RO-Agentea “Rokossovsky” Ro-Agentea “Petrovich” Ro-Agentea “Brick”

The tactician smiled as he read the missive, knowing that his defences, planning, and well trained soldiers lead to the losses of many MoJ agents.

No pipebombs, I am sad.

We do a little trolling

(Obama gaming)