rosetta stone coupon Frondeurs

FRONDEURS
Paris is now it's own country, governed by a democracy known as the NPCU, New Paris Chancery Union. The Parisian Rebel War in 2033 set off a chain of events, eventually stating Paris as it's own country, no longer part of France. After that, the two countries were enemies. Even though the war was long over, France was still furious with Paris, wanting to reclaim the land which they once had owned.
Ever since beloved chancellor Haines Prestom had been put in critical condition by an unknown attacker, the uncivilized PCC had taken over, leaving a group of people angry. A group of people called the New Fronde.
One
Paris - The Year 2041
11:56 PM
High above the country of Paris, a shadowy figure sat crouched on a balcony beneath the starless sky. He pulled a small metal box from his pocket, and carefully attached it to the wiry balcony floor. After pressing a tiny red button on the box, a display of glowing red numbers flashed on. 7:00:00, 6:59:57, 6:59:32...
It was counting down. Suddenly, the sound of voices erupted from the street down below. The figure turned his head, and saw hundreds of drunken people filing out of the discoth��que, or nightclub, laughing and stumbling along as they walked. Little did they know,buy asics, their lives would be changed tomorrow.
They won't know what hit 'em, the figure mused as he stood up, his legs aching from being crouched so long. He backed up a few steps, until he was leaning against the balcony railing. He stared up at the massive illuminated structure looming upon him, which reached up into the uncanny black sky. This would be the last time he would see the structure, and that made him feel glad. Very glad.
Even if he was going to be a felon tomorrow, it didn't matter. Nothing did. Nothing except this. Maybe it would knock some sense into everyone who was brainwashed by the asinine PCC, Parisian Cultivated Chancery, the government system of Paris. Ever since the chancellor, Haines Prestom, had been targeted by a mysterious sniper weeks ago,belstaff lederjacke damen, the NPCU had been taken out of control, (Luckily,rosetta stone coupon, Prestom hadn't been killed, but had only been put in critical condition),and the PCC had taken command. Now, most of the public was suddenly acting strangely. Getting drunk in the middle of the afternoon, vandalizing public and private property, getting in rants at least twice a day, and having immense bonfires in the middle of the streets. Paris had turned into a hellhole. The citizens were brainwashed. What did they see in the PCC?
However, the rest of the public, the ones who were their normal selves (which was not too many), were the ones who were affected. In fact, the situation was so profound, that they had to go into hiding in the most disgusting, horrid place - the catacombs beneath the country. Even though the stench was horrible, and it was rat infested, it was safe. No one would find them down there, at least for the time being.
They had been living there for five weeks already, and had established a revolt group, the New Fronde. The group consisted of nine members, frondeurs, who fought against the PCC, trying to force them out of office. They would rather there be an anarchy than have the PCC lead the way.
The figure, who was a frondeur himself, silently heaved himself over the railing, and climbed down the interlacing wire support of the structure, using it like a ladder. He felt his boot touch the wet, dewy grass, and let go of the makeshift ladder, planting his feet firmly on the ground. The club-goers were now bumbling their way to a bar across the street.
Laggards, the frondeur thought as he watched from afar. They're all laggards. Once the street was empty, he moved on, making his way through the twisting and turning roadways towards his destination. The catacombs. He was half way there when he turned a corner, and walked in on a bonfire taking place on the stone street. About twenty people were gathered around the massive fire, all gripping beer bottles in their hands. Before anyone spotted him, he doubled back, and hid behind the wall of an decrepit abandoned bank. He peeked his head around the corner ever so slightly, and got a clear view of the action.
The drunken people were singing an old folk song, hanging their bottles high in the air, taking occasional swigs.
"That's the luxury life..."they rambled on. They forgot the words in a few places, so they just repeated the chorus over and over again. It was quite annoying. Knowing that he would never pass the group without being seen, he looked around for an alternate route. There were no other streets around.
The only way out is up. The frondeur tilted his head upward towards the bank's roof, and spotted a rain gutter. Perfect. He pulled out a grappling hook that had been slung around his shoulder - one of his many tools - and unraveled the heavy duty rope. He grasped the rope in the middle,belstaff lederjacken, and let the metal hook drop, stopping inches from the ground. The rope was connected to it,Coach Sunglasses, keeping it from falling to the ground. Now, he started to swing his arm around in a circular motion, up and over his head, the metal hook lifting off into the air. It was like an amazingly fast Ferris-wheel ride.
Then, he let go of the rope with one hand, and held on with the other. The hook went soaring silently through the air, and caught onto the gutter. The clang of metal sounded, but it couldn't be heard over the appalling singing. The frondeur tugged on the rope twice to check if it was stable, and then pulled himself upward, using the wall to walk up as he went along. Soon, his arms began to ache, and his hands were lousy with tiny splinters. However, he ignored the pain, and kept climbing. If he fell right now, he would land on his back, and surely crack his head open.
Finally, he reached the gutter. He grasped on, and pulled himself up and over, landing on rough, black shingles that felt like sand paper. He rolled over onto his back, and stood up. The air was cooler up here. He examined his surroundings as he coiled up the grappling hook and slung it over his shoulder once again. Roofs. Roofs as far as the eyes could see. The moon was big and white, partially hidden behind the faraway ��tincellement Montagnes, Sparkling took in the astonishing sight for a moment, and then remembered he had to get to the catacombs. He tip toed to the edge of the roof, and leaned his head over to look at the bonfire below.
Careful. Don't fall, he told himself. Down on the street, the drinkers were still gathered around the bonfire, singing at the top of their lungs.
"That's the luxury life!" they all sang in unison. "That's the luxury life!" The frondeur tuned the song out of his ears, and started walking towards the other end of the partially steep roof. He could then jump to the neighboring roof, and then the next, and the next, and then climb down at his destination. But suddenly, one of the shingles chipped off underneath his weight, and went flying into the air. It stopped at it's highest point, floating weightless for a split second, and then began it's descent towards the street.
Oh no! They're going to know I'm up here! Before the drinkers could even get to the next line in the song, they stopped abruptly.
"Hey, what was that?" a man said as he looked up at the roof. The frondeur stood motionless, hoping that nobody would spot him.
"What was what?" another person said. The frondeur could didn't dare move his head to look down at them. He only listened.
"Something just fell, and hit me on the head,"the man answered. "It made me drop my beer!"
"It was probably an ember from the fire."
"An ember! An ember's gonna fall and hit me on the head?"
"Sure."
"It wasn't an ember. I'm tellin' ya!"
Suddenly, the frondeur heard a cracking noise below his feet. The shingles gave a sudden jolt beneath his feet, and he struggled to keep his balance.
Steady. Steady. It would be a lot easier if he could hold out his arms to balance himself, but he couldn't risk drawing attention! Don't fall! Don't fall! And then... CRACK,sunglasses top sale! The rest of the shingles broke into pieces, and the frondeur went tumbling towards the earth.
Ahh! Before he knew it, he was laying on the ground on his side. He looked up to see a group of people huddled over him, their faces perplexed and flustered.
"Who are you?" a man screamed, and struck a hand out to smack him. The frondeur grabbed the man's hand at lightning speed, and bent it back to his chubby wrist, the chilling sound of bones cracking filling the air. The man screamed in agony, and dropped to the ground, holding his wrist in pain. The frondeur jumped to his feet.
"You monster!" a woman screamed, walking over to help the man, who's face was now puffy and red from crying.
"I'm the monster? All of you are the ones that have been brainwashed by the new government!" All of the people dropped their beer bottles to the ground, the yellowish liquid splashing up into the air. A few droplets landed on the frondeur's boots, but he ignored that, and pulled out a metal blade from his belt. He swung it around in a full arc, sending the people stepping a few paces backward.
"What the..." one of them trailed off in surprise. Suddenly, a heavy man came rushing at him, sumo style. The frondeur stepped to the side, and slashed the back of the man's legs as he charged past. The man did a chin dive onto the stone road, and skidded to a stop.
Two down...
A women with bulging eyes and frizzy hair came running at him like a raging bull. He jabbed the knife-sized blade into her chest, and she fell to the ground.
That's three... Any more contenders? He looked at the faces around him. All were terrified and surprised at the same time. Then, as if planned, all turned around and fled at once.
"That was easy," the frondeur said to himself as he slid the metal blade into his belt. After that, he continued his journey back to the catacombs. He had to inform the rest of the New Fronde that he had completed his mission, and tomorrow morning, the Eiffel Tower would be in a million little pieces.
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