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Description
i HATE gross doinksland (don’t forget to read the lore documents I am very happy with them)
my reddit: www.reddit.com/user/fdes11

shoutout to billy joel for making cruel music

anthony works at the grocery store, saving his pennies for someday. mama leone left a note on the door, she said “sonny, move out to the country”

nothing’s ever promised tomorrow today, nothing lasts forever but be honest babe, it hurts but it may be the only way

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
NOTE: the below documents except document nine are NOT my real opinions nor do they represent my real opinions

DOCUMENT ONE:

    Debate between two members of the Turkish Parliament, the first, a member of the Nation Party, and the other, a member of the Democrat Party, 1948.

SPEAKER ONE:

    “And yet today, there remains tens of thousands of people crossing into Turkey and ensuring our eventual demise from greatness. We see it from Bulgaria, we see it from Syria, we see it from the Caucasus, and Cyprus, and Iraq, why do we allow unfettered migration into our lands? Is it our burden that Europe continues to boil and brings these men here, forcing our hospitality unto those who force themselves in our borders? No. A once enlightened nation, though now faltered, once used to ring that nobody shall, in times of peace or war, be brought within the home of anyone without their willing consent. Should we generate our nation into darkness, instead of towards the bright lights the world had discovered centuries before?”

SPEAKER TWO:

    “Is it not merely enlightened, but also prestigious to bring the plight of humanity to shelter within our borders? This very nation you posthumously quote similarly called to give them your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free! How can you hope for enlightenment, yet at the same time ignore the very beacon of light this nation quite literally held high? You wish only for added cruelty, added destruction, all on the shoulders of the Turkish nation. Either we take the bill on sin, or we take the bill on virtue, and it is clear to me, at least, which you prefer.”



DOCUMENT TWO:

            The thoughts of a man standing where the worldly sidewalk ends, 1946.

            “The Moscow government has ramped up cruelty beyond imagining. Yet, as I solely continue walking further westward, the natural cruelties of hunger and thirst begin to reign on my frail body. I wonder if retiring myself would be preferable to the chase. There is no government here, and if there is they are as, or even more, hostile as any invader to what used to be my home. There are some things you see, that you read, I recall my reading of Heart of Darkness and thinking ‘These such atrocities surely have met a limit established by God, such cruelties surely have met Babel-like limit in the amazement they inflict,’ and while I walk I realize that there is not any such limit. Indescribable atrocities meet me in all urban directions, and I must meet them at one point. I wander aimlessly through the woods, all the while any sight of concrete or roads send me into intense panic. As I accidentally stumble on to some a desolate Siberian roadway, I look back towards my old home in anxious tragedy. A sign with directions hangs at a crossroads, with a piece of paper stapled to the one facing the direction of Tultau:

‘I AM THE WAY INTO THE DOLEFUL CITY,

I AM THE WAY INTO ETERNAL GRIEF.

I AM THE WAY TO A FORSAKEN RACE

JUSTICE IT WAS THAT MOVED MY GREAT CREATOR;

DIVINE OMNIPOTENCE CREATED ME,

AND HIGHEST WISDOM JOINED WITH PRIMAL LOVE.

BEFORE ME NOTHING BUT ETERNAL THINGS

WERE MADE, AND I SHALL LAST ETERNALLY.

ABANDON EVERY HOPE, ALL YOU WHO ENTER.’

I question the mercy of God.”

DOCUMENT THREE:

            Diary entry of a former Yugoslav partisan, 1945.

            “The propaganda cars ceaselessly blare their horrid tune from their attached trumpets, all seven. My comrades have entirely fallen from me in the chaos of the situation. One day, you write every day to your friends, and the next, the letters stop. You know that the war likely didn’t help postal services, but they’ve never been this late before. The first time it happened I held out hope, perhaps the mailman had gotten stuck in a bomb ditch, or maybe he was sleepy enough to rest up in a local tavern. It was months of delusional hope, and while I had been exploring Zagreb I found him hung in the towns square, his face entirely disqualified from humanity. From then I’ve lost the delusional feeling of ‘hope’ for what remains, the letters to all my friends have stopped coming, and there is nobody left for me. The generals play with their food, they have my address on many of those letters, and yet they never approach my home a single time. This torture is maddening, tomorrow I will go down fighting. The propaganda engine outside my home continues it’s harmonious declaration as it goes up and down my street: ‘Firm they might have stood, yet fell; remember, and fear to transgress.’ “

DOCUMENT FOUR:

            Pamphlet written by a British parliament member, author unknown, 1951.

            “The Dutch continue to ship themselves to a nation which controls the waves. How can it be that we allow it? Do we forget our national divorce: ‘May the English be English and the Scots be Scots!’ And yet we find increasingly that the English be Dutch while the Scots and Irish stay their own! Gentlemen of the public, your government has abandoned any ideal it hopes to stand on, and they hope you do not notice. We seem addicted to the Gaelic model of immigration: peacefully allure. Perfidious Albion forgets its national promise to allow Englishmen to live. Britannia rules the waves, keep them off our shores! Show the ignorant government the fate of a house divided against itself!”

DOCUMENT FIVE:

            Draft from a 21st Century history book from a Scottish Historian, 1956.

            “Before the war had begun, divisions between the various ethnicities of the British Isles had, to a large extent, begun effecting the politics of the United Kingdom. Just a few years earlier a large piece of the island of Ireland had managed independence, inspiring many more to dream of following their steps. It came to a head one year before the war had begun, the English and Scottish nationalists had managed to scrape enough power to demand divorce. The essential concept was that both nations would be better off separate, with much of the force behind the separation coming from the very influential Scottish Democratic Fascist Party (SDFP). Following it’s victory, the SDFP began a three-pronged project to supposedly ‘modernize’ the nation: 1. A five year plan for industrialization, 2. The prohibition of Irish migration to Scotland, and 3. The expulsion of Catholics from the nation. In this attempt they have largely failed, only managing to get willing Englishmen to move to England. This failure, however, only managed to increase the rampage on any of those found to be violating the laws of the land in any way.”

DOCUMENT SIX:

            A Swedish civilian’s letter to local representative, 1954.

            “Dear sir,

I hope that you have kept with local happenings in the western portion of our nation. The Norwegian immigration brings countless German spies, undoubtedly purposefully. I suspect that the National League is preparing for something unspeakable. Don’t you find it odd that they have suddenly gained thousands in funding despite their small popularity amongst our people? I fear that Germany is supplying them with much more than simply money, I have found various arm shipments passing by my house in the night, though I hear of no invasion on the news! It is imperative that you get this information to those who can utilize it for the safety of our nation, before we bend our knee to inescapable German influence. It is already frightening enough that we are a sea of democracy in an ocean of that horrid Fuhrer’s influence. To any side of our nation is the war machine, and I fear it comes to swallow Sweden next.”

DOCUMENT SEVEN:

            Refugee from the former city of Moscow, written in the city of Tultau, 1949.

            “The city of Moscow rose invincibly high into the sky, the harmony of the city promising God’s protection. And yet, the Germans broke it all the same. By the end of the city’s history, you either stayed inside it’s boundaries to eventually be drowned or you ran at the German encirclement around the bounds to kill yourself. There was no escape, and yet I, the only one of my family to my knowledge, managed to find a gap in the line. I debated for days on whether it were a purposeful trap, baiting us to attempt escape before even crueler punishment by those who didn’t find us human. I wondered to myself sometimes, was ‘brute’ even the exact word on their opinions of us? It seemed hardly dehumanizing enough. The partisans took shots at me as I ran to any nearby city, hitting any friend I found on the path and killing them instantly. I asked God as I ran: why not I? You find me destined to continue my suffering, and I am dearly afraid I am too weak, my Lord.

            Life in Tultau is one step less than drowning in Moscow. It’s the torture of drowning daily yet death never arrives. The government buildings are clean and strong concrete, and the bastions of normalcy end at the bounds of the walls. Indeed, the city of “Tultau” exists, but warlords, gangs, and the black market control it. Following a harassment from a local gang, I found myself growing a hatred towards all those who inhabited Russia. Is this what they wanted? To put us in such desperate conditions as to prove their superstitions correct?

DOCUMENT EIGHT:

            “Undesirable’s” account of their time on the underground railroad to Istanbul, 1948.

            “I have stayed in so many homes, slept in many a barn, and starved on the endless treks between the two stops. Bodies peppered the general areas, hidden in the tall grass or over the hills so that patrols would suspect less. Hearing bullets in the distance from your temporary residence was more than common. Tell me, how can you sleep knowing that the next magazine is for you when you are caught? And believe me, there was not a single person on the path who did not have their close encounters. The fact is that more people were willing to support the regime than take the risk to home us. There were some homes that I had travelled days to reach, only to be warned by gunpoint to keep walking by the perfidious public. Losing the trail is a death sentence, there is no way around it. I can hardly call myself lucky, can the expected norm be called luck? We all expect things to happen, we don’t always call ourselves lucky when they happen. This is a time I am not lucky for making it, but merely for finding the opportunities necessary to make a smoother path.”

DOCUMENT NINE:

            A letter quickly written by an author in Algiers before partisans of unknown affiliations forced him from his house and destroyed his temple, 1946.

            “O, vile humanity, in our darkest hour we find that the Greeks had been too merciful on Sisyphus in creating an allegory for us all. To expect humanity to merely wish to roll the boulder to the top of the mountain, only to despairingly watch it fall to its beginning, it was all too hopeful. Humanity instead appears more delighted in picking up the boulder and letting it fall upon its head again, and again, and again. We’ve notice there was never any pre-requisite to roll it, and we instead use it creatively to destroy ourselves at any turn we can. We’ll drop it on ourselves at the top of the hill, or the bottom, we’d let it roll into us and break every bone in our body for entertainment. Can a world such as this truly be so dark? We’ve put our money on Whig history and danced with the benefits, but I fear now that this last boulder will be the end of it. From ashes to ashes, and dust to dust.”

Description
i HATE gross doinksland (don’t forget to read the lore documents I am very happy with them)
my reddit: www.reddit.com/user/fdes11

shoutout to billy joel for making cruel music

anthony works at the grocery store, saving his pennies for someday. mama leone left a note on the door, she said “sonny, move out to the country”

nothing’s ever promised tomorrow today, nothing lasts forever but be honest babe, it hurts but it may be the only way

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
NOTE: the below documents except document nine are NOT my real opinions nor do they represent my real opinions

DOCUMENT ONE:

    Debate between two members of the Turkish Parliament, the first, a member of the Nation Party, and the other, a member of the Democrat Party, 1948.

SPEAKER ONE:

    “And yet today, there remains tens of thousands of people crossing into Turkey and ensuring our eventual demise from greatness. We see it from Bulgaria, we see it from Syria, we see it from the Caucasus, and Cyprus, and Iraq, why do we allow unfettered migration into our lands? Is it our burden that Europe continues to boil and brings these men here, forcing our hospitality unto those who force themselves in our borders? No. A once enlightened nation, though now faltered, once used to ring that nobody shall, in times of peace or war, be brought within the home of anyone without their willing consent. Should we generate our nation into darkness, instead of towards the bright lights the world had discovered centuries before?”

SPEAKER TWO:

    “Is it not merely enlightened, but also prestigious to bring the plight of humanity to shelter within our borders? This very nation you posthumously quote similarly called to give them your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free! How can you hope for enlightenment, yet at the same time ignore the very beacon of light this nation quite literally held high? You wish only for added cruelty, added destruction, all on the shoulders of the Turkish nation. Either we take the bill on sin, or we take the bill on virtue, and it is clear to me, at least, which you prefer.”



DOCUMENT TWO:

            The thoughts of a man standing where the worldly sidewalk ends, 1946.

            “The Moscow government has ramped up cruelty beyond imagining. Yet, as I solely continue walking further westward, the natural cruelties of hunger and thirst begin to reign on my frail body. I wonder if retiring myself would be preferable to the chase. There is no government here, and if there is they are as, or even more, hostile as any invader to what used to be my home. There are some things you see, that you read, I recall my reading of Heart of Darkness and thinking ‘These such atrocities surely have met a limit established by God, such cruelties surely have met Babel-like limit in the amazement they inflict,’ and while I walk I realize that there is not any such limit. Indescribable atrocities meet me in all urban directions, and I must meet them at one point. I wander aimlessly through the woods, all the while any sight of concrete or roads send me into intense panic. As I accidentally stumble on to some a desolate Siberian roadway, I look back towards my old home in anxious tragedy. A sign with directions hangs at a crossroads, with a piece of paper stapled to the one facing the direction of Tultau:

‘I AM THE WAY INTO THE DOLEFUL CITY,

I AM THE WAY INTO ETERNAL GRIEF.

I AM THE WAY TO A FORSAKEN RACE

JUSTICE IT WAS THAT MOVED MY GREAT CREATOR;

DIVINE OMNIPOTENCE CREATED ME,

AND HIGHEST WISDOM JOINED WITH PRIMAL LOVE.

BEFORE ME NOTHING BUT ETERNAL THINGS

WERE MADE, AND I SHALL LAST ETERNALLY.

ABANDON EVERY HOPE, ALL YOU WHO ENTER.’

I question the mercy of God.”

DOCUMENT THREE:

            Diary entry of a former Yugoslav partisan, 1945.

            “The propaganda cars ceaselessly blare their horrid tune from their attached trumpets, all seven. My comrades have entirely fallen from me in the chaos of the situation. One day, you write every day to your friends, and the next, the letters stop. You know that the war likely didn’t help postal services, but they’ve never been this late before. The first time it happened I held out hope, perhaps the mailman had gotten stuck in a bomb ditch, or maybe he was sleepy enough to rest up in a local tavern. It was months of delusional hope, and while I had been exploring Zagreb I found him hung in the towns square, his face entirely disqualified from humanity. From then I’ve lost the delusional feeling of ‘hope’ for what remains, the letters to all my friends have stopped coming, and there is nobody left for me. The generals play with their food, they have my address on many of those letters, and yet they never approach my home a single time. This torture is maddening, tomorrow I will go down fighting. The propaganda engine outside my home continues it’s harmonious declaration as it goes up and down my street: ‘Firm they might have stood, yet fell; remember, and fear to transgress.’ “

DOCUMENT FOUR:

            Pamphlet written by a British parliament member, author unknown, 1951.

            “The Dutch continue to ship themselves to a nation which controls the waves. How can it be that we allow it? Do we forget our national divorce: ‘May the English be English and the Scots be Scots!’ And yet we find increasingly that the English be Dutch while the Scots and Irish stay their own! Gentlemen of the public, your government has abandoned any ideal it hopes to stand on, and they hope you do not notice. We seem addicted to the Gaelic model of immigration: peacefully allure. Perfidious Albion forgets its national promise to allow Englishmen to live. Britannia rules the waves, keep them off our shores! Show the ignorant government the fate of a house divided against itself!”

DOCUMENT FIVE:

            Draft from a 21st Century history book from a Scottish Historian, 1956.

            “Before the war had begun, divisions between the various ethnicities of the British Isles had, to a large extent, begun effecting the politics of the United Kingdom. Just a few years earlier a large piece of the island of Ireland had managed independence, inspiring many more to dream of following their steps. It came to a head one year before the war had begun, the English and Scottish nationalists had managed to scrape enough power to demand divorce. The essential concept was that both nations would be better off separate, with much of the force behind the separation coming from the very influential Scottish Democratic Fascist Party (SDFP). Following it’s victory, the SDFP began a three-pronged project to supposedly ‘modernize’ the nation: 1. A five year plan for industrialization, 2. The prohibition of Irish migration to Scotland, and 3. The expulsion of Catholics from the nation. In this attempt they have largely failed, only managing to get willing Englishmen to move to England. This failure, however, only managed to increase the rampage on any of those found to be violating the laws of the land in any way.”

DOCUMENT SIX:

            A Swedish civilian’s letter to local representative, 1954.

            “Dear sir,

I hope that you have kept with local happenings in the western portion of our nation. The Norwegian immigration brings countless German spies, undoubtedly purposefully. I suspect that the National League is preparing for something unspeakable. Don’t you find it odd that they have suddenly gained thousands in funding despite their small popularity amongst our people? I fear that Germany is supplying them with much more than simply money, I have found various arm shipments passing by my house in the night, though I hear of no invasion on the news! It is imperative that you get this information to those who can utilize it for the safety of our nation, before we bend our knee to inescapable German influence. It is already frightening enough that we are a sea of democracy in an ocean of that horrid Fuhrer’s influence. To any side of our nation is the war machine, and I fear it comes to swallow Sweden next.”

DOCUMENT SEVEN:

            Refugee from the former city of Moscow, written in the city of Tultau, 1949.

            “The city of Moscow rose invincibly high into the sky, the harmony of the city promising God’s protection. And yet, the Germans broke it all the same. By the end of the city’s history, you either stayed inside it’s boundaries to eventually be drowned or you ran at the German encirclement around the bounds to kill yourself. There was no escape, and yet I, the only one of my family to my knowledge, managed to find a gap in the line. I debated for days on whether it were a purposeful trap, baiting us to attempt escape before even crueler punishment by those who didn’t find us human. I wondered to myself sometimes, was ‘brute’ even the exact word on their opinions of us? It seemed hardly dehumanizing enough. The partisans took shots at me as I ran to any nearby city, hitting any friend I found on the path and killing them instantly. I asked God as I ran: why not I? You find me destined to continue my suffering, and I am dearly afraid I am too weak, my Lord.

            Life in Tultau is one step less than drowning in Moscow. It’s the torture of drowning daily yet death never arrives. The government buildings are clean and strong concrete, and the bastions of normalcy end at the bounds of the walls. Indeed, the city of “Tultau” exists, but warlords, gangs, and the black market control it. Following a harassment from a local gang, I found myself growing a hatred towards all those who inhabited Russia. Is this what they wanted? To put us in such desperate conditions as to prove their superstitions correct?

DOCUMENT EIGHT:

            “Undesirable’s” account of their time on the underground railroad to Istanbul, 1948.

            “I have stayed in so many homes, slept in many a barn, and starved on the endless treks between the two stops. Bodies peppered the general areas, hidden in the tall grass or over the hills so that patrols would suspect less. Hearing bullets in the distance from your temporary residence was more than common. Tell me, how can you sleep knowing that the next magazine is for you when you are caught? And believe me, there was not a single person on the path who did not have their close encounters. The fact is that more people were willing to support the regime than take the risk to home us. There were some homes that I had travelled days to reach, only to be warned by gunpoint to keep walking by the perfidious public. Losing the trail is a death sentence, there is no way around it. I can hardly call myself lucky, can the expected norm be called luck? We all expect things to happen, we don’t always call ourselves lucky when they happen. This is a time I am not lucky for making it, but merely for finding the opportunities necessary to make a smoother path.”

DOCUMENT NINE:

            A letter quickly written by an author in Algiers before partisans of unknown affiliations forced him from his house and destroyed his temple, 1946.

            “O, vile humanity, in our darkest hour we find that the Greeks had been too merciful on Sisyphus in creating an allegory for us all. To expect humanity to merely wish to roll the boulder to the top of the mountain, only to despairingly watch it fall to its beginning, it was all too hopeful. Humanity instead appears more delighted in picking up the boulder and letting it fall upon its head again, and again, and again. We’ve notice there was never any pre-requisite to roll it, and we instead use it creatively to destroy ourselves at any turn we can. We’ll drop it on ourselves at the top of the hill, or the bottom, we’d let it roll into us and break every bone in our body for entertainment. Can a world such as this truly be so dark? We’ve put our money on Whig history and danced with the benefits, but I fear now that this last boulder will be the end of it. From ashes to ashes, and dust to dust.”