january legion letter

[Larajoseph]

here it is, the newest edition of our glorious legion letter! for the edification and amusement of our friends and allies, we are posting this for all to see

let's get right to our articles and stories


sadly, theassassinator21 was too busy with rl to compile his usual listing of recruits that joined this month, but we look forward to his returning to the job next month (hint hint )


feibelman has graciously agreed to let us in on the differences between his old alliance and his new one with the help of sojourner, he has provided this interesting article:

I know you wanted me to write about our two alliances for the LL and Sojourner and I put this together for you.

The Legion and The Last Republic have many similarities which should not be surprising as TLR became a protectorate of Legion on the day they started, October 14, 2010. This union lasted until TLR became independent, appropriately on July 4, 2011. This did not change the close relationship between the two which exists to this day.

A very important feature of a successful alliance is the camaraderie of the membership. Both of these alliances have tight knit communities which is very evident by the activity and interaction seen on both forums. Both alliances have some crazy spam sections with frequent posts by members which provide great entertainment and laughs. Also, Legion has its ponies, and TLR has its narwhals… the informal mascots that won’t go away!

Both of these alliances have similar foreign affairs styles opting for a few good friends over many superficial treaties. The Legion and The Last Republic have a strong treaty and have fought next to each other in the past. The two have also shared many fun activities with each other the past 2 years. There have been games, spam wars and member exchanges to encourage interaction and fun for both memberships. This is a similarity, keeping interactive with close friends.

Both alliances are on the purple team. TLR began as an orange team alliance but changed to the purple team. This helps the two alliances work together in trade circles and it is also important to help maintain senate seats.

There are some obvious differences like size, longevity, government types, but the similarities far outweigh the differences in importance. The good relationship between these two alliances seems to be solidified for many more years

and now, a story by a man who, under the name bedford forrest, was an important member of M*A*S*H, lord emperor clot:

The Tie That Binds

Part 1: What's fair is fair

The watercolor blue sky was a perfect herald of a cold, dry day no plant loves, and people adore. I was at the McChester County Fair, a healthy, humus-laden assortment of fried cheese and Turkey leg vendors, oddities and mechanical rides that threatened to take your life in an instant if that’s what God wanted. My family traditions required us to look at ribbon-winning quilts, steam engines, hundreds of rabbits that no one could fairly rank, and the biggest cow for miles around. My hopes were high. If I was lucky, maybe we might even get a glimpse of “Hamir,” the acromegalic tattooed Beast of the East. Betty the 400-pound bearded lady would have been a hoot too, but my folks said the same thing every year to answer that hope: “You’re too young!” At least my Dad managed a smile when momma didn’t notice, with a raised eyebrow implying the time window between the too young and the married older man was all too brief but wondrous.
I was six. That window of the world unknown and dangerously new was right in front of me, and sooner than later, I was going to get my first taste of it. It’s a little odd to say that of a houseplant, but there you go; fate is no respecter of good manners and what fork you use to eat your salad. It takes what it can get.
I brought home from the Fair a trophy that year in the form of a houseplant, or fate. Take your pick. I called it, “Toby,” after my teddy bear. If you ask me why I named the bear that or why I was still playing with stuffed animals at my age, I probably would have given you a six-year-old’s sneer, picked my nose and run away from you. So there.
Toby was relinquished by a short brown native of Ecuador, who was raking in dough, as most carnies do, by running his game of “chance.” “Slim chance!” my parents said, as they tried to ignore the raspy broken English of the man pleading with them to indulge their boy. Full of curiosity and sugar, I desperately wanted to try his game. The little man leered happily at my Father, took his money and gave me three darts. The other thing of note about fate is it loves a win-win situation. Somehow I managed to pop the required three balloons, and began my kindergarten victory dance normally reserved for a game of kickball. “I won! I won! I wonIwonIwon!” I was loud, my folks were proud. The little brown carnie man took me aside. Was my joy genuine in his eyes? Or was it just Yanqui condescension? I may never know. He looked squarely at me, four-foot-tall kid to five-foot-tall Indian, and asked me a question. “You want an especial prize, muchacho?”
“Yes! Oh yes!” I chirped.
He snatched his cash box from the table, and dove into a flimsy plywood back room in his little stall. Returning, he did two things that were out of place altogether. He shot an evil, yellow saw-toothed smile at my father. Then he congratulated me, handing over my “especial prize.” He deposited in my hands an earthen pot, some four inches across. It was adorned with a pleasant native scroll pattern, vaguely resembling a vine. My Father told me later I must have been mistaken, but I clearly heard the odd little carnie whisper,
“Love it, muchacho, and it loves you!”
As much as we wanted to later on, we never saw him again.
“Some prize!” you might say. But for me, the mystery was better than any stuffed animal. Besides, who else was walking the midway with a genuine Indian pot full of dirt and the unknown? No one, I tell you! And that alone was prize enough for me. Momma wanted to throw it away right off. But we couldn’t just do that. It had too much life in it, anyway. Have you ever picked up something, a shell at the beach, maybe, and felt it speak of life to you? If so, you know we had to keep it. Papa thought the pot itself was an artifact of sorts, too. So we kept it. I watered it routinely, loved it as the odd man said. Before too many days had passed a chartreuse, tender shoot sprung up as if by magic from the earth.

(End of part one. Stay tuned for part two: A Hobby Gets Out of Hand.)

and now, a new story by vanik hardil:

Sitting back in his cozy desk chair, feet up on his desk watching the tax collections roll in. So close to one billion dollars in the bank. Come on. Just a couple million dollars away.. So close... Come on!
The door of his office hits the wall as his second in command bursts in.
"Yes?" he says.
"Sir, we have been called to action!" the second in command says quickly.
"Called to action..?" he asks, glancing at the collections counter, nearly halted fifteen million away from a billion dollars.
"The Legion sir!" 2ic responds.
"Come, we must make haste, explain on the way." he says, jumping to his feet and hurrying to the door.

Boots against the marble, echoing up the long hallway with high vaulted ceilings. Talking quickly and lowly with his second in command, he learns that The Legions allies have deserted them. Every single ally, gone to the 'enemies' side.
Legion is calling all available nations in its alliance to be ready for the inevitable war that is rumored to finally wipe them off of the face of our sacred Bob.

Stopping in the giant war room, with its large oval table, able to seat forty-eight people comfortably, with another twenty chairs sporadically dotting the outer rim of the room. He sends his second in command to fetch his generals.

Humming slightly to himself, hoping time would go by faster and bring this shit to an end. Finally the sound of boots against marble again announce the arrival of his six most prized generals.

After explaining everything to them, he leaves them to prepare the army. A brave nineteen thousand defenders of Neepolito Harnilito during peace time, and sixty-three thousand soldiers during war time.

He, himself was to take a private jet to the center of The Legion's Stronghold to convene with the heads of all one hundred eighty-five nations that make up The Legion.

Nearing the start of the Legion's land, he punches in the code to identify himself, and within a minute and a half his jet is joined by an escort of eight dozen stealth fighter planes.

Over the radio he is informed by the head of the escort to land as soon as possible, "the war is starting, as we speak over a thousand nations are launching nuclear warheads, fighter and bomber planes, cruise missiles, and their armies right at us."
"Will we be able to survive this?" he asks the head of the escort.
"We will soon find out, I think."

To be continued...

and now, the grand finale, part four of my continuing magnificent saga:

The next morning Vanlendel thought hard on his next move. It had taken him candlemarks to be able, finally, to calm Tarman enough for the boy to sleep, and he was determined that something must be done for the child. The problem was, Vanlendel had no idea what he could do about the Baronesses callous, even cruel, manner towards not only her only child but also everyone around her. “I will seek out Nemel, and see if he has any advice for me”, he decided. Leaving his chamber, Vanlendel went first to Tarman’s rooms. “Tarman?” he called softly, “Are you here?” Vanlendel knew that Tarman was scheduled for a riding lesson first thing in the mornings, but hoped the child hadn't left yet. Entering the first room, he saw no sign of the boy, so he entered the bedchamber to see if he was in there. upon entering, he saw a mound in the center of the bed, under the covers. “Tarman?” Vanlendel called softly. “why aren't you up yet? Are you ill?” Receiving no reply, Vanlendel pulled the covers back but found, to his dismay, only a bundle of pillows stuffed under the covers. “Oh, no,” he thought, what has the child done?” Going to find the servants, he was startled to be received with hostility. He had not had much contact with Tarman’s servants, but there had been no reason for them to regard him with such dislike! None of the servants would look at him, none would utter more than “yes my lord, or “no, my lord” when he spoke to them. Asking questions got him nowhere, until he came to the boy’s old nurse, the one he’d replaced when he came to be the boy’s tutor. “Mistress Bethrying, why are all of Tarman’s attendants so hostile to me this morning? Have I committed some misdeed against them? I am only trying to find Tarman; surely there is no harm in my doing that?” Bethrying shook her grizzled head and looked Vanlendel straight in the eyes. “They won’t tell you where he is, because they are afraid to get him, and themselves, into trouble”. “Trouble? What kind of trouble could they possibly be in?” Mistress Bethrying sighed, looked down for a long moment, and then looked at the ceiling as if to find answers there. Sighing again, she looked at Vanlendel and said, “This is not the first time Master Tarman has slipped out at night. He has a fascination with the stars. Sorith used to encourage him to study them. His mother, however, has decided that studying the stars is not a suitable occupation for a child who will one day be a Baron. The last time Master Tarman slipped out to study the stars, he was discovered outside on the battlements, sound asleep. The Baroness was furious. She had him soundly thrashed by one of her personal armsmen, before the Baron could mitigate the punishment. Poor Master Tarman was black and blue for seven-days afterwards,” she said with a black scowl on her face. “In front of him, the Baroness had all of his servants, men and women he’d known all his life, driven out of the castle with those same armsmen to see that they weren’t allowed to take any possessions with them. The Baroness said that they should have nothing as they could not be troubled to keep an incorrigible child under control. She also said that these same servants were nothing but thieves, as they had taken her bounty while returning nothing. These were the same servants who’d raised her son, taught him manners and deportment, how to treat people of all ranks, how to ride a horse and care for his own pony, and all those other things she couldn’t be bothered to teach him. She left him to care for himself for a sennight without servants of any kind, then had him come before her while the Baron was not there. Master Tarman was dirty, as he had not been excused from any of his lessons or chores, and he could not manage the struggle to pour his own bath water. He’d at least been trying to keep his face clean, not that it mattered, in the end. He was also sloppily dressed, since she’d insisted he should come before her in full court regalia, and he could not manage that alone. His hair was uncombed, as well. The Baroness made him make a full court bow, something he hadn't even had more than the sketchiest instruction in, as if she were the Queen!” Mistress Bethrying paused to master herself, as her voice had become very thick, as if with tears. “the Baroness”, and this was said in a tone of voice that was vicious with suppressed hatred, “then made him hold the bow when he began to straighten, again as if she were the Queen. When she finally allowed him to rise, her voice was as cutting as a blade when she informed him that he was a hopelessly incorrigible lackwit and that he had no business being her heir, and that the evidence for that statement was his appearance as he stood before her. When he protested that he’d had no servants, she cut him off with the statement that he was a fool, and that all he’d had to do was to ask any one of her personal armsmen and he would have been served as he ought to have been! These were the same armsmen who’d beaten him black and blue. Tarman” and here she dropped the ultra-proper “Master”, was no more going to ask any of these men for a favor than he would have asked his mother for one! After she spent another half-candlemark berating him, the Baron came in. he saw at a glance what had been going on, and for a change, was authoritative and standing for no nonsense from her. He took in Tarman’s bedraggled appearance, and spoke to the boy, asking ‘Where have your servants been, that they let you go about looking like something the cat dragged in?’ Tarman burst out that he had no servants anymore, and he was sorry about how he looked, but he’d tried, and then he burst into tears. The Baron grabbed his son in a hug and spoke to the Baroness in a voice filled with anger he’d never shown her before, stating that he would not allow the boy to be a pawn in the Baronesses power games again. Then he took the boy to his rooms, and comforted him, I suppose, because it was candlemarks before he left the child’s room. Then the Baron hired more servants for Tarman. But before they could start on their duties, the Baroness came upon them and told them that if the boy was ever again to sneak out of his bed at night, they would be hailed before the magistrate as thieves. Then she asked them, “and who do you think the magistrate will believe?’, and swept out. So, now all of Tarman’s servants are terrified by his sneaking out again, and they believe that you will report him, and them, to the Baroness. That is why they have become hostile to you. They believe you to be the instrument of their doom. And can you blame them?” As she finished her tale, Mistress Bethrying gazed upon Vanlendel with suppressed anger, anger directed not at him, but at the Baroness. “If this is so, and I am not saying it isn’t, why are you telling me? Do you not fear the Baronesses anger and reprisal as much as the others?” Vanlendel asked. “No, I do not. I was the Baron’s nurse, and nurse to his father as well,, and I am well into my eightieth year. Indeed, I may be older than that! She will not attempt reprisals upon me, for to do so would be to rouse the Baron’s anger, and, after all, he is the Baron, and it is only his mildness that allows her scope to be so arrogant and high-handed. One day, he will be roused to end her behavior, and I believe he came close to it that day.” “How long ago was this?” Vanlendel asked. “A quarter year ago, so 4 months ago, no more”, she replied. Well, I must think on all I’ve been told, but right now the first priority must be to find Tarman.

to be continued…

and that's it for this month as always, send all complaints to me so i can

[Staccs]

This should have a tl;dr.

[Larajoseph]

no, it shouldn't go troll someone else's thread you!

[Vanik Hardil]

^_^

[Feibelman]

The LL in strong form!!!

[Master Holton]

Excellent work though watch the light pink colors on our light pink boards! Makes for difficult reading for some of the older members I'd imagine.



Otherwise- Short but good! Feibs your articles are inspiring as always.

[Feibelman]

[sojourner]

Feibelman has graciously agreed to let us in on the differences between his old alliance and his new one with the help of sojourner, he has provided this interesting article:

[Vanik Hardil]

Originally Posted by sojourner

Feibelman has graciously agreed to let us in on the differences between his old alliance and his new one with the help of sojourner, he has provided this interesting article:

I do not understand the point of this post.. o.o

[Master Holton]

Originally Posted by sojourner

Feibelman has graciously agreed to let us in on the differences between his old alliance and his new one with the help of sojourner, he has provided this interesting article:

You also have wonderful taste in writing