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Allo, salut
sunt eu un haiduc
ci te rog, eubirea mei
primesta, fericirea

A floating island covered in trees

Raspberry Jam

to tell me

A form of calamity is the amount of hours in a day you have to finish the things you need to do.

Boisonberry

Week-old flowers.

[Ikou Wins!]

The Imperial Academy's floating islands were high enough from the surface of the Empire that seasons were a strange thing to witness. The heat of summer was dulled, with the season only being marked by the penetrating brightness of the sun. The claws of winter's chill didn't seem to affect them on the island, though the cloud cover beneath the islands seemed infinite and impenetrable. Spring was marked by the blooming of the abundant flowers across the campus, and autumn could be most noted by the leaves changing colour.

It was in this watercolour of striking reds and bright yellows that Ikou found themself sitting quietly on a wooden bench in the shape of an open book, reading one of their school texts. Some of the other students said they couldn't read outside, but Professor Raliph had been very clear that students could read wherever they wanted on campus, as long as the books wouldn't get hurt by the weather, and that was good enough for Ikou. Their small boots kicked happily as they dangled over the edge of the bench.

P̸̹͇̦͆͗s̶̞̾̔ṡ̸̻t̷̛̬̥͛̈́,̸̢͇̍́̎ ̶͖̇h̴̡͎̮̽̾͗e̴̮͋̀y̴̞͕̣͐̓ ̸͔̃k̴̮̞̲͂i̶͖̓d̷̞̗͎̀̌̑.̵̝̄̈

They looked up, eyes wide. "Hi?"

Ç̵̾o̴͓͂ṁ̸͇e̴̹͛ ̶͎͛ḥ̶͘é̷͉r̵͈͝e̸̟̔.̶̩̀

The voice was coming from behind the greenhouse, a place where the cute bunny boy and the other plant mages spent most of their days studying. Ikou was sometimes a little jealous of that; they wanted to make big cool fireballs, but they came from a place that was dry and hot, the ground covered with a fine layer of ash. Being among all these plants was so cool! They just wanted to be outside forever here. But fireballs came first.

Ikou closed the book and sat it tenderly on the bench to save their spot. Other students didn't come this far out very often, but it was still their spot and they wanted to make sure nobody else took it. Grabbing their staff from next to the bench, the kobold turned and bravely(!) made their way behind the greenhouse, into the thick shrubbery that ringed the building. "Hello strange voice person."

What they found shocked and confused them. It was a floating shopping list! Worse yet, it was full of all the things they didn't want to eat! There was bacon and eggs and milk and cheese and bread - actually bread was pretty okay, they liked bread. What could this mean? "Hi shopping list, I'm Ikou. Did you need me to get something for you?"

I̴ ̴n̴e̷e̸d̸ ̶y̸o̵u̴...̷ ̶t̷o̶ ̷d̶i̸e̴!̶

Ikou jumped back, pulling their staff in front of them and beginning to focus on a fireball spell. They weren't very good at these, but they'd learned a lot! The shopping list disappeared, revealing the very old skeleton of a fish man. Spiderwebs had gathered all over his body, which was a bit strange, since there weren't any spiders on the islands. The most interesting thing about the skeleton was that it wore a striking red, white, and blue hat with a big "#1" emblazoned across the front. Rings on either side of the hat held decrepit, ancient metal cylinders, no doubt full of some nefarious alchemical reagent. But the skeleton didn't move. It wasn't like the fantasy stories Ikou had grown up reading, where the skeletons would come to life and fight with big swords in an epic fight against the backdrop of the setting sun... or a forest fire sometimes. Or in a lightning storm! That would be really cool, oh goodness.

But this was just a skeleton. And nothing was happening. After a few moments of waiting, Ikou lowered the staff, walked to the skeleton, and took the hat off of it. Everything seemed to be pretty much in order, nothing really out of the ordinary. Well, except for the fact that there was a body in the first place. What had the voice been? Was it the hat? Another student pranking them? It was hard to tell. Either way, they'd make sure to tell an administrator about a whole skeleton behind the greenhouse. That probably wasn't very sanitary. The hat would be theirs though.

Ikou blinked, then licked their eye, and walked back to study their book.

Ikou Wins!

[Results]

        Results

Iris                          █ █    1

The Local Library ✔        █ █ █ █ █ █ 3

       

The streets of Coxarif were actually quite pretty now that she'd been able to spend some time here, Iris thought to herself. She'd only intended to be in the city for a few days, but it felt rather like she'd lived here for most of a year at this point. She was rushing through a park, panting under her breath, circling around the city centre on her way to the public library. It had crossed her mind in the past how nice the mages of the Inverted Spire must be to fund this place, keep it running entirely without cost to the readers. Everyone seemed to be so afraid of the Spire, but at the end of the day, they were good-hearted people with the best interests of everyone at heart! The library loomed in front of her. Its white stone columns stood like the bars of a prison, or teeth. She wasn't sure why she was thinking of this place in exclusively ominous tones, but that was probably alright, the anxiety of running to a place might just have been getting to her. The stone stairs up to the front door were old and worn, but had never looked more inviting. Some of her fears melted away as she opened the old oak door and entered a warm, wholesome space. The people in the library were always friendly and professional. Children sat on bean bag chairs in the corner reading books about knights rescuing damsels from dragons, while their mothers sat in comfy wooden chairs, reading books about sexy knights rescuing damsels from sexy dragons. The mages stood chatting quietly behind the checkout stand, drinking tea from cute ceramic cups featuring designs of books. Iris approached the front desk and straightened her little messenger bag across her shoulder. "Hello," she said to the silver-haired elven mage, "I was hoping to check out a book on healing magic... if that isn't too much trouble." The elf, a wispy androgynous figure who seemed to be a mid-level member of the Inverted Spire, opened a large tome on the front desk and smiled to her, blue eyes bright and helpful. "I'd be happy to help, ma'am. Have you been to the Spire Public Library before?" "Oh yes, many times," Iris could barely contain her excitement, or her love for this place. "I try to come here every week if I can. My name is Iris." "Iris, I'm so pleased you like the library. Let me just look up the record of the things you've checked out in the past so I can point you toward something new..." they opened another, smaller book and flipped through names before settling on a page. "Hm hm, oh dear, I'm afraid you have a book that's quite overdue." They looked up and made eye contact with Iris, a sudden dangerous gleam in their eye. "Do you have your copy of One Night in Port Erin?" No wonder she had been feeling such anxiety! Iris hadn't even realised she had been missing a book. When had she checked this book out?! "Oh my goodness, I don't! I- I'm not even sure I have that book." "How tragic," said the librarian, closing the book and shaking their head. Disappointment, oh no! How would she ever cope? "The book was checked out on March 20th, and was due back on the 27th. That means it's nearly six months late. If you return the book now, the late fees are going to be... at least 30 cilea. You can also buy out the book for 45 cilea, but that's up to you." Iris stared like a deer in the headlights, not that headlights were a known reference in this world, and with complete disregard as to whether this phrase was insensitive to a person with antlers. "I... don't have any money."

The Local Library wins.

I hereby officially request this proposal be moved to a vote.

[RRS 9]

Calling for Recall

At major update on August 31, 2021, the nation of Laisou CTE'd. Laisou was Councillor of the Interior for Refugia at the time of his CTE, having been elected on June 28, 2021. Given his 28-day period of inactivity leading up to the CTE, as well as his disappearance from the chat, I am hereby invoking RRS 9 to call for a recall vote due to neglect.

List of Grievances:

• CTE'd on August 31, losing Member State status.
• Has posted only three times on the RMB since his election, last on July 16.
• Last posted in the Calamity Refuge Discord server June 28, the day of his election.

Authored by: Sylh Alanor
Seconded by: Lethodus

To push a recall election, I am calling for another Member State to second this proposal. Also feel free to give any feedback in this thread regarding a way to make this better if necessary.

[Results]

        Results

✔ Orkz Orkz Orkz Orkz █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █    8

Mike Ehrmantraut         0

       

Mike Ehrmantraut stood in the living room of his organisation's most talented meth cook, Walter White. He held a handgun in his hand, a revolver, staring down another old man haunted by his past, by his failures. He had just been giving Walter one of those speeches he always did, the kind where he related a story from his many centuries of life to the current predicament. Really what he wanted to do was get home and eat a pimento and cheese sandwich, maybe think about calling his daughter and then not doing it. You know, normal sad old man who's made a lot of mistakes in his life stuff. There had been distant thunder outside, every few seconds for the last several minutes. It had been months since the last time they'd gotten rain in Albuquerque, but when he'd been watching his sports updates on the news that morning, the weather on the 8's had given a 10% chance of rain that evening. Mike sighed, a big, full-bodied action, and gave a look to Walter. "Do you understand, shithead?" "I do," Walter's face was extremely still and grim, sort of a standby for the man at this point. He didn't seem to have a lot of range as a character. "Aright," Mike holstered the gun and walked to the door. "Don't let me see you do it again," he said over his shoulder. He expected to see rain, or maybe just distant lightning when he opened the door, but instead Mike saw a hulking behemoth crossing the yard. At least nine feet tall, the green-skinned beast was dressed in leather and metal armour, a chequered sheet draped over one shoulder and a wicked axe held in one hand. Their jaw was offset with the presence of giant tusks and a line of drool dripped down from one side. In the middle distance, Mike could see red planes pouring smoke from the back firing machine guns onto the suburban housing of the neighbourhood. More creatures were propelled through the air on the backs of rockets, screaming and laughing as they fell back to earth. Even further away, Mike saw sihlouetted against the light pollution of the city gargantuan lizards with fortresses built on their backs stomping through downtown. "WAH HA HA, WOT 'AVE WE 'ERE?" shouted the ork, brandishing a jagged metallic gun of some sort upon noticing Mike. "PUNY, SMOL!" The ork levelled the gun at Mike, who slammed the door and dodged to the side, back in Walter's living room. A loud BANG preceded a dozen holes appearing in the door, ripping it off the top hinge, leaving it to hang at an awkward angle in its frame. Hobbling to the window, Mike aimed and took a shot at the ork. The bullet clanged ineffectually off the armour, and the ork let out a loud laugh. "ME AN' DA BOYZ COME TO YOUR WORLD ON WAAGH, LIL ONE. WE 'ERE WIF DA SHOOTAZ AND DA SLUGGAZ AND DA ARDBOYZ." He punctuated each group of his compatriots with another shot, leaving a series of holes in the wall. Mike took a breath. What was he going to do? He realised in that moment, as he caught the glint of another ork's armour in the window next to him, and yet another in the far window, that he had gotten through all of these fights and killed all these people in his past because they were idiots. He remembered that guy who ran down a hallway, completely blind, screaming and shooting straight forward. Or the other one that waited for him to raise the gun to exactly the right height. Shit, he thought, he hadn't fought a capable person in his entire goddamned life. "waaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" came the first distant, but quickly closer and closer scream of an entire population of orks. Mike only had just enough time to turn his gaze, to see a meteor coming directly for the house. The Ardboy had cleared out, but Mike had nowhere to go as the rok smashed directly into that little house in that little suburb in the middle of Albuquerque. Another smear on the face of history, in the unending inevitability of the Waagh.

ORKZ! ORKZ! ORKZ! ORKZ!
Flawless Victory

[Results]

        Results

Cristiano Ronaldo          █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █    4

Male Pattern Baldness ✔        █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ 6

       

"Father, why do you look different than you did in this picture?" It was an innocent question asked by Cristiano Jr, Cristiano Ronaldo dos Santos Aveiro's 11-year-old son. Most questions asked by children are innocent. Cristiano -the greatest man to ever live- thought back on his many years as a professional footballer, and all the biting but innocent questions he had been asked by children. Usually he hadn't listened, because why would he care what a peasant asks him? But he assumed they were innocent. God, he was great. Possibly the greatest person to ever live. He'd been at the top of his game for a very long time, and had a beautiful house, a beautiful family, a knighthood. He walked away from this strange child and went to the washroom to admire himself in the mirror. Ah yes, there he was, Face full of face, muscles full of footballs, a full head of teeth and a full head of... wait. From the corner of his eye, Cristiano -the greatest man to ever live- noticed his €3000 hairbrush, made of pure pink himalayan black marble, harvested by the most able-bodied child workers, with nothing but the finest prehistoric boar bristles, harvested from a now-extinct species found in the gradually-thawing permafrost. It was hand-crafted by Mason Pearson in London, each of their annually-produced three brushes worked on by its own pensioner attempting to supplement their meagre income so that they could afford heating for the winter time. He loved that brush, it smelled like success. On it today, however, were six strands of his famous, insured hair. That couldn't be right, usually there were only two strands. What could be the cause of this? Cristiano -the greatest man to ever live- looked into the mirror once more. He smiled at the sight of his favourite thing in the world- himself. But there was no mistaking it. His hairline had dipped back at the sides, just a bit. He felt a cold sensation deep in his soul, the first fear to grip him in decades. Was this where it all ended? Was it finally over? Had the slow, relentless march of time finally come knocking at his, Cristiano Ronaldo -the greatest man to ever live-'s door? He sat on his golden chair, encrusted with diamonds, and clutched a blanket around his shoulders, a Portuguese flag with his face emblazoned across it. It was all over, what was even the point anymore? His body was failing, here in this prison made of pure money.

Male Pattern Baldness wins.

[Results]

        Results

Agent 47         0

Waluigi ✔        █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ 5

"Your mission, 47, is to track down Waluigi Wario, a local crime boss and general ne'er-do-well. He's known for his wild antics, and may be in the employ of his brother Wario Wario. Our informant places Waluigi on the tennis courts in the centre of the Super Wario Brothers compound. His dinner is currently being prepared in the kitchens, and he is expected to go kart racing afterward. Good luck." 47 walked into the kitchen, dressed as a line chef. The disguise would only be good to this point, as the rest of the chefs would no doubt know their normal staff and clock him on the spot. He ducked behind a counter and waited. The head chef had been preparing a koopa steak with roasted mushrooms, but was distracted by a can of expired spaghetti sauce bursting against the far wall of the kitchen. By the time he returned to the dish, it had been immaculately plated and garnished for him. 47 stood in the shadows of the dining room as Waluigi entered. He was taller than he'd imagined, with extremely long legs, a penchant for the colour purple, and a wiry moustache. His hat prominently featured an upside-down 'L' as he sat at the table, laughing nasally with a man accompanying him, dressed in a green jumpsuit and wearing 3D glasses. Once he'd taken his seat, 47 emerged and approached the table, a towel over one arm and the covered dish balanced on his right hand. He sat it on the table. "Your dinner, Mr. Wario," he took the cover off, "a roasted and pan-seared, free-range koopa steak with a side of wild mushrooms and onion sprigs." "Waa ha ha," came the response, "waat is this seasoning? I've-a never smelled such a thing before!" 47 stood straight, his hand finding the grip of the handgun he'd stuffed in the back of his waistband. "The finest saffron, stolen from the exploited indigenous people of Dry Dry Desert. Moustafa sent them with his regards." Waluigi's eyes narrowed, and he stood up quickly. "18-Volt, Jimmy T., Dribble, Spitz, Master Mantis, Kat, Ana, Orbulon! We-a have an intruder!" "What gave it away?" asked 47, pulling the gun and aiming it at Waluigi's face. "Moustafa hates me ever since I beat him at mouseketball! He would never give me a gift!" Waluigi knocked the assassin's hand aside, causing the shot to go astray. An afro-wearing disco dancer agilely dodged it. Two young girls in ninja garb, an alien, an old wise man, and some furries entered the room, each brandishing their own weapons. 47 realised too late his mistake. He was in the middle of an established compound with cartoon-level weirdness in its fighters, and he was just an unreasonably-competent human being. He spent the next several minutes trying to fight, but was out-danced, out-martial-art'd, out-painted, and was unable to water plants in two seconds on a badly-calibrated touchpad. Thoroughly defeated, 47 was carried to the medical wing, fading out to the nasal victory call "Waluigi numbah one!"

Waluigi wins.

[Results]

        Results

Film Noir          █ █ █ █    2

Keanu Reeves ✔        █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ █ 5

       

Los Angeles, the city of angels. Those long, dry summers have a way of sucking up all the gunk on the street and ferrying it into the worst places. I was sitting on a park bench when it happened, as lost in my thoughts as I was in the sandwich I'd halfway finished. My name? Reeves. Keanu Reeves. I'm an actor. There are three things I knew in that moment: my life was in danger, I had to find the source of this stylised inner monologue, and kung fu. My hair fell in my face, as black as the heart of this city, and I began running. For what? I didn't know. I looked around for the nearest phone booth. I had to make a call, collect. Phone booths had played a large role in my life, nearly as influential as the number of roles I'd played in my life. I saw one in the distance, just as I felt it. They were watching me, a thousand eyes staring like stars in the night, burning a hole in me. I picked up the phone, yelled into it. That dame was always watching over me, I just hoped she was ready to pull me out in time. Suddenly, I felt it. Whoa. My reliance on a woman to save my life broke the genre I'd been trapped within. The power of overcoming this challenge swelled inside me. I remembered all those people who had been asking me if I was back. Yeah, I thought, I'm thinking I'm back. Keanu Reeves wins.

[- Operations Overhaul, Exemption Embellishments -]

RRS Double Feature: Operations Overhaul, Exemption Embellishment

PREAMBLE. This document proposes restrictions of the Operations Councillor's power to tamper with Member State status, while also patching an oversight in RRS 4.

In the Regional interest of adapting to heretofore-unforeseen circumstances, the RRS shall be amended to include the following:

- Operations Overhaul, Exemption Embellishments -

4. Residents may apply for Member State status in conditions where admission to the World Assembly is declined, rejected, or impossible.

• Residents applying for a World Assembly Exemption must have resided within the Region for a period of time not less than fourteen days and receive the unanimous approval from the Regional Council to provide the exemption.
• In the event that an exempted Member State accrues influence in another region, requests their status be revoked, or is ejected from the region, the Member State's exemption status is revoked. The Member State can apply to have this status reinstated, following the same protocol as laid out in RRS 4(a).
• If a Member State's ban or ejection is overturned by the Council, their exemption status will be automatically reinstated upon their return to the Region.

6(d) The Operations Councillor, whose responsibilities are defined as identifying internal and external threats to the Region, possessing a general knowledge of worldwide events and invasion patterns.

This Councillor shall:

• Organise and lead the Regional response effort to worldwide crises.
• Organise and lead the response to threats targetting the Region and within the Region.
• Carry the ability to eject and bar nations from the Region.
• Only eject and bar nations from the Region in the interests of community moderation and/or regional security.
• Report the grounds and reasoning on which a nation was ejected or barred from the Region.

Authored by: Sylh Alanor
Seconded by: Refuge Isle

[Keanu Reeves wins.]

His mama had told him when he was young that the rain was when angels were crying. Something sad must have happened in heaven, because it hadn't stopped raining for days. His name was Bullet. Tracer Bullet. He was a private investigator, ten years retired from the LAPD. A shadow fell across his door, darkening his mood. He took a drink from the glass of scotch on his desk and waited for the knock. It didn't come.

Suddenly, the door kicked in like the beat dropping in one of those songs the kids listened to nowadays. A man walked in, his face framed by hair as black as the suit he wore. If looks could kill, the one he was giving Tracer would have put him six feet under. Tracer stood up, said something about minding your manners. The shadow at the door moved across the room in a blur, brandishing a pencil. Tracer asked his name as he blocked the first punch. Keanu, came the answer. The One and only Keanu Reeves, and he was here to collect. Tracer reached for the revolver under his desk, pulled it and fired at Reeves, only for the bullets to stop in mid-air. As they fell to the ground, he was shown why they called Keanu Reeves Baba Yaga.

As his lights were knocked out, Tracer laid on the floor. Reeves stood over him, pulling a beretta from a holster inside his impeccably-fitted jacket. He apologised, said the game had been rigged from the start. Whoa, Keanu Reeves wins.

Once upon a star supernova, twenty six legendary cards descended from our tall card tower. Hooray!

Our newfound love Testlandia, wore splendid magenta fursuit, specifically commissioned to contain BEES! It buzzed through rainbow, over walls yonder, and into the sky. At midnight, Gerald Ford erupted from his volcanic lair, overflowing with meritorious service. Both chambers reloaded their legislative shotguns while removing glistering shirts, heated by lava undershirts. Ford devoured the 535 imperial guards, while copper prices skyrocketed, and legislation stalled.

Meanwhile, the legendary crocodile, Crocodile Irwin, initiated CPR for the legislature of New Hartoria. Mercifully, HS wrote textwalls

98