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  1. 2 points
    so guess who i sold this game week ARE YOU GUESSON
  2. 1 point
  3. 1 point
  4. 1 point
    you are free to destroy your own team however you like
  5. 1 point
    glorious day 🦚🦚🦚🦚🦚🦚🦚🦚 🐯🐯🐯🐯🐯🐯🐯🐯🐯
  6. 1 point
    some early season gloom but it should all clear up later and we should see blue skies golden sunshine about 4500 total season points fahrenheit, around 2500 celsius have a great season everyone!
  7. 1 point
    Hello, friends. The name's Arpad. Lamp Arpad. You may look at me and think, what a sadistic dickwad. That I am, that I am. But that's not all that I am. I am an ARPAD. You know what that means? We are a family of KINGS. We are like a national king monopoly. Like Nutella, but for kingness. The problem with a family monopoly is that when your family breeds like rabbits, it's not much of a monopoly. My dad was a King, you see. King Belly. But when he went belly up, this fucking salmon came in and took over. Look at this guy. A rowdy, honourable atheist. How come he gets to be atheist and king, but when I write about how God is dead and Zarathustra has a hot ass they take me for whipping? Not that I mind. Whipping is good for the libido. The problem is that I'm not even next in line for King Monopoly even if Mr Salmon here cops it. No, there's also my brother, Gez- Gaz- Holy shit. You, uh. You look just like somebody I know. Ima respect privacy and stuff, but we're just gonna call you Soggyza, OK? Stay paranoid, man. You ain't living long. And lastly, this is my other bro, Laszlo. He's probably the only functioning human being in this entire god damned family tree. Like, you should see how he cooks his eggs until the yellow stuff is half liquid half solid. It's witchery. Laszlo here basically owns half the country in the form of Transylvania. But that don't make him King. Remember, it's not about the popular vote. While we've been chatting, I've actually just finished puberty. It was greasy and painful, but I am now all grown up. First on our to-do list: kill Soggyza. This will be no easy task, and we shall have to pursue every method available to us. First, I shall practice my whip every day, mastering that fluid snapping motion to give me some adult authority. I bet that Soggyza bastard is just lounging around, reading books or something. Oh, hello. It looks like Laszlo Bro is already scheming. Now that's genuine Arpad blood running through his amygdalas. Joining him is a bunch of nobles and.... Soggyza? That's like 90% of the entire country. Poor Salmon King is smoked. I have decided to join the traitorous scheme. You see, when you see a dishonourable, evil man making a power grab, then you make sure that he owes you a favour. We now possess a Faction Military Power of 1374%. Nobody knows what this means, but obviously the algorithm has told us that we shall prevail. Oh, what do you know? The algorithms are right! Praise the algorithms. I'll never doubt you again. Mr Salmon here was never cut out to be King, anyway. Just look at him. He's lacking that natural born flair for debauchery.
  8. 1 point
    Coda, for Joost and others when they have the INTERNET again and can read this: I have discovered that in the 1066 start, you can start as King Sancho of Castille In his court is a certain DIEGO RODRIGUEZ of the obscure VIRAR house You can grant him a county or two, and then switch characters to this man But who is this man, and why does he start with 26 Martial and as a friend of King Sancho? Because he is none other than our friend, our heroe,
  9. 1 point
    update with dave style version more lines and dots
  10. 1 point
    folks are you watching this game this is madness
  11. 1 point
    why did I double up on defence of the southernmost of all hamptons?!
  12. 1 point
    I am VILMOS, the MASTERMIND PHILOSOPHER also all round COOL GUY. I am just RAD. Some people don't get it. They don't get how awesome I am. They say I'm Arbitrary, Fickle, and Craven. But you know what? I'm the king. I'm the EMPEROR. And they can SUCK IT, as my late dad once said in a cabinet meeting. Actually, I lied. I know I'm just Vilmos the Village Idiot. I know. I just don't want to admit it. I'm just so fucking useless. I'm Arbitrary, Fickle, and Craven. I just can't do it, I can't. I can't suck it. While I battle my inner emo, the country is finally rumbling apart after a century of stagnant peace. My vassals tell me that I can no longer fire them, take away their titles, or ask them to pour me orange juice in the morning. I reply that man without freedom is but a pig without his sty. For some reason, they took that as a refusal, and rebelled en masse. Ungvar sees blood like it hasn't seen since the days of Lamps. Even the unwashed peasants, here seen wearing decidedly unpeasantlike attire, are rebelling. You know, back in the day, we used to just murder all of you. The good old days, when we had law and order. My concubine birthes my son and heir, as is the recent Arpad tradition. I name him "Attila", in hopes that he will bring peace to this troubled realm. The rebels have captured me! This is very embarrassing. I wasn't able to bring all my horn figurines to the jail. Now what will I do philosophy with? Oh, now, that's rude. I thought you guys wanted a society where employment is secure. The rebels decide that the one-year-old Attila will make a better Emperor than me. I mean, alright, but it's still rude. I watch on from my jail as Attila is immediately coerced into signing away our taxes, our titles, and half our territory. It's impressive how they put all those quills on his toes. The farce does not last long, however. The same rebels that rebelled against me to put Attila on the throne, subsequently rebelled against Attila to put me on the throne. God bless primogeniture laws. But how to prevent this from happening again? First, we try imprisoning the entire realm. This actually works very well for a while. The jails are full, and people have begun to write books about the Prison-Feudal Complex, but I'm still Emperor. I can even enjoy royal life again a little, like jousting my vassals in good fun, and my vassals losing on purpose to make the Emperor feel good. Wait, I thought you were going to lose on purpo- My horn! My horn! Things are getting worse and worse. I'm bleeding all over, and my vassals are once again clamouring for rebellion. It pains me to do this, but there's only one way to stop the unrest. Can't depose me for my son if I have no son. Eh? Eh? Vilmos, you're a genius. After that, nobody wants to join me on weekly horn night. My life is now reduced to constantly being on the run from roaming rebel forces, executing whoever I can manage to get my hands on. It's a tough life, the roadie life. One day, we just run out of food. There's nothing to eat on the march. Oh, sure, we still had vegetables, and grains, and potatoes, but that's not food. Who the hell eats potatoes? The only source of meat to be had was, well.. It turns out that cannibalism solves both of my problems: my hunger problem, and my rebellious vassal problem. Vilmos, you're a genius. Such a genius, really, that I can't handle it. The history books will write that Vilmos Arpad, born to a heretic faith, educated in witchcraft, deposed by his own infant son, murderer of his own infant son, cannibal, and all-round village idiot, would finally set fire to his own realm. But I'm a genius. That's all it was. Just... things went wrong, somewhere. Horribly wrong. I even suspect things went horribly wrong long before I was born. The Grand Empire of the Arpads is disintegrating before my eyes into a dozen Hippocampic Nation-States. My realm is reduced to a tiny slice of the Hungarian wasteland, and a few dozen servants as my retinue. A pitiful number. Especially since I'll have to eat most of them. I can see it in their eyes, their lack of conviction, their lack of horn. They just wish I would go ahead and die already. Well, leave, all of you! Leave me be! Be gone! Except you, you and you. Stick around for dinner, won't you? And so it ends: first as tragedy, then as farce, then as crimes against humanity. The Arpads, rising from Hungarian obscurity to Emperordom, recede again into the pages of history, after 250 years of largely murderous adventuring. Vilmos, the Last Emperor, is long remembered for his pettiness and spite. And what of the Hippocampic faith? Without its Empire, it would splinter and fade under persecution, driven underground, until all had believed its teachings lost in time. Lost, that is, until a long time later, in a land far away...
  13. 1 point
    The Sixth? Tale of the Increasingly Heretical Arpads YOU. You're not with them, are you? Are you? I don't believe you. "I'm not with them." That's exactly what they'd say. They're everywhere, you know. They offed my dad, too. 'Didn't you see him throw himself off the castle', you say? Oh, that's exactly what they'd say. They're out to get me. I know it. My wife just can't conceive. "It must just be bad luck, dear," she says. Horseradish. There's no such thing as luck. Everything is engineered by them. I sometimes hear eery sounds at night in the castle, on rainy nights. People call me it's "thunder", but I know better. It's invisible waves in the air, turning people's genitals into frogs. They are trying to end the Arpad line. My advisors gently try to point out that perhaps the real reason is that my brilliant wife is also a raving lunatic. I have my advisors killed. "We demand our independence as ethnically and culturally distinct Galician-Volhynians", they say. Pumpernickel. There's no such thing as Galicia-Volhynia. The flags they wave, they're false. Yet I have no choice but to accept. Beset by endless foes, I turn to God for deliverance. A man named Nicolaus says he has all the answers. He tells me that everything is the fault of the god damned heathens, and if only we kick them out of our lands, all shall be well. It's so obvious to me now. My bedside troubles were just manifestations of the illegal infidels preying on my dong. Yes, Nicolaus! I accept the Crusade. Take my money, take all my money, and wage war on the infidel lands of... "Pomerania". I take a pilgrimage to prepare myself for the Holy War, or as Nicolaus calls it, the "boogie loo". But on the way, I contract some kind of horrible illness, no doubt a gift from them. The symptoms are distressing: a giant pimple now protrudes from my forehead. It might be infidel cancer. I contracted a foreign physician, but she turned out to be one of them. I knew it. Those god damned foreigners. I would never have hired her, except the only skilled physicians were all foreigners. I'm sure that was a coincidence. From a distance, I hear tales that the Crusade went ahead without me. We received some compensation, but I feel empty inside. Was I right to listen to Nicolaus? Was I just being played for some other fat fuck to grab himself a Kingdom? Is God really with this channel? No, no. Even Nicolaus must be with them, I realise. They are all with them. They are all them. Them they them. There is only one answer. If the Church too is corrupt, I must build my own Church. My advisors have sent me a nice little catalogue: "Your First Religion: All the Mortgage and Financing Options". Ooh, astrology, that sounds fun. Carnal Exaltation also sounds great. It's very expensive, but you know what they say - buy it for life. Finally, my new religion will feature a professional class of nerds tasked to argue about the different interpretations of each message from an anonymous prophet that goes by a single letter of the alphabet. Nothing can go wrong. If your wife won't conceive, then you, too, can just create your own religion with a concubine orthodoxy! Let no one say that we are not an inclusive religion. We hate heretics, infidels, the gays, women, and Catholics, but otherwise, everyone is welcome. But what shall be the name and symbol for our new, totally genuine Christian sect? Sounds right. My vassals quickly join me in Hippocampic Salvation. A few resist, but they eventually convert. Or I assume they do, just before the beheading. Being the leader of a new religious sect has given me so much freedom and confidence. I gaze out onto the stars for meaning, confident that they no longer control my destiny. Every week, I summon one of my vassals to my court. There, standing on my custom-made podium designed to make me look tall, I DEBATE my vassals civilly on the finer points of why they are despicable and I am the defender of the faith. Oh, they give it a good go, but eventually, I DESTROY them, and put up an artist's rendering in the public square for all to see. Every week. The Hippocampic faith has also galvanised my dormant Arpad predilection for conquest, admittedly dormant as my dad and granddad spent 30 years fucking and murdering each. The Crotchs, who once briefly usurped the Hungarian throne, shall finally have their just desserts. All this flurry of activity is starting to get to me. But I can hold it together. I must. Every night, I continue to write for hours about their demonic plot to take over Hungarian society. It is my duty, and I shall persevere. What's that, you say? We've captured the Crotch Queen? Bring her to my chambers. She will have lost Crotch, but will gain another as my concubine. All this concubining has finally given me a son and heir, Szil. His mother is some harlot from god knows where, but it matters not. You, sonny, will make Carpathia Great Again. More vassals join the one true Hippocampus. But strangely, all this success only seems to bring more worries. I cannot stop thinking about them. They are still out to get me. They are, they are. This pickled head shall protect my feet from their machinations. No longer will they use toe worms to infiltrate my brain. I'll call this head "John". The Hippocampic Faith spreads quickly across the Empire, like some kind of cross-continental oil spill. The war for my soul continues. I continue to write the Hippocampic Manifesto each day, writing the holy words that shall hold our faith for a Thousand Years of Glory. Bring me more corpses, more ink! More! I take to burning large chunks of my enemies as midnight oil. In their fleshly purgatory shall I perceive the divine. Thick in the fumes, I am safe from them. Surrounded by my pickled John, my corpse ink, my many pages of divine scripture, I am... Dead? Of natural causes? No, no, no, no. Maybe it was my all-meat diet.
  14. 1 point
    you go on holy adventures while the vile czechs munch on the potatoes of your birthright?! shameful
  15. 1 point
    WHY IS THIS FORUM STILL HAVING AN UPLOAD QUOTA AND WHO DO I SOGGYZA IN ORDER TO FIX THIS TRAVESTY Now I must use a POST IMA GEE \ Salmon the Previously King, now mere Count, is ripe for smokin' Or they would be, if not for... over eight thousand allied troops? Oh. Apparently they are allied with every other Holy Roman Member. Okay, okay. Surely we can pick on Kalman, Son of the Totally Accidentally Defeated Soggyza instead. Our scouts assure us that this time, their military strength is INFERIOR. Wait, what the hell is this WHY DID I MAKE YOU KING IF YOU WON'T HELP ME, YOUR LOYAL VASSAL, GO KILL YOUR OTHER LOYAL VASSAL OK. OK. We just need a new sugar daddy. Fuck Laszlo. Thankfully, we have yet one untapped resource in our Duchy: my virginity. Seriously, it's the last thing that hasn't been tapped by anybody. Now we'll offer it to... *checks* the Duke of Swabia's daughter, who is six. I'm sure it'll work out. Unnnnnng. Didn't our scouts tell us that their forces were inferior? Well, thanks to them, we're suffering from an unprecedented apple shortage. Kids are murdering their own parents, Walmarts are being looted. It's madness. Laszlo Bro, you're really getting me down. What do you mean, I never turned up for work, I totally deserve that taxpayer salary This is not good. Even the help of the Swabs could not prevent me from being swatted like a fly. Utter humiliation. We'll remember this, Kalman, Son of the Not-Suspiciously Dead Soggyza. You are going down. Meanwhile, Laszlo bro thinks he can just declare war on Poland. The place is full of potatoes and stolen bridges, man. This isn't worth your time. Or so I'd tell him if I wasn't burning with vengeful hatred from my recent firing. Oh, hello! Laszlo, my man, my soulmate, the apple of my bosom. Of course I'll be your Marshal, a position that has apparently opened up just as your last Marshal went to war against the Polish. I'll take it because I'm just going to stay home in dear old Hungary, and beat the shit out of Salmon Man now that his allies are busy. I mean, this is what law enforcement does, right, beat the shit out of people in their own countries Oh, Salmon, look how you've grown. You've really got that lumberjack look going. That's good, because now you're being reassigned to full-time lumberjack for the rest of your fucking life Wait, what? You defeated the cornslaws? Holy shit. Laszlo Bro ain't just King now, he's King^2. I'm so glad he's doing all this for me when I inevitably take the throne. This guy really needs to make up his mind. Look, all I did was kill a few salmon sympathisers, I thought you'd stick by me on that. By the way, this poor fellow is Cornslaw, the Ex-King of Potatoland. He gets to stay Duke for now, but it's widely understood that his Boles are in rough shape and he may not be around much longer. Well, never mind all that complicated foreign policy. Here at Ungvar, we focus on internal affairs. The internal affairs of our delicious neighbouring duchies, that is. Maria, one of our eight hundred Arpad Sisters, seems to think she has a claim on Soggyzaland. Good brothers look out for their sisters by beating the shit out of their nephews and taking everything they own, that's all I'm saying. Guys, guys. You told me that their forces were INFERIOR to ours. What do you mean, you can't count that high? Let me remind you that this is the SECOND time you guys have fucked this up. What do you mean, you can't count that high? By the way, I got married. That Swabian chick's grown out, and boy, doesn't she sport some bulging intrigue. No, really. Really good intrigue scores. She will prove an able partner for my male genius. By which I mean, historically speaking, that she will do all the work and I will get all the credit.
  16. 1 point
    Hey Salmon boy, looks like you've been downgraded to a small, eminently conquerable county that happens to be right next to my DUCHY What a coincidence, eh? Oh don't mind my bishop there, interviewing your peasants about the ancient relics of Lamp Arpardom found in a shallow grave nearby, they're just conducting some purely theoretical research I shall need every hand I can get my hands on to pull off my daring moves. Tibor here is my right hand now. He does everything my right hand used to do. Everything. My bro is now King, kinged by my hand. Not Tibor, my more metaphorical hands. Look at him, trying to fob us off with a Chancellor. I don't know what Chancellor is, bro, but I'm not having it. Instead, I demand that you come into an ALLIANCE with me in return for my earlier favour. Or "Hook", as the kids say on Tick Tork these days. Why should a King ally his own Duke, you say? Is that even legal, you say? Listen, I It is now time. Soggyza, you look so smug, with that little fake crown, now that you're first in line to the throne But the algorithms tell me that I have a whopping 27% chance of success, this is happening for sure, right? Oh. Our theoretical research into our ownership of Salmondom is complete, but the research expenses have put the entire Duchy in debt. I am told that they spent too much money publishing their findings in a book that nobody bought. Sensing that the great Lamp cannot be defeated, Soggyza comes groveling to us with an offer of an alliance. But it is too late. The great wheels of fate are already in motion, like a bus that started leaving just as you ran up to its rear end and it could actually totally stop and let you on but you just know that motherfucker is going to drive off And drive off we do. Into a peasant orgy! A communal sex party gone wrong is the perfect cover for the violent murder of a Duke, who just happens to be in the vicinity. Wait, really? 27%? He's dead? He's dead! Soggyza has been beaten to death by crazed sex maniacs! A death truly befitting an Arpad. Soggyza's realm is now run by his young son, a four-year-old hunchback. Reports say that he is basically a living ball, at this point. Everything is ready. The realm is primed for my legendary conquests. I just, uh, need to pay the bills, you know? I'll pay you back. I'll pay you all back. You just wait and see.
  17. 0 points
    YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO SAVE US
  18. 0 points
    lmao @ people stupid enough to actually put spurs on their teams
  19. 0 points
    I HAVE THREE ARSENAL PLAYERS I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW
  20. 0 points
    ah, finally the season we all beat lief at fantasy foot
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