The sun had just sank beyond the western horizon in the Caribbean Sea, leaving behind the orange glow of dusk in the western sky while the blackness of night encroached over the rest of the sky. It was through this beautiful, tranquil Caribbean twilight that the Horsemen of the Apocalypse rode through.
Two strategic jets screamed by just a few meters over the calm Caribbean waters, so close to the water that the jet exhaust left a wake in the sea behind them. Flying this low, this fast, with this large of a plane, at this time of day, would be considered insane by even a pilot with a deathwish. Then again, Cazadores and their pilots, assumed a certain degree of risk when accepting their line of work.
The reason for flying this low this late in the day was to be as stealthy as possible. The two jets took off from Cape Verde nine hours before and flew due east. Once they approached radar range of San Juan, the planes descended to a ridiculously low altitude where the planes could use the profiles of the British Virgin Islands, and then the profile of Isla Culebra to mask themselves from radar.
So far, so good. But soon enough, the pilots spotted outline of the Puerto Rican coast. The copilots of each plane informed the Cazador commanders behind them that they would be deploying within a few minutes.
"This is it, gentlemen! This is the day that has been in the making for almost eighty years!" A man dressed in thick, black armor similar to kevlar began. His bald head bore its share of knife wounds and other scars. "Make one last check of your parachutes, check your supplies, ensure you are entirely ready... because when the sun rises on this island tomorrow, PUERTO RICO WILL ONCE AGAIN BE SPANISH!"
"YA E'TA HECHO!" The Cazadores on the plane roared in harmony.
The Cazador commander slipped a black mask over his face, night-vision lenses covering his eyes, prompting the rest of the Cazadores on the plane to do the same. The commander retreated back to the cockpit while the Cazadores in the fuselage of the bomber set about checking their weapons, gear, and most importantly, their parachutes.
"I hope you're as good with that as you are with your camera!" One of the Cazadores commented to his comrade next to him as he checked his firearm and sidearms one last time.
"I hope you're at least half as good as me with your own!" His friend teased. The light joke helped to calm him before they were dropped into combat. It was hard to believe that the two of them were enjoying a leisurely hike in the mountains just a little over 24 hours ago.
The Spanish planes had reached the most dangerous part of the mission as they passed over the eastern coast of Puerto Rico: Their pilots would now have to clear El Yunque, a mountain 2,500 feet high from an altitude barely over sea level... in the dark. The orange outline of the mountain in the western twilight would be the pilots' only way of knowing if they had cleared the mountain or not.
"Hang on!" The pilot of one of the bombers ordered through gritted teeth as he yanked the yoke into his lap. In response, his plane's nose and that of its sister pointed into the sky and began to climb rapidly, pulling the Cazadores to the back of the planes. Thick canopy foliage of the Puerto Rican jungle rushed by just beneath the cockpit for a few seconds before the peak of El Yunque flew past them. Once the bombers had leveled out, the nighttime lights of San Juan were in view from the cockpit. At last, the Spanish planes had blown their cover - they would be completely visible to radar from now on... not that it mattered much at this point.
The bomb bays of the planes opened up as they approached San Juan's airfields.
"GO GO GO GO GO G-..." The Cazador commander ordered as he dived feet-first out of the plane, leading the rest of the regiment into freefall.
In the space of a minute, the people of San Juan could look up and see parachutes falling down on them from the twilight sky.
The view from up here was gorgeous. The low volcanic mountains in the center of the island afforded a pair of hikers a fantastic vista of the entire south side of the verdant island, including the largest city of the Portuguese islands of Cape Verde: Praya. One of the hikers climbed onto a basalt boulder and snapped a quick picture of view before them with a small Polaroid. The camera spat the picture out, which gradually developed into a beautiful panorama of the island.
"Very nice." The other hiker complimented in Spanish, taking a seat on the same boulder and handing the picture back to his friend. "Looks like you're an excellent shot with a camera too."
"Thank you." The photographer said, taking the picture. His smile melted away upon being reminded of his job. "Peaceful out here, isn't it?"
"It sure is." The other hiker agreed, listening for a second as the breeze whispered through the grass and palm trees around them. "This kind of peace isn't something we usually see in our line of work."
"I know it. It's kind of ironic, I think. We're sitting here enjoying the tranquility here, and in a few days we're probably going to start the second Great War. A second world war."
"Don't be so pessimistic."
"'Don't be so pessimistic'?" The other hiker said as he stood up and faced his friend, stowing his Polaroid in his backpack. "How can we Cazadores not be? You and I... we were in Lisbon, Helsinki, Murmansk, Valletta... Grozny. We've been firsthand witnesses to the absolute worst of humanity - watched as mankind gets closer and closer to murdering itself. We've seen the powers of the world push the planet closer to the breaking point... we ourselves have done our share of the pushing. How can you say that I'm not right to expect the very worst?"
The sound of the breeze whispering through the grass was the only thing that could be heard for some time, before the whine of jet engines interrupted the island's tranquility. It was a Spanish bomber, landing at the airfield in Praia to the south.
"Fifth one today. Probably the rest of our unit on that one. The next planes will likely be all footsloggers and armor." The off-duty Cazador retrieved his camera from his backpack, aimed it at the landing plane, but then decided against taking the picture and lowered the camera in his hand.
"Let's get going." The seated one suggested as he got up. "There should a road up ahead to the north side of the island, on the other side of the mountains from Praya. I'd like to take my mind off of the war for as long as I can."
"Agreed."
With that, the two hikers put their packs back on and headed north into the mountains, hoping to enjoy one of their last days of R&R, and perhaps one of the last days of their lives.
Eh, it doesn't matter whether or not you survive, you can make an article anyway. Since the NER is new they don't have to have a long article neccessarily, probably just the background portion of your application and a couple of paragraphs about your current situation.
Also, I noticed Spain was having trouble with the infobox. To get that working, all you need to do it type at the top of the article {{infobox country|<...>}} and publish. When you go back to edit, it should be a puzzle piece. Right click the puzzle piece and it will give you a drop down of the info box with it's own edit option in the bottom corner. That edit option will give you an easy to fill out version of the infobox, which you publish and BAM! Professionalism!
Thanks for the advice, vilage... I'm hilariously bad with this wiki as everyone can see.
Oh wow, Aaron... That sword is awesome. I'm gonna hafta make some coolio pichers mahself.
The incessant whine of Spanish jets in the skies was becoming as commonplace as the intermittent car honks were in the cities of New England. The transfer of fifty obsolete Spanish tanks into the hands of the New Englanders went off without a hitch, despite a few tense minutes when the Americans had scrambled fighters to intercept the Spanish planes at Providence. This, however, was clearly not enough for the Spanish brass. In addition to providing tanks to the New Englanders to defend themselves with, the head of the Spanish army, Rafael Vasquez ordered the stationing of an entire division of Spanish soldiers in New England to bolster the admittedly rebel defenders of the New England Republic.
With permission from the New English authorities, the first battalion to arrive in New England set up a tent city on land just outside of Hartford, Connecticut. This tent city, decorated with troop choppers, attack helicopters, and large "garage-tents" sheltering tanks and other vehicles, would be the first of many New English cities and towns and would soon become another normal feature of New English life.
North of Koidu Town, Liberia
Two light, fishbowl-type helicopters soared right above the jungle canopy, scattering flocks of birds roosting in the rainforest below. Perched on the landing "sleds" of the helicopters were a number of Spanish mercenaries, armed with cutting-edge Austrian guns... and a bullhorn.
The previous day, Adrian Collaer had arranged with the Liberian government in Monrovia to buy two parcels of land in the jungle north of Koidu Town for the purposes of constructing a prospecting well for oil. However, well known diamond fields happened to exist right on top of these parcels of land. The local authorities, knowing that the gangs that owned these diamond pits were much better armed than they were, refused to evict the diamond pits of the previous owners. That's where the Compania's hired guns came in.
Suddenly the jungle beneath the helicopters opened up into a 5 acre-wide clearing in the jungle. A crisp, cool jungle stream flowing into the clearing flowed into a shallow, muddy lagoon that covered most of the clearing. In the silt-painted water, dark, mud-plastered workers toiled away in the filth, panning the water for diamonds. Only once the helicopters were practically on top of them did they stop their work and look up.
The mercenaries riding on the exterior of the helicopters raised their weapons and scanned the area around them. This was an incredibly uncomfortable place to be in; they were easy targets dangling high above the jungle for anyone to see and shoot.
The mercenary armed with a bullhorn raised the amplifying device to his lips.
//This land is now property of the Compania Petrolera Espanola. You are compelled by Liberian law to remove yourselves from the premises as once. Failure to comply wi-//
A shot rang out from the far edge of the diamond pit, and one of the mercenaries yelled in pain as a bullet tore through his leg. He quickly lost his balance and fell from the helicopter and landed in the muddy water below with a loud splash.
"Armas libres!! Abran fuego!!"
The helicopters parted and began circling over the diamond pit. The Spanish goons peppered the muddy lagoon with lead, aiming for anyone who wasn't fleeing for the jungle, sending jets of silty, and occasionally bloody, water up into the air. From the cover of the jungle, men armed with old French Great War-era guns took potshots at the helicopters, cracking the big bubbles of glass surrounding the pilots.
The mercenary with the bullhorn threw the plastic cone down into the lagoon and retrieved a grenade launcher from a strap on his backpack, a Polish piece of hardware with GRANATNIK WG.49 stamped into the barrel. The mercenary pointed the contraption at a trio of men strafing out of the jungle and pulled the trigger. The gun produced a chest-pounding thwoop and a few seconds later the three gunmen beneath the helicopters were consumed in a cloud of smoke, shrapnel, and frothy water. When the smoke and steam cleared, the three men were laying face down in a slick of bloody water.
Upon seeing their comrades eliminated by the grenade, the remaining defenders of the diamond pit retreated to the trees. The Spaniards took this opportunity to pick off most of the remaining defenders. Another grenade placed at the edge of the jungle reduced another fleeing gunman to splattered blood on the nearby jungle foliage. Another minute later, and the diamond pit was still silent, safe for the roar of the helicopter propellers.
The helicopters hovered down just six feet off the surface of the muddy, and now bloody lagoon. The seven remaining mercenaries hopped down into the water and then gave the pilots a thumbs-up to take off and return to the airfield in Freetown.
As they surveyed the carnage before them, the mercenaries could truly see why the precious rocks recovered here were called "blood diamonds".
As I said to him earlier mid-Fallout 3, yes. France is no push-over and claiming a famine is sweeping the South is going a bit over and above. I can take disasters for self-destructive story reasons like the RNF's malaria epidemic. But to play one to make your invasion "easier" is sort of over-extending your abilities.
So, although I've been thinking about it for a while now, I'm going to set about putting the disaster system up again for a vote. But first, I'll review the situation more in full.
If you limeys are going to start **** you do it in Africa or Asia... NOT IN MY BACKYARD.
If you guys try and destabilize Europe, so help me god, I'll go Reconquista on your ass.
I think we need a better system of keeping track of the sheer amount of information this RP has produced. It might make it easier if people can find records of what countries have done.
Something like a Precipice wiki.
I've always seen wikis for RP's as sort of a fun little project or a second bio for shits and giggles. However, with the sheer amount of content in this RP and given how important the canon is, I agree that a Precipice Wiki would make it a lot easier to look something related to Precipice of War up... way easier than digging around the minecraftforum.net thread or, god forbid, the Sporum threads.
Remember though, I use a variety of units, due to the fact of mercenaries can get paid with men, but US hired Mercs the most beforehand, and the larger airforce is split into 2, one for independant strikes, one to accompany the navy.
Faction- Raynor’s Raiders [Australia](guess what the name is a reference to?) Leader(s)- Dave Raynor, Rachel Smith, Chris Liu. Faction Type- Mercenaries Back-story/Bio- The Raiders was not like today, a large organization of mercenaries. No, before, it was just a small band of thieves. This small band of thieves, however, was expert at plundering enemies’ supply lines. They became so famous, or infamous, that Australia had taken notice of them. When Australian government finally caught up with the Raiders, they proposed a deal. If the government pays them, whether in cash or men, the Raiders would attack whomever the government wants. The Raiders agreed. That is the beginning, when the Raiders went, from petty crime and robbery, to full-time mercenaries. Centuries past, and history repeats itself. The Raiders gets paid, this time by a different government, the target gets killed.
Finally, when the organization was too large for agreements to be placed just by yelling at each other, they decided to choose a leader. The Raiders were smart though, they didn’t just choose a leader. No, they chose three leaders! The plan was that, it will be easier to come to agreements, but without the risk of power hungry knuckleheads to form. They chose three people; their names were Rachel Smith, Chris Liu, and Dave Raynor. Now Rachel. She was the kind one, always hoping to find a peaceful route, despite the circumstances. She is usually the one back at base, helping out by coordinating long ranged strikes, preferably with the speed of the air force, and what they should do in case of a problem. She does feel slightly uneasy when it comes down to needing her to kill someone in person. She would tater someone else do it. That trait probably came from the days when she was trained as a medic. Now Dave, he was the reckless one. He was the one you would typically see sending in a fast attack force of any kind, but he specializes in organizing and commanding the ground units. He, like Rachel, did not like the idea of having to shoot someone, but he was used to it, from his training as the heavy gunner. Last but not least, Chris. Chris is the exact opposite of Dave. You see, unlike Dave, Chris would be the one in charge of any stationary combat zones, preferably defensive, and ambushes. He has learnt to be patient, since before, he had learnt to be patient, and let the enemy reveal his back, thanks to days lying down somewhere, aiming that sniper, waiting for the target to come out. He is also very efficient with heavy strikes, mainly using the navy as his style. He is the least affected by murder. It is a known fact that if you were to be tortured by him, he will smile at your screams of pain. It is also said that, when you reveal the information he wants, he won't use you as a hostage, but rather, give you a slow, and painful death. Rumor has it that his mind twisted into this, is because he was cleared to fire, but his closest friend was out there in the open, scavenging for anything of use. That Chris, shot his friend with a .50 Cal bullet. So far, these rumors have not been confirmed. Undisputedly, the three leaders decided to add Dave’s name to the organization, for the fact that it was him, who yelled the idea for more than one leader.
That was the turning point for the Raiders, or should I say, Raynor's Raiders. They became a feared organization. They were paid, and then hinted their target, with no end. They will never stop hinting their targets down, until either one drops dead. They've been known to cause a large scale devastation. Whether they killed a politician, or they cross arms with an army, casualty rates are higher then the amount of cash used to pay the RR. Not much more is known about them, besides the fact that they shortened their name to RR. If for a fact that they failed a mission, they will be forced to abort, and lose the chance for cash. Of course, no matter what, Australia is the first county that hired them, and will never betray that country. Unless for a large enough price that Australia couldn't even hope to beat, but that, my friends, is a story for another time.
Wow.... Mercenaries with four aircraft carriers.
You'll need to tone those stats WAY the hell down. You're playing as a mercenaries - not a whole nation. You'll be lucky to have access to an attack helicopter, a light tank or two, and maybe a secondhand cruiser from the Australian navy to get your dudes around.
Considering how much everyone seems to hate the Sporum, I've made this message that I intend to send as a PM to as many good, notable RPers as I can. I just feel kind of bad for everyone back there that's wallowing in squalor back in the Sporum. I don't really care if I get banned there, but hopefully this will go under the nose of the admins and moderators are are supposedly so insane.
__________________________________________
Following a major decline in RP quality, moderation and activity on the Sporum's Roleplay section, myself and several other RPers from Sporum have made the decision to leave the Sporum either temporarily or permanently. Perhaps a dozen or so former Sporum-goers have already made the transition to a roleplaying forum on www.minecraftforum.net (the full link will be provided at the end of this message.), a thriving roleplaying forum with minimal moderation.
If you have received this PM, I am inviting you to at least check out this young roleplaying community and escape the Sporum if you so choose. I have no agenda in this matter - I wish neither to advertise for another community nor do I have a grudge against the Sporum community. To be as objective as I can, I have heard that the quality of Roleplaying here has decreased significantly recently due to dwindling activity and unfair, frequent bans by egocentric moderators, among other things. I simply sympathize with those of you who want to leave the Sporum but have no where else to turn and have decided to give those of you who wish to leave the opportunity to do so.
The roleplaying forum on minecraftforum.net is a rather young community frequented by roleplayers of rather poor quality. The Precipice of War, a literate RP that was once popular here on the Sporum, has left for minecraftforum.net and is currently enjoying a healthy revival that has accrued what would translate to a 26-page IC thread in about one month. The success of a high-quality RP in minecraftforum.net proves that Sporum-quality RPs are completely viable there. I hope that this will be doubly true as former Sporum-goers leave the Sporum in favor of minecraftforum.net.
Regardless of what you choose to do, I support your decision 100%. I am only offering this opportunity to you fellow RPers because I empathize with you and want you to keep on enjoying RPing... wherever you decide to continue doing that.
For those of you who are interested in checking out the roleplaying community at minecraftforums.net, you can find the roleplaying forum here.
If you do not have an account for the minecraftforum.net's curse account here
If you want to get in touch with other sporum-users, you can contact me and I can forward you to others.
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The sun had just sank beyond the western horizon in the Caribbean Sea, leaving behind the orange glow of dusk in the western sky while the blackness of night encroached over the rest of the sky. It was through this beautiful, tranquil Caribbean twilight that the Horsemen of the Apocalypse rode through.
Two strategic jets screamed by just a few meters over the calm Caribbean waters, so close to the water that the jet exhaust left a wake in the sea behind them. Flying this low, this fast, with this large of a plane, at this time of day, would be considered insane by even a pilot with a deathwish. Then again, Cazadores and their pilots, assumed a certain degree of risk when accepting their line of work.
The reason for flying this low this late in the day was to be as stealthy as possible. The two jets took off from Cape Verde nine hours before and flew due east. Once they approached radar range of San Juan, the planes descended to a ridiculously low altitude where the planes could use the profiles of the British Virgin Islands, and then the profile of Isla Culebra to mask themselves from radar.
So far, so good. But soon enough, the pilots spotted outline of the Puerto Rican coast. The copilots of each plane informed the Cazador commanders behind them that they would be deploying within a few minutes.
"This is it, gentlemen! This is the day that has been in the making for almost eighty years!" A man dressed in thick, black armor similar to kevlar began. His bald head bore its share of knife wounds and other scars. "Make one last check of your parachutes, check your supplies, ensure you are entirely ready... because when the sun rises on this island tomorrow, PUERTO RICO WILL ONCE AGAIN BE SPANISH!"
"YA E'TA HECHO!" The Cazadores on the plane roared in harmony.
The Cazador commander slipped a black mask over his face, night-vision lenses covering his eyes, prompting the rest of the Cazadores on the plane to do the same. The commander retreated back to the cockpit while the Cazadores in the fuselage of the bomber set about checking their weapons, gear, and most importantly, their parachutes.
"I hope you're as good with that as you are with your camera!" One of the Cazadores commented to his comrade next to him as he checked his firearm and sidearms one last time.
"I hope you're at least half as good as me with your own!" His friend teased. The light joke helped to calm him before they were dropped into combat. It was hard to believe that the two of them were enjoying a leisurely hike in the mountains just a little over 24 hours ago.
The Spanish planes had reached the most dangerous part of the mission as they passed over the eastern coast of Puerto Rico: Their pilots would now have to clear El Yunque, a mountain 2,500 feet high from an altitude barely over sea level... in the dark. The orange outline of the mountain in the western twilight would be the pilots' only way of knowing if they had cleared the mountain or not.
"Hang on!" The pilot of one of the bombers ordered through gritted teeth as he yanked the yoke into his lap. In response, his plane's nose and that of its sister pointed into the sky and began to climb rapidly, pulling the Cazadores to the back of the planes. Thick canopy foliage of the Puerto Rican jungle rushed by just beneath the cockpit for a few seconds before the peak of El Yunque flew past them. Once the bombers had leveled out, the nighttime lights of San Juan were in view from the cockpit. At last, the Spanish planes had blown their cover - they would be completely visible to radar from now on... not that it mattered much at this point.
The bomb bays of the planes opened up as they approached San Juan's airfields.
"GO GO GO GO GO G-..." The Cazador commander ordered as he dived feet-first out of the plane, leading the rest of the regiment into freefall.
In the space of a minute, the people of San Juan could look up and see parachutes falling down on them from the twilight sky.
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Sounds like a helicopter Sahle was piloting...
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Godspeed, Torch.
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The view from up here was gorgeous. The low volcanic mountains in the center of the island afforded a pair of hikers a fantastic vista of the entire south side of the verdant island, including the largest city of the Portuguese islands of Cape Verde: Praya. One of the hikers climbed onto a basalt boulder and snapped a quick picture of view before them with a small Polaroid. The camera spat the picture out, which gradually developed into a beautiful panorama of the island.
"Very nice." The other hiker complimented in Spanish, taking a seat on the same boulder and handing the picture back to his friend. "Looks like you're an excellent shot with a camera too."
"Thank you." The photographer said, taking the picture. His smile melted away upon being reminded of his job. "Peaceful out here, isn't it?"
"It sure is." The other hiker agreed, listening for a second as the breeze whispered through the grass and palm trees around them. "This kind of peace isn't something we usually see in our line of work."
"I know it. It's kind of ironic, I think. We're sitting here enjoying the tranquility here, and in a few days we're probably going to start the second Great War. A second world war."
"Don't be so pessimistic."
"'Don't be so pessimistic'?" The other hiker said as he stood up and faced his friend, stowing his Polaroid in his backpack. "How can we Cazadores not be? You and I... we were in Lisbon, Helsinki, Murmansk, Valletta... Grozny. We've been firsthand witnesses to the absolute worst of humanity - watched as mankind gets closer and closer to murdering itself. We've seen the powers of the world push the planet closer to the breaking point... we ourselves have done our share of the pushing. How can you say that I'm not right to expect the very worst?"
The sound of the breeze whispering through the grass was the only thing that could be heard for some time, before the whine of jet engines interrupted the island's tranquility. It was a Spanish bomber, landing at the airfield in Praia to the south.
"Fifth one today. Probably the rest of our unit on that one. The next planes will likely be all footsloggers and armor." The off-duty Cazador retrieved his camera from his backpack, aimed it at the landing plane, but then decided against taking the picture and lowered the camera in his hand.
"Let's get going." The seated one suggested as he got up. "There should a road up ahead to the north side of the island, on the other side of the mountains from Praya. I'd like to take my mind off of the war for as long as I can."
"Agreed."
With that, the two hikers put their packs back on and headed north into the mountains, hoping to enjoy one of their last days of R&R, and perhaps one of the last days of their lives.
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Thanks for the advice, vilage... I'm hilariously bad with this wiki as everyone can see.
Oh wow, Aaron... That sword is awesome. I'm gonna hafta make some coolio pichers mahself.
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The first project of the Mad Scientist Society of Spain: clone an army of ****-drinking super warriors.
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Fine... fine... Perfidious Albion.
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Remember the Spanish Armada?
Yeah, we're still pissed about all that.
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The incessant whine of Spanish jets in the skies was becoming as commonplace as the intermittent car honks were in the cities of New England. The transfer of fifty obsolete Spanish tanks into the hands of the New Englanders went off without a hitch, despite a few tense minutes when the Americans had scrambled fighters to intercept the Spanish planes at Providence. This, however, was clearly not enough for the Spanish brass. In addition to providing tanks to the New Englanders to defend themselves with, the head of the Spanish army, Rafael Vasquez ordered the stationing of an entire division of Spanish soldiers in New England to bolster the admittedly rebel defenders of the New England Republic.
With permission from the New English authorities, the first battalion to arrive in New England set up a tent city on land just outside of Hartford, Connecticut. This tent city, decorated with troop choppers, attack helicopters, and large "garage-tents" sheltering tanks and other vehicles, would be the first of many New English cities and towns and would soon become another normal feature of New English life.
North of Koidu Town, Liberia
Two light, fishbowl-type helicopters soared right above the jungle canopy, scattering flocks of birds roosting in the rainforest below. Perched on the landing "sleds" of the helicopters were a number of Spanish mercenaries, armed with cutting-edge Austrian guns... and a bullhorn.
The previous day, Adrian Collaer had arranged with the Liberian government in Monrovia to buy two parcels of land in the jungle north of Koidu Town for the purposes of constructing a prospecting well for oil. However, well known diamond fields happened to exist right on top of these parcels of land. The local authorities, knowing that the gangs that owned these diamond pits were much better armed than they were, refused to evict the diamond pits of the previous owners. That's where the Compania's hired guns came in.
Suddenly the jungle beneath the helicopters opened up into a 5 acre-wide clearing in the jungle. A crisp, cool jungle stream flowing into the clearing flowed into a shallow, muddy lagoon that covered most of the clearing. In the silt-painted water, dark, mud-plastered workers toiled away in the filth, panning the water for diamonds. Only once the helicopters were practically on top of them did they stop their work and look up.
The mercenaries riding on the exterior of the helicopters raised their weapons and scanned the area around them. This was an incredibly uncomfortable place to be in; they were easy targets dangling high above the jungle for anyone to see and shoot.
The mercenary armed with a bullhorn raised the amplifying device to his lips.
//This land is now property of the Compania Petrolera Espanola. You are compelled by Liberian law to remove yourselves from the premises as once. Failure to comply wi-//
A shot rang out from the far edge of the diamond pit, and one of the mercenaries yelled in pain as a bullet tore through his leg. He quickly lost his balance and fell from the helicopter and landed in the muddy water below with a loud splash.
"Armas libres!! Abran fuego!!"
The helicopters parted and began circling over the diamond pit. The Spanish goons peppered the muddy lagoon with lead, aiming for anyone who wasn't fleeing for the jungle, sending jets of silty, and occasionally bloody, water up into the air. From the cover of the jungle, men armed with old French Great War-era guns took potshots at the helicopters, cracking the big bubbles of glass surrounding the pilots.
The mercenary with the bullhorn threw the plastic cone down into the lagoon and retrieved a grenade launcher from a strap on his backpack, a Polish piece of hardware with GRANATNIK WG.49 stamped into the barrel. The mercenary pointed the contraption at a trio of men strafing out of the jungle and pulled the trigger. The gun produced a chest-pounding thwoop and a few seconds later the three gunmen beneath the helicopters were consumed in a cloud of smoke, shrapnel, and frothy water. When the smoke and steam cleared, the three men were laying face down in a slick of bloody water.
Upon seeing their comrades eliminated by the grenade, the remaining defenders of the diamond pit retreated to the trees. The Spaniards took this opportunity to pick off most of the remaining defenders. Another grenade placed at the edge of the jungle reduced another fleeing gunman to splattered blood on the nearby jungle foliage. Another minute later, and the diamond pit was still silent, safe for the roar of the helicopter propellers.
The helicopters hovered down just six feet off the surface of the muddy, and now bloody lagoon. The seven remaining mercenaries hopped down into the water and then gave the pilots a thumbs-up to take off and return to the airfield in Freetown.
As they surveyed the carnage before them, the mercenaries could truly see why the precious rocks recovered here were called "blood diamonds".
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If you limeys are going to start **** you do it in Africa or Asia... NOT IN MY BACKYARD.
If you guys try and destabilize Europe, so help me god, I'll go Reconquista on your ass.
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I've always seen wikis for RP's as sort of a fun little project or a second bio for shits and giggles. However, with the sheer amount of content in this RP and given how important the canon is, I agree that a Precipice Wiki would make it a lot easier to look something related to Precipice of War up... way easier than digging around the minecraftforum.net thread or, god forbid, the Sporum threads.
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Of course.
Of course.
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Wow.... Mercenaries with four aircraft carriers.
You'll need to tone those stats WAY the hell down. You're playing as a mercenaries - not a whole nation. You'll be lucky to have access to an attack helicopter, a light tank or two, and maybe a secondhand cruiser from the Australian navy to get your dudes around.
I thought so... =3Also, SilentEpiphany/shadeofmoose is considering joining and is getting a curse account right now so that's awesome as ****.
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Following a major decline in RP quality, moderation and activity on the Sporum's Roleplay section, myself and several other RPers from Sporum have made the decision to leave the Sporum either temporarily or permanently. Perhaps a dozen or so former Sporum-goers have already made the transition to a roleplaying forum on www.minecraftforum.net (the full link will be provided at the end of this message.), a thriving roleplaying forum with minimal moderation.
If you have received this PM, I am inviting you to at least check out this young roleplaying community and escape the Sporum if you so choose. I have no agenda in this matter - I wish neither to advertise for another community nor do I have a grudge against the Sporum community. To be as objective as I can, I have heard that the quality of Roleplaying here has decreased significantly recently due to dwindling activity and unfair, frequent bans by egocentric moderators, among other things. I simply sympathize with those of you who want to leave the Sporum but have no where else to turn and have decided to give those of you who wish to leave the opportunity to do so.
The roleplaying forum on minecraftforum.net is a rather young community frequented by roleplayers of rather poor quality. The Precipice of War, a literate RP that was once popular here on the Sporum, has left for minecraftforum.net and is currently enjoying a healthy revival that has accrued what would translate to a 26-page IC thread in about one month. The success of a high-quality RP in minecraftforum.net proves that Sporum-quality RPs are completely viable there. I hope that this will be doubly true as former Sporum-goers leave the Sporum in favor of minecraftforum.net.
Regardless of what you choose to do, I support your decision 100%. I am only offering this opportunity to you fellow RPers because I empathize with you and want you to keep on enjoying RPing... wherever you decide to continue doing that.
For those of you who are interested in checking out the roleplaying community at minecraftforums.net, you can find the roleplaying forum here.
If you do not have an account for the minecraftforum.net's curse account here
If you want to get in touch with other sporum-users, you can contact me and I can forward you to others.