Coming back to the game after a long absence (last played seriously with this acc, my main, before Covid). I initially started playing less when matchmaking was implemented, followed by the new turrets. I finally quit shortly after Gauss was introduced and the old m1-m3 system was scrapped. Like many, I thought this game had taken such a drastic downturn from what it used to be in the 2013-2016 era when I started playing. Coming back, it is evident that the devs are trying to gain a larger following. Was very surprised to see AI bots in the game and it honestly felt so weird. I guess it was seen as necessary to offset the massive player loss over the past several years. However, despite that, I do think battles feel far more balanced than they used to, although the PtW platform is still evident at times. The massive imbalances in 2020 era Tanki have been doctored slightly, but the game is still a shadow of its former self in my opinion. There are still so many imbalances with guns like gauss, Scorpion, and Magnum as well as the various in-battle augments such as overdrive that I really think we would be better off without, but I can appreciate that, from my perspective, the game actually seems somewhat playable again. In short, this game has fluctuated from a popular highlight of nostalgia in its golden years to a highly unbalanced amalgamation of flawed updates that the dev team has now attempted to correct with mixed success. Even with some of the new improvements to bring more balance to the field, such as AI bots and a more competitive Mk1-mk7+ upgrade system for turrets and hulls, I don't think Tanki will ever regain its former popularity. At present it stands as a beacon of mediocrity - better than it was recently but incomparable to its to its former prowess as a bustling franchise that was so valued by us in years past. Fpr those of that have been here long enough, that Tanki is now considered a distant, nostalgic shadow of our childhoods.

I heard that some music helps you relax and other kinds excite you. Have you gotten snow in the past week?

Nice job. Very concise and extremely useful. I've never made a map before, but I think I feel a little inspiration to do so after reading this ;)

The days crawled by as Philippe and his unit, as well as all the other foreign and French troops, grew closer to their destination. They finally left the French border behind and ventured into the many Germanic allies of Napoleon. These included Prussia and Austria, with which shaky peace treaties had been signed, and the Kingdom of Saxony. As the Grande Armée neared Dresden, the capital of the Kingdom of Saxony, word arrived that Napoleon himself would be reviewing the army when they reached the city. An excited chatter of discussion went through the ranks for several days. Neither Philippe nor Andre had ever seen the emperor, and as a result, they were among the men that were looking forward to the moment the most. "What do you think he looks like?" asked Andre for about the fourth time that day. Philippe sighed and gave a slight chuckle. He had quickly learned that his young friend's questions were boundless. "I don't know outside of what I've seen in his portraits," Philippe replied, just as he had done the other times the question was asked. Andre gave a laugh. "Every time I ask you I hope you'll remember something that you may not have been thinking of the last time. I guess that's not a possibility," he said. "Well, after what feels like the twentieth time of your asking the same thing, I think that's safe to say," Philippe replied with a grin. Since he had met Andre, some of the young soldier's boyish qualities had rubbed off on him. Ironically, as he was marching to a possible death, his sense of positivity and humor was better than it had been in years. Now as his unit approached the outskirts of Dresden, he laughed and joked with his camarades like the life of a party. The detachment entered Dresden that day, expectant for Napoleon to be there. They were disappointed to find that he was not yet in the city, but brightened up when they learned that he would be arriving in two days, on May 16th. Philippe expected the army to take some rest after their long march from the heart of France, but the officers had different plans. Philippe's detachment met up with the rest of the army in the city and they all began to prepare for the emperor's arrival. Drills were held every hour in rehearsal for the moment when Napoleon himself would review their ranks. Philippe grew more tired from the constant activity, but his excitement sustained him. Finally, the sixteenth of May came. As Philippe rose from his bed, nearly all of his tiredness was disposed by his excitement. He ate quickly and did not talk to anyone but Andre, who seemed as enthusiastic as he did. Before long, the army was assembling outside the city, awaiting the arrival of their emperor. No area within Dresden could hold the massive Grande Armée, meaning that they would have to wait on the outskirts of the city. Philippe stood on the tips of his feet, searching for the horse bearing the man who had built this force. Finally, he saw it. "Present arms!" came the bellow of the sergeant ahead. Four hundred thousand French rifles and roughly two hundred sixty thousand allied ones were raised on the order, creating a resounding sound of flesh slapping on wood and steel that echoed many yards away. Despite his fatigue from the long march, Philippe was awestruck by the scene all around him. A glimmering sea of bayonets and cavalry sabers flashed as far as the eye could see, and thousands upon thousands of soldiers stood in perfect formation. "Surely," thought Philippe, "Surely, we are unstoppable. We could not fail at this invasion." "Vive L'Empereur!" came a distant shout. It was repeated by the army in a deafening roar of voices that carried farther than a cannon shot. Immediately after, the cry was transformed into a steady cheer that filled the air for miles. Philippe strained his eyes at the front ranks of the crowd and could just make out Napoleon's snow-white horse clopping along the length of the lines. The emperor himself sat as tall as he possibly could in the saddle, but was still noticeably shorter than all of his aids. Philippe had expected him to be taller than he was. Napoleon dismounted and began to walk along the front ranks, reviewing the regiments. Philippe was surprised to see how many soldiers he took time to address, and how many regiments he reviewed. Philippe was too far from the front lines to talk directly with the emperor, but he heard later that Napoleon had even promoted some soldiers to officers. The cheering continued as the emperor finished his review and waved to his soldiers before remounting his horse. The fervor that swept the army reached its climax as they bid their commander adieu with the loudest cheers yet. Philippe was nearly hoarse from yelling, and he could hear Andre screaming out a last "Vive L'Empereur!". Eventually, the call to disperse came from the regimental officers, and the soldiers disassembled to eat. Philippe finally had a real meal for the first time after leaving France. Even though a bowl of soup was not necessarily a banquet, it was much appreciated relief from the hardtack and dried meat that they had been forced to survive on while traveling. Spirits were very high among the soldiers, and they seemed ready to take on the Russian army with their bare hands. "We'll beat them! I know we will!" said Andre enthusiastically. Even though Philippe didn't let his excitement show quite as much as his young friend, he felt the same way. Russia was a nation of poor and undernourished serfs, after all: How good could their army really be? "Maybe the emperor isn't mad after all," thought Philippe as he finished his meal. He had been foolish to ever question the judgment of Napoleon as he did back in France. No, the emperor was most certainly sound in mind and deed. He knew what he was doing. "Victory is ours already," though Philippe. He was almost sure of that phrase - almost.

Well! Nice to see a new, or rather promoted face among the helpers! Congratulations on your candidacy. It's always an honor to be critiqued by the venerable. . . well. . .Venerable! I'm always glad to see errors brought out in my work, as recognizing those errors can help improvements in the future. Plus they're also errors that I don't have to correct myself. In all seriousness, however, I shall try to keep more on top of things as far as proof reading goes. Also, I hadn't thought of the spoiler with translations. As a French speaker myself, I suppose that the idea may not have quite been at the forefront of my mind, but I can do that from now on. Thanks again!

Yes, to be honest. They really destroy balance amongst players. What would you think of a new turret that shot like hammer but instead of pellets it shot mines?

YES! I miss that one alot! Do you want Moon silence back too?

Philippe's unit trudged east, meeting up with other detachments along the way. Many of these other soldiers were not even French, Philippe noticed. Among their growing numbers were Sicilians, Italians, and Spaniards: soldiers from nations that the emperor had previously conquered and made his own. As the day progressed, more and more units fell in with them, until at their maximum number they had the equivalent of four or five regiments. Despite Philippe's remaining shock from the news of the unexpected invasion, he was gradually acclimating to the circumstances. His apprehension was not diminished, however, but rather intensified by the situation. He had not even had a chance to tell his mother goodbye before he was mustered out, and he knew that she would be terrified once she found out what had happened. He was concerned about her too, since her health, both mental and physical, had declined in recent years from the stress and turmoil of the past decades. Philippe could only hope that she would be safe while he was gone and pray that he would make it back alive to care for her. As the day passed, Philippe's feet grew more and more sore from the hard-packed earth on which they trod without end. His only break from walking was at lunchtime, when the unit stopped briefly for a scant meal of hard tack, salt pork, and water from their mess bags and canteens. The hastily eaten meal was barely enough to satisfy Philippe's hunger, and its unappetizing taste left him longing for the comparative banquets he had enjoyed in the mess hall. The food brought back memories from his days during the still continuing war with Britain - days that he would rather have forgotten. As he began to take off his boots in order to relieve the pressure on his feet, the sergeant's voice came bellowing to his ears. "On your feet! We resume the march now!" Philippe held back a curse as he hastily pulled his leggings back up, unable to rest for even a moment. He slowly pulled himself to his feet and sighed as he faced the road once again. Quaint farmhouses began to dot the land in ever-increasing numbers. Philippe's unit continued to march slowly through the countryside, and many of the residents came out to wave at them. Cries of "Bon voyage" and "Apportez-nous la victoire!" were on the lips of every person that saw them go by, and Philippe was nearly hoarse from replying. Every farm looked the same, every family looked the same, and even the countryside itself was beginning to look like a giant carpet of the same bright green to Philippe. He stared at the ground the entire time, not trying to talk with any of his camarades but only watching his feet as they shuffled back and forth along the dusty road. "So how did you get into this?" Philippe was startled by a voice to his right and slowly looked to see who had addressed him. By his side walked a young soldier whose unkempt blonde hair stuck out in every direction. His blue uniform hung on his slight figure like a bag and he was several inches shorter than every other soldier in the unit. "Huh?" Philippe mumbled, surprised by the question. "How did you get into this? This invasion, I mean," the young soldier asked again. Philippe's senses slowly awoke. He had kept his eyes to the ground and his tongue silent for so long that conversation suddenly seemed unfamiliar. He finally answered: "Uhhm, I was drafted and got sent, I suppose." The other soldier seemed enthusiastic. "Me too! I enlisted just weeks ago! I've wanted to serve in la Grande Armée since I was a child!" Philippe grinned for the first time that day; it appeared by his companion's mannerisms that he still was one, in a sense. As if on cue, the young soldier leaned close and whispered in Philippe's ear. "Don't tell anyone, but I'm only sixteen. If the sergeant finds out, I'll be sent home." Philippe was not surprised. This was far from the first time he had encountered underage soldiers on the battlefield. Many of the troops in his unit as a drummer boy had lied about their age. He gave the same reply to the boy that he had given to them: "Ok, it'll be a secret." If this lad wanted to go to war and get blown to smithereens four years before he would otherwise be conscripted, it was his business. "What's your name, then?" Philippe asked, his curiosity piqued. The young soldier answered immediately, "Oh, my name's Andre. Andre Dupont." Philippe stuck out his arm. "Philippe Cartier," he replied. The young soldier shook Philippe's hand vigorously. Before long, the two were in a conversation about the war, the government, the invasion, and every other subject relating to their current situation. They talked for several hours during the march until the question that Philippe didn't want to hear finally came: "So what is your background? Your family, I mean?" Philippe bit his lip. He had not talked about anyone in his family, especially his father, since he was a child during the revolution. From his earliest years, he could remember his mother's words, pleading with him to not reveal that he was of the nobility for fear of what might happen to him. Even though the Reign of Terror had officially ended in 1794, he had never revealed his family lineage out of the fear his mother had expressed. But now, Philippe was wondering if that fear was no longer logical caution, but paranoia. After all, the Revolution had officially ended with the rise of Napoleon. "My father was an advisor to the king," Philippe replied, finally letting go of past fears for the first time. Andre looked perplexed. "The emperor, you mean?" he asked. "No, the king. The late king," Philippe winced as the words left his mouth. Surprisingly, Andre did not recoil as Philippe expected him to. Instead, his interest seemed to grow. "Oh, is he still alive?" The innocent question fueled a brief spike of sadness followed by anger in Philippe, which he fought down as quickly as it arose. "No, he was - killed before I was even able to walk," he answered. "Oh, I'm sorry," Andre said. "Was it an accident?" Andre's naivety to the time in which Philippe was born was slowly beginning to wear his patience thin. He answered tersely: "He was taken to the Place de Revolution at the end of the madness." Andre still did not seem to understand. "What Place de Revolution? I've yet to hear of it." Philippe finally had had enough. His bitterness exploded in a wave of anger. "The Place de Revolution!" he yelled in a rage. "He was guillotined by the radicals! In the name of liberty they murdered an innocent man!" Andre recoiled from the sudden outburst and every soldier within earshot was suddenly staring at Philippe as if he were a mad dog. Philippe's anger quickly turned to mortification and his face reddened. Gradually the other soldiers turned their heads away from him and resumed their own conversations. Andre continued to walk several feet farther from Philippe than he had been. "I'm sorry," Philippe said to him, entirely humiliated. "I never knew my father, but the pain that the revolution caused my mother and the resentment that she had towards much of humanity seems to have rubbed off on me." Andre gradually moved back to his side. "It's ok. I suppose I could have seemed a bit annoying. I've been told I have a habit of doing that," he replied with a sheepish grin. Philippe smiled slightly. He was not about to argue with that statement. The two gradually regained the conversation, and Philippe opened up about his family for the first time. He found that Andre was from Paris, like him, and had grown up as the son of an army officer who was now in the Imperial Guard, Napoleon's elite bodyguard-soldiers. Andre had enlisted - an uncommon act in a France where every able-bodied man was conscripted at the age of twenty anyway. He, like others, had lied about his age to get into the army. The unlikely pair, Philippe, who was tall and strong for his age, and Andre, who was a head shorter than him, talked until the entire detachment stopped for the night. The country sun finally yielded to an orange glow as the soldiers bedded down, and the chirping of crickets soon replaced the songs of birds. Philippe laid down more at peace than he had woken up that morning, having made a friend in his new regiment. The invasion had not yet begun, but he would have someone to stand by when it did.

Wow, thanks for the fast approval! It's also nice to see another history person out there. You were correct about "dieing" vs "dying" A quick google search enlightened me to the fact that dying is correct when talking about death and dieing is only correct when discussing a die cutting machine. English is a crazy language, am I right? ?

Hi all! Here is the beginning of a new series, The Crimson Snow - A Story of the Napoleonic Wars. This is historical fiction, and it does get rather involved in the history of the time period, so a flip through your history book may not be a bad idea before reading. Some of the significance of the events in the story could be lost with an incomplete knowledge of the basic events of this period. I know the Napoleonic Wars are not exactly well known, and that was part of the reason I begun writing this series: to give a little known era of history more air time. Enjoy! Dawn broke under the calm, early-summer French countryside. The first rays of sun peaked over the horizon, revealing quaint country farms and rolling fields of crops. The farmland and vineyards outside of the bustling city of Paris were full of workers who were preparing for a large harvest in just several short months. As the sun rose higher, it revealed carriage-marred roads of dirt that eventually transformed to cobblestone as they wound towards the center of Paris. The city itself was also beginning to rise with the morning sun. The sharp clip-clop of horses and the grinding of coach wheels rang through the streets, including the prominent Champs-Elysees, around which the landscaped trees were beginning to turn green once again. One would be surprised to know that this normal scene had been veritable anarchy just years before. Less than two decades before this spring day in 1812, The entire country of France had been in the midst of a volatile and ultimately destructive revolution - one that had claimed the lives of many thousands. Away had gone the king, the bloody guillotine taking away his place and his head. It was fortunate that the people of France had at long last tired of this increasing turmoil and had supported a better government to rule them more efficiently. As their unrest grew, so did the ambition of the one man who would come to hold the wealth of France in the palm of his hand. Napoleon Bonaparte had taken the reins of a dying horse and snapped it back to life with his successful Coupe d'etat of 1799. The fall of the old government marked the beginning of a new power under Napoleon himself. With his coronation as emperor of France in 1804, the "Little Corporal" began a military and economic powerhouse that the rest of Europe quickly learned to fear. Despite multiple attempts to depose this ambitious ruler, he stood fast, unmoved by the march of thousands against his very life. Since his leadership began, the French people had adored him - almost as a deity - and had entered into looming wars with more courage than ever before. Napoleon was a fighter: one that would not be brought down easily. Now, on this spring day, the emperor had hatched a new plan that had been in the making for several months. His ambition had grown yet again, and this time he had his lustful eyes on Poland, maybe even Moscow - the heart of that great enemy Russia. His Grande Armée was ready for action once again, and they would soon be on the move. It was simply a matter of time. * * * "We march in ten minutes! Gather your gear and prepare to move!" shouted the sergeant. Twenty year old Philippe Cartier moaned as he sat up in his bunk, bleary eyed from a night of uncomfortable sleep. "What am I doing here?" he wondered to himself for the millionth time since he was forced to join this confounded army. Unlike many of the conscripts around him, Philippe was of the aristocracy, a class that many of the French population had grown to hate. The only reason that he had been brought to this miserable state of a private in the Grande Armée had been to save him from the madness of the revolution. Philippe had barely emerged from his mother's womb before his father, an advisor to the late King Louis the XVI, had been taken to the guillotine. After rotting in a cramped Bastille cell since the death of the king, his father had finally been walked to the infamous Place de la Revolution in 1794 to meet his fate. Philippe's father had been one of the last victims of the Reign of Terror, a decade long madness that cost the lives of thousands. According to Philippe's mother, his father's last advice to her had been to send his son to the army so he would have a better chance of surviving the madness and have the opportunity to contribute to his country. Even though the Reign of Terror had long since ended, Philippe's mother had taken that advice to heart. At the age of eight, Philippe had enlisted as a drummer boy and had already served in portions of the war against Great Britain that had begun in 1803. When he came of age to bear arms, he had been conscripted as a private in Napoleon's Grande Armée. Now off the frontlines of battle and with a brand new unit, he was beginning to feel that the emperor had a new offensive planned. "Austria perhaps, or maybe Great Britain," he thought to himself. Those seemed to be the main threat to France at the moment. "On your feet, Cartier!" The sergeant's growling voice interrupted his reflective daydreaming. "We march in seven minutes!" Philippe grumbled as he reluctantly rose from his bunk and began to hastily gather his gear. He donned his blue uniform and mess kit, then picked up his long musket which leaned against the wall. Lastly, he placed his tall black shako on his head. Every morning he had been with his new unit, he had repeated these same monotonous actions before daily drills in the countryside. "We eat on the march today!" yelled the sergeant. Philippe frowned. It was unusual for them to eat on the march if they were just planning to drill. He began to wonder what unusual plans were being put into play. Once all the men were outside the barracks building, the sergeant took the lead and began the march. Instead of marching into the parade field towards the west side of Paris, they moved east, away from the grounds. Philippe was even more confused now. "What could possibly be happening?" he wondered to himself yet again. He jostled the man next to him. "Camarade, what is happening? Why are we going in a different direction?" The soldier, a lower class conscript, slowly looked over at him. "Haven't you heard?" he said. "We're invading Russia." Philippe nearly stumbled over his own feet and leaned momentarily on his musket in an effort to recover from the shock. "Invading Russia?!" he stuttered back. "The emperor must be-" Philippe bit his tongue just in time to stop the stream of words that could get him locked in prison for treasonous language against the government. The soldier looked suspiciously at him. "The emperor must be what, ehh?" he questioned. Philippe balked, still shocked by the news and tongue tied by his close call. He attempted to regain his composure. "Uhhm... the emperor must be... err... ready and willing to expand the glory of France," he finally said hastily. The soldier turned his head away, satisfied with the reply, but Philippe could still hardly believe his ears. "Invade Russia?" he thought. "A vast country of snow and cold that has yet to be conquered?" Philippe shuddered at the thought of perishing in the snow, thousands of miles from his home. "No, the emperor is not ready and willing to expand the glory of France," he said to himself. "The emperor is mad!"

You are truly a master of short stories and cliff hangers, I must say. This is a keeper! Good read!

Top of the skyscraper in rio. What was the first building you ever parkoured to?

Done. Looks like it's working now ;)

Thanks to all of you that have read this series and given me such humbling complements. @Lose, @Venerable, @Ironmantonystark, and any others that I may have forgotten, your comments are what have pushed me to continue more than once. To @Person_Random and other helpers that have worked on the editing and approval process, as I've said many times, the forum wouldn't be the same without you. As a matter of fact, it couldn't function without you and I am tremendously grateful that you have worked to make this forum a better place. Thanks to you all!

Merry Christmas to everyone!