[Literature] Legends of the Great War

Colonel Thunder

Renowned Blunderer & Dishonorary Czech
This will be a short series that's inspired by, but not related to Andy's "The Great War" Mafia game. I was at work today and laughing at the low-key roleplaying that was happening early Day 1, and thought of what each player's forumer persona would be in a WW1 setting. For whatever reason I couldn't get that thought out of my head, and I had to take a break to jot down some ideas lest they keep distracting me at work.

I thought I'd write a brief piece about each player's forum persona in the Great War whenever they died in the mafia game. I would again like to emphasize that this has everything to do with forum persona, and nothing to do with mafia game roles. Please keep any mafia game discussion in the mafia thread, otherwise feel free to post in this one.

Anyways here's the intro.


"What'cha lookin' at old man?" says the young grandson as he walks through the screen door onto his great-grandfather's porch.

"Some pictures from my time in the service," mumbles the old man. He rocks gently on his chair as his great-grandson climbs onto his lap.

The old man shoves his grandson off his lap and on to the porch.

"Ah didn't say you could look!" yells the old man.

"Who cares about your dumb pictures anyways," says the grandson, dusting himself off.

"Dumb pictures?" says the old man. "These were some of the first pictures ever taken, and they're of the greatest soldiers in the greatest war!"

"Yeah right," chuckles the grandson, dragging an empty box of ammo by his grandpa. "A way better war happened like five minutes after that one."

"It's true that the second world war has more...narrative appeal," admits the old man. "But my war, the Great War, has the greatest legends."

"Legends, huh?" asks the grandson.

The grandson climbs up on the ammunition box so that he can see the pictures. The old man turns the book of pictures away, and slowly turns it back to him.

"If you promise not to be a little shit, I'll even tell you some of their stories," says the old man.

"I'll think about it," says the grandson as he looks at the pictures. He points at a picture of a Canadian holding a strange weapon. "Who's that weirdo with the nun-chucks?"

"Ho, that piece of work was my first commander, Robin Mor" says the old man. "That faggot-ass piece of shit ran like a bitch from his responsibilities, and the dingo-fucker got shot in the head trying to desert. Dickhead owed me three cigs and a vidya, too."

"You seem, um, very upset about it, even after a long time," questions the grandson. "You should get over it."

"He owed all my mates three cigs and a vidya, too," says the old man. "So shut your pie-hole before I stuff a clock spider in 'der."

"Who's that?" asks the grandson, pointing to a picture of someone else.

"Heh," chuckles the old man. "Why, that's...

Colonel Thunder

Renowned Blunderer & Dishonorary Czech
"Why that's Null Hypothesis," says the old man. "Right before his hanging."

"That's a dumb name," says the grandson.

"A dumb name, but a merciless killer," says the old man.

The old man looks up, and old wartime clips begin playing in black and white. There is always a corpse being found in these clips, in numerous environments.

"Legend has it that the Great War was orchestrated by a capitalist mastermind, named Sneakdeath. A wealthy investor, this Sneakdeath figured out how to profit off of all the killin'. So he kept it going for as long as possible."

"Sneakdeath?" says the grandson. "That's dumber than Nu-"

"As I was saying!" interrupts the old man. "Sneakdeath wanted to keep the war going to keep his coffers full. So he hired a deadly assassin to take out key individuals in every army, at every front. If any one nation gained too much ground, the rumor was that Sneakdeath's assassin would snipe some key soldier from a mile away to halt that group's progress. In fact, whenever a man was found shot to death with no sign of who killed him, we all assumed it was the assassin."

"So you called the assassin Null Hypothesis, since he was the default explanation for the killings?" says the kid.

"You're almost a smart kid," admires the old man. "Fortunately, Null Hypothesis was eventually caught, or else the war may have stretched on even longer."

"This Null guy sounds really strong," says the grandson. "He must have been hard to kill."

"Oh but he was," says the old man. "The world wasn't positive he was Null when they caught him, so they began conducting an investigation. But before the investigation could make much progress, Null made his own noose and suggested we use it on him to save some time."

"How weird," says the grandson. "I guess he saw the end coming and got bored of waiting?"

"Or he was dumb as rocks," shrugs the old man. "Who's to know."

"Anyways, who's that?" asks the grandson, pointing to a different picture...


Right Honorable Justice
"The world wasn't positive he was Null when they caught him, so they began conducting an investigation. But before the investigation could make much progress, Null made his own noose and suggested we use it on him to save some time."
I laughed. And rather loudly given the time of night/morning here, at that.

Colonel Thunder

Renowned Blunderer & Dishonorary Czech
"Why that's a national hero, Maretocks!" says the old man.

"I didn't recognize him in that weird uniform," says the grandson. "What idiot thought black and white stripes would be a good uniform?"

"That's the uniform all Aussies wore, back in the day," says the old man. "That cannonball chained to his leg wasn't a fashion statement, either."

"Since this is an Australian hero, I already know all about him," says the grandson. "So you do'nt ne-"

"Let me tell you his tale!" smiles the old man as the grandson rolls his eyes.

Old-timey movie clips begin playing. There is a dashing lad with dark hair riding a horse into battle, followed by many scoundrels wearing black and white jumpsuits. They are resistant to mustard gas, and kill men on every side.

"When the war got rough, the limeys recruited their exiled prisoners - the Aussies - to fight for them," says the old man. "Us Aussies were a force to be reckoned with. After surviving the conditions of our homeland, we had become immune to most poisons known to man, such as mustard gas. And the land made us hearty, able to survive fatal wounds with ease."

"And that's why I can play with knives and fire and stuff?" asks the grandson. "Since my parents know that my Australian genes will protect me from permanent injury?"

"Oh you can still fuck yourself up," says the old man. "Just because you can heal from a few bullet wounds doesn't mean you won't scar, or hurt like hell. Your parents probably just don't love you that much."

The child frowns as the old man continues.

"The Australians ravaged their enemies. They feared no gas, poison, or jail sentence for war crimes. Many bitches were shanked, and any German that bent over to pick up a rifle soon learned what happens when you drop the soap in Australia."

"But eventually, cunning bloke Chuck Maretocks decided that fighting for the British was kangaroo nuts. Y'see, the British planned on sending the Aussies back to Australia after the war was over. So Maretocks led a revolt, and convinced half the Aussie rank to join him in a quest to establish their own nation in the middle of the warzone. They fought savagely and victoriously, and succeeded in being recognized as a national entity by several nations in Europe."

"But it didn't last," says the grandson.

The old man nods sadly.

"Before long, Maretocks got really bored of having a nation to call his own. Communication was difficult due to Aussie accents, and without a rigid prison structure to guide his day-today, Maretocks stopped leading his people entirely. Went completely inactive. Real shame. He eventually agreed to return to Australia, he and all his men. In exchange the limeys agreed to fuck off and leave Australia alone, so long as we agreed to keep the horrors of our land from making it to the rest of the world."

"What happened to Maretocks after the war?" asks the grandson.

"He died in obscurity," says the old man. "The jackass. Could have done some great shit."

"I don't recognize this person," says the grandson, pointing to a new photo...

Colonel Thunder

Renowned Blunderer & Dishonorary Czech
"That is Ana Tron, the first female pilot in the Great War," says the old man.

Clips of Ana flying a plane smoothly and competently or occasionally interrupted by clips of Ana flying her plane into random objects.

"The French were running out of pilots, so they resorted to an act of horrific desperation...recruiting a woman," says the old man.

"Why was that bad?" asks the grandson. "There's nothing about being a girl that would make them worse at flying planes, right?"

"There's no women in the sky!" shouts the old man. "Well-known fact! Anyways, Ana wasn't a bad pilot because of her gender. She was bad because she was never reliably competent."

"What do you mean?" asks the grandson.

"One mission she failed to show up until the whole damn thing was over," says the old man. "Another time, she flew great and was among the top pilots on the front. But the next mission, she accomplished little and flew so poorly that everyone was focused on her instead of the enemy!"

"Wow that's unreliable," says the grandson.

"Before the war ended, Ana was dishonorably discharged for sowing so much unnecessary discord," says the old man. "Many believe that her discharge wasn't based entirely on her performance as a pilot, but such is life. Once people want to believe something about you, it's hard to convince them otherwise."

"What happened to her after the war?" asks the grandson.

"Ana vowed to return to war as a better pilot than ever. Some believe she flew for the Americans in the next war, but it's unclear."

"Huh," says the grandson. "Let's move on..."

Colonel Thunder

Renowned Blunderer & Dishonorary Czech
"That there is Tagaro Rosso," says the old man. "He's the most infamous cook in the entire war."

"So this guy didn't even fight?" asks the young boy. "He just cooked the food? Lame."

"An army marches on its stomach," says the old man, elbowing the young one. "Tagaro made the most delicious Mexican food the front had ever seen! The American army wouldn't have been able to save Europe's ass unless they had the best grub to eat. You see, most Americans can't work for more than twenty minutes without thinking they're starving to death."

"What made him such a good cook?" asks the grandson.

"Tagaro made sure the...freshest ingredients were available when it was time to make dinner," says the old man. "And he kept his recipes secret. The American army would fight long and hard, just knowing that they'd get Tagaro's cooking if they fought well enough. However, this advance didn't last more than a few years. Tagaro was eventually charged with treason."

"Treason?" asks the grandson. "But the American government never charges people with treason, even when there's lots of treason to go around."

"Usually true," agrees the old man. "But what Tagaro did was horrific. One day, after the Americans defeated a Czech battalion, the food didn't taste so good. Just atrocious. The troops demanded to talk to Tagaro about it, but he was busy in his private kitchen. Some angry troops stormed past the kitchen guards to demand better food, and they discovered Tagaro's dark secret."

"What! What was it?" asks the grandson.

The old man pauses for dramatic effect, and watches his great-grandson bounce with anticipation.

"Tagaro was cooking the bodies of enemy troops," says the old man. "That's why his recipes seemed so fresh, the men he served on a plate were alive that morning."

"Gross!" shouts the young boy. "What happened to him?"

"Before he could be charged with treason, Tagaro fled the country," says the old man. "The American government condemned Tagaro's treachery, and vowed that a wall would be built around his country to prevent his kin from coming to America ever again. This tradition continues to this day."

"...did you eat any of his cooking?" asks the grandson.

The old man smiles.

"Let's move on," says the old man, pointing to a new photo...
Last edited:


Right Honorable Justice
The American army wouldn't have been able to save Europe's ass (again) unless they had the best grub to eat.
(America had no real war credentials at this point, as far as Europe was concerned. This war was where the country first got them.)

's good, though.


Right Honorable Justice
Ohhhh, that was a joke? I thought it was just a plot point.

...still, five stars!

Colonel Thunder

Renowned Blunderer & Dishonorary Czech
"Who's that guy?" asks the grandson, pointing to a photo of a young man blowing smoke off his heated fists.

"Hooey, that is Rock, the Polish Fist," says the old man. "This indestructible son of a bitch was the saving grace for the Poles."

Old wartime clips play of Rock waving to excited crowds as he heads to the front once more.

"The Poles didn't have the best tech in the war, meaning they had no way to pierce tank armor until Rock. They would fly this bastard above an enemy armored unit, and drop him right on top of them."

"How is that even possible?" asks the grandson. "This guy has super-human strength and can fall from heights that would kill a normal man?"

"I guess no one really flushed out his backstory on that," shrugs the old man. "Anyways, Rock would drop in and tear enemy armor to pieces. They say he could punch through tanks and break a car in half, all with his bare hands."

Old clips of Rock brutalizing enemy armor begin to play.

"So Poland did really good in the war then?" asks the grandson.

"Not so," admits the grandson. "With enemies on every side, they were always on the verge of defeat. Yet they were never conquered. Rock couldn't be everywhere at once, he was just one man. But he gave his people hope to continue fighting. He gave all of us hope, that even in the trenches there were dashing heroes among us, brave, just, and assholes just like us."

"What happened to him?" asks the grandson.

"He fought the army of a truly terrifying general," says the old man grimly. "And was never seen in battle again."

"Oh do you mean this guy?" asks the grandson, pointing to the next image.

Hey @Easy this one's 'bout you.

Colonel Thunder

Renowned Blunderer & Dishonorary Czech
The grandson points to a picture of crazed man with a flamethrower attached to each arm, sending many men running for their lives.

"No, that wasn't him," says the old man. "This madlad was Commander Kaidart, known as the "Fire Demon". He was a scientist who went mad and spread terror throughout the war."

Clips of Kaidart and his armies burning and looting cities begin to play.

"Kaidart developed truly gruesome pyromaniac weapons for his own nation. But his government, in debt from the war, refused to pay the agreed-upon price for his arms. Kaidart and his team of scientists went rogue, using their weapons to burn through armies and claim land as their own. Any bastard who wanted to defect in the war would either end up with Maretocks' crew, or his."

"But how did that work?" asks the grandson. "If you burn a city down, it's not really worth keeping as your own."

"Very true," says the old man. "Which is why this barbarian horde was nomadic. They would burn city after city, looting the corpses and buildings as they went. They carried nothing themselves but their weapons, knowing they could find food and drink aplenty when they razed a helpless village whose warriors were at the front. And their mobility ensured no army could entrap them, even if one dared to face their fire."

"Was Kaidart defeated when the main war was over?" asked the grandson.

"He didn't live to see the end," says the old man. "Kaidart and his armies spent a week conquering Ethiopa, which they burned savagely. However, once the fighting was over they realized there was no food in Ethiopia. The army was starved, and this was no disciplined, formal army. They fought and quarreled and destroyed themselves. In an attempt to keep order, Kaidart was barbecued and eaten by his own men."

"Yikes, what an end," says the grandson as he quivers.

"There's a great movie about it by Spleen Productions," says the old man. "You ever see any of his stuff?"

"No," says the grandson.

"Ha!" guffaws the old man. "Oh, my boy. Let me tell you about ol' Chicken."

@Firedemon here's the one about you
Last edited:

Colonel Thunder

Renowned Blunderer & Dishonorary Czech
"Mr. Spleen was this film guy," says the old man. "He wanted to capture the horrors of war on film and show the folks back home. That way, they'd see how gruesome the fighting was and pressure their leaders for peace."

"It doesn't sound like it worked," says the grandson.

"No it did not," replies the old man. "Young idiot couldn't even make the films he wanted. He was scared shitless every time he got close to the battle!"

The old man laughs.

Old clips of a well-dresed man running, screaming, and hiding begin to play. He is scared of gunfire, planes, rats in trenches, some of the men, and most of the food. He's so genuinely, comically scared that everyone he encounters laugh at him.

"They called him Chicken," says the old man. "And the videos his film crew took of him shitting his pants and insisting he 'didn't know what he was doing here' were hilarious!"

The old man laughs again.

"It wasn't Mr. Spleen's intention, but he brought laughter to the front that was desperately needed," says the old man. "He made a few decent films after the war, but mostly faded into obscurity. Whenever he tried to get serious with investors, they just remembered the Chicken films and laughed him out of the building."

"Booooring, let's talk about soldiers again," says the grandson. "Who's this other guy?"


Colonel Thunder

Renowned Blunderer & Dishonorary Czech
"That," says the old man. "Is Xand Dunce."

The photo shows a young man covered in dirt and blood, walking out of a field strewn with bodies.

"He was one of two known survivors in a terrible three-way," says the old man.

"Gross," says the grandson.

"Excuse me, a three-way battle," clarifies the old man. "The grand forces of Teal, Poland, and Germany clashed at once. It was a bloodbath."

Clips of Xand Dunce running for cover begin to play. Bullets, artillery, and gas kill dozens all around him. Occasionally he shoots, stabs, and runs. He does this frantically, not caring to defeat the enemy. Just trying to survive.

"He moved like that for hours," says the old man. "The battle finally calmed at daybreak, when all were dead."

Xand climbs out of a pool of mud and blood as light appears on the horizon. He looks around and all he sees are corpses. There is movement to his left, and he turns and aims his rifle at a young German, also aiming a rifle at him. They both shake with fear and stare at each other.

Xand slowly lowers his rifle and the German does the same.

"Xand decided there had been enough bloodshed that day, and refused to kill his enemy," says the old man. "Fucking jamoke."

"But it sounds like what he did was a good thing," says the grandson. "After so much violence, how could he take another life?"

"Young fool!" yells the old man, slapping his great-grandson. "Were you not watching the clips? The man Xand spared was Adolf FUCKING HITLER!"

"Oh..." says the grandson, rubbing his sore cheek.

"And that why," yells the old man. "The Xand Dunce name lives in infamy! He was the stupidest, worst, motherfucker that ever lived! Rot in hell, Xand Dunce!"

"Careful, don't stroke out," says the grandson. "Why were there only two survivors in this battle? Didn't they treat wounds at all?"

"Oh, they tried," says the old man while facepalming.

The old man flips to a new page in the book, to a picture of a startled young nurse.

"Many poor bastards ended up in the hands of Nurse Dunder."

@Dunsparce here's yours

Colonel Thunder

Renowned Blunderer & Dishonorary Czech
"Nurse Dunder was the worst nurse of all time," says the old man.

"Haha, that sentence sounded like a line from a kids book," says the grandson.

"Dunder enlisted to save lives, but she ended up killing more men than any bullets did," says the old man. "She was just so bad at everything she tried to do! Legend has it, she accidentally invented bacteria!"

"That's a pretty bad screw-up," says the grandson.

"She was full of 'em," says the old man. "There was no battalion that didn't immediately deteriorate when she was around. Machines, people, order, she accidentally broke everything around her constantly!"

Clips of a confused nurse bumbling across the front begin to play. She is constantly being exiled from nations' command stations.

When one nation would kick her out, she'd volunteer to help the wounded of a different nation. Before long she'd fuck up their shit while trying to help[, and they would send her to someone else! Loony bitch accidentally invented mustard gas while trying to fix an inhaler!"

"Uh huh..." says the grandson, looking at something on his phone.

"She also caused a deadly strain of CP20T to infect an entire community. Their fates were horrible. By the time the war was over, Dunder's malpractice was well-known, and the nations created the Geneva Conventions to outlaw Dunder's service in any military branch ever. I guess they added some other stuff too, but the gist of it was agreeing not to inflict Dunder upon each other."

"Just two pictures left," says the grandson, looking at the last page in the book..


God-Emperor of Tealkind
Say, now that I think about it we're still waiting on a couple more of these... any timeline in mind?

Colonel Thunder

Renowned Blunderer & Dishonorary Czech

The old man shakes violently, then lies still.

The paramedic feels the old man's pulse and looks at the grandson.

"Sorry kid, the old turd is dead," says the paramedic.

The paramedic looks at his watch.

"Time of death, six-AUGH!"

The old man suddenly stirs, grabs the defibrillator, and slaps the paramedic in the side of the head with it. The paramedic falls off the porch and spasms violently. Eventually, he stops moving entirely.

"I'll show you who's an old turd," says the old man, who spits on the unconscious/possibly dead man.

"Grandpa, you're alive!" shouts the grandson as he hugs his grandpa's legs. "You went quiet for a long time and I think maybe died."

"That happens sometimes," mumbles the old man as he sits down and picks up the scrapbook. "Now, I think I was about to tell you about Ryan Jerth."

The grandson reclaims his spot on the ammo box to see the pictures.

"The Entente nations weren't used to working together on a grand scale, in the first grand war," says the old man. "There were language barriers, cultural barriers, and literal physical barriers to overcome in order to work together to defeat common enemies."

"Pretty sure everyone was racist as fuck too," says the grandson, looking at his phone again.

"You're not allowed to use swear words not invented in your lifetime," says the old man, punching his grandson in the shoulder. "Anyways, the Entente nations needed an expert negotiator. One of those rare breed who don't treat Charisma as a dump stat, but rather their most valuable resource."

"I heard about him in school," says the grandson. "Ryan Jerth led the nations in negotiating peace, right?":

"Ha! I bet he made sure history remembered him for something virtuous!" laughs the old man. "Ryan used his charisma to make a lot of deals with difficult clients. He got the Entente Nations to work together, often in their best interests. He charged quite a lot for his services, but it was wroth it. He was able to convince both Entente and Central powers to work together for a short time in order to defeat rogue groups, like the Fire Demons and Teal Order."

"He sounds like a pretty great guy," said the grandson.

"Perhaps," says the old man. "Ryan's success, profitability, and uncanny timeliness led some intelligent observers to think there were other forces at play."

"Ohh, so he was secretly working with the war profiteer, SneakDeath?" says the grandson.

"That's the theory people were tossing around," says the old man. "Once those accusations started appearing though, Ryan was mysteriously shot at an incredible distance. A marksman working at such a distance could only be Null Hypothesis, SneakDeath's chief field agent."

"But he didn't die," says the grandson.

"Correct. Nurse Dunder was kicked out of the hospital while surgery was conducted that saved Ryan's life," says the old man. "This attempted assassination cleared Ryan's name in the public's eye, and he returned to stardom and success once his wound was healed."

"But...he was the only person ever to survive an assassination attempts by Null Hypothesis?" asks the grandson.

"That's right," says the old man. "There were a quiet few who believed that the real surgery wasn't done in that hospital. The real surgery, was done by Ryan's fellow mate, Null Hypothesis. The only man who could inflict a serious but non-fatal wound at such a distance, thereby clearing Ryan's name in connection with SneakDeath."

"That's some chemtrail shit," laughs the young boy.

"Aye fuck you," says the old man. "Maybe he was just working for himself after all, but one thing's for sure. The French paid Ryan a royal shit-ton of secret money to make him negotiate the Treaty of Versailles like he did! Bloody bastard retired with that money and didn't do jack shit for the next war."

"Neither did you," says the grandson.

"Okay, just one more story and then you can go fuck off!" says the old man, turning to the last page in the scrapbook.

"It's time you heard of the Great Battle."

This one's for @Jeroth !
Top Bottom