Short Stories from Farmina

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Founded: Oct 02, 2004
Moralistic Democracy

Short Stories from Farmina

Postby Farmina » Sat Nov 26, 2011 3:10 pm

This is a story set in Farmina that I wrote 12 months ago. Your thoughts and comments would be greatly appreciated. Hopefully, I'll be able to post a few more short stories when I get a chance.

Some dance to remember, some dance to forget

Sometimes it’s hard to talk. War does that to even the hardest men.

Or at least that’s what Dr Flynn told me. But those are simply empty words. Comfort words.

Therapy – a refuge of the weak, the broken and the mad. What isn’t there to be ashamed of?

I did try to talk about it. But it’s not what I know. Since I could talk, I was ordered to listen.

Dr Flynn says being unable to talk is nothing to be ashamed of. But I’m paying him – of course he would say that.

Since I wouldn’t talk, he suggested I write about what happened. I did try to write about the war – when the Messians attacked our nation – but even on paper the words were hard.

So he suggested I write about what I did last night – and what that made me think about. Other than a detailed description of my dinner (a very nice mutton stew) – there wasn’t much on the paper.

So he suggested that I should write about what happened on Saturday night, and add anything that comes to my mind. And that’s what this is: this is the story about my Saturday night.

It feels rather pathetic really. Writing about Saturday night. They are all very similar. None of them are particularly significant. I survived bullets and planes and tanks – yet I’m reduced to this.


After a brief meal at home I got ready for the night out. I didn’t spend too long getting ready. I put on a clean white shirt, a pair of jeans and my favourite leather jacket. I combed my hair, but no matter what I tried – it remained a scruffy mess.

It was about half-past-seven when I arrived. I go to the same place most Saturday nights. It’s a jazz bar on top floor of the new Casino Verica. I suppose it’s not new now. It’s been 4 years since the war. Still – I think everyone remembers the history of the old building fondly. President Grey took so many dignitaries visiting Farmina to that casino. The photographs lined the entrance – that’s all gone now. The price of victory, I suppose.

Anyway, back to the jazz bar. Jazz might seem a bit old hat these days. I still remember when jazz was first legalised. I’m not old mind you – I suppose you would call me middle aged. I was young enough to go to war – but old enough that everyone else looked like a kid.

I took my seat across from Veronica. She smiled and passed me a drink she had already ordered. A glass of red wine. I have a serious weakness for a good drop of red – a sign of my Catholic heritage I suppose.

I took a sip of the wine. Typically cheap – but drinkable. Veronica was holding a cocktail of one sort or another. It was blue – made me think of kerosene. I’m not a big fan of that fancy crap. Plus, alcohol laws in Farmina change every other week – by the time you work out whether what you are drinking is actually legal, the laws have all changed again. But with red wine you are always safe. Thank God that we Farminans are Catholic people.

Veronica put down her glass. I remember her exact words, “Shall we dance.”

I probably need to clarify – Veronica is not my wife. That sounds wrong. Veronica and I are just friends. Does that sound like a hollow denial? Well it isn’t. We are just friends – and dance partners. I am a married man – a widower – but still a married man.

“Let’s,” I responded, putting down the wine glass. Yes, the conversation was very brief – but what else was there to say.

We went over to the floor – as the band hammered out the faster jazz tunes. As the night went on, the tunes would slow. But that was later.

I’m not much of a dancer – but that’s not the point. Some dance to remember, some dance to forget.

I clearly remember smiling at Veronica, and her smiling back at me. I don’t smile often these days – perhaps why that moment was memorable.

My slowly our eyes crept around the room. As always, the women far outnumbered the men. Even on Saturday night – the scars of the war were unavoidable.

I muttered something like “Imagine how bad it must be in MES.” Veronica must have heard me because she nodded and said something I didn’t catch. Farmina may have lost a lot of young men in the war – but they were a drop in the ocean compared to the far larger Messian casualties. Where our republic faces a generation with half the number of young men – the half-generation – the Messians have seen nearly an entire generation exterminated.

For a moment, I tried to imagine the nightlife in MES. Were all the clubs empty? Were they full of women dancing by themselves? Were the women so alone they danced with each other? The thought of such perversion made me shudder.

Were clubs still open in MES? Or had the music fallen silent across their broken nation?

But thoughts of war were not things I wanted in my head. “Another drink.” I said it several times – progressively louder – before Veronica finally heard me above the music.

Veronica took a seat. I went to the bar to order another round of drinks. I couldn’t remember what the blue things are called – so I just got Veronica a glass of champagne. I need something more – a pint of lager with a whiskey chaser.

When I brought the drinks to the table – Veronica was quietly studying those still dancing. I passed her a drink – but she was somewhere else. Veronica used to come to the old club with her husband, before the war. She doesn’t talk about him much – but she loved him. When she looks silently at the dance floor – I imagine she sees a younger version of herself dancing with him. She dances to remember him.

Her husband died during the war. He caught a sniper bullet during the advance on the Messian capital. They have two sons and a daughter. The elder son went to war and came back in one piece. The younger son just avoided the draft. The daughter married herself a soldier boy. He’s stationed as part of the occupation force in Trinity – so she moved there to be with him.

Janice and I didn’t have any kids. We were never that close. I was sad when I heard the news of her death, but I wasn’t distraught or in grief. This might sound horrible – but I was sort of glad that her funeral allowed me to get some time away from the front.

I guess I haven’t said how she died. It wasn’t bombs or bullets. She died during the war – not because of it. Not directly anyway. Complications following cancer surgery. Doctors and medicines were in short supply – the Messian were wreaking havoc with shipping lanes and any medical supplies we could get were needed at the front – as were doctors. Sometimes I wonder if, indirectly, the Messians killed my wife.

Veronica finally said something. It was along the lines of, “Still not prepared to pay for a decent hair cut.”

Like I said earlier, my hair was scruffy. A good hair cut might have helped. But it’s just hair. And the top barbers in Farmina cost a small fortune – it seems they died in disproportionate numbers during the war. Besides, it’s what’s on the inside that counts.

I told her, “It’s not really worth the money.”

She put down her drink and gave me an understanding look. “Of course you are worth the money.”

She must have misheard what I said.

On the topic of money – things have been that bit tighter since the war. Don’t get me wrong – I’m not going hungry, but financially I’ve had better days. Probably a good thing my wife and I never had children – otherwise the money would be stretched rather thin now.

I had a good job before the war – I managed a small refrigerator factory. When I was called up in the draft – my boss didn’t take long to replace me. And by a woman, of all people! During the war, a lot of women came into the workforce to take the jobs men had been doing. Unfortunately, when the war ended, the women kept the jobs and a lot of men had to start their careers over again. This was certainly the case for me.

It leaves a rather bitter taste in the mouth – I risked my life for the country and was rewarded with a demotion, yet those who avoided the front were given an untimely step up the ladder.

The scars that Messians carved into our nation are deep, numerous and enduring. Sometimes, I take pleasure in the fact that the Messians were scarred far worse. And other times I feel nothing but pity for them.

However – that’s another story. This is about last Saturday night. This is a story of dancing and drinking in a dark room.

Veronica and I didn’t return to the dance floor until several drinks later. Veronica didn’t match me drink for drink – she said “it’s not a competition – you don’t need to prove how much you can drink”. I know that. I don’t know why she says it. She says it every week. I tell her every week that I’m not competing, that I’m relaxing. You think she would take a hint.

It was approaching eleven by the time we returned to the dance floor. The club was packed and music had slowed. Good thing too – as my wits were not what they had been a few hours earlier.

I became lost in the sound and the colour and the energy. I went back to the bar a couple more times – I think. I remember that Veronica told me she had enough.

I barely remember how I got home. The club closes at midnight – we must have left then. I clearly remember waking up at home – waking up to the hangover. But for a few short hours – it didn’t hurt.

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Founded: Oct 02, 2004
Moralistic Democracy

Postby Farmina » Sat May 05, 2012 10:51 pm



A question asked a billion times – by a million different people, in a million different contexts.

“WHY!?” he screamed, as threw his silver drinking goblet at me.

I stepped to the side, allowing the empty cup harmlessly fly past. I listened as it hit the ground with the loud crash and skidded along the marble floor for several metres before coming to rest.

Emperor Justinian’s physical prowess was never in question.

““Why” what?” I asked firmly. The billion questions needed to be narrowed down.

He regained his composure, though madness burnt beneath his blue eyes. He was a young man who was most changeable.

He stood up and looked away from me, slightly ashamed at his own rage, as he straightened his suit and tie. A majestic white three-piece suit, with a black, and a crimson tie. The suit jacket was two-button – a fashionable cut from the finest material. The Emperor was perhaps one of the finest dressers in Farmina.

“I will tell you Tutor,” he said turning back towards me. The Boy-Emperor was relatively tall, so I had to look up to meet his eyes when he was standing.

He spoke with a voice that on the surface was soft and tender, but deep down sounded aged beyond his years. His words belonged to someone who had lived many decades. His smooth and radiant skin was that of a boy. And yet, even then creases were forming in the corners of his eyes.

Some days I saw a boy becoming a young man, excited by the opportunities presented by the world. Other days, I saw an elder statesman, worn down by the trials of the very highest office.

Justinian returned to his grand chair, behind his massive desk, both carved from ancient and wise oak. But his intense eyes did not waver from me, “When I was a ward of the Church – I wondered what would come of my life.
Would I be rich? Or I would I be poor?
Would I be intelligent and witty? Or the fool who was butt of every joke?
Would I be healthy and strong? Or would I live a short life, beset by weakness and illness?
Would I have an interesting job? A career? Would I make a difference? Or would I serve out my life as a church bell-ringer?
Would I find love? Or would I walk a lonely road?”

Pausing, the Boy-Emperor, ran a hand through his silky, medium length blonde hair. His soft tone could not hide a deep frustration, “I have a great mind and it is filled with great learnings. I have great riches and beautiful estates. I have a career unlike any other in Farmina. I have changed this nation for the better – taking its stagnant economy and people steeped in mouldy traditions, into an age of innovation, enlightened thinking and reform. And I have found love.”

His tone became deeper and darker. His voice was rising again. “Yet I am MALCONTENT.”

“Why, Tutor? WHY AM I MALCONTENT?” He was now practically yelling. The Emperor controlled a great realm. But controlling himself...that was a greater challenge.

“Surely, my Emperor,” I responded, making a downwards motion with my hands to suggest he was speaking too loudly, “That is a question for you to answer.”

Justinian was too clever to accept my response. And his tone, though softening a little, told me that he was annoyed at my evasiveness, “I have a view. Yet I suspect you also have a view. And as your Emperor, I wish to hear it.”

“Some people are never satisfied, no matter how great their accomplishments,” I responded hesitantly. But I tempered my answer not wishing to upset the young man, “And some people are not content until their works come to fruition.”

“My work is far from fruition,” said the Emperor, his tone lightening even further as took some hope from the second part of my response, “Yes, you are wise Tutor. I still much have to do. Then I can be content.”

“It is as you say my Emperor,” I responded. But I did not believe it.

“And I must begin my greatest work,” said Justinian. There was something else in his voice. Something in addition to hope. I could not immediately identify it, but I sensed it was a potent motivator for the troubled young man.

“Your greatest work?”

“I will marry Kerria Sirade,” he said. So that was his motivation – love.

I stepped back at the realisation. “Emperor, I counsel against this. I know your feelings for this woman. But they are irrelevant. She has no title, no wealth and brings no alliances.”

“Tutor, you are my greatest advisor. But I shall marry who I will. I am the Emperor, after all.” It was the most outrageous claim and yet he made it in such a reasonable tone.

“Exactly. You are the Emperor. Your marriage must be for politics. If you truly love Miss Sirade, then take her as a concubine.”

Reasonableness quickly evaporated from his tone. Anger and frustration were quickly returning, “I will take no concubine. Each man can only have one true wife. As Head of the Catholic Church in Farmina, I must set the example the Lord would wish my people to follow.”

I stood my ground, “The Lord understands the complexities of the office you bear in his name. Almighty God does not expect his Emperor to follow the Biblical texts to the letter.” I admit in hindsight, it was a foolish tactic – Justinian is remembered for his righteous inflexibility.

Justinian slammed his fist on his desk, “I am God’s spokesman and the head of his Church. And I am your Holy Emperor, your priest and your shepherd. Tutor, do not think you can lecture me, and you should never dare to contradict me, on matters of faith.”

God’s will or otherwise – a marriage to a commoner was folly. Justinian had to be diverted from this course.

I tried to maintain my temper. I cannot judge how well I succeeded. “Emperor, your grip on power has recently weakened. Tobias Grey commands many votes in the Parliament and sits in the office of Grand Chancellor. He is strong and, though he may owe you his office, he will betray you when he sees his chance.”

The Emperor was unmoved. But he was certainly angry, his hands scrunching up papers that had been laying on his desk, “I can dismiss the upstart Grey as easily as I appointed.”

“Your allies in Parliament and the Church will not stand for a marriage without gain. You cannot afford to anger them. Not now – Chancellor Grey is already scenting your blood in the water.”

“I will not have my personal affairs judged by mortals! Be they elected by my people, or be they men of the cloth, I will not brook it!” yelled Justinian, his face becoming redder and redder. I recall a vein protruding on his forehead – but I think it is my memory turning the moment into a caricature. Having run out of paper to scrunch, the Emperor grabbed his mobile phone off his desk, clenching it so hard I feared he would shatter it.

I made one last plea. I understood the threat posed by Tobias Grey. The Grey family had murdered my parents and brother when I was young. They killed wife and children when I was older. A Grey would stop at nothing to achieve his aims. “My Emperor, you need allies like never before. I beg of...”

The Emperor’s mobile hit me squarely in the face. It hit me hard.

Justinian was now bright red, “I have given my life to Farmina. I have taken a backwater and turned it into a great power. The only thing I ask in return is to marry the person I love. Is that so much?
What is so wrong, so evil, about marrying the person you truly love?
How can it be a sin to marry for love? As the Defender of the Faith, I say the sin is to NOT marry the person you love.”

The painful swelling caused by his phone made it clear that I needn’t bother to continue arguing.

The last days of the Boy-Emperor’s reign had begun.

Comments appreciated

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Posts: 194
Founded: Oct 02, 2004
Moralistic Democracy

Postby Farmina » Tue Oct 09, 2012 1:57 am

OOC: I'm not completely happy with the finished product, but I'm not going to get a lot more time to work on this. Hopefully it makes sense. Please give your comments/edits.

Viva La Vida

I used to rule the world
Seas would rise when I gave the word
Now in the morning I sleep alone
Sweep the streets I used to own

Justinian, the Emperor of Farmina, sat on his throne, surveying his throne room.

Emperor Justinian had ruled from a palace of marble. The White Palace. He had taken Farmina, a backwater, and turned it into a world power. He had won the Farmina Wars and everyone thought he was unstoppable...he had thought he was unstoppable.

Once he could give any order, and the Holy Farminan Empire would bring it to fruition. Justinian had ordered the empire to industrialise, so the nation abandoned its agrarian roots.

Now his throne room was bare. His Throne of Oak and Steel was replaced with a chair carved from the cheapest wood. The Emperor was an exile. Alone and betrayed. Who listened to him now?

I used to roll the dice
Feel the fear in my enemy's eyes
Listen as the crowd would sing
"Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!"

President Tobias Grey sat on a park bench in Verica Central Cemetery. The retired Farminan President had overthrown the tyrant Justinian and established the DRF. Tobias looked at the cold stone of the grave across from him, “It was the turning point of all Farminan history. And we did it.”

Tobias and his allies had struck blow after blow against the Throne of Oak and Steel, each one more savage than the previous. Yet somehow the murderous tyrant managed to cling, however desperately, to power.

But as the end approached, Tobias had seen a change in the boy-emperor’s eyes as he accepted the inevitable. Tobias remembered seeing a tragic mix of helplessness, fear and indignation in the tyrant’s eyes. For a moment, Tobias had felt pity. But tyrants had no right to pity.

Grey’s glorious victory was sixteen years passed. Now, the retired president’s days were filled the banality of civilian life. And as he sat on the park bench, Tobias Grey sat alone.

One minute I held the key
Next the walls were closed on me
And I discovered that my castles stand
Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand

“Tobias Grey will pay,” the Emperor vowed to himself. For nearly two decades, the exile had been making the same vow.

Justinian had thought he had been building a great web of alliances to support his reign and to strengthen Farmina. But it was full of men like Tobias Grey – it had been a web of intrigue and folly.

And when Tobias struck, there was no mercy. The Emperor’s allies were slaughtered like animals, without justice or compassion, as Grey hit at anyone connected to Justinian’s regime. Justinian had been safely locked in the White Palace, where even the powerful Grey family couldn’t reach him. But the beautiful Kerria – the Emperor’s love, the Emperor’s fiancée – she should have been safe...

“Oh, how he will pay!”

For some reason I can't explain
Once you go there was never
Never an honest word
And that was when I ruled the world

The former President studied the grave, with his old, tired eyes. “Dan,” he wheezed through failing tar-ridden lungs, his words tinged with a longing for a time long since past, “Remember our war against the Messians. Farmina has never seen a war, a victory, like it. You were my greatest ally in all things, and the brother I never had...Why did you have to go any die?”

Dan Rickhart had died in a bloody duel with a Messian terrorist. But even in death, the legendary Daniel Rickhart was not defeated. In his last breath, he struck the blow that slew his nemesis.

As Tobias as felt his body failing with age and ill health, he envied his ally’s brutal, glorious death.

It was the wicked and wild wind
Blew down the doors to let me in
Shattered windows and the sound of drums
People couldn't believe what I'd become

The boy-emperor’s desire for vengeance, still fresh after all these years, was laced with guilt.

Bloody fields. That’s what they called the massacre that was the beginning of the end of the empire.

The people had loved their emperor. Justinian was sure of it. They had cheered for him. But suddenly the cheering stopped.

At the time, Justinian couldn’t understand it. He had been enforcing the law. He had been the protecting, strengthening, the empire in the face of the socialist threat. It was the people had wanted. And he had done it for them...whatever the cost.

But his people had seen their protector with his hands soaked in blood. The charming young prince was gone.

Justinian understood that now. He understood it all too late.

I hear Jerusalem bells a ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror, my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field

Tobias’ wife lay in the next row of graves. He grabbed his walking stick – it was time to check how she was. She had stood beside her husband as the boy-emperor fell...

...and so Justinian’s cronies killed her. One more crime the tyrant hadn’t felt justice for.

Tobias Grey stood up with great effort. He was an old man now, and his little legs struggled to hold his immense girth. He leant on the walking stick, which was showing the stresses of supporting the obese former president.

“I was a conqueror,” said Grey, his words both proud and sad, “A titan among men.”

Grey put forward his walking stick. Soon he would need two sticks to walk. He put one leg forward and then another. Again Grey put forward the walking stick. And then a leg and then another. It was a slow process and Tobias was tiring quickly.

“I was a titan. And now look at me.”

Revolutionaries wait
For my head on a silver plate
Just a puppet on a lonely string
Oh who would ever want to be king?

Justinian leant back in his beggar’s throne. Eighteen years in exile – eighteen long years.

Justinian looked up at the clock at the far end of his court. It was 3:40.

After all these years, he still felt had been a good ruler. He had made Farmina strong and prosperous. He’d broken socialism’s iron grasp on his nation. His successes had been many and great. But his failures, though few, were enough to condemn him.

Oh how Justinian wanted redemption. How he wanted to show his people the emperor he could have been. And he wanted to show Tobias Grey for the villain he was. For just one more chance...

Every waking moment he prayed to the Lord, for redemption. Redemption, and the hot Farminan desert sands he called home.

Justinian looked at the clock again – it was 3:42.

For some reason I can't explain
I know Saint Peter won't call my name
Never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world

Tobias finally reached his wife and sat down beside her exhausted. How he wished he was a younger man. Closer to his prime, and closer to his triumphs.

But his triumphs were fading...

The new President, Joseph Cohen had reintroduced tyrant’s state control of the Church. And Cohen was in bed with big business – the boy-emperor’s old allies – ‘reforming’ the economy. Cohen’s reforms would make the boy-emperor proud.

And as though to rub salt in the wounds of all those lost loved ones in the Farminan-Messian War, President Cohen was trying to appease the Messians – undoing the victory that Tobias had secured.

Tobias Grey looked up to God who art in Heaven and called out, in a breathless voice, “What was it all for? Why did I waste my life, when one man would undo it all? Why did I send so many men to their deaths? Do my victories count for nothing?”

And from Heaven, there was no response.

Viva La Vida, by Coldplay (2008)

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Posts: 194
Founded: Oct 02, 2004
Moralistic Democracy


Postby Farmina » Fri Jan 11, 2013 12:44 am

Often I have held the rope in my hand, but I have never had the courage…

I swam along the bottom of the pool. I could feel the rough coating of the pool floor scratch against my bare chest.

Down there, I avoided the scorching heat of the Farminan summer. The cool water embraces you and enfolds you. There is no other feeling like it. Utter tranquillity. A peaceful serenity. When you are down there, you want to stay down there – in the water’s sweet enrapture.

But the lungs demand air and the body obeys. My head burst out of the water into the air. The water’s smooth surface broke into ornate ripples and cool drops of water fell from my long brown hair.

Jonathon, my best friend since high school, walked briskly around the edge of my pool his bare feet lifting up as soon as they touched the hot bricks. He stepped into the water cautiously, before taking a seat in the sparking water of the pool steps.

Above the surface of the water, his body was smooth and brown, the colour of amber under the late afternoon sun. His short hair – a fiery red.

I had watched him swim in my pool a hundred times, his toned slim physique gliding along the surface of the water. “Come in properly,” I beckoned, longing to even just glance at him swimming, “Immerse yourself.”

I dived back down into the deep cool. Above the surface, I could feel the harsh sun beating against my face. Below the water, my face cooled quickly. But as always, the lungs demanded air and I resurfaced.

“You have always been a water baby,” said Jonathon grinning, “And a far better swimmer than me.”

Jonathon was still sitting on the step. I studied him for a moment and then glanced away. My three second rule. I never dared look for more than three seconds, lest I be seen. If someone saw my licentious, lustful eyes...There was a boy at our school. I can’t remember his name. One day he came to school wearing a feather boa. I don’t even think he was like me; he just did it for a laugh. The other children...he never even got through the school gates. He didn’t come back to school after that.

I never told Jonathon what I feel, what I am. I am not that courageous – I think of that boy with the feather boa. Friends was enough. But nothing about me is courageous – my job is in an office, and my house is in the same suburb as my parents lived...the same suburb as Jonathon.

I splashed him once, but the single splash was thoroughly drenching, “If you won’t get in, I’ll have to cool you down myself.”

“Come sit with me, David,” he laughed, as droplets of water rolled down his lovely slim, toned body, glistening in the brutal summer sun, “I want to talk to you. Then, I promise to get my head under the water.”

I swam over and sat down on the pool step next to him. I felt uneasy being so close to him, awkward in my own skin. And yet I yearned to be closer.

“What is it?” I asked. Was he unwell? A hint of dread slipped into my curiosity.

But then I saw only happiness in his face and his eyes looked at me with a great fondness. Hope overrode the dread. Was he like me? Did he know about me? Did he want to share his life with me? At last, perhaps, maybe, my life could be complete. It could have meaning. I found myself praying to God, the God who would condemn me, praying that our friendship could be something more.

Jonathon smiled, though it was a restrained smile, “I am to marry Mary Dantes. We will be wed in the spring.”

I hesitated before asking, “And you want this?”

“I’m nearly thirty – it is well past time,” he responded ambiguously, “And Mary is a great girl – from a family of influence.”

“It’s an excellent match,” I said cautiously. I forced a smile – I wanted to be happy for him, “It will open many doors.”

“Indeed,” he said. Then he hesitated, “Her father wants me to run his operations in the Pass.”

“The Pass is a long way away...”

A sternness came over his face, “It’s for the best David.”

My mind turned to that boy whose name I could not remember. I silently, sullenly nodded in agreement.

I turned away – what else was there to say. I stood up and dived off the step, back down to the pool floor. Is he like me? I didn’t know – it didn’t matter...I still can’t remember that boy’s name.

The water grabbed me and pulled me down – deeper and deeper. Its sweet embrace caressed every part of my body. But I found myself surfacing for air – the water would not take me. The water would not make the choice I was not courageous enough to take.

Hours have passed since then. The rope is tied. And now I have the courage.
Last edited by Farmina on Mon Feb 04, 2013 1:06 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Posts: 194
Founded: Oct 02, 2004
Moralistic Democracy

Postby Farmina » Mon Feb 04, 2013 1:12 am

Major edits to Courage following comments. (Also working on a new RP).

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