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Veggie

AAR: LES LEGENDES DES POMPIDOUS

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Once upon a time, there was a man

His name was GEORGES JEAN RAYMOND POMPIDOU.

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But from whence came this dashing, nay, mesmerising specimen of France?

None other than MONTBOUDIF, a majestic town at the heart of the nation:

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Montboudif. All of it.

But from whence came this charming, nay, bewitching specimen of French peasant villages?

For the answer, we must journey far, far back in time, to the land of the ARVERNI GAULS:

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A land which would birth, in time, the great battle of GERGOVIA, in which JULIUS CAESAR would be defeated by the heroic proto-French.

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But today, in 450 AVC, Arvernia is merely a barbarian tribe, a tribe of impoverished peasantry farming the lands in their yellow tunics.

The pumpernickel growers are ruled by their chieftain, a man who has the rare talent of achieving the three great virtues in Antiquity.

The first, of course, is UNNOTICEABILITY, through which one conceals oneself from the eyes of the tax collector:

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The second being the WEAKNESS OF WILL, through which he shall ensure that he is the best negotiator there's ever been, really, get the best deals:

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The third being, of course, the fortune of a wise and obedient wife

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Under his leadership, the Arverni shall embark on a great journey. They shall strike out south, and journey through perilous grain fields and rural streets with poor signage. They shall overcome enemies like none have ever overcome before, primarily because nobody had ever bothered to. They shall carve a trail of blood and plastic waste all the way to ROME, and crown themselves leaders of the free world!

First step: bribe our slaves with olives

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Step two: write a great speech, a fantastic speech, really the best speech there's ever been, about how the RUTENIAN SCUM should really belong to us

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(NB: For some retarded reason yes you now spend 200 ORATORY magic power and you fabricate claims fucking instantly and then you sit there waiting for your ORATORIA to become hard enough to go again jesus christ paradox)

Step three: Become victorious over your enemies in combat, and then apparently jesus none of these Baguettes have heard of cultural integration have they

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The genocide of the nation's marginally different neighbours has earned Iccius Magunnus the kind of popularity he has never had before, not even the time when he balanced a baguette on his forehead while drinking goat's milk for four hours straight that one long winter evening

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Thanks to our powers of UNNOTICEABILITY, however, we did not gain a cognomen, and were also able to declare the newly gained territory tax-exempt charity donations

Hang on, what's this?

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OK, I know you're upset nobody gave you a nickname, but isn't this just a little bit of an overreaction

Also you literally just had a baby daughter, why would you

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Oh.

(The game literally gave me a popup for the baby being born, then a popup for becoming depressed, and NO MESSAGES WHATSOEVER ABOUT MY WIFE DYING)

(On the other hand the daughter's face might be the object of the mourning)

But OK, enough of that, everybody knows that the best way to rebound from mourning is to go commit some more genocide

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So um the ORATORIA takes forever to get hard again but in the meantime you know we can just declare war because apparently stability doesn't really matter anymore and there's a gazillion aggressive expansion to go around until you are declared the enemy of the world meaning most of the mechanics are basically spend magic powers or don't no worries~

The POMPIDOU HEROES are at war with several filthy southern gauls, but since they are distracted with a different war with some other filthy southern gauls we make good headway. The POMPIDOU FIRST ARMY, wisely composed of exclusively chariots because chariots are badass, prevails against the enemy and gives them a skin problem to boot:

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However, the filthy southern gauls stop killing each other in a dastardy show of cooperation, requiring the POMPIDOUS to fight in like four different places at once. Things come to a head when we suffer a crushing defeat, losing half of our entire fighting force, putting the enemy at a massive numerical advantage!

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Naturally, the filthy southern gauls to press their advantage by agreeing to give only half of their entire country away as opposed to all of it.

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And so stand the POMPIDOU HEROES on the cusp of a romantic seaside frolick. Shall they overcome the filthy southern gauls? Shall they then overcome the other filthy southeastern gauls? Join us next time in the 17-part CANAL+ documentary, "THE RISE, FALL AND UNDULATIONS OF THE POMPIDOUS THROUGHOUT THE AGES".

 

Edited by Veggie
  • Dugong 3

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he's depressed because his only ambition in life is to have a son and his sarcastic wife has sarcastically given him a daughter :emo:

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Yes, well, it is time to rectify that problem with a more well-adjusted, virtuous wife

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O Catinessa of the badly drawn eyeliners, I know you will provide me with the son that I crave

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But no, instead you had to get me a smart ass daughter who can talk better than she can shit

Meanwhile, with our first war a CRUSHING VICTORY, we spend a few months of downtime watching our favourite battle maneuvres on replay, and attending to matters of state. The tribe has grown frighteningly organised and institutionalised during our period of war and growth, and it is time we reasserted our cultural heritage of happy-go-lucky nomadism.

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War has also emboldened the silly PRETENDERS who would usurp our Unnoticable Leader. Mr Vodenosus, chief of the Vodenosus clan, thinks just because he and his personal retinue were responsible for everything good that has ever happened to the tribe he should grow disloyal to our rule.

Obviously, the solution is to hold a big press conference talking about how bald people have really small body parts, I hear that plays well with the base

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You see? Look at me, I have a son at the tender age of forty-three! Mr Vodenosus doesn't have a son. You know who doesn't have sons? Bald people. Baldness is a terrible, hereditary condition, folks.

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Under continued onslaught from our biting wit, Mr Vod succumbs to the terrible, life-threatening disease of Inflammation. We know not exactly which parts of him are inflamed, but it is certain that his ambitions for tribal chieftain will be cut short by ill health. Mr Vod, you are on borrowed time!

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Wait, he's saying something back.

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Oh.

Mr. Vod heeds our advice, and decides for one quick civil war before death takes him.

(Turquoise, primarily consisting of the newly conquered areas of Gallia Narbonensis, has declared for Mr. Vod. More problematically, another of the clan chiefs has also done so, meaning more than half of the Arverni army are now on the enemy side. You can see us set up on the narrow chokepoint as the gateway to our homelands up North)

To our side comes the splendidly mustached heroe, Tasciovanus Tautalus, a man of great military skill. He concurs with our earlier assessment that there is no need to field anything other than chariots, because chariots are badass.

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But the enemy's numbers are many, and we cannot wait solely for conventional means. We get in touch with Mister Ambo, good friends with Mr. Vod, but not so good as to pass up an assassination mission.

Mr. Ambo tells us that he will need five thousand men as decoy to increases his chances of success. Listen, if we had five thousand men to spare we would be making human chariots to crush our enemies with.

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Refused his decoy, Mr. Ambo nevertheless works quickly to set up D-day. Naturally, our particular personal quirks play a key role in the exact method by which our enemies are assassinated. This is of course how Freudian psychology works.

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Success! With a single unethical and underhanded move, we have ended the civil war and saved thousands of good French lives so that they may die in the next war instead. Viva la France!

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Mr. Ambo, I had my reservations about you, honestly, it would have been better if you died doing the deed, but look, never mind. Let's give you a big fat promotion as Tribal Elder, eh?

Wait, but there's a familiar face staring at me from the Arbitrator's seat...

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Motherfucker.

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OK so apparently Paradox have become so incompetent that the assassination of a civil war leader bugs out and the dude is alive and what's more Mr Ambo has lost his Friend status in doing so so we can't even try again, but alright, we can roll with this, dude's going to die of inflamed testicles any minute I'm sure

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Oh you unethical and underhanded motherfuckers

(Red = enemies, dark green = allies, purple = pointless trading partners)

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Meanwhile, our loyal and talented general, Mr. Tartar Sauce, who is our final bulwark against the evil forces of Mr. Vod, is found stealing from the tribe's cheese cellars and is accordingly flogged. I'm sure that he won't take it personally, no sir

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The hard work of flogging has taken its toll.

We grow more depressed and useless by the day, but by the well-groomed hairline of Macron, we shall hold on and persevere until Mr. Vod is vanquished!

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Step one: invent even better chariots, with the minor side effect of castrating many of our own troops while marching

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Step two: drive out the rebels while our allies actually handle that other war so well that we basically win it without a thought.

You know, the rebels fighting a civil war keep leaving our lands and marching off halfway to Italy before returning. Clearly this shows that the filthy southeastern Gauls are behind our current divisions. All of our domestic problems will be solved once we commit more French genocide.

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Listen, I'm fine. I know a guy who's been alive for a decade with inflamed testicles.

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And finally! After years and years of fighting, chasing, and waiting for the enemy to return from their Italian holidays, the civil war is ended.

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OK yeah I thought dude was going to escape yet again, but this time Mr. Vod really is dead.

It's said that he screamed not so much from the crucifixion, but his ongoing skin problems and a particularly chafing set of trousers for the big day

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And now we are finally united to target the rest of filthy southeastern Gaul. Unfortunately they are now all locked in a pretty solid alliance network, with Massilia being guaranteed by Etruria and Albicia in some local defensive league, but we'll figure it out.

For our ambitions cannot be halted. Our ultimate objective, of course, none other than the fast expanding empire of BERLUSCONIA.

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We think it's a good sign that they are currently ruled by charismatic, monotonous hobos.

To end this episode, please have a screenshot that I didn't use but I can't get rid of because new FPH forums wow

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Edited by Veggie
  • Dugong 2

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wait wait wait did iccius go bald at the end? was it his hair that was inflamed?

I'm not sure if I can follow adventures of a bald person

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There's some scandalous fake news out there that I've gone bald, really the most utterly unbelievable kind

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As you can see, official, completely undoctored paintings indicate that I am absolutely full of hair, there's just hair coming out everywhere, and listen I'm getting treatment for it okay, not that I have a problem, I'm perfectly fine, but listen a man can put unguents in his hair if he feels like it, you hear me

Now that's sorted, let's move on to matters of state, yes?

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As you can see, i have a son now, unlike that bald half-man Mr. Vod. He's a pretty down to earth fellow, so much so that his Greek tutor keeps finding him face down in the mud trying to reconnect with the worms.

I suppose this might be a problem if he were preordained to lead the Arverni upon my death, as if some kind of hereditary system, but thank goodness nobody picks their future leaders by such a nonsensical rule, eh?

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No sooner have we sorted our domestic affairs, than foreign powers penetrate themselves into our domestices. Helvia have teamed up with Ceutronia, a land that nobody has ever actually heard of, but are now well on their way to penetrating us.

We mobilise our armies and order them to march.

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About a week later, the filthy eastern Gauls decide that they didn't actually want to fight the largest nation in the region, and initiate the well known PEACEACCEPTOTHER_ALLY_LOG protocol. As custom dictates, we accept the generous peace offer of two cities.

(Uh, something must have happened where their leader dies or someshit and there's a war reset, because it ended automatically with no popup and we just took the two cities we were sitting on. Good old Paradox sells a half ass game copy-pasted from all their other games, now with new bugs)

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Um, yes. That's not quite what I was seeking treatment for, I was actually pretty happy with my arthritis, thank you. I mean, no, there's nothing else wrong with me, everything is fine.

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In fact, let's stop paying attention to my well-being and instead declare war on some filthy southeastern gauls.

What's that, you say? Negative stability? Never heard of such a thing. We're a brave Gallic tribe of bloodthirsty warriors, the only stability we want is where our manhood joins up with the ballsacks

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OK, this is pretty unstable, though

The filthy southeastern gauls turn out to be allied with some other unpronouncable gauls slightly northeast of the southeast, as well as the southeastern gauls further southeast of the southeastern gauls, and they are all joined by the northwestern gauls and the southwestern gauls and gauls from every direction oh god

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But apparently it's not a problem, because we win the war, take their province, and with that become a REGIONAL POWER.

Being a regional power is pretty great, because you can now THREATEN WAR as well as actually declaring war. It's just like declaring war, but without the war.

The other great bonuses include more clan chiefs to possibly turn into another Mr. Vod, and, uh, losing all of our existing alliances because regional powers are too cool to be allied with local powers. I'm sure this will not be a problem for us in the future, no sir

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I mean, who needs allies for civil wars, right?

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Yes, that's right, it is none other than MR. VOD THE SECOND, with he identical disgusting nostril hair, who decided that having 0 military skill was no impediment to declaring war on the greatest gallic conqueror of the generation

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We respond by catching his son, a professional forum administrator, and lynching him in the face.

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MR. VOD THE SECOND himself soon follows.

In fact, the execution of my enemies makes me so happy, all of my hair's grown back.

I mean, the hair that's always been there. It's like believing in Jesus, you know? Where you're still alive but you're born again? Listen, I don't ask you about your hair, why don't you just shut the fuck up

(NB: I have no fucking idea how or why his hair grew back, wow paradox)

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Now that we have hair again, surely this newest round of filthy gallic invasions will present no issue.

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The combined enemy army faces our trusty general, Mr. Tartar Sauce, in none other than the sacred lands of GERGOVIA.

And if we know one thing about Gergovia, it's that the Gauls never lose in Gergovia. Hell, we even have a sizably larger army! Nothing can go wrong.

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Of course, it turns out our enemies are also Gauls.

Our chariots decided to all stand in the same one place and somehow get surrounded by a numerically inferior force. Before we are wiped out, and set our Southern campaigns back for years to come, we decide to oblige and give the filthy northeastern gauls what they want. (Highlighted portion above.) We shall never surrender Gergovia, but who needs the rest of it when we have Rome to sack, right?

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Sadly, the wars are not over. The million southeastern gallic states have once again jumped in on the action, and for once we are massively outnumbered.

In dire straits, we turn to the exciting new feature of Imperator: Rome: mercenary bands who hang out at completely random locations, so that when you hire them they have to spend a few months taking the bus and subway down to join the fight.

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Jesus, look at all those enemy armies. I can't count that high. And everybody with different flags. All the pretty flags. Such lovely colours!

I feel a bit... a bit....

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No, listen, I'm fine. It's not me that's cracked, but the great egg shell of the planet. Through it I hear a voice of a god, a god that calls it self Loo Loo, the Wolf, the Wolf...

My hair? What about my hair? I see nothing wrong with my hair.

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We have made peace with the Nitiobrogan Revolters, which is good, because we were originally fighting with the Nitiobrogan Non-Revolters, and at one point we were fighting with both kinds of Nitiobrogans.

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Over the next few years, we slowly, slowly whittle down the enemy forces, white-peacing them one by one.

But we are now presented with a new problem. The mercenaries we hired? They take about a million coins each month, and if you want to fire them, the severance package is literally twice our yearly GDP! I mean, can you think of any other profession where people hire you on a whim, and then lay you off soon after for a multi-million dollar severance package because you've lost the dressing room and...

We have a clever plan, though.

Step one: order the mercenaries to assault the siege! Silly buggers don't realise that in the ancient world, nobody ever assaulted settlements even at massive numerical advantage, because you will magically lose several thousand dudes in the process. Just basic understanding of military tactics at work here, you know.

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Step two: oh no! While you've been assaulting deep in enemy territory, they've raised a large army to come and wipe you out! What a pity that your employers are currently busy taking roll call of the entire army several weeks' march away.

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Step three: we go in, clean up, get a peace deal, and ten shekels for our troubles.

Listen, the important thing is that a lot of people died, and we made some money off it. Politics 101.

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Literally a decade of civil war and external invasions aside, we are finally able to take stock and think about the next steps for the grand ambition of INVADING BERLUSCONIA.

First, we decide to RESTABILISE OURSELVES. This difficult task involves pulling all of society together, resolving persistent class inequalities, providing better political representation, and ensuring that there is a steady stream of K-pop to the masses.

Actually, no, we just kill some pigs. And we spend magic powers to kill pigs. And we can do it, like 80 times in a single day if we want. Get all the stab.

(Literally instant stab by spending magic points, magic points that you really don't have any other use for. Paradox at this rate this is the last game we ever bother with)

Alright, what else has been going on in our grand nation?

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Oh, I see. My first daughter died of Leprosy. Like, three years ago.

I mean, someone could have told me? Was I busy? Did I look busy? Was I emitting an aura of unapproachability? Was it a me problem, or an us problem?

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Thankfully our son has not died of leprosy, and is alive and well. You can never tell when your kids die of leprosy, you know.

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And what of the nation as a whole?

It is clear that all of our recent travails - the civil wars, the stretched defense of a large territory shaped like a bent penis, Heisenberg's Hair Paradox - are caused by excessive civilising.

We must ABANDON our SEDENTARY LIFESTYLE, take regular morning exercises, and become a MIGRATORY TRIBE!

(NB: I have no idea what this does or how it works.)

Our final objective, of course, remains the same:

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the conquest of BERLUSCONIA, ever spreading across the Italian peninsula like a slightly runny tomato sauce, ruled by literally cancer.

Tune in next time for our attempt to migrate within the Schengen Zone. We now accept running bets on how long Iccius will live while officially Insane, and whether his hair will magically come back or not.

  • Dugong 4

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IIRC a migratory lifestyle lets you literally turn your provinces into armies, abandoning them and giving pointy sticks to every peasant in the land

You then stick the pointy sticks in other people and settle down in their land, turning your armies back into a map colour

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We sure like the idea of becoming a marauding horde of blood-sucking globalists, appropriating local organic produce and artisanal coffees wherever we go on our frequent flyer adventures. This seems like a destiny ready-made for the ARVERNI, the Frenchiest of the French, progenitors of POMPIDOU.

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However, we cannot yet embark on our migrations, because our nation is not sufficiently monocultural to multiculturalise other nations :psyduck:

But perhaps this all makes sense. We must ensure that our Frenchies are educated with the right kind of French character, that je ne sais quoi that ensures that when they are faced with the pointy-sticks of the barbarians in filthy southeastern gaul they know exactly how to crack a saucy smile and offer them a croissant!

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And so we while away the years, collecting magical oratory power, getting banished by druids and all. Listen, a French ruler that isn't made a pariah by the religious establishment is no true French ruler

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To entertain their unnoticable, lunatic, inflamed ruler, the clan chiefs generously decide to fight to the death. It appears that Mr. Induction has secretly been very hurt about the nasty things Mr. Tartar Sauce called him when they were both playing Age of Empires and Mr. Induction didn't hear that Mr. Tartar Sauce was sending his troops in, and Mr Induction's ulfsarks arrived kind of late. You would think Mr. Induction and Mr. Tartar Sauce could get over it, but then you do not understand the deep emotional scars that such experiences can cause.

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Thankfully, the matter is resolved amicably, with both sides getting the opportunity to totally murder the other. Everyone, as far as we hear, is happy with the outcome.

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And so we fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way, and as gout sets in, we're shorter of breath, one day closer to death

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Listen, I just got gout, and you think I'm going to give everybody free food? I should have you executed, but I can't spare the cleaning fees.

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Quickly, my peasants, before death claims me! Frenchies - or, technically, the 5% of the Frenchies we have been able to prepare, must now ABANDON their homes and go, go east!

(So yeah migration is you spend magic mana to get happy right-culture pops, then magic mana to make them into MIGRATION ARMIES, then you fight some fuckers and then use MAGIC MIGRATION BUTTON to insta-take the province if you have enough migrants to overwhelm their border control, meanwhile the original province is made empty so you end up with the worst borders in the history of FPH AARs)

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We hear that some plutocratic motherfuckers live there already, but fuck you anyway

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And we run, we run to catch up with the sun, but it's sinking

We migrate, we settle, we overpopulate the Franco-Italian coast

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And so, at the age of seventy-two, 487AVC, we are done

The time is gone

The song is over

Thought I'd something more to say...

 

Edited by Veggie

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Eh- 'ello.

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'ello tout le monde, I am monsieur Tasciovanus Tautalus, or as mon friends call me, Monsieur Tartar Sauce. Is nice to meet you silly hippos, yes?

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As you know, my tres bon amis monsieur Iccius has finally kicked le bucket, after a brief eh twenty years of struggle with lunacy. Les chiefs de clan think I shall make an adequate next leader, hmm?

The Vods were not very happy, they kept saying we should use les IVFs, those silly putains. Such convoluted voting systems never did anyone any good, eh?

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Now, the public should not worry! As a tres bon amis of Mr Iccius the Lunatic, I am very happy indeed to continue the popular policy of forcibly migrating our peoples to already overcrowded coastal cities, eh?

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Is very nice to have such big city, vraiment? Nobody makes no money and there are union strikes in the square every two hours, but this is truly French civic life!

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Malheureusement, all that moving and killing did cost much the moneys. We are as broke as Sarkozy's marriage.

Is a situation tres difficile, but as you know I possess the powers of ORATORY and POETRY. Combined together, I shall rule ze finnicky Arverni with a superpower trifecta!

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First, ze power of BRIBERY, in which I shall bribe my generals with my tongue repeatedly;

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Second, the power of FLATTERY, in which everybody and their stupid nephews will get a shiny title;

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Third, the power of PARDON, in which everybody that Iccius used to crucify for breakfast will now be welcomed to the happy land of Tartar Sauce!

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Yes, even the silly Franco-Italians with their funny clothes and ridiculous names, we shall welcome into the Arverni fold.

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Not all of them, though, I mean a policy change doesn't mean that the yearly crucifixion quota just disappears, you know?

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The influx of foreigners will allow us to finally replace the dead people that have been filling in as our researchers all this time! Those month-by-month contracts were really killing our coffers, you know.

(The marriage/reproduction mechanics are fucked so that only one member of any family will get married automatically, meaning it's really easy for entire nations to start to run out of enough people to fill the goddamn posts. And then apparently there's some bug where two civil war mutineers that we executed stuck around for 20 years to research new technologies because ~ paradox ~)

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Yes, all is well! With our LES SUPERPOWERES DEMAGOGUERIES we shall continue our march. As you can see, the entirety of ROME is, shall we say, trembling at our approach.

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Or perhaps they are tremuluring because Etruria is now a shitty little one-region in the arse end of Corsica and somehow beating them in a war.

Next time, we shall MIGRATE and draw even more terribly spockmarked borders all over Franco-Italia!

Edited by Veggie
  • Dugong 2

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I enjoyed the fact that Iccius made one final fashion decision and embraced flannel towards the end of his life

  • Dugong 1

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So one of the great things about Imperator: Rome is how they got rid of simple, popular and useful features that have been around for years. In times of such loss we can learn to appreciate the simpler things in life, and learn to live in a more austere way.

Or we can install a simple ledger mode because Paradox is about as competent as a Trump government EPA

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While the Arvernia Baguettiana measure up well in the size of their armies, BERLUSCONIA is about a million times more densely populated. It is a gap that we shall have to overcome if we are to fulfill our Pompidouian Destiny.

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Also yeah you can't even move your capitals so people end up playing Rome, losing Rome in a siege, taking it back, and being stuck with some rural sausage factory for their capital the entire rest of the game

With a simple mod, we are able to RELOCATE the seat of government to the bustling port of MASSALIA. While Gergovia shall continue to be our spiritual home, our proto-Montboudif, this allows us to streamline our trade routes.

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The city bustles more bustlier than ever, due to all the busty Arvernians that busted the wall down and migrated in. There, we learn strange and frightening new traditions espoused by the filthy southeastern Gauls: they will string together dead trees and FLOAT THEM on the great ocean!

Silly fake baguettes, everybody knows that the great sea dragons will eat up anyone so foolish to walk the waters.

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Oh, what do you know? The floating trees are capable of VANQUISHING the pirate menace!

The baguettes shall rule the seas just as they have ruled the earth: by periodically squashing rebels in a neverending cycle of budget deficit.

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The Arverni must work hard to spread the ways of BEST GAULS to the rest of the inferior fake gauls. We must teach them how to cook ze baguettes properly with GUSTO, and how to womanise the womens with our manly poetry. They will complain, the fake gauls, but we shall bend their baguettes to our ways.

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Our Civilising Process is interrupted by the filthy Tautaus. Clearly, these filthy southeasteastern gauls have been corrupted by their close proximity to BERLUSCONIA.

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Still, there is nothing to worry about. Our tip top intelligence reports (which can't be sorted in proper order, because Arvernians don't actually know how to count) show that our gauls are larger and manlier than they are. Surely we shall crush them and expand our territory even further!

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Or you know, we could just kill each other.

Actually, this is a great opportunity. As you can see on the right, Mr. AMBO is fast shaping up to be the next VOD, sporting a marvellous 3.9% loyalty. Listen, just because you have the personal loyalty of over half of the entire Arverni army shouldn't give you any reason to think of rebellion, that's a little bit irrational.

Luckily, Mr. AMBO here has gotten into a feud with none other than BRUCETIUS MAGUNNUS, the son of our late chieftain and fashion-trendsetter ICCIUS. How fitting it is that even after his father's death, the son shall carry on the noble task of defeating the clan's enemies!

Brucetius, of course, is a capable military general in his thirties, while Mr. AMBO is a 0-military lunatic with a skin rash. Nothing can go wrong.

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I SAID NOTHING CAN GO WRONG.

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Mr. AMBO buggers off to the other side of the country with his half of the Arvernian Army, presumably to do some kind of teamwork-building dance dance revolution competitions. But the baguettes are resilient and heroic! Every report suggests that we outnumber the enemy by some uncountable amount. We shall fight off the tautaus yet!

E (12).png

Yeah, okay, we knew that was coming. I mean the dude filed his application to start a civil war with the requisite 12-month notice, otherwise you have to pay a fine because you make the other people wait longer in line.

E (13).png

But wait! The fucking commies have joined the civil war, and they are abandoning our external war!

We can't be sure, but we think that this might leave us outnumbered by people we formerly outnumbered. This is bad.

E (14).png

The floaty trees, et tu?

E (15).png

Assailed from inside and out, our brave Arvernis hunker down with the time-honoured WAY OF THE TURTLE.

OK so it turns out the armies in this game have tactical options and you can choose certain WAYS OF ANIMALS with different bonuses and counters

Obviously, we ignored this the entire time and just built more chariots

Also it turns out the chariots are like the worst fucking unit in the entire game

E (16).png

Perhaps all of those factors have contributed to our decisive defeat this day. But who can say? Such unproven theories will have to wait for a calmer time.

E (17).png

And so comes the first setback in the great history of the invincible Arverni. I, Mr. Tartar Sauce, must sign away the Ligurian coastline to the filthy Tautaus - condemning the thousands of Arvernians that we forcibly migrated over there to now become shitty work visa foreigners working the cotton plantations.

E (18).png

Of course, the rest of the country is being overrun by rebels, so it's hard to say who got the end of the stick with more turd stuck on it.

Most incroyably, Mr. AMBO has enlisted the filthy southwestern gallo-iberians to the civil war, allowing these foreigners to run amok our lands! This is surely undeniable proof of the foreign COLLUSION that threatens to destroy the unity of the glorious Arvernians.

E (19).png

Oh, I see, declaring war on a weakened neighbour in the midst of a pitched civil war, how rational of you. Would you like a fucking Turing Award?

E (21).png

Um, Mr. Ambo, you're supposed to fight ME. Mr. Tartar Sauce. Leader of the Arvernians. Civil war, you know? Meaning internal strife?

Maybe he was just so eager to conquer the Vocontinians, he had to start a civil war to declare war against them.

E (22).png

Well, in these times of crisis, we must show firm and unwavering leadership. We must go bravely and boldly, and make decisions others are too frightened to make.

Namely, to hole up in Massilia and hope our enemies will all die of virulent syphilis. It's the fucking Antiquity, it's not that unlikely.

E (24).png

Even Gergovia has fallen to the Aeduian menace. Proud Arvernians are dragged out of their homes, and forced to take up a new life as truck drivers in the Gallic wilderness.

E (25).png

May the Gods have mercy on them, because I certainly can't do shit to help.

We give away Cubia, the regions immediately north of Gergovia, to close that front and protect the Pompidouian Birthplace.

E (26).png

But wait! Could the tide really be turning? The tiny but kind of strong nation of Oxybia (bluish teal to the bottom right) offers an alliance. Perhaps this is the turning point we have been waiting for.

Men, we are leaving Massilia! It was getting really smelly in here, anyway.

E (27).png

Oh.

Once again, fate conspires to screw us by abusing our absolute refusal to read manuals.

Still, the time to hide is past, mostly because I've been waiting for like two years and I can't see anything due to fog of war. We must ride to ruin, and let what pointy sticks may come, uh, come!

E (30).png

Oh, hang on. We won a battle?

E (31).png

Mr. Ambo, how nice to run into you! It's been such a long time.

I see you're a fan of chariots, too. Did you hear that news story about how chariots actually suck total ass?

E (32).png

No, I didn't think so.

E (33).png

We defeat hordes of Fakevernians, but more still arrive. Yet we have one last trick up our sleeve.

Luring the last great enemy stack towards Massilia, we present the traveling band of mercenaries with a golden contract.

I mean that literally. With this money forget ships, we could probably just build a fucking bridge to Rome.

E (34).png

Aha! Thou hast entered into combat with me, but buttressing my rear is a fiersome contingent of mercenaries up my sextiae!

E (36).png

Victory is ours! We don't know who this Puny cunt is and what he's done with Mr. Ambo, but we really don't mind. Traitors all look the same once you behead them anyway.

E (35).png

Our masterful handling of the great civil war has earned us the honorific of Mr Tartar Sauce, the Veggie.

We've already reserved our tombstone for the state funeral: "Seriously, I'm totally dead, you can fight the other guy now."

E (37).png

Apparently the French are big fans of sneaky, lying leaders.

E (38).png

Well, I hope they won't mind that we're now going to hand over the entire state treasury away.

(Ironically, the civil war ended too quickly; civil wars in Imperator don't have peace negotiations, they automatically end when... who knows? Because sometimes the enemy still owns some provinces and armies but they surrender anyway. So there was no time to lure these mercenaries into being wiped to avoid paying them out.)

NEXT TIME: More migrations, unless we get invaded by 8 different people again, I guess. A LAND BORDER WITH BERLUSCONIA, possibly???

And I guess another random screenshot I can't get rid of

E (29).png

Edited by Veggie
  • Dugong 2

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Also no goddamn updates until the dugong quota has been reached

AARs are written for the people, you know, the masses, the giant crowds, the sell-out stadiums

So nothing less than two dugongs will do, no sir

Edited by Veggie

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I don't even know if this is art I am consuming or commercial schlock

  • Participation Trophy 2

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OK, good enough

F (2).png

Les Arverni are now ready to resume their Macronifest Destiny.

First step: to consolidate our leadership by enacting POWER TO THE MIGHTY, so that our manly vigour shall inspire those around us to stop faffing around with civil war and rally to the cause

F (3).png

God damnit, Son

(Apparently it completely changes your loyalty modifiers so instead of 50-80 from previous bonii everybody's now at 30)

F (5).png

Never mind. Who needs loyalty when you get all your women, children and beggars to take up arms and fight for you?

Gergovia shall remain wholesomely Arvernian, but everybody else is coming south in our relentless wave of reverse-Merkelian migration.

F (6).png

We don't know what Tauroention is or how you cook it, but coastal Franco-Italia is merely our interim destination to glorious BERLUSCONIA.

F (7).png

But that is not enough. My vigorous manhood took quite a public flogging when the Taurinians took the southeasteastern gallic seaside away from our rule! The estranged Arvernian natives, who have lived there since last Tuesday when we migrated, must be freed from foreign yoke!

They have a bunch of allies, but so do we, I'm sure everything will be fine.

F (8).png

OK, so we basically kind of started a proto-World War, but everything will be fine, right?

Our plan is simple.

F (9).png

Always out number the enemy by massive numbers, and we can only be victorious!

We are still saddled with shit ass Chariots, our technological advancement since the beginning of history has been zero because we don't have any civilisation or citizens, but the collective vigour of fifty thousand assembled manhoods swaying in the afternoon sun shall see off the enemy for sure.

F (11).png

Okay, so we lost more troops against an enemy a third of our size, but what matters is that I, the Great Tartar Sauce, have earned the prestige of victory!

Wait, zero flowers? Zero popularity?

Fucking French peasants, they're more unhappy when you win wars. One of these days we'll just surrender to the enemy for six years or so, see how they like having their baguettes rationed in the morning.

F (12).png

Okay, fine. If the people want us to kill the enemy in a fair fight, we'll give them a fair fight.

F (13).png

Listen, our kill to death ratio was actually better this time.

The problem is that when we do replace our useless chariots, we replace them with light infantry, the second most useless unit in the game. This is largely because the Arverni state is entirely too poor to actually build its own units, and instead commissions the entire recruitment process to proto-feudal clan chieftains, all of whom apparently have stocks in the chariot industry.

You know what they say, politics will never be fixed until you get rid of the lobbyists.

F (14).png

With the war at stake, we return to our old strategy of overwhelming numbers.

Who's that, you say? Oh, that's Cadaverus Dumbnus, our allied friend. His rashness, suspiciousness, corruption, arthritis and dementia makes him such a great military general that we have decided to give him command of the entire allied troops.

...yes he takes command because he has higher military leadership than any of my generals there :emo:

F (15).png

We are victorious, but again, we do not gain any popularity.

It's a good thing this isn't a democracy, because apparently there is absolutely nothing you can do to win the favour of the French public.

F (16).png

They may not appreciate it, but our enemies certainly appreciate the mass depopulation, famine, disease and bad smells that the Arverni bring wherever they go. A peace deal is struck to grant us the entire Ligurian province.

Yes, that's right, giving us a LAND BORDER with the empire of BERLUSCONIA.

We are now the largest and most powerful gallic state there has ever been, one that stretches across southeastern gaul, southeasteasterngaul, some depopulated wastelands, and GERGOVIA.

Perhaps now the other filthy gauls shall respect us, and leave us alone in our quest for Rome.

F (18).png

I will cut you, motherfucker

F (20).png

Ahem, okay. So the war done, we may return to important matters of state.

Such as, uh, finding enough alive people in the entire country to fill the fucking cabinet, because literally everybody has just died off.

(The game is so badly coded that the families don't marry at a sufficient rate to replenish themselves, so within 50 years we are facing literally the die-out of the entire country's ruling branch. And of course half of the people alive are locked into armies that are loyal to them. Paradox jesus christ)

F (21).png

Thankfully, the solution is simple: we turn to the Domesday Book, find some people who have a head attached to the body, and grant them citizenship. 

I imagine that Mr. Tartar Sauce rides his chariot around the war-torn towns, stopping by each street corner and yelling out, would anybody like to be finance minister? Anybody? Please?

I also imagine that this was pretty much Francois Hollande's entire presidency.

F (24).png

Perhaps more warfare can bring us the ministers that we need.

Oh look, the annoying Oxybians, who are effectively splitting our empire in three like a badly positioned pimple, are allied with our enemy! This is our chance to stomp on them and take all of their lands.

F (25).png

Wait, what?

So it turns out the Oxybians, around the time they INSULTED US, have somehow pledged themselves to us forever and ever. They don't show up as an actual vassal/tributary, but they join our wars, we can't declare war on them, and, uh, it seems like they're just stuck in this bugged status.

Meaning we will never actually be able to fix our border problem.

F (26).png

Well, whatever. We get on with our warfare, employing the tried and true Arvernian Swarm Strategy.

F (27).png

Oh, of course, when some bald fucker leads the charge, he gets nice flowers for his troubles.

We may have defeated Mr. Vod, but clearly, the Baldist Conspiracy lives on, like a testicle wart that just won't go away.

F (28).png

The war is nevertheless successful, reducing our empire from four disconnected pieces (including GERGOVIA) to three.

F (30).png

And now, before we can take on BERLUSCONIA, we are in some serious need of a more robust nation, because we basically have no economy, no technology and no infrastructure, just chariots. Literally the entire country just makes chariots in their spare time.

First, we forcibly relocate all of our slaves into strategic locations to maximise the production of useful goods - such as Avennio, which shall become a grand cloth capital of the region. Obviously, all our problems are solved by forced migrations.

F (31).png

We also take the step of promoting many of our pops to Citizens, and moving them to our capital. There, we shall create a large peninsula full of extremely overpriced housing, nonsensical public transportation routes and coffee-houses, and the brightest minds of Arverni shall be able to innovate the greatest technologies the world has seen!

It better not be fucking double-decker chariots.

F (32).png

We must also now pay greater attention to BERLUSCONIA, and be ready to exploit any misfortunes. Of course, as a large superpower in control of most of Italy, their rise seems almost inevitable. They are now in the process of crushing some croutons down south.

Wait, -44?

F (33).png

Madre dios!

The croutons have defeated the berlusconians in a grand and epic war!

And then given away all the winnings to a bunch of bruts!

F (34).png

Our strategy is simple.

We butter up the bruts with some Brut, and they accept the alliance. Like Scotland and France in alliance against the British, we shall squeeze our enemy like a ripe and sugary testicle!

In fact, this gives me an idea. Why not create a grand, cross-Mediterranean alliance network against the filthy Berlusconians? Why, we could call it the Axis of Friendship~

F (35).png

Oh.

Jesus christ paradox

also yeah i guess have another Ghost Screenshot that haunts every fucking post i make

F (2).png

Edited by Veggie
  • Dugong 3

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The dugong quota has been met!

No way I'm posting more until we get to page 2, no sir

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