by Max Barry

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Governor: The king of albion

WA Delegate: None.

Founder: The king of albion

Last WA Update:

Maps Board Activity History Admin Rank

Largest Black Market: 792nd Most Corrupt Governments: 1,016th Most World Assembly Endorsements: 1,040th+17
Most Cultured: 1,112th Highest Economic Output: 1,299th Largest Retail Industry: 1,506th Most Advanced Public Transport: 1,526th Most Nations: 1,561st Most Beautiful Environments: 1,829th Highest Wealthy Incomes: 1,919th Most Eco-Friendly Governments: 1,936th Highest Food Quality: 2,025th Healthiest Citizens: 2,195th Largest Publishing Industry: 2,298th Highest Average Incomes: 2,389th Most Advanced Public Education: 2,445th Most Devout: 2,542nd Smartest Citizens: 2,606th Most Avoided: 2,647th Most Patriotic: 2,701st
World Factbook Entry

And there, in the fading light, lay Albion.


Embassies: the West Pacific, Equilism, The Western Isles, Equinox, The Beach, Unknown, Bailiwick of New Jersey, and Pax Britannia.

Tags: Fantasy Tech, Featured, Game Player, Governorless, Independent, Magical, Map, Medium, Mercenary, Monarchist, Multi-Species, Neutral, and 6 others.Offsite Chat, Offsite Forums, Password, Past Tech, Regional Government, and Role Player.

Albion contains 12 nations, the 1,561st most in the world.

Today's World Census Report

The Most Cultured in Albion

After spending many tedious hours in coffee shops and concert halls, World Census experts have found the following nations to be the most cultured.

As a region, Albion is ranked 1,112th in the world for Most Cultured.

NationWA CategoryMotto
1.The Principality of WallachyaAuthoritarian Democracy“ Virtus et Honor”
2.The Theocracy of CuldiCapitalist Paradise“In Ministerium Dei et Regis”
3.The Kingdom of GerskidusFather Knows Best State“We were, we are, we will be.”
4.The Confederacy of HideawayNew York Times Democracy“Not in the face!”
5.The Federation of Prince DodongoAnarchy“It's Dangerous To Go Alone”
6.The Arling of CalabekNew York Times Democracy“Be Always Vigilant”
7.The Queendom of RinneInoffensive Centrist Democracy“Dirty Majesty”
8.The Borough of BatterseaMoralistic Democracy“Non mihi, non tibi, sed nobis.”
9.The Free Land of Memories of BrightwallTyranny by Majority“We remember”
10.The Republic of Den BrityInoffensive Centrist Democracy“Justice, Piety, Loyalty”
12»

Regional Happenings

More...

Albion Regional Message Board

Fairy-Land
BY EDGAR ALLAN POE

Dim vales—and shadowy floods—
And cloudy-looking woods,
Whose forms we can’t discover
For the tears that drip all over:
Huge moons there wax and wane—
Again—again—again—
Every moment of the night—
Forever changing places—
And they put out the star-light
With the breath from their pale faces.
About twelve by the moon-dial,
One more filmy than the rest
(A kind which, upon trial,
They have found to be the best)
Comes down—still down—and down
With its centre on the crown
Of a mountain’s eminence,
While its wide circumference
In easy drapery falls
Over hamlets, over halls,
Wherever they may be—
O’er the strange woods—o’er the sea—
Over spirits on the wing—
Over every drowsy thing—
And buries them up quite
In a labyrinth of light—
And then, how, deep! —O, deep,
Is the passion of their sleep.
In the morning they arise,
And their moony covering
Is soaring in the skies,
With the tempests as they toss,
Like—almost any thing—
Or a yellow Albatross.
They use that moon no more
For the same end as before,
Videlicet, a tent—
Which I think extravagant:
Its atomies, however,
Into a shower dissever,
Of which those butterflies
Of Earth, who seek the skies,
And so come down again
(Never-contented things!)
Have brought a specimen
Upon their quivering wings.

Alabaster isles and Memories of Brightwall

I believe this is the first time I've ever updated yourselves on our own regional affairs.

Pax Britannia has once again held their elections.
It was a short affair this year, no campaigning or grandstanding.
The real fight was for the position of High Admiral, which resulted in a four-way contest.

As is traditional, I, Basementees maintained the role of Principal Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs
Legio de Caesar has been voted in as our new Prince Regent
Aluvitar has maintained their position as Home Secretary
Finally , Arrstotzka fought off the competition and became our High Admiral.

Alabaster isles, Culdi, and Rinne

Sounds and sights condense
Dreams form into conscious thought
Looking for my friends

Knights, Faeries, Wizards
Memories of Albion
Awake fair people!

There lies beyond the Gallic bounds
An island which the western sea surrounds,
By giants once possessed, now few remain
To bar thy entrance, or obstruct thy reign.
To reach that happy shore thy sails employ
There fate decrees to raise a second Troy
And found an empire in thy royal line,
Which time shall ne'er destroy, nor bounds confine.

To thee, O Albion! be the tribute paid
Which sympathy demands, the patriot tear;
While echo'd forth to thy remotest shade,
Rebellion's menace sounds in every ear.

Though Gallia's vaunts should fill the trembling skies,
'Till nature's undiscover'd regions start
At the rude clamor; yet, shouldst thou despise,
While thy brave subjects own a common heart.

But lo! fresh streaming from the Hibernianheight
Her own red torrent wild-eyed faction pours;
While, 'mid her falling ranks, ignobly great,
Loud vengeance raves, and desperation scours.

Denouncing murderous strife, the rebel train
Wave their red ensigns of inhuman hate
O'er every hamlet, every peaceful plain;
Rejecting reason, and despising fate.

Oh! that again our raptur'd eyes could see
Their ripening crops bloom yellow o'er the land;
Their happy shepherds, like their pasture, free
No more a factious race, a ruffian band.

That albion, once again with concord blest,
May still support that great, that glorious name,
Which ardent glows in every patriot's breast,
And crowns her hoary cliffs with matchless fame.

Then, then, might foreign foes, around our shores,
Pour the big tempest of their arms in vain;
Then, might they learn that freedom still is ours,
That Britons still control the subject main.

Oh! all ye kindred pow'rs, awake, arise!
On boundless glory's giant pinions soar;
Let Gallia tremble! while the sounding skies
Proclaim us free 'till time shall be no more!

Aventuria bay, Memories of Brightwall, and -a-a-a-

sets out eggnog and gingerbread

decorates the streets with garland and ribbons

Spirit of the Ancient Isles
~Much Miller~

Spirit of the ancient isles,
Of Erin and of Albion,
I call to thee,
Please come to us,
Ancient spirit come to me,
I call to thee,
In moorland wind,
And highland glen,
In summer meadow,
By Greenwood tree,
I recall bluebells in spring,
Autumn rains in Irish hills,
Long winter nights by firesides,
The places where the hidden brook glides,
A deer in a forest glade,
The Standing Stones the giants made,
I recall that mystic land
That lies unseen,
So near at hand,
Where ancestral beings,
Weave out time,
And listen to the voice Divine,
I recall the bards of old,
Of endless tales that they told,
Of Bran and Branwynn,
Of Taliesin and of Merlin,
Of beacons burning in the night,
And the forests of the light,
I recall the other folk,
That live inside the hills and mounds,
Enchanting us with magic sounds,
I recall the paths we trod,
To the sacred groves,
Of the great God Lugh,
Of Dagda and the Goddess Danu,
Of Bridey, Herne and Ceredwin,
Gwion Bach and Finn McCool,
Of Beltane, Sawain and of Yule,
And of this and so much more,
That grows inside the Celtic soul,
It rises up inside us now,
Like the young sap in the old tree,
Like a root that grows,
In you and me,
And at last learns to be free,

With these words we do invoke,
The ancient masters of the Oak,
The Ash, the Thorn and every tree,
In our secret ancestry,`
To every soul to be awake,
To rise up and see whats at stake,
The root race that we must save,
The seeds and grains,
The life you gave,
In the isles of Lugh and Math,
Now is time to rise again,
To know the Sun and feel the rain,
To meet again,
The brethren of the Celtic Ray,
To come together come what may,
And never lose our will to be,
Nor the hope that comes through thee,
Through the Earth and through the trees,
Through the balmy air of a summer breeze,
That comes to you in the Sun that ripens the corn,
And harvests the crop of this ray,
And takes you to the ancient way,
So we can dance anew like blossoms in the month of May.

The Castaway
~William Cowper~

Obscurest night involv'd the sky,
Th' Atlantic billows roar'd,
When such a destin'd wretch as I,
Wash'd headlong from on board,
Of friends, of hope, of all bereft,
His floating home for ever left.

No braver chief could Albion boast
Than he with whom he went,
Nor ever ship left Albion's coast,
With warmer wishes sent.

He lov'd them both, but both in vain,
Nor him beheld, nor her again.

Not long beneath the whelming brine,
Expert to swim, he lay;
Nor soon he felt his strength decline,
Or courage die away;
But wag'd with death a lasting strife,
Supported by despair of life.

He shouted: nor his friends had fail'd
To check the vessel's course,
But so the furious blast prevail'd,
That, pitiless perforce,
They left their outcast mate behind,
And scudded still before the wind.

Some succour yet they could afford;
And, such as storms allow,
The cask, the coop, the floated cord,
Delay'd not to bestow.

But he (they knew) nor ship, nor shore,
Whate'er they gave, should visit more.

Nor, cruel as it seem'd, could he
Their haste himself condemn,
Aware that flight, in such a sea,
Alone could rescue them;
Yet bitter felt it still to die
Deserted, and his friends so nigh.

He long survives, who lives an hour
In ocean, self-upheld;
And so long he, with unspent pow'r,
His destiny repell'd;
And ever, as the minutes flew,
Entreated help, or cried--Adieu!

At length, his transient respite past,
His comrades, who before
Had heard his voice in ev'ry blast,
Could catch the sound no more.

For then, by toil subdued, he drank
The stifling wave, and then he sank.

No poet wept him: but the page
Of narrative sincere;
That tells his name, his worth, his age,
Is wet with Anson's tear.

And tears by bards or heroes shed
Alike immortalize the dead.

I therefore purpose not, or dream,
Descanting on his fate,
To give the melancholy theme
A more enduring date:
But misery still delights to trace
Its semblance in another's case.

No voice divine the storm allay'd,
No light propitious shone;
When, snatch'd from all effectual aid,
We perish'd, each alone:
But I beneath a rougher sea,
And whelm'd in deeper gulfs than he.

Camelot

It's true, it's true, the crown has made it clear
The climate must be perfect all the year

A law was made a distant moon ago here
July and August cannot be too hot
And there's a legal limit to the snow here in Camelot

The winter is forbidden till December
And exits March the second on the dot
By order, summer lingers through September in Camelot

Camelot: Camelot
I know it sounds a bit bizarre
But in Camelot: Camelot
That's how conditions are

The rain may never fall till after sundown
By eight, the morning fog must disappear
In short, there's simply not a more congenial spot
For happily ever after in than here in Camelot

Camelot: Camelot
I know it gives a person pause
But in Camelot: Camelot
Those are the legal laws

The snow may never slush upon the hillside
By nine p.m. the moonlight must appear
In short, there's simply not a more congenial spot
For happily ever after in than here in Camelot

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