Ram's Head Saloon [Mod-Sanctioned C/CLT, v4]

[Cult of the Black Beast]

A creature entered. The lower half of the creature resembled a fearsome quadruped with powerful claws and a long, slender tail, while the upper half resembled a muscular female warrior. The creature measured 10 meters in length, and stood just shy of 10 meters tall. The entire body was composed of overlapping metal plates covered in a crusty layer of dried blood. It reeked of decaying flesh and iron, and fresh blood seeped from every joint and every section where plates overlapped. A stylized mask adorned the face, of fine artisanship, depicting a weeping woman, as blood trickled down the empty eyesockets, which emenated a horrible and piercing red light that other eyes seemed unnaturally drawn towards, and averting one's gaze would prove difficult. It sported thick and wild hair made of long, metal chains, ending in hooks. The creature held a halberd properly scaled for someone about twice as large as a human, made with excellent craftsmanship and composed of cold iron. The creature moved forward, with startling celerity, and let out a sigh, the mask's mouth opening like that of a ventriloquist dummy, but far wider, and revealing countless rows of metal fangs adorning the fleshy interior, which dripped with a full-grown corrosive fluid.

Rather than speaking, the creature let out a telepathic message to everyone. "Fear not. I fight that you may live." The message sounded like multiple voices speaking at once, every one of them in terrible, hellish agony.

"This place is a tavern, yes?" She asked. "I figured it worth seeing what other taverns looked like. My creators drink vast quantities."

Disclaimer: This character is not from my nation exactly, but is from the same world.

[House of Chageroix]

"No, of course not." He whispered back. "I don't think they will do anything, but you know what to do if they become a blatant threat."

Renée stood back upright, scarce moving a muscle as his Lord gave a response, which the Samurai simply upturned their nose at.

Astre pinched his nose and gave a deep sigh of relief as the samurai left his space. "By God, the multiverse is plagued, riddled with idiocracy." He mumbled and sat back. "In the strangest way known to man, Renée, I feel like I have witnessed the birth of some ungodly brain rotting disease." He'd fan himself. "Do you think he would talk to my sisters that way?" He asked of the guard.

Renée relaxed slightly as the Prince said his piece, "I understand you there, your majesty. And yes, most definitely - I know what these egalitarian-types are like - brutish, arrogant, no respect for authority, whether that be monarchy or their own authorities." Renée turned towards the Prince, "May I find you anything, your majesty?"

[Afrikaaners Ryk]

A creature entered. The lower half of the creature resembled a fearsome quadruped with powerful claws and a long, slender tail, while the upper half resembled a muscular female warrior. The creature measured 10 meters in length, and stood just shy of 10 meters tall. The entire body was composed of overlapping metal plates covered in a crusty layer of dried blood. It reeked of decaying flesh and iron, and fresh blood seeped from every joint and every section where plates overlapped. A stylized mask adorned the face, of fine artisanship, depicting a weeping woman, as blood trickled down the empty eyesockets, which emenated a horrible and piercing red light that other eyes seemed unnaturally drawn towards, and averting one's gaze would prove difficult. It sported thick and wild hair made of long, metal chains, ending in hooks. The creature held a halberd properly scaled for someone about twice as large as a human, made with excellent craftsmanship and composed of cold iron. The creature moved forward, with startling celerity, and let out a sigh, the mask's mouth opening like that of a ventriloquist dummy, but far wider, and revealing countless rows of metal fangs adorning the fleshy interior, which dripped with a full-grown corrosive fluid.

Rather than speaking, the creature let out a telepathic message to everyone. "Fear not. I fight that you may live." The message sounded like multiple voices speaking at once, every one of them in terrible, hellish agony.

"This place is a tavern, yes?" She asked. "I figured it worth seeing what other taverns looked like. My creators drink vast quantities."

Disclaimer: This character is not from my nation exactly, but is from the same world.

"Bloody hell, is Anna Kendrick back already? Thought I had her thrown in the Pretoria concentration camps!" Pieter groaned.

"No, I'd think it would come from that edgy-looking apparition over there." Velding commented to Pieter.

"Ah, I see now. Haven't the heart to tell him Halloween was long-gone, but I'll do my best to make... it... feel it has company. You know, if it doesn't try and kill us all." Pieter said, before turning to the creature.

"Yep, this is a tavern, at its' finest and purest, best it's ever been, I'd say so, old chum. Though, I wouldn't know... I was never exactly welcome around here. Infact, my reputation is as sour as expired milk." Pieter stated in a calm and happy tone. "Come, sit down. Wherever you come from must at the very least be environmentally stressful."

Velding nudged Pieter for a moment and pointed to the Veiser. "Would you look at that one in the glad-rags there? Bloody 'ell, I envy him."

"What, is he going to be best man at a royal wedding?" Williem Barnard said.

"If only our lab coats would sparkle that much... the only way we tend to do that is with blood, I suppose." Dr. Voormeulen said as he sat down before looking at the samurai for a brief moment, then looking back at Pieter.

"Didn't know the Mekishimans frequented here. We should've asked him about the shipment of pony migrants coming into Pretoria."

"Really? I thought we'd taken care of the pony problem." Pieter said before turning to the female general.

"Well, not exactly on an international level. We still have significant pony minorities hailing from the new territories Mekishima had conquered. We'll clear them up in no time, though; the numbers are only estimated at 1,500,000. We'll wipe through that one within a month thanks to our upgraded complex in the camps, then we can get back to mulching the bloody n***ers up like we usually do." The general said as she pulled out a tablet with some statistics on it, the Afrikaaners nodding and Pieter smiling.

"Excellent. Looks like that's one room cleaned." Pieter said with happiness and enthusiasm.

[Cult of the Black Beast]

"Bloody hell, is Anna Kendrick back already? Thought I had her thrown in the Pretoria concentration camps!" Pieter groaned.

"No, I'd think it would come from that edgy-looking apparition over there." Velding commented to Pieter.

"Ah, I see now. Haven't the heart to tell him Halloween was long-gone, but I'll do my best to make... it... feel it has company. You know, if it doesn't try and kill us all." Pieter said, before turning to the creature.

"Yep, this is a tavern, at its' finest and purest, best it's ever been, I'd say so, old chum. Though, I wouldn't know... I was never exactly welcome around here. Infact, my reputation is as sour as expired milk." Pieter stated in a calm and happy tone. "Come, sit down. Wherever you come from must at the very least be environmentally stressful."

Velding nudged Pieter for a moment and pointed to the Veiser. "Would you look at that one in the glad-rags there? Bloody 'ell, I envy him."

"What, is he going to be best man at a royal wedding?" Williem Barnard said.

"If only our lab coats would sparkle that much... the only way we tend to do that is with blood, I suppose." Dr. Voormeulen said as he sat down before looking at the samurai for a brief moment, then looking back at Pieter.

"Didn't know the Mekishimans frequented here. We should've asked him about the shipment of pony migrants coming into Pretoria."

"Really? I thought we'd taken care of the pony problem." Pieter said before turning to the female general.

"Well, not exactly on an international level. We still have significant pony minorities hailing from the new territories Mekishima had conquered. We'll clear them up in no time, though; the numbers are only estimated at 1,500,000. We'll wipe through that one within a month thanks to our upgraded complex in the camps, then we can get back to mulching the bloody n***ers up like we usually do." The general said as she pulled out a tablet with some statistics on it, the Afrikaaners nodding and Pieter smiling.

"Excellent. Looks like that's one room cleaned." Pieter said with happiness and enthusiasm.

The creature stared at Pieter, red light from the eyes searing as if they could burn a hole clean through all living tissues. "Concentration camps? I was built in one of those, along my sisters. A vast quantity of flesh, blood, and souls were required to construct me."

The creature reached down and brushed a finger against the surface of a table, revealing every segment in the armor to be a razor-sharp edge capable of flaying skin as it effortlessly sliced a thin layer off the table. "I am not an apparition. As you can see, my form is very much physical. I am no undead spirit; I am a weapon of war. I am a slaktkriger. My name is Dødmyrdet." Though the words expressed were quite dry, there was a clear anger present along with the pain.

The slaktkriger exhaled, breath the stench of rotting meat and corroding metal. "My creators spend much time drinking. Somehow, this place feels so very familiar, and yet... so very alien. I would partake, but it would do nothing for me, and would perhaps spoil my current batch. I was not created with a full digestive system; only enough to gather blood for my creators."

Dødmyrdet looked down, her mask proving to be very expressive. "It is very dangerous and unwell. Only a machine like myself could operate safely there. How could you tell?"

[Afrikaaners Ryk]

"Bloody hell, is Anna Kendrick back already? Thought I had her thrown in the Pretoria concentration camps!" Pieter groaned.

"No, I'd think it would come from that edgy-looking apparition over there." Velding commented to Pieter.

"Ah, I see now. Haven't the heart to tell him Halloween was long-gone, but I'll do my best to make... it... feel it has company. You know, if it doesn't try and kill us all." Pieter said, before turning to the creature.

"Yep, this is a tavern, at its' finest and purest, best it's ever been, I'd say so, old chum. Though, I wouldn't know... I was never exactly welcome around here. Infact, my reputation is as sour as expired milk." Pieter stated in a calm and happy tone. "Come, sit down. Wherever you come from must at the very least be environmentally stressful."

Velding nudged Pieter for a moment and pointed to the Veiser. "Would you look at that one in the glad-rags there? Bloody 'ell, I envy him."

"What, is he going to be best man at a royal wedding?" Williem Barnard said.

"If only our lab coats would sparkle that much... the only way we tend to do that is with blood, I suppose." Dr. Voormeulen said as he sat down before looking at the samurai for a brief moment, then looking back at Pieter.

"Didn't know the Mekishimans frequented here. We should've asked him about the shipment of pony migrants coming into Pretoria."

"Really? I thought we'd taken care of the pony problem." Pieter said before turning to the female general.

"Well, not exactly on an international level. We still have significant pony minorities hailing from the new territories Mekishima had conquered. We'll clear them up in no time, though; the numbers are only estimated at 1,500,000. We'll wipe through that one within a month thanks to our upgraded complex in the camps, then we can get back to mulching the bloody n***ers up like we usually do." The general said as she pulled out a tablet with some statistics on it, the Afrikaaners nodding and Pieter smiling.

"Excellent. Looks like that's one room cleaned." Pieter said with happiness and enthusiasm.

The creature stared at Pieter, red light from the eyes searing as if they could burn a hole clean through all living tissues. "Concentration camps? I was built in one of those, along my sisters. A vast quantity of flesh, blood, and souls were required to construct me."

The creature reached down and brushed a finger against the surface of a table, revealing every segment in the armor to be a razor-sharp edge capable of flaying skin as it effortlessly sliced a thin layer off the table. "I am not an apparition. As you can see, my form is very much physical. I am no undead spirit; I am a weapon of war. I am a slaktkriger. My name is Dødmyrdet." Though the words expressed were quite dry, there was a clear anger present along with the pain.

The slaktkriger exhaled, breath the stench of rotting meat and corroding metal. "My creators spend much time drinking. Somehow, this place feels so very familiar, and yet... so very alien. I would partake, but it would do nothing for me, and would perhaps spoil my current batch. I was not created with a full digestive system; only enough to gather blood for my creators."

Dødmyrdet looked down, her mask proving to be very expressive. "It is very dangerous and unwell. Only a machine like myself could operate safely there. How could you tell?"

As Dodmyrdet exhaled, Velding winced at the smell for a moment, even though the smell of dead corpses wasn't new to him. Dr. Hubert Voormuelen was intrigued, however, when she brang up being built in a concentration camp; she might have been the very key to immortality that Voormeulen was looking for.

"Well, considering your appearance and such appears to be either of a Halloween party or some unearthly and hell-like society, I'd be less inclined to offend you by assuming the latter, as it is a mistake I have made in the past." Pieter said before pulling some breath mints out of his pocket and offering one to Dodmyrdet. "Want one? Certainly does people like us more good than alcohol. I'm believed to incline you yourself wouldn't be affected by alcohol."

[Cult of the Black Beast]

The creature stared at Pieter, red light from the eyes searing as if they could burn a hole clean through all living tissues. "Concentration camps? I was built in one of those, along my sisters. A vast quantity of flesh, blood, and souls were required to construct me."

The creature reached down and brushed a finger against the surface of a table, revealing every segment in the armor to be a razor-sharp edge capable of flaying skin as it effortlessly sliced a thin layer off the table. "I am not an apparition. As you can see, my form is very much physical. I am no undead spirit; I am a weapon of war. I am a slaktkriger. My name is Dødmyrdet." Though the words expressed were quite dry, there was a clear anger present along with the pain.

The slaktkriger exhaled, breath the stench of rotting meat and corroding metal. "My creators spend much time drinking. Somehow, this place feels so very familiar, and yet... so very alien. I would partake, but it would do nothing for me, and would perhaps spoil my current batch. I was not created with a full digestive system; only enough to gather blood for my creators."

Dødmyrdet looked down, her mask proving to be very expressive. "It is very dangerous and unwell. Only a machine like myself could operate safely there. How could you tell?"

As Dodmyrdet exhaled, Velding winced at the smell for a moment, even though the smell of dead corpses wasn't new to him. Dr. Hubert Voormuelen was intrigued, however, when she brang up being built in a concentration camp; she might have been the very key to immortality that Voormeulen was looking for.

"Well, considering your appearance and such appears to be either of a Halloween party or some unearthly and hell-like society, I'd be less inclined to offend you by assuming the latter, as it is a mistake I have made in the past." Pieter said before pulling some breath mints out of his pocket and offering one to Dodmyrdet. "Want one? Certainly does people like us more good than alcohol. I'm believed to incline you yourself wouldn't be affected by alcohol."

Dødmyrdet stared at the doctor. "You seek immortality?" she asked. "I couldn't tell you everything, but..." her eyes glowed as she cast mindlink, and gently touched Voormuelen's forehead with one of her fingers, careful to not touch with any of the sharp edges. She flooded his mind with images.*

Dødmyrdet stared at the breath mints. "It would contaminate the blood in my stomach. My creators need pure blood for their magics, in order to create more of my sisters and kin to fight against the taint. And no, I wasn't built to really ingest or process anything. I was built to kill, to protect, and to consume flesh and blood so that more of my sisters can be built."

*I can send the paragraphs via TG if you want me to. They're, uh... not safe for life.

[Afrikaaners Ryk]

As Dodmyrdet exhaled, Velding winced at the smell for a moment, even though the smell of dead corpses wasn't new to him. Dr. Hubert Voormuelen was intrigued, however, when she brang up being built in a concentration camp; she might have been the very key to immortality that Voormeulen was looking for.

"Well, considering your appearance and such appears to be either of a Halloween party or some unearthly and hell-like society, I'd be less inclined to offend you by assuming the latter, as it is a mistake I have made in the past." Pieter said before pulling some breath mints out of his pocket and offering one to Dodmyrdet. "Want one? Certainly does people like us more good than alcohol. I'm believed to incline you yourself wouldn't be affected by alcohol."

Dødmyrdet stared at the doctor. "You seek immortality?" she asked. "I couldn't tell you everything, but..." her eyes glowed as she cast mindlink, and gently touched Voormuelen's forehead with one of her fingers, careful to not touch with any of the sharp edges. She flooded his mind with images.*

Dødmyrdet stared at the breath mints. "It would contaminate the blood in my stomach. My creators need pure blood for their magics, in order to create more of my sisters and kin to fight against the taint. And no, I wasn't built to really ingest or process anything. I was built to kill, to protect, and to consume flesh and blood so that more of my sisters can be built."

*I can send the paragraphs via TG if you want me to. They're, uh... not safe for life.

"Well, how'd you know I was-" Voormeulen said as then Dodmyrdet touched to the doctor's forehead, and once the images came in through, Voormeulen's face went blank. Those images were actually fairly familiar, nothing far off from where he worked, but it seemed to have a more supernatural theme to it. The ritual the wizards were doing to create their abomination intrigued him most; being able to produce life just like that is something Voormeulen could've only dreamed of. If only he could replicate this ritual, but he would never be entirely in condition to do so, as well as the fact that it'd be against his scientific stance. Still, Werdgeboorte might have been a success if he had contact with these being prior.

"Ah, sorry. Sorry. Thing is, you wouldn't swallow these ones, you just chew on them for a minute or two and they'd magically make your breath smell better, but I suppose it's a fair risk still." Pieter stated. "And wait... there's lots of you, being cloned for an army? It's like my own dream come true. An army of clones, disposable units that'd fight without mercy, ones we can then dispose of in the oncoming peace times after the Afrikaaner dream has been achieved."

"I might just know how, my leier." Voormeulen stated. "The creature has granted me access to the process. While details are vague and it is uncertain of if we are of any capability to do such a proccess, it is possible." Voormeulen said to Pieter in a shocked tone.

(Well, actually, you can just TG it to me, I'm happy to recieve stuff like that. The Ryk's themes involve mass genocide, Turner Diaries-levels of racism, graphic torture that makes Junko Furuta's death look like a mere slap on the ear, unethical experimentation, child murder, mass rape, etc., etc... I'm ready for whatever you throw at me.)

[Fatatatutti]

The General laughed. "You need that pig-sticker to fight a girl? Maybe I overestimated you." She took another drink.

"I may not like communists, but I concur with the woman. Fighting an unarmed man with a sword is unjust. It is better if you take her down honorably, hand-to-hand. Even then, I'd though it'd be beneath a man like you to want to hurt a woman at all." The samurai said to the Prince. "You're a man of royal status. You are better than the communists. Don't act like you're beneath them, please."

He'd roll his eyes and completely ignore the General's further childish behavior. He turned to the Samurai. "Of course not, but this is hardly a lady. She is a common rank-and-file." Astre explained. "I don't need you to lecture me on aristocratic code." He scoffed and turned to Vixen. "Bartender, I will be making the purchase of a glass of white wine."

General Castro-Stalina smiled. "The loftiness of man shall be bowed down, and the haughtiness of men shall be made low." She touched her cheek with her middle finger. "I should remind you that I am not alone. A have a rather large Sergeant here who is pledged to bring me home alive; I don't know how far he is willing to go to accomplish that. I also have a duck and a fish. The duck is more of a lover than a fighter but the fish is heavily armed." As if on cue, Fish stuck his head out of his castle. The General imagined that his teeth were bared, though she couldn't tell if it was a fish-challenge or a fish-smile. "What do you say to a little prince for lunch, Mr. President?"

[Veise]

General Castro-Stalina smiled. "The loftiness of man shall be bowed down, and the haughtiness of men shall be made low." She touched her cheek with her middle finger. "I should remind you that I am not alone. A have a rather large Sergeant here who is pledged to bring me home alive; I don't know how far he is willing to go to accomplish that. I also have a duck and a fish. The duck is more of a lover than a fighter but the fish is heavily armed." As if on cue, Fish stuck his head out of his castle. The General imagined that his teeth were bared, though she couldn't tell if it was a fish-challenge or a fish-smile. "What do you say to a little prince for lunch, Mr. President?"

He'd roll his eyes. "Chageroix, stand up." He'd say. "If that is the path we are taking, then I must introduce Renée Chageroix. He is born of an elite warrior family, the Grand Baronial House of Chageroix. Those of his family are essentially bred for combat. Out of his family, he is the greatest warrior and the Head of Royal Guard." He'd pat his rapier again. "I also hold the title of greatest bladed duelist in Veise. I am undefeated with the sword, and...this is a real sword, not a fencing sword. Your cheap crew here is outmatched. I will bite you to death in an instant if you so much as touch my clothing."

[Afrikaaners Ryk]

General Castro-Stalina smiled. "The loftiness of man shall be bowed down, and the haughtiness of men shall be made low." She touched her cheek with her middle finger. "I should remind you that I am not alone. A have a rather large Sergeant here who is pledged to bring me home alive; I don't know how far he is willing to go to accomplish that. I also have a duck and a fish. The duck is more of a lover than a fighter but the fish is heavily armed." As if on cue, Fish stuck his head out of his castle. The General imagined that his teeth were bared, though she couldn't tell if it was a fish-challenge or a fish-smile. "What do you say to a little prince for lunch, Mr. President?"

He'd roll his eyes. "Chageroix, stand up." He'd say. "If that is the path we are taking, then I must introduce Renée Chageroix. He is born of an elite warrior family, the Grand Baronial House of Chageroix. Those of his family are essentially bred for combat. Out of his family, he is the greatest warrior and the Head of Royal Guard." He'd pat his rapier again. "I also hold the title of greatest bladed duelist in Veise. I am undefeated with the sword, and...this is a real sword, not a fencing sword. Your cheap crew here is outmatched. I will bite you to death in an instant if you so much as touch my clothing."

"My friend, don't expect alot from communists. You're royalty. To them, you're pure bait." Pieter mentioned. "I'd like to get involved and help out an enemy to the communist regime run by those scoundrel Jews, but I really want to see where this goes. I've started enough battles myself without raising a bloody finger. Trust me, there's alot more shitty people in the world. Like those filthy negroes. Hard to believe there's a race that can ruin a whole bloody continent. Even Latin America has more dignity than the n***er scum." Pieter said as he reclined on his couch, drinking some canned SoulStorm brew.

"Such is life in this multiverse of plenty, eh? Anyways, if you feel like backing out, Mr. Sparkly-Clothes, come bunker with us. Trust me, the deal with Iran is complete, and there's not a single bloody thing that fatigue-wearing slut can do that'll not end in a nuclear fallout, so you're safe with me."

[Fatatatutti]

General Castro-Stalina smiled. "The loftiness of man shall be bowed down, and the haughtiness of men shall be made low." She touched her cheek with her middle finger. "I should remind you that I am not alone. A have a rather large Sergeant here who is pledged to bring me home alive; I don't know how far he is willing to go to accomplish that. I also have a duck and a fish. The duck is more of a lover than a fighter but the fish is heavily armed." As if on cue, Fish stuck his head out of his castle. The General imagined that his teeth were bared, though she couldn't tell if it was a fish-challenge or a fish-smile. "What do you say to a little prince for lunch, Mr. President?"

He'd roll his eyes. "Chageroix, stand up." He'd say. "If that is the path we are taking, then I must introduce Renée Chageroix. He is born of an elite warrior family, the Grand Baronial House of Chageroix. Those of his family are essentially bred for combat. Out of his family, he is the greatest warrior and the Head of Royal Guard." He'd pat his rapier again. "I also hold the title of greatest bladed duelist in Veise. I am undefeated with the sword, and...this is a real sword, not a fencing sword. Your cheap crew here is outmatched. I will bite you to death in an instant if you so much as touch my clothing."

The General glanced sideways at him. "Admittedly, I'm only the second-greatest warrior in my family - but then my family is in the construction business." She took a drink. "It's comical how you play with that penis-extension of yours. You need a sword to threaten an unarmed girl?" She took another drink. "Our Army is based on the regimental system; the colonels hold all of the power. A General's job is to inspire the colonels - which is why I'm pretty good at talking my way out of trouble." She raised her canteen again but didn't drink. "And In," she smiled. "The problem with elitists is that they think their 'breeding' and self-imposed status have any significance. In my world, only reality counts. The fact that my grandfather was a great warrior doesn't make me a great warrior. Only I can do that." She took a drink.

[Fatatatutti]

He'd roll his eyes. "Chageroix, stand up." He'd say. "If that is the path we are taking, then I must introduce Renée Chageroix. He is born of an elite warrior family, the Grand Baronial House of Chageroix. Those of his family are essentially bred for combat. Out of his family, he is the greatest warrior and the Head of Royal Guard." He'd pat his rapier again. "I also hold the title of greatest bladed duelist in Veise. I am undefeated with the sword, and...this is a real sword, not a fencing sword. Your cheap crew here is outmatched. I will bite you to death in an instant if you so much as touch my clothing."

"My friend, don't expect alot from communists."

"Ek is nie 'n Kommunistiese, kameraad", the General winked.

[Afrikaaners Ryk]

"My friend, don't expect alot from communists."

"Ek is nie 'n Kommunistiese, kameraad", the General winked.

"Oh. My verskoning, dame. Sorry for my outrage on you, madam, it's just the uniform and all. Proceed, then. My bad for the assumptions." Pieter said, twisting his neck until it made a cracking sound as he then rubbed it. "I'll just stay out of this and see where this goes. Good to see you're not falling for that Jewish ploy, though."

[Veise]

He'd roll his eyes. "Chageroix, stand up." He'd say. "If that is the path we are taking, then I must introduce Renée Chageroix. He is born of an elite warrior family, the Grand Baronial House of Chageroix. Those of his family are essentially bred for combat. Out of his family, he is the greatest warrior and the Head of Royal Guard." He'd pat his rapier again. "I also hold the title of greatest bladed duelist in Veise. I am undefeated with the sword, and...this is a real sword, not a fencing sword. Your cheap crew here is outmatched. I will bite you to death in an instant if you so much as touch my clothing."

"My friend, don't expect alot from communists. You're royalty. To them, you're pure bait." Pieter mentioned. "I'd like to get involved and help out an enemy to the communist regime run by those scoundrel Jews, but I really want to see where this goes. I've started enough battles myself without raising a bloody finger. Trust me, there's alot more shitty people in the world. Like those filthy negroes. Hard to believe there's a race that can ruin a whole bloody continent. Even Latin America has more dignity than the n***er scum." Pieter said as he reclined on his couch, drinking some canned SoulStorm brew.

"Such is life in this multiverse of plenty, eh? Anyways, if you feel like backing out, Mr. Sparkly-Clothes, come bunker with us. Trust me, the deal with Iran is complete, and there's not a single bloody thing that fatigue-wearing slut can do that'll not end in a nuclear fallout, so you're safe with me."

Once again, he totally ignored anything the General had to say. "I think I will pass on that offer, thank you very much." He'd say to Pieter, crossing his arms and leaning on one hip a bit. "Of course I don't expect much good from her. She's a low-ranking footsoldier with the cognitive workings of a child and the diet of a cannibal primitive. She assumes that because I am born of a crown, I am some sissy pig boy. How quaint that she refuses her own principles of avoiding underestimation. Tsk."

//Just a warning here, if this does descend into a fight. Astre is a much better swordsman than Olympic fencers (except instead of training for sport, he trained for proper combat), and possesses somewhat superhuman strength.

[Fatatatutti]

"Ek is nie 'n Kommunistiese, kameraad", the General winked.

"Oh. My verskoning, dame. Sorry for my outrage on you, madam, it's just the uniform and all. Proceed, then. My bad for the assumptions." Pieter said, twisting his neck until it made a cracking sound as he then rubbed it. "I'll just stay out of this and see where this goes. Good to see you're not falling for that Jewish ploy, though."

"Ek hou nie anti-semites."

[Fatatatutti]

Once again, he totally ignored anything the General had to say. "I think I will pass on that offer, thank you very much." He'd say to Pieter, crossing his arms and leaning on one hip a bit. "Of course I don't expect much good from her. She's a low-ranking footsoldier with the cognitive workings of a child and the diet of a cannibal primitive. She assumes that because I am born of a crown, I am some sissy pig boy. How quaint that she refuses her own principles of avoiding underestimation. Tsk."

"I don't mind sissies. And I like pigs. Yes, I am a footsoldier and proud of it."

[Afrikaaners Ryk]

"My friend, don't expect alot from communists. You're royalty. To them, you're pure bait." Pieter mentioned. "I'd like to get involved and help out an enemy to the communist regime run by those scoundrel Jews, but I really want to see where this goes. I've started enough battles myself without raising a bloody finger. Trust me, there's alot more shitty people in the world. Like those filthy negroes. Hard to believe there's a race that can ruin a whole bloody continent. Even Latin America has more dignity than the n***er scum." Pieter said as he reclined on his couch, drinking some canned SoulStorm brew.

"Such is life in this multiverse of plenty, eh? Anyways, if you feel like backing out, Mr. Sparkly-Clothes, come bunker with us. Trust me, the deal with Iran is complete, and there's not a single bloody thing that fatigue-wearing slut can do that'll not end in a nuclear fallout, so you're safe with me."

Once again, he totally ignored anything the General had to say. "I think I will pass on that offer, thank you very much." He'd say to Pieter, crossing his arms and leaning on one hip a bit. "Of course I don't expect much good from her. She's a low-ranking footsoldier with the cognitive workings of a child and the diet of a cannibal primitive. She assumes that because I am born of a crown, I am some sissy pig boy. How quaint that she refuses her own principles of avoiding underestimation. Tsk."

//Just a warning here, if this does descend into a fight. Astre is a much better swordsman than Olympic fencers (except instead of training for sport, he trained for proper combat), and possesses somewhat superhuman strength.

"Well, good luck, my friend. And here's to a grand show." Pieter said, raising his can. "Only for the best of you, my splendorous comrade. You and the greatest colour there ever was, plain white."

"Oh. My verskoning, dame. Sorry for my outrage on you, madam, it's just the uniform and all. Proceed, then. My bad for the assumptions." Pieter said, twisting his neck until it made a cracking sound as he then rubbed it. "I'll just stay out of this and see where this goes. Good to see you're not falling for that Jewish ploy, though."

"Ek hou nie anti-semites."

"Wees gewoond daaraan, my ou kêrel. Those Jews are only poisoning the world. They're the reason mankind is weakening and giving in to degeneracy. If Hitler's plan had succeeded, the world would be in an eternal peace, just like my grand elimination of both Jews and negrokind will bring prosperity and previously unseen light to Africa." Pieter stated to the General before smirking.

[Fatatatutti]

"Wees gewoond daaraan, my ou kêrel. Those Jews are only poisoning the world. They're the reason mankind is weakening and giving in to degeneracy. If Hitler's plan had succeeded, the world would be in an eternal peace, just like my grand elimination of both Jews and negrokind will bring prosperity and previously unseen light to Africa." Pieter stated to the General before smirking.

"Hitler het wat hy verdien het - en so sal jy." The General raised her canteen.

[Veise]

Once again, he totally ignored anything the General had to say. "I think I will pass on that offer, thank you very much." He'd say to Pieter, crossing his arms and leaning on one hip a bit. "Of course I don't expect much good from her. She's a low-ranking footsoldier with the cognitive workings of a child and the diet of a cannibal primitive. She assumes that because I am born of a crown, I am some sissy pig boy. How quaint that she refuses her own principles of avoiding underestimation. Tsk."

"I don't mind sissies. And I like pigs. Yes, I am a footsoldier and proud of it."

"Why are you still talking to me? I don't care if you're proud of who you are. You're still unimpressive." He'd turn away.

"Well, good luck, my friend. And here's to a grand show." Pieter said, raising his can. "Only for the best of you, my splendorous comrade. You and the greatest colour there ever was, plain white."

He'd pluck at his uniform. "Isn't it? Indeed. The color of diamonds, snow, marble...my country is called the Argent Kingdom by many for its luminous aesthetic." He said, a hint of patriotic bragging penetrating through his stoic tone.

[Fatatatutti]

"I don't mind sissies. And I like pigs. Yes, I am a footsoldier and proud of it."

"Why are you still talking to me? I don't care if you're proud of who you are. You're still unimpressive." He'd turn away.

The General laughed. "If I'm so unimpressive, why are you having so much trouble ignoring me?"

[Afrikaaners Ryk]

"Wees gewoond daaraan, my ou kêrel. Those Jews are only poisoning the world. They're the reason mankind is weakening and giving in to degeneracy. If Hitler's plan had succeeded, the world would be in an eternal peace, just like my grand elimination of both Jews and negrokind will bring prosperity and previously unseen light to Africa." Pieter stated to the General before smirking.

"Hitler het wat hy verdien het - en so sal jy." The General raised her canteen.

"Wel, miskien, soos dit sal uitkom, sal ek net meer voorbereid en logies wees as wat hy was." The Afrikaaner laughed. "I'm not going down any time soon, my friend. I'm more logical than him in tactical manners. I've eliminated all resistance and double by first eliminating the negro problem from the very beginning, and shown fierce and unspeakable tactics on a scale most nations were afraid to take me on for because they know that I'd hold nothing back for their own. And if I do fare this world goodbye, it'll either be in health complications for my will to forward to Hendrika, or it will be in war where I'll go down and take the world down with me.

Hitler made many mistakes in his rule. His racial policy, against the inferiors? No faults except for narrowness on his great European de-lousing programs. Tactically speaking? A lot. Even I'll admit it, Hitler's choices in military waging were utterly in failure, but his ideology wasn't. I'm here now, and I'll finish what he started."

"I don't mind sissies. And I like pigs. Yes, I am a footsoldier and proud of it."

"Why are you still talking to me? I don't care if you're proud of who you are. You're still unimpressive." He'd turn away.

"Well, good luck, my friend. And here's to a grand show." Pieter said, raising his can. "Only for the best of you, my splendorous comrade. You and the greatest colour there ever was, plain white."

He'd pluck at his uniform. "Isn't it? Indeed. The color of diamonds, snow, marble...my country is called the Argent Kingdom by many for its luminous aesthetic." He said, a hint of patriotic bragging penetrating through his stoic tone.

"I'd dare say so. If only we had the time, resources and tactical situationability in our age to make ourselves like you... unfortunately, in hard times like this where war on such a scale of ours would be unimaginable compared to yours, I presume, I find it'd be simply a waste of money to replicate such delicate displays of wealth only for it to be destroyed in a decade. Maybe the capital building? Who knows; but the resources we'll get once we finally complete the takeover of Africa and elimination of the negro will be boundless, and only then will we be able to commit to such dazzling sights." Pieter sighed in disappointment.

[Veise]

"I'd dare say so. If only we had the time, resources and tactical situationability in our age to make ourselves like you... unfortunately, in hard times like this where war on such a scale of ours would be unimaginable compared to yours, I presume, I find it'd be simply a waste of money to replicate such delicate displays of wealth only for it to be destroyed in a decade. Maybe the capital building? Who knows; but the resources we'll get once we finally complete the takeover of Africa and elimination of the negro will be boundless, and only then will we be able to commit to such dazzling sights." Pieter sighed in disappointment.

Astre, however, did in fact ignore the General again. "You...do that, I suppose? Well, a capital building is perhaps the best place to start. Veise used to be the Dirt Kingdom. Once we built ourselves a palace of platinum, marble, and diamonds, it was all most uphill from there.

A woman in a glamourous, tight, white dress with a turtleneck and down to mid-thigh, with incredibly high-quality cream-colored fur at the hem and collar and poofy, short, black sleeves and black, transparent leggings that went into snow white high heels, entered the tavern. She and Astre stared at each other.

"...Astre."

"Septette. Why are you here?"

"I could say the same for you, brother."

[Greater South]

Meanwhile, as Dell Sr. and the team of Task Force 2 waltzed into the saloon saw the glamorous Vesier girl and immediately started swooning over her.

"Yo... Forget the Pyro's little gadgets, now THAT is some hot stuff there!" The Scout remarked as even the Pyro facepalmed before going back to setting a lighter to his newspaper. "Watch this; I am TOTALLY goin' to get her on me!"

"Scout, please, you're just going to get yourself hurt again. I'm saving my money for a new revolver, that Cashmere wool ski mask and an original sketch of The Countess with the whip, please do not make me waste it on your stupid medical bills." The Spy said in a disappointed attitude. "I mean, even I'll admit, their fashion is beyond my own, and my total outfit costs over $70,000! What makes you think you'll be able to take on such-"

"Relax, Spy, I got this in the bag! I sweep up plenty of chicks! Every day! This guy NEVER gets turned down, 'cause nobody can resist the Scout!" Scout commented as Dell himself chuckled as the Scout magically pulled out a bucket of fried chicken and approached the girl, ignoring his brother.

"Heyyy, sweetcheeks... I got a bucket of chicken... so, you uh... you wanna go out sometime?" The Scout said in an awkward manner.

[Veise]

Meanwhile, as Dell Sr. and the team of Task Force 2 waltzed into the saloon saw the glamorous Vesier girl and immediately started swooning over her.

"Yo... Forget the Pyro's little gadgets, now THAT is some hot stuff there!" The Scout remarked as even the Pyro facepalmed before going back to setting a lighter to his newspaper. "Watch this; I am TOTALLY goin' to get her on me!"

"Scout, please, you're just going to get yourself hurt again. I'm saving my money for a new revolver, that Cashmere wool ski mask and an original sketch of The Countess with the whip, please do not make me waste it on your stupid medical bills." The Spy said in a disappointed attitude. "I mean, even I'll admit, their fashion is beyond my own, and my total outfit costs over $70,000! What makes you think you'll be able to take on such-"

"Relax, Spy, I got this in the bag! I sweep up plenty of chicks! Every day! This guy NEVER gets turned down, 'cause nobody can resist the Scout!" Scout commented as Dell himself chuckled as the Scout magically pulled out a bucket of fried chicken and approached the girl, ignoring his brother.

"Heyyy, sweetcheeks... I got a bucket of chicken... so, you uh... you wanna go out sometime?" The Scout said in an awkward manner.

"Do I want to...what?" Septette turned and fluttered her eyelashes accidentally as she blinked a couple times in confusion. She crossed her arms under her chest.

Astre's face scrunched up into a hideous expression of suppressed rage, and he made some sort of ungodly growling sound that was a mixture of restrained 'hnngh'ing and probably a muffled death threat.

[Greater South]

Meanwhile, as Dell Sr. and the team of Task Force 2 waltzed into the saloon saw the glamorous Vesier girl and immediately started swooning over her.

"Yo... Forget the Pyro's little gadgets, now THAT is some hot stuff there!" The Scout remarked as even the Pyro facepalmed before going back to setting a lighter to his newspaper. "Watch this; I am TOTALLY goin' to get her on me!"

"Scout, please, you're just going to get yourself hurt again. I'm saving my money for a new revolver, that Cashmere wool ski mask and an original sketch of The Countess with the whip, please do not make me waste it on your stupid medical bills." The Spy said in a disappointed attitude. "I mean, even I'll admit, their fashion is beyond my own, and my total outfit costs over $70,000! What makes you think you'll be able to take on such-"

"Relax, Spy, I got this in the bag! I sweep up plenty of chicks! Every day! This guy NEVER gets turned down, 'cause nobody can resist the Scout!" Scout commented as Dell himself chuckled as the Scout magically pulled out a bucket of fried chicken and approached the girl, ignoring his brother.

"Heyyy, sweetcheeks... I got a bucket of chicken... so, you uh... you wanna go out sometime?" The Scout said in an awkward manner.

"Do I want to...what?" Septette turned and fluttered her eyelashes accidentally as she blinked a couple times in confusion. She crossed her arms under her chest.

Astre's face scrunched up into a hideous expression of suppressed rage, and he made some sort of ungodly growling sound that was a mixture of restrained 'hnngh'ing and probably a muffled death threat.

"Well, I-" Scout was going to repeat as he glaced at Astre's angry expression. "I was about to ask you to go out, but I see you might already have a boyfriend there, really well dressed as well. I mean, I thought Spy was all fancy wherever he went, but you make Kim Kardashian look like Oliver Twist! I'll just leave ya be, alright? But if he ain't right for ya, jus' let me though, and I'll pop over there and show you how much of a MAN I am!" The Scout said as he flexed his small muscles in an attempt to impress her, only to be met with a facepalm by the Spy and some snickers from Sniper, Heavy and Soldier.

"Aw, yeah, look at dis! BOOM! You know they call me the sex machine, baby? Believe me, I'll make you feel way better than he evah will!" The Scout said.

"Please, just ignore him. He is but a mere fool and a spineless imbecile who probably wouldn't make it through a Dr. Seuss book." the Spy mentioned.

"HEY! I don't know what any of those words mean, but I bet they're bad, so screw you, Frenchie!" The Scout yelled to Spy as he pointed at him. "This girl is onto me like a magnet, Spy, she knows it, 'cause NOBODY can resist the Scout! NOBODY!"