#I use ‘uncharitable’ not as a sneer but like. objectively

[take-care-of-it]

Genuinely confused where the idea that Curly’s covered for actions akin to rape from Jimmy in the past came from. To my knowledge all Curly said was Jimmy’s had it rough in the past and that he’s “overcome difficult things before.” Now that’s very vague, so I could see an uncharitable read where you could take that from it. But is there more that I’ve just missed?

[rametarin]

I have some minor complaints about this

Firstly, the vast majority of the COVID deaths in the US were coming from people over the age of 60. And most of those, people in their 80s. And the obese. If you were old AND have pulmonary/respiratory problems, there's not really a whole lot that could be done to save you. That 3,000 deaths a day figure is misleading and uncharitable.

Secondly, the damage to infrastructure and personnel from targeted malicious explosions is worse and more intelligent and dynamic than dealing with a virus, and allowed to propagate on its own, Islamo-fascism does just that.

Thirdly, you can bomb mafioso estates and suddenly end targeted attacks and guerilla warfare for generations. As proof, I point to the fact there's no Nazi Germany anymore. You can't make viruses extinct so easily. Whatever ones feelings on Islamo-fundamentalist terror waging guerilla wars on southeast Asia and the rest of the Middle East, it is objectively true global jyhad was and still very much is a thing, and was not going away.

9/11 was not devastating solely because it killed a few thousand people and then the debris caused health issues. 9/11 was a problem because it was an organized terrorist attack against a structure that you aren't supposed to be big enough to antagonize like this without your entire culture and way of life vaporizing. It's one thing for a religious organization to sweep in and take over a sleepy little hamlet somewhere and subjugate the entire population to their religious authorities and organizational tyranny. It's another to do it to a society that has an organized military force and the right and means to turn your castle to glass and your very identity into a memory.

If it helps, imagine if an American megachurch decided to.. oh. I don't know.. carry out January 6th, but this time actually use weapons and actually had a ready made religious imperative and structure, rather than a flash mob, with the ACTUAL intent on taking over the country in their name of their god, culture and structure and social order. That's what the world was facing, at the time. A dirt poor initiative and will and determinism to impose their way of life and morals and the language of Islam on all that were not.

The US government can't do anything about people getting old, and has a very difficult time keeping them from getting obese if they're dead set on making themselves obese. It can, however, solve a problem of insurgency with a few well placed explosives and end ambitions of things like ISIS/ISIL from seizing and holding power for long.

People that have determined they want to kill you in an organized way because you won't carry their beliefs in your heart, subjugate your systems of government and supplant them with their own parallel governments based on their religious authorities, are a different enemy altogether from an illness you get by not social distancing and washing your hands. Which may or may not have been a targeted bio-terrorism weapon designed from the start to be a source of economic destruction. And just because you aren't seeing the deaths at home from Islamic religious terrorism quite the way it's happening across Asia and Africa, doesn't mean it isn't taking place and didn't deserve confronting.

Also that sneer towards oil companies; You know who consume petroleum products? People. You know who consume a lot of petroleum products? Sick people, old people. They need more things to continue existing. That means they need other people to provide those things. That means if there's a global pandemic, oil companies see to lose more in sales by loss of customers than they'd gain by whatever ventures they profitted from during Iraq and Afghanistan. This meme about how US oil companies just went in and slurped up or monopolized Iraqi oil is factually wrong. For some reason this meme about dirty capitalists and oil (which Soviet and then Russian chemical energy moguls seem to avoid stigma from, despite being the next biggest sources for these fuels) seems to suggest they're smart enough to take over and steal other peoples resources but somehow not intelligent enough to know pandemic deaths mean greater lost profits than the benefits of an illegal war. Suggesting mindless evil, solely by how much that doesn't make sense.

9/11 makes less sense if you think the tragic thing about it was just the thousands of people that died from the initial attack and ignore what the brazenness of running up to the biggest source of certain death and destruction for getting too uppity and tyrannical in the area and punching them in the face. That was a sign that absolutely no expense or pragmatic limit was considered by the Islamo-fascists. It meant they would not stop and were willing to carry out any kind of brutal inhumanity imaginable, regardless of whether they could be opposed and destroyed or not. That the enemy was not reasonable, and would not accept anything less than total victory at any acceptable loss.

no caption needed

[fictionerd]

The Story of Marilene Post 2

Chapter One: Bard (continued)

“You could use some light in your life.” - Marilene

---Last Seed, 19th, 4E 201--- Funny, Why would the innkeep give me a double?

The answer, as with so much of my life lately, is Melodia. Sometime shortly after I'd laid down to sleep I felt her slip into bed with me. I knew it was her by her scent. The smoke from the effigy couldn't completely mask Lavender and Nightshade. She didn't make any advances, merely cuddled up to me and we both slept like the dead.

I have a sneaking suspicion she was watching my back up until Dead Men's Respite. Making sure nothing untoward happened. She may have even followed me into the crypt.

When I awoke I found a note from her on my bedside table.

"Looks like you can finally head out into the world huh, Lene? It's been lovely to see you again, but duty calls me away. I'm headed to Riften. If you find yourself there in your travels do look me up. I'll either be at the worker's bunkhouse or down in the Ragged Flagon. Oh, and if you met a red-headed stepchild named Brynjolf don't let him bully you too much.

Your infrequent bedmate, Melodia"

This is always how it is with her. She shows up, does something to help, something to hurt, something to tease, and then she's gone. I've imagined what it might be like to be with her, but we both know it wouldn't work. Not the way I'd want it to anyway.

I'm a believer in true love, and while my curiosity has lead me to temptation, Melodia's standards are more strict. She is not one for long-term commitments and makes sure she only "plays" with people who are the same. Or at the very least won't be hurt by her leaving when she's grown bored.

On a more practical note: Viarmo said that the other professors at the college would likely have tasks to be done. I'm going to check with them and then maybe have a look at the notice board. Today I head out into Skyrim to adventure. I wonder what I'll find there.

Unbelievable. Each of the professors has me going out to hunt for a missing instrument. You'd think Bards would keep better hold of these things. Though to be fair they all have good reason. Bandits broke into the college, One of the students sold it off, and the most legitimate: It's a treasure lost to time.

So perhaps I was being uncharitable to my esteemed teachers. I just find it amusing that it is the retrieval of instruments that have them sending me hither, thither and yon.

According to what they've told me Rjorn's Drum is in Falkreath Hold. Panatea's Flute is in the Pale, and Finn's Lute is in the Rift.

The Rift       Melodia

No there's no way she'd have a hand in that, besides. She wasn't even in a position to do so when the instrument was stolen.

I took a ferry from Solitude's Docks to Dawnstar. It took longer than I would have expected, but we arrived regardless. Upon entering the Inn I heard a commotion. There were some local miners pressing a priest for answers regarding some epidemic of nightmares plaguing the town.

The priest, Erandur, confided in me that these Nightmares were the machinations of the Daedric Prince Vaermina. He has a plan to free the town of her grasp, and I've agreed to help him once morning comes. Panatea's Flute will simply have to wait.

---Last Seed, 20th, 4E 201--- Today has been a day. I awoke and after a bite to eat I set out with Erandur to Nightcaller Temple. It was located within a tower on the hill above Dawnstar. Within lie sleeping orc raiders and cultists of Vaermina. All of them between us and the object of our mission: The Skull of Corruption.

Daedric Artifact of Vaermina herself, the Skull of Corruption famously feeds on the memories of others to fuel its vile magick. Our mission was to destroy the Skull and stop it feeding on Dawnstar's memories.

We were not long to the task before we were stopped by a barrier spell set up by the cultists of old, but Ah, Erandur had secret knowledge and from it formulated a plan.

As a former priest of Vaermina from that very temple Erandur knew what sorcery was housed within its walls. Believing as I do in the power of redemption I followed through with his request. To find and drink the concoction known as Vaermina's Torpor. Borrowing its effects I might delve into the past through dreams to transport myself to the other side of the barrier.

So drink I did, and travel I did. Within the dream I bore witness to the day the orcs attacked the temple through the eyes of one Cassimir.

The barrier thusly circumvented we delved to the depths of the temple. There upon grim pedestal lay the Skull of Corruption. Guarding it the las of Vaermina's Priests. Veren and Thorek who knew Erandur by the name he'd once held among their number: Cassimir.

Though he fled from the temple when the priests did plunge its occupants into deep, prolonged sleep He's spent hs waking hours sense seeking forgiveness. This nobility of spirit was deserving of praise and reward. Which he received from me and Mara both.

Erandur used a ritual to lift the seal from the Skull and destroy it. Though I know that such artifacts will, inevitably, return to Tamriel I am glad that we are rid of that hungry beast all the same.

Now, off to sleep. Tomorrow I've plenty of ground to cover, and a flute to retrieve.

---Last Seed, 21st, 4E 201--- On my way to the location Panatea pointed out to me I came across a strange sight.

The burned remains of what I assume was a mage. The ground around them was still burning, and on the ground before them was a tome designed to teach a fire cloak spell. Whatever happened here it must have been SOME mishap.

It is with solemn mood and somber heart that I pen this latest entry to my tale, oh journal. I have failed, and it weighs upon my heart.

I made my way to the cave where the Necromancers in possession of Panatea's Flute resided. Within I heard cries for help from a woman in their grasp. I rushed through the cave as quickly as I could, but by the time I'd reached their final sanctum the fiends had already put her to the knife and raised her as their thrall.

It's one thing to know that something like this is coming, it's another entirely to actually go through it. I knew when I began this quest of mine that there would be days like this. Days when I would fail. Days when I wouldn't make it "Just in time" to save some one.

I tried to be stoic about it. To mourn in secret for the life of this woman I didn't even know. To mourn for the life I failed to save.

I couldn't manage it. I fled from that place, Flute in hand and Necromancers dead. I ran across the snow-laden tundra and glacial shelves. Through wolf and bandit to Wayward Pass. When I reached the wayshrine and saw it was dedicated to Arkay I feel to my knees and wept. Praying to the divines for forgiveness.

"How can I become the hero I so desire to be if I let those I place under my protection die?" It's a ridiculous thought. No Hero's tale ever explicitly states it, or at the very least few do, but No hero is perfect. No Hero was ever able to save every life within reach. Alessia waged war with the Ayleids. The Hero of Kvatch couldn't be at every Oblivion Gate in Tamriel. I   I couldn't reach the woman in time.

I've rented a room for the night at a roadside Inn called Nightgate. I've changed back into my College Robes and have been performing for the scant guests. More to occupy my thoughts than anything. I hope that playing the music I learned in Solitude will help to lift my spirits. Seeing the smiles of contentment on the faces of the audience is a blessing.

-N-    Nine forgive me, and grant me respite.

---Last Seed, 22nd, 4E 201--- I've made it south to Stony Creek Cave where the bandits who stole Finn's Loot should be hiding. I've stopped for a moment to collect my thoughts before heading in.

On my way south I entered Windhelm to trade off a few things and be gone as quickly as I could. Being a Solitude Bard I didn't want to end up on the wrong end of Stormcloak scrutiny. Unfortunately I happened upon something I couldn't ignore.

When I first entered the city there was a drunk Nord harrassing a Dunmer woman. I was not about to stand by and watch that happen so I sprinted over and grabbed him by the shoulder turning him around.

"What? Don't like my attitude Halfsy?" He sneered. I punched him in the mouth.

"A hundred septims says I can teach you manners," I said loosing the wolf-fur cloak I'd taken to wearing and letting it drop to the ground.

He took me up on the bet and charged me. It was a near thing, but I've been practicing my footwork. Eventually his swings got so large and lumbering they were easy to avoid and I laid him out on the ground. Much to my surprise he actually paid up on the bet. Though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. He /was/ a Nord after all.

Suffice to say I was drawing approving and disapproving looks from various guards so I made with my market trip and then bought a horse before leaving so as to get away from the city all the quicker.

I'll need a name for her. I'm thinking Tambor. Short for Tamborine. Something about the beat of the hooves striking the ground complimented by the jangling of tack.

I suppose I've put things off long enough. Time to head inside and get that lute back.

Well that's a pleasant introduction, but was I expecting anything else?

Well that's another instrument gathered, only one left to go, and the Lute isn't all I found.

I came across this unusual stone in the Bandit's lair. I'm certain it must be valuable. So long as I'm in the Rift I may as well head to the capital, maybe look up Melodia and get this thing appraised.

---Last Seed, 23rd, 4E 201--- With a single exception Riften has been a downright loathesome place. I've been shaken down, accused of meddling, solicited for criminal activity, and assaulted, and that was only in the hour or two after I arrived last night.

According to Melodia's instructions from back in Solitude I looked for her first at the bunkhouse. The moment I mentioned her name the proprietress kicked me out. Something about "/another/ poacher on her turf" whatever that means. That left only the Ragged Flagon. Asking about I learned that it was in the ratway beneath the city. Within those cramped warrens I was attacked no less than three times.

When I finally reached the Flagon Melodia instantly recognized me and came rushing down from the wooden platform that housed the bar.

"Lene!?" She accused, "What in Oblivion are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, obviously," I replied. She pressed the palm of her hand against her forhead.

"Dear, sweet, innocent, Lene. I wasn't at all seriously suggesting you-" she cut herself off and took a deep breath. That's when I notced she was not dressed as I expected her to be. She wore a close-fitting leather cuirass with breeches and boots to match. All soft, and seemingly padded. Her gloves left her fingers free. The neckline of the cuirass dove just a tad, and a leather hood hung from round her neck fastened by a brooch that seemed to be fashioned into the form of a bird and laquered black, "But of course you would. I never should have put that in the note to begin with."

She looped an arm around mine and turned me back toward the door.

"Hey, I've got-"

"Things to do, people to see, damsels to rescue," she fluttered her lashes at me, "Yes, you do but not here. Let's go get a room at the bee and you can tell me all about your adventures."

So we did, and I did. Though I insisted on performing for the late-night crowd at the Inn. A self-respecting Bard doesn't let a crowd go to waste (Or a chance at a free room go by).

I handed off the unusual gem to her. She said she'd get some one in the Flagon to take a look at it for me. She also gave Brynjolf a piece of her mind when she found out he'd already zeroed in on me. We spent the night together and that curiosity came over me as we lay there. I think she sensed it because she laced her fingers through mine.

"Lene, I know. I'm poison. Perhaps not deadly, but poison nonetheless. You're destined for things so much greater than I. Let me be the knife in the dark to your shield in the light."

Being careful to keep ahold of her hand I rolled over to look into her eyes.

"One night," I said, "Not tonight, but one night I want us to have something. You deserve some light in your life."

She smiled, and I saw tears in her eyes. She slid closer and gave me a hug, "And maybe you could use some shadow in yours."