The LPA
Experienced Novice
?Political power grows out of the barrel of a gun.?
Posts: 142
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Post by The LPA on May 23, 2009 17:55:13 GMT -5
In the heart of the new territories conquered in the recent wave of fighting, in a elegant hotel standing above the Finical district is Commitsar Reynard and his advisers and council, sitting comfortably with the spoils of their war while sipping fine cognac as the streets below burn with revolution. The building is already strung with banners of the party and the flag-pole atop the roof dons the beating crest of the CWP.
The sounds of war, the songs of the revolution emanating through the streets and in through the windows of the penthouse and cause Reynard to rise from his comfy chair and walk to the balcony, with drink in hand.
"Hear that, my friends! Sounds of angry people, my people, singing for their freedom from the fat ones above. The blood of the red tide flows through the streets, choking out all the bourgeoisie dogs and in their place, the flag of the CWP has arisen!" Reynard starts up a laugh. "To you my people!" He raises his drink to the battles in the sky. "Die for your party!" He downs the brown liquid then flings the glass over the balcony. "Die my martyrs, die."
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