I t h a d t o b e d o n e . . .
the best -- the worst -- the most colorful
Through trials, through conflict, through famine and war, they're all smiles. Through good times, and bad times, they laugh. What these countries bring to the game of Empire is the quality that seperates the sentient from the animals.
A sense of humor
These countries are amongst the most colorful countries ever to play. They are recognized here.
Mirkwood
From the first moment Mirkwood came upon the scene, it displayed a distinctive style of communicating that revolutionized communication through announcements.
Through play and announcements, we follow the life and antics of the Elven King, one of Empire's legendary leaders, who is constantly searching for ways to relieve boredom, usually at the expense of neighboring countries.
Of special significance in this endeavor was that Mirkwood was one of the few dual-run countries from its inception, being co-run by Sean Eddy and Tom Jones.
Gnur
As a solid player, Gnur often has ample time to sound his barbaric YAWP.
While he will likely remember himself as the leader of the barbaric hordes of Gnur, he has been immortalized for his creation of announcements now known affectionately as "Fleer's parting comments"
Suboceana
The founder of the Suboceanaen Arts and War Academy, Suboceana has been known to do things simply for the entertainment it would provide
With the ever-hip Saint, the all-knowing Monk, the military macho leader General Kilsat, and the ever-belligerent uncompensated worker Frank B, there was never an end to amusing posts.
Once sought after by deities to join games simply to provide enjoyment to all participants, Doug Pitters' The Saint and his band have retired, but still enjoy the occasional Swiss Cheese sandwich, and bottle of Perrier.
Mithrillien
Without relying on any specific persona, Mithrillien, led by Geoff Cashman, could always find the most humorous clips, with an occasional stint into sheer hysterics. His most famous posting was a song called Batak, Batak, baby - FODDER FODDER which was conveniently sung (or rapped) to the tune of Ice Ice Baby by Vanilla Ice.
Here are the creme de la creme, the greatest of all time.
Mirkwood
> Announcement from Mirkwood, (#10) dated Sat Feb 10 16:35:39 1990 In an action of unparalleled insanity, the Elven-King today ordered the continent of Fleer to withdraw from Elven territorial waters immediately. After waiting the customary forty-two seconds and seeing that the continent had defied the High King's decree, naval action was of course ordered. The continent, of very solid construction, withstood multiple torpedoings and bombings. Reportedly, marines are having better success at boarding. Marine officers expect to scuttle the continent later tonight. |
Other announcements are featured later in this document |
Gnur
> Announcement from Fleer, (#49) dated Sat Feb 10 17:37:50 1990 Oh, *come on*, Mirkwood. You can't scuttle an island. Unless you get help from our handy, dandy Deity, that is. Well, folks, I guess I'm going to be nation number something or other to take on water in this game. Anyhow, for your reading pleasure, I'm going to make a list of the stupid parting comments that I'm not going to make for all of your pleasures . . . Fleer may be wimpy, but we are dignified. And we aren't lame whiners like some other nations . . . Y'all have fun, ya hear? |
> Announcement from Fleer, (#49) dated Sat Feb 10 17:40:31 1990 Lame parting comment #1: Oh, I suppose you feel really good about taking out a thirty sector island, eh Mirkwood? Boy, I bet it really taxed your 410 sectors. And you didn't even finish the job. Sheesh. What a complete and utter loser. The reason we Fleerites wouldn't make a lame statement like this is that we are playing empire, not tiddly winks, here. Nations exist to be taken over. The strong survive, and the small and weak die. That's to be expected. If you don't like it, play rogue. |
> Announcement from Fleer, (#49) dated Sat Feb 10 17:45:05 1990 Lame parting comment #2: I'm warning all of you! Mirkwood is *not* to be trusted. He's a backstabbing scum, so don't let your women or children anywhere near him. He'll take the smallest thing away from you for no reason. If you're allied with him, he's probably overflying your territory as we speak. Stay away from him. Once again, this is empire. The best alliances are ones designed to take down your opponent. Allying with people close to you is dangerous. It's stupid to trust blindly. |
> Announcement from Fleer, (#49) dated Sat Feb 10 17:50:56 1990 Lame parting comment #3: You scum! If I ever see you in another game, I'm going to waste you instantly, with no regard for anything else. You *sshole! I am going to destroy you! I'll kill you without mercy! It's just a game. Losing out like this teaches you to be more careful, but chasing someone down from game to game is silly. Take each one separately, and you can do a lot better. |
> Announcement from Fleer, (#49) dated Sat Feb 10 17:53:44 1990 Lame parting comment #4: You cheated! The deity must have helped you out! All the people who are winning are friends of the Deity! Have you noticed that? The deity must have given you things! This is my favorite of all. Copyright 1989, US of Madison, Washington Empire Game. |
> Announcement from Fleer, (#49) dated Sat Feb 10 17:57:18 1990 Lame parting comment #(Are we up to 6?): Well, I would have totally whipped your butt, but I didn't have enough time to play this game . . . If I'd spent as much time as you, you'd be dust under my troops' boots. If you don't have time to do it right, accept what you get. Don't whine about it. |
[Mirkwood, later comments on the previous series...] The Elven-King, royal purple bunny-slippered feet propped up on a dwarf, peruses the morning announcements. A tear trickles down his cheek as Suboceana's storytelling brings back memories of his younger, naive days. The King cringes self-consciously at his memories of tiny Fleer, a small and heroic country, buried under waves of pillaging Elven paratroops. "Never again!" swears the shamed King. "Never again will I let a country hang on long enough to send all those damned announcements..." |
Suboceana
> Announcement from Suboceana, (#27) dated Tue Feb 27 04:16:06 1990 Mr. X, secret Owslafa pilot. He wakes up at midnight, donns his flight gear and heads out to the airfield....On the runway sits a plane. Not an ordinary plane, this plane has curves and bends in strange places. The result: a plane that is troublesome to pick up on radar. It is the secret X wing stealth bomber...... Made in the secret country of Redline.....These bombers and fighters are scattered in very few places on the globe. Mr. X's own stands here.... He smiles....it's gonna be a fun night. |
> Announcement from Suboceana, (#27) dated Tue Feb 27 04:20:16 1990 Official document Suuboceana Owsalfa file #45699 Please disregard any references made by any Suboceanaen story-teller about stealth-aircraft, and stealth technology in general. The counrty of Redline never made any, we never bought any, and as far as we are concerned, there is *no* such thing as stealth aircraft in any form.... The previous story was just that....a story, a mere fabrication with absolutely *no* basis in fact. Thank you for your cooperation. Owslafa...... Suboceana. |
Mithrillien
> Announcement from Mithrilien, (#62) dated Fri Jan 26 19:30:11 1990 "Dada, what's the funny looking cloud on the horizon" "It's a bad weather front...shut up kid... |
> Announcement from Mithrilien, (#62) dated Fri Jan 26 19:34:10 1990 "Dada, what's the funny looking creature crawling up the beach?" "Hey, that looks like your kid brother that your mom never...hmm...nevermind..." "Dada, why is it glowing?" "Same reason you glow..." |
> Announcement from Mithrilien, (#62) dated Fri Jan 26 19:52:02 1990
ha! come and try to take me out!
O O
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Others
> Announcement from Mirkwood, (#10) dated Wed Feb 28 20:05:02 1990 The regal Elven-King, finely attired in his elegant afternoon electric purple tea-robe, looks askance at his strange diplomatic visitor. The Saint taps his foot in an impatient but subtly hip rhythm. "Your allotted time has elapsed," he says. "We must now discuss surrender terms." The Elven-King cocks his head and considers this. He whispers a sharp question to an aide. The aide shakes his head. "I'm afraid," the King says, "that we lack the proper facilities to accomodate your surrender."
> Announcement from Suboceana, (#27) dated Wed Feb 28 20:17:48 1990 Things are getting tense in the fair Elven court..... The Saint, looking behind him, spots an orc hopping on his brand new Honda scooter and driving off. No escape.... Goblins of various shapes and sizes, all with some form of gingivitus trickle into the room, drawn by the smell of live human flesh. But is our hero, The Saint worried? NO!!!!!!!! The Elven King stretched and yawned, "Have some lembas" he offered.
> Announcement from Mirkwood, (#10) The Elven spyplane streaks across the smoky Redline sky. The Insecurity Service pilot points out features on the ground below to his passenger, the Elven-King. Burning parks. Shattered schools. Hospitals lying in broken rubble. "So these are the results of our weapons of mass destruction?" inquires the curious King. "Yes sir," the pilot nods. "Hmmmm..." his Majesty says, "...let's make more!"
> Announcement from Sardaukar, (#85) dated Thu Oct 18 08:29:57 1990 Money fore nuthin', and your tech for free! I want my, I want my, I want my tech for free! I want my, I want my, I want my tech for free! Money fore nuthin', and your tech for free! 3.4 and rising!
> Announcement from Sinergy, (#76) dated Thu Oct 18 23:51:17 1990 (Palace Jacuzzi, Mirkwood) The Elven-King took a brief break from his evening margarita-swilling to address questions from worried media officials tonight. Rumours of Sinergy's demise have been greatly exaggerated, the King asserted. The Elven-King refused to comment on rumours that a major military coup had occurred in the Sinergian ruling cabal, but the more observant press people took note of the rather lethal-looking Uzi hidden in the Elven-King's bermuda shorts.
> Announcement from Mithrilien, (#28) dated Thu Oct 18 23:52:45 1990 Anyonce care to speculate as to why there was enough room in his bermuda shorts to HIDE an uzi?
The finish, or closer, is generally the last announcement that a country makes before leaving (never logging into the game again). While most people just said lots of things closely resembling goodbye and great game, a few people had distinctive and grandiose exits. Here are a few:
Evil Empire
> Announcement from EVIL EMPIRE, (#3) dated Tue Mar 6 20:47:18 1990 (TheEvilAirfield) TheEvilOne in his black flight suit and mirror sunglasses, looking most macho and quite smartly dressed, climbs into his waiting plane... The black stealth fighter #666 with a new feature recently installed.. it is Warp Drive... TheEvilOne climbs in...fires up the powerful jet engines... and lifts off... then seconds later ...engages the Warp Drive...and.... *K A B O O O O O O O M ! ! ! He's gone....
Suboceana
12:57 am........... Snow is still falling on the parks of Suboceana. All is quiet, save the distant hum of a Honda scooter. Sitting on that scooter is one man. A miraculously cool dude he is, his hat tipped to one side, as he plows through the dust and voles at top speed. His name........The Saint His job.........former leader of Suboceana, turned road warrior. He rides his bike into the distant mushroom cloud. He has done his job well, and it is done, for there are no more sectors. Destination: Disneyland. :-)
Mirkwood
> Announcement from Mirkwood, (#10) dated Thu Mar 8 23:45:40 1990Many years in the future... In a place that had once been subtropical Mirkwood...
The landscape is bleak. High winds send snow whistling across the frozen arctic tundra. There are no trees, no life at all save for a lone Ice-Gnoll. The young gnoll pauses for rest in knee-deep snow, pulling the fur cloak tightly about him.
He thinks about his trek and what it means. This rite of passage into adulthood that every male must pass or perish. But it is even more than life or death--it proves that you are indeed macho. The gnoll peers through the near-blinding blizard, hoping against hope to find shelter here in the Forbidden Land.
On a nearby hillside he sees what appears to be a cave. The gods are truly smiling. He trudges through the snow up the boulder-strewn mountain and does not stop until he is standing at the mouth of a tunnel. The entrance is nearly blocked by an old rockslide, but he squeezes in. He shakes the snow from his green hair, and digs in his pack. He hastily assembles a torch and lights the oily rag. The fluttering illumination shows smooth walls and a passage leading into the mountain. Fear of the unknown freezes him for but a moment. This is his quest surely. His true macho-ness will be revealed to him.
He strides purposely down the tunnel. It takes him down, down into the very guts of the mountain. He feels he is being eaten.
Along the way he finds many remnants of former inhabitants. Some humanoid, some not. There are no turnoffs, no bends. This worries him
Without warning he notices a change. There are strange lights up ahead, red, green. He proceeds cautiously.
The tunnel opens into an enourmous chamber. A perfect dome. Filling this chamber is an unspeakable array of boxes, glowing with a thousand lights. Some purr. Much like a dragon might purr.
But the gnoll is not worried because of what he sees on the wall. Hanging there is a 20 foot tall portrait of his god! It is the King. The Elven King The King is resplendant in his satin, muave breakfast robe and purple bunney-slippers.
The gnoll drops to his knees in awe. This is truly the holiest of holy places.
He prays. He gives thanks. But how will he prove to the village elders that he has found such a place. They will not dare enter the Forbidden Land again.
Then he sees it. On a crushed-velvet pillow lies the Holy Purple Bunney Slippers.
With great reverance he picks up the Slippers. He is carefull to wear gloves so as not to defile them.
He chants to the King as he packs them away. His quest is fulfilled.
The gnoll picks his way between the glowing boxes of wonder as he heads toward the tunnel leading to his village, his home.
In a coincidence of perhaps cosmic import, the gnoll trips on some debri. He catches himself on one of the consoles and continues.
He does not notice the screen on the wall behind him light up. He does not notice the angry red light that flashe, that his carelessness set off.
Nor does he see the blue lines being drawn over the image on the wall. These lines create a perfect arc. They grow longer and finally converge in one corner in a flash of red.
The words drawn next to this flash, in a language long forgotten:
FODDERLAND
(smoking ruins of the Palace of the Elven-King):
The Elven-King stares blankly at the swirls of paper in his War Room. Coffee-stained maps. Empty beer bottles. Well-chewed pencils.
His goblin-wife's little dog, a chihuahua named Spike, nips at his feet and yips.
He kicks at the dog half-heartedly. The dog flees into a corner and piddles on a map of Cannae.
The King sighs and stands up. He dons his black leather jacket. He puts on his aviator shades. He jams a sawed-off shotgun in a pocket.
(at an abandoned 7-Eleven near the Palace):
The Elven-King slides his Harley to a stop, kicking gravel through the broken windows of the convenience store. Several small mutant-creatures, startled, leap off the windowpane and skittle away.
He picks up the pay phone. IN CASE OF EMERGENCY: DIAL 911, he reads. He does this. He snaps a few terse commands into the phone.
He steps gingerly into the store, and picks out a six-pack of warm Mickey's Big Mouths.
Back outside, he sits on his Harley and opens a Mickey's. He slugs it down and opens another.
He looks off into the distance. There, atop a blasted hill, amidst the swirling fogs of an unnatural early winter, the mighty Palace stands. He can barely make out the repair crews scaling its sides. He thinks he hears a faint yipping.
As he watches, a single nuclear warhead streaks out of the sky and impacts in the Palace courtyard. The Palace vanishes in a flash of light and flame.
"Never did like that damned dog," the Elven-King thinks.
He revs the Harley, and takes off, heading south on the pocked Mirkwood Transcontinental Freeway. He does not look back.
and
the original
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