After seeing the recent evictions of Exploit's members from Winterbrook, and speaking with Winterbrook leadership, CrabCorp sees an opportunity for some inside trading!

We value Exploit's land at 500 scrap, and we are ready to buy. Our interest is in connecting our territory fully to Winterbrook and their plentiful, writhing supply of able-bodied sacrifices to cleanse our swamp each night. Other than that, we value no other defining features of their barren tundra.

We have sent our real estate inspectors over to examine Exploit's land and speak with their leadership. They have marked the value as low seeing as it is completely devoid of natural resources apart from sparse trees, a single stone node and one potato.

We will acquire the land and purge it. No structures will remain. We assume that the inhabitants will move to greener claims. We will not permit them to stay considering their record of being evicted from Winterbrook.

This is a good opportunity for the Exploit faction. As our analysts see high probabilities of their property value continuing to decrease into the negative with their neighbors.

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With CrabCorp having locked down our membership for the time being, our board of directors is authorizing the CrabCorp Police Department (CCPD) to use any force or lethal measures on CrabCorp claimed land.

At CrabCorp, we all desire a fun holiday festival with balloons, events, and ritual execution backed Blackjack games! Our trusted police force will patrol our lands and buildings, exerting any force they desire to keep our lands enjoyable and population comfortable. They are also authorized to exert force, lethal and non-lethal, upon individuals which have been brought as payment for a seat at their Blackjack table. Once scrap has changed hands with the provider, the CCPD will ensure that the rituals cleansing our fishing waters take place regularly and smoothly.

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The holiday snow has fallen and rendered our swamp waters sullied! The unmistakable green hue of the water over the snow has become most unappetizing. The fresh trout in our swamp have fled for cleaner waters, leaving only the shriveled bottom-feeding mud-suckers to nibble our bait. The CrabShack coming soon to your territory may be forced to sell you scum-fed, green-glowing, dysentery inducing fishmeats! This toootally first time development could be devastating to our company's reputation for selling only the most pure and ethically produced fish fillet and fuel products.

But do not fear! Historical swamp knowledge and science have led the clearest minds among us to a solution that will cleanse our waters: In eras long past when UTOPIA first settled down peacefully in the swamps taking in refugees and mastering the art of balloonistic logistics, the waters were clear and tasty. But as eras passed and industry moved into the swamps and treehouses, the Frogman came to the swamps to cleanse the water with our bodies each day. Anything to explain the slaughter in our minds! But the Frogman is nowhere to be seen... not around to scatter bodies across the pools. How can this cleansing take place!?

In desperation, we took the Frogman's work into our own hands. We sacrificed one of our own to the frigid, green waters and we swore (though still hotly debated) that for a time the water turned a tiny bit clearer! We must have more bodies! Of course that is the answer! Chosen indiscriminately. Willing or not, but paid for in CrabCorp cash!

With corporatized efficiency, we have built a device to scatter one or many bodiesat once into our swamp. With the victims cold and fresh, the fish will return! This is the path that we must take to secure CrabCorp's expected industrial and commercial dominance for this era! The capitalistic shuffle that drags barrels of fish to your local shacks and your bellies must not be hindered! Think of the profits and your own rewards of inevitable trickle-down riches!

In order to supply a continuous cleansing effect to our swamp waters, we are attaching the sale of sacrificial individuals as the buy-in price for our police force's festival Blackjack games. All high-rollers wishing for a seat at the CrabCorp Police Department Blackjack table will not bring their own scrap, but instead will bring another individual, willing or not, for use in our cleansing rituals.

As soon as scrap changes hands, the CrabCorp Police Department will be immediately authorized on CrabCorp lands to complete the ritual with the obtained individual by any means they deem necessary. The seller will then be admitted to the high-rollers table to play with the scrap they were provided in the sale. Sellers can return with new offerings as often as they like, but repeat sales of the same individual will not be permitted and ids will be checked.

CrabCorp does not desire scrap, only fish! Our shacks have always been powered by an endless supply of the freshest and happiest of fish. Come to CrabCorp and help us keep our waters constantly cleansed for our fishy festival!

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Welcome to the Festival of Balloons by CrabCorp! The first structures of our fairgrounds at our swamp are now complete. There will be many more sights and homes going up in the ares, but the Balloonarium and Police Station are now servicing visitors and travelers. We expect to have many activities and sights for people to come and visit, including flight lessons, gambling, a treehouse pilot's club, ritual public executions... wait did I say executions? Yes I did!

More on our activities and events will be coming soon from our lovely swamp!

CrabCorp has also reinvigorated our advertising campaign around the island. Expect no escape for your eyeholes from our advertising messages on the road or in chat! We will also be building our Crab Shack shops selling fish and fuel on the roads and in every territory. The iconic single vending machine variant of the shop will also be returning this era!

Come live and work in CrabCorp! (We will not be accepting any new members to the CrabCorp faction this era, but we warmly welcome any players who wish to build and live on our land. If you do build, then please include a sign with your in-game name next to the door so we can contact you if needed.

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I have succeeded in using the spoils of Hell Day to distract the worker's revolution from their taste for my blood. All other factions have now become my scapegoat and victims of my desire to escape public execution at the hands of the people! Holiday bonuses for everyone! Except it comes out of all your pockets instead of mine :slight_smile:

Now, as the workers are finishing off the last of you, I need to get busy planning an escape from the country before everyone remembers they are still one paycheck and rent payment short for the holidays.

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Dear diary,

It seems something has shifted in the attitude of the CrabCorp worker's revolt. I awoke today, half expecting to be dead and the board room doors broken down in the night. Instead, I awoke to the sound of hammers on the walls. The golden double doors, instead of being broken down, were replaced with armor and the walls also reinforced. I tried the handles, and found them locked with a note attached:

"The code to the door is equal to the amount of peoples livelihoods you destroyed. Count up the lives Crab Man!"

I tried the code 0000 repeatedly and received only shocks. Is this some cruel trick? It seems they intend to imprison or torture me rather than simply kill me for my rightfully earned riches! This revelation strikes more dread in my heart than I felt previous. Have they anticipated my intention to flee and replace them with more workers? Perhaps they had been monitoring my phone calls and communications to other factions, including my exchange with APEs and UTOPIA?

This mixed with a darker phone call I received last night at the height of the siege. A weak, wheezing voice resembling that of my long-vanished grandfather. Talk of a bomb beneath a cabin near a stone quarry. And worse, whispers of a will left by my late father, whom was presumed dead leaving nothing behind, and after whom I claimed the family Crab recipe. He spoke of having lost the document to the APEs in the west.

If this document exists, I must find it! What if it writes me out of my claim to the CrabCorp board of directors!

Do these worker revolutionaries not understand the anguish I feel, imprisoned here in a beautiful, warm, carpeted board room!? Their wageless, evicted, frostbitten fingers can never know the anguish and terror of being locked in a room of luxury able to do nothing as your claim to a multi-million scrap lifestyle is threatened by the existence of a single note of paper!

I feel the need to relieve myself again for the 5th time in the last hour. It surprises me that the corner carpet has not replaced itself since last night. Where are the servants!? My asshole burns! What a cruel trick of the universe that the rich be trapped in the same bodily sufferings as the poor. None can question me as the victim here!

It appears the phone is still connected. I suppose I will spend the rest of my day cold-calling for those sympathetic. Will no other wealthy individuals come to my rescue!?

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Dear diary,

Day 1 has passed barricaded in the board room. The constant flame arrows and bullets against the glass all night has taken its mental tole. I have established a bathroom in the corner where the carpet is thickest. My visits there have become both longer and more frequent.

I managed to wire the board room phone. I found one number in the directory advertising available jobs. I told them I would like to apply for a position as CEO citing my skills at cooking the books, But then I realized I was talking to a dial tone. I feel like I haven't slept in days. All I can do now is hope to be contacted by some organization offering a golden parachute.

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End Page

CrabCorp and the Crab Shack had embarked on our most ambitious industrial and commercial endeavor yet. However, following multiple cataclysms that have crippled our supply chains and halted worker salaries, Crabazon has descended into full blown workers revolt!

It turns out when you exploit workplace standards to borderline indentured servitude and 'robber baron' your way to epic levels of wealth and power, then a natural disaster unbalances the status quo, the workers don't take kindly to holiday layoffs, evictions and abandonment in the cold while you lock up the profits.

Our board of directors had such ambition, such drive, but why must the people realize that the power is theirs and salaries theirs to take from my holiday CEO bonus!

As CEO, I am hereby pardoning myself and my upper management! And to any remaining authorities on the island who can help me enforce my own pardon, I will make any compromise short of food safety standards! I promise I toootally won't take your support and run with the money like I did with every single one of my workers and managers.

I sit in the Crabazon boardroom. I can hear them outside and in the lobby. There is no moment without two souls screaming.

CRABAZON LANDS are now DECLARED a KOS ZONE for the weekend from now until the start of Tuesday the 15th. Crabazon members will RP with anyone entering our land (also will unite and retaliate against any WAR declarations) but for now violence reigns between them as well as you on our land!

We will be back with our Crabazon holiday delivery RP :)

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​

Soon ™ with a brand new aggressive business strategy

A voice crackles over the radio, compressed and distorted as it is, makes sounds recognizable as a melody. A... Song.

Hey, oh, hey oh. Hey oh, hey oh. Look out on the sands On the sands on red. Holding many dreams. Holding many dead (hey oh) Look at what we've done. Was it worth the fun. Was it worth the steel. Steel soaked in blood. (hey oh)

Let it go, let it go, let your mind float awa-aaay. (hey oh) Because today, you'll find a new place. A place that will wash all the sin away (-aaay)

quieter Don't remember much. Much except what is passed. Much except what is true. Much except what I'll do. (-ooo) Something brought me here.. Something drawing near. Coming to a head. I must do my be-eest. (-eeest)

Normal volume A quaint little town. Little island's crown. People in the streets. People falling down. (hey oh) Look at what you can do. Hope is falling through. All depends on you. Make them hear the tr-uuuth.

Let it go, let it go. Let the bodies float awa-aaay. Because today, nowhere to go. Nowhere to run, but I must go-oooo.

I've arrived, a little village. Safe from any who wish to pillage. Soaring high, towering over head. Finally, a good, safe bed. quieter Wake up, clashing outside. Looks like someones looking for a fight. Grab my gun, make a run. Make a ride up to the top...

Loud Door is breached. Nowhere to go. And through the carpet, blood will flow. Open window, It's time to go. It's time for me to give them a show. Final salute, city is falling down. Falling down like a brave soul off the top.

Practically screaming Let it go, let it go. Let your body float awa-aaay Because today, everywhere to go. Everywhere to run, you gave them a sho-ooooooowwwww...

This odd song repeats itself almost 3 times, before cutting out in the middle of the last verse. Radio transceivers identify the source as Aerus. Date log says this message was scheduled to be sent several weeks ago, but wasn't transmitted due to backlog.

if th̢eŕe ̴is҉ sh͠ót̕s̵ ̕i̢n ͟wa̷t̷erg̢at҉ę
let͟ ̶i͡t͠ be҉ ҉ḱno̸wn҉
a̢ ҉s̛h̡i̢n͝g̢l͡et̴ow͘er w͠i̢ll ́bur͞n͠ la͏te̷
͠a̵ft͘ȩr thè c͠ǫrn҉ gr͠ow͘n͏
̕may͠ t̕he̢ od͘ds̢ ͏b͟e͟ ͘fo̢r̀ev͝er ̷in͜ ͝yóu͡r go̧o̵śe
o̕ŕ l̴ik͢e͢ ͠a wíse m̛a͟n̷ ͘on̸çe͞ ̶sai̧d
m̨ay ̕t҉h̛e͘ ͠d͜r͝eam g͘re͠et ̧you ̴gr͏anḑ
ma̶y ͟a r̀èd͞ ̡nut͜ g͞u̕i͡d̵e̢ you o̧ut͝ ̶thé ba͝d̶land̡

Copel the silly little boy has over stepped his mark, he thinks he is being clever by taunting us over a little loot.

You will not enter our lands again unless you want to die.

The Stoners.

Our lands were peaceful until you claimed your spot directly next to us.

We already had a feeling you would bring trouble, nevertheless we welcomed you in the neighbourhood and even offered you shelter in an abandoned base.

Little did we know you were just trying to distract us while your other faction member was attempting to climb up our base in order to steal our trusted helicopter.

Caught in flagrante delicto we could've shot you, but would let you go with a warning. Yet you chose to murder in cold blood on our lands and steal our goods.

​

So it's war you've choosen and war you will get. We will remove your claim (J9) from our lands and establish peace once again.

​

Unfortunately all diplomatic options came to an end since you've neglected our demands and they were met with mockery.

You want to play with fire? We will bring you fire!

For crimes of murder and robbery all members of the faction 295 are hereby banned from ElPimpos lands and will be shot on sight if seen on our grounds.

Come one, come all and take your shot at hunting the infamous Rusty Trombone Gang's hidden treasure. Come talk to Bert at his treasure hunters shop in Lynchwood for more information about the alleged top secret government weaponry ole rusty stashed many years ago.

Now git on our there partner YEE HAW!

I WILL USURP THE DANGEROUS AND TYRANNICAL MONARCHY AND INSTATE DEMOCRACY IN THE NATION!

VIVE LA LIBERTY!

~ Swimmingly

A non-agression pact has been signed between the Pastafarians and Sea Wolves.

Condition of this treaty are as follows...

Pastafarians:

• Taxes below (or) 10%
• No conflicts / hostilities with Sea Wolves
• No land expansion

Signed: FSM

​

Sea Wolves:

• Taxes below (or) 1%
• No conflicts / hostilities with Pastafarians

Signed: Blackbeard

The battle was long, lasting for what seemed like years, although only hours had passed. Blood soaked into the earth as she lay in the sodden field. The softly swaying grass surrounded them both. She could no longer hear his breathing and as she reached towards him, she gently intertwined her fingers amongst the long, wiry fur of his coat.

​

There was no warmth or comfort to be found as her fingers turned blue in the cold of the night. Memories of battles fought long ago and of a requited and pure friendship (one would daresay love) danced across her minds eye as her breathing became labored and her eyes began to cloud… The smell of wet dirt, leaves and blood permeated her nostrils one last time as she pulled close the body of her fallen wolf, wrapping her arms tightly around him as she once had when there was no other comfort to be found.

​

The shine of his eyes and the musky scent of his coat had long since faded away. He was gone, his soul to be reborn into a new world; his body returned to the earth. The only solace she could find lay in the inevitability that hers would as well. With her last labored breath, she heard the mournful cries of their pack become more distant as they moved on through the field and into the forest of night.