#INTER-STATE SUPPLY

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I have a question, so for most of the day to day things that the students do, they where some from of uniform for, wether it be their normal school one, the PE one or their dorm clothes they wear (that still are basically uniforms) or the ceremonial robes so my question is, are they allowed to at all wear what they want during any time at school? Because even in events such as the masquerade or the savanna one we had not long ago (bare with me I am bad at remembering names) that happen outside of school, they are commonly seeing wearing their uniform or at the very least their PE kits (that changes if the event gives them different clothing such as the outfits for the masquerade). The one time I can kind of remember the students being allowed to kind of wear what they want is during the event with stitch (again I can't remember the name). If their are times they wear non school can you perhaps give a list or something of what they wear? Or perhaps times they mention their style or what the normally wear?

Sorry if my English is terrible it is not my first language and spelling and grammar over all aren't my strong suit. And sorry for the ramble, feel free to ignore it as I know this is kind of stupid.

Have a good day/night and rest well

NOTE: NRC supplies uniforms (ie school, P.E., etc.; one copy of each) but if you ruin it then you have to buy a new one.

While the game doesn’t outright state when the students must wear their school uniforms, we can probably guess based on irl British boarding schools (for which NRC is modeled after). In the UK, the general policy is that students must wear their uniforms during ALL school hours and breaks. This typically ranges from ~8 or 8 am to 5 pm every week day. If students leave campus on a trip or in some capacity to represent the school (ie inter-school events, conferences, etc.), they are also expected to wear their uniforms. After school and on the weekends, students are allowed to dress casually or however they like.

As for why the students are almost always depicted in one kind of uniform, part of it is limited assets. It’s a lot of time and effort to give everyone different outfits all the time (most anime and manga, even the ones that don’t take place in a school setting, have one “standard” outfit for this reason). It’s easier to design the outfit(s) they’ll be seen in for most of the time and have that become the iconic look. This is, of course, excluding special occasions or promotions, limited time merch, etc.

The in-game reason often provided for why the boys largely wear a NRC uniform of some kind is because of association with the school. Night Raven College is extremely prestigious, so they must be mindful of how they present themselves, especially to the public and in the presence of other schools. Their uniforms are seen as cool, elite, and emblematic of NRC the institution, so this is why students wear them not only at special occasions (opening ceremonies, unbirthday parties, etc.) but also in front-facing events (sporting matches, cultural festivals, Halloween; the campus is open to the public). They wear their school uniforms to Noble Bell College as representatives for NRC. Kalim and Floyd wear their robes when entertaining guests from outside NRC in Kalim’s Ceremonial Robes vignettes. Vil also makes the VDC/SDC squad wear their school uniforms as their outfits for the performance, citing that it’s a symbol of their youth as well as them being the NRC team. Azul states that the ceremonial robes are “popular with the ladies” in Ruggie’s Ceremonial Robes vignettes. Even Fellow, who had ill intent toward the NRC students, was only able to pin them as NRC students in the first place because of their iconic uniform. The dorm leaders are allowed to alter their dorm uniforms as they like, allowing them to stand out as the “boss” of their respective dorms. There is a lot of perceived power and status that comes with wearing NRC clothing—and it’s also the responsibility of those wearing those clothes to make NRC look good. I think Deuce states it the best in a Ceremonial Robes voice line: “These robes are the face of Night Raven College. They're covered with intricate embroidery to make it clear that we stand above other schools.”

A minor thing I’d like to tack on is that the NRC uniforms, especially the dorm uniforms, are enchanted with magic that makes them more durable and combat-ready than your average clothes. This means there is actual practicality and utility behind always wearing the uniforms, especially if you’re like… taking a course that’s intense with its magical workload. I’d also like to think that after spending what is basically a third of your day in the same clothes (which are also functional), some students may be too tired to change into something else so they instead choose to stay in their current uniform. Students in clubs are already obligated to change into other uniforms (like sports team members do) so maybe they’d get too tired to swap out into casual wear.

A lot of the characters don’t talk about personal fashion at length. However, here is a compilation of my own impressions of the prominent NRC characters’ takes on fashion and personal grooming (based on canon information). Please note that this can change based on new content that comes out. For example, the new Relaxing in Room series of cards may contain more details about personal grooming and dress.

Riddle

Riddle thinks outfits that are casual or show too much skin are outrageous. (He dislikes his beachwear for these reasons.)

In book 1, he helps Yuu fix their tie. He also praises his own dorm members when they wear their uniforms correctly or are in formal attire. This implies he has an eye for detail and prefers for uniforms, especially when worn properly.

He states that he values what is inside more than looks.

Riddle describes his Suitor Suit as being similar to what he would wear for the parties he attended with his family. He is therefore no stranger to very formal looks.

His Dorm Uniform heels are high to emulate the Queen of Hearts; however, Riddle also implies he wishes to be taller, which is another reason he wears high heels.

My impression: Riddle honestly is probably used to wearing whatever his mom makes him wear. If he doesn’t have her guidance, then he’ll default to sets of clothes/uniforms or very formal attire. Likely also a stickler for stray hairs, dust, loose threads, etc. Very preppy. Would probably wear high heels to augment his height.

Trey

He has had bad eyesight since elementary school so he has worn glasses since. In fact, Trey collects frames (you can see them in his room) and has tried many styles, as well as considered contacts. However, he looks more intimidating without glasses and in half-rim glasses (according to his mom and younger sister), so he foregoes those options now.

Trey says he gets complimented the most when he wears rounded Wellington or oval frames. Quirkier cat-eye or rimless frames don’t go over as well.

He is comfortable wearing black.

He finds casual and "lived-in" looks like his Outdoor Wear comfortable. However, he also says he would prefer more muted colors.

He apologizes for not buttoning up his vest, but it seems he prefers it that way.

Trey doesn’t like being the center of attention. If in a group, he would rather not be wearing something that makes him stick out like a sore thumb.

He likes hats, so he has a few. The one he wears in his Dorm Uniform was custom made to match Heartslabyul.

Draws on his card suit with makeup.

My impression: Like Trey says, he likes casual fashion and muted colors. Whatever will not attract attention to him and allow him to keep his peace. He seems to be really into being experimental with his looks when it comes to glasses though. Likely would also wear a hat.

Cater

Cater seems to like wearing matching clothes. He has, for example, matching T-shirts with his Light/Pop Music Club bandmates.

He enjoys colorful and flashy fits like what he wears for his club.

Anything ‘cammable!! Cater gushes a lot about aesthetically pleasing clothes, including his costume for Halloween and other alternate looks like the Yasmina Silk and Beans Camo.

He has considered going for a different hair style but has trouble committing to one. Cater says if you change your hair, it also changes your image.

Keeps up with the latest trends.

Draws on his card suit with makeup.

My impression: Cater has an eye for what looks good and will grab attention on social media. He also goes for outfits that signify group unity (which might tie back to the “twinning” trend and/or his desire to belong somewhere). However, although Cater makes these claims it also seems he is interested in reinventing himself, as indicated in his discussion of changing his hair.

Ace

He likes luxury and name-brand fashions but can’t always afford it.

Ace likes to look at shoe magazines with Floyd.

He has been gifted fancy outfits and accessories before, such as luxury sunglasses for his birthday from Vil. Ace vows to take good care of these, but also tends to want to show them off to his friends.

Ace uses a little bit of wax to do his hair in the mornings.

He remarks that some outfits don’t have sleeves, which makes it hard to conceal things for magic tricks. Still, he is confident that he doesn’t always need sleeves to pull off his stunts successfully.

He doesn’t like outfits that are all one color, especially white. Those can be boring!

He likes to pick accessories or shoes of similar colors as his top. This gives his look the appearance of being well-coordinated.

He buys new clothes from the Foothill Town.

Ace is usually very skilled at imitation, but he notes that even he has a hard time figuring out how much makeup to use. He once tried to follow a tutorial video and overdrew his brows.

Draws on his card suit with makeup.

My impression: Bro has the fashion sense of the average teenage boy. He covets name-brand and high-end items that will make him seem cool to his peers and is confident that he can wear these well.

Deuce

Deuce normally tries to present as an honors student; this means wearing his clothes properly, wearing his hair neat and natural, etc.

Formal clothes like his Dorm Uniform make him nervous since he's not used to wearing such things.

He doesn’t seem to have a strong aesthetic sense and just goes with whatever he thinks is most cool. For example, he thinks flaming skulls would be a great magical wheel/blastcycle decal. He also thinks masks are cool because they remind him of superheroes.

He has issues with clothes that are too long, like his Starsending Robes. While Deuce doesn’t take issue with the look of tbe clothes, he does find it hard to move in them, as he is always stumbling over the fabrics.

Deuce is embarrassed by cute, fluffy, rabbit-themed clothes. This is because he used to dress this way as a kid and wants to be taken more seriously now that he’s older.

Draws on his card suit with makeup.

My impression: Boy is trying his best, but his best isn’t much in way of fashion. He tries to come off as cool, but his idea of what’s “cool” may not always be the most appealing to the eye. Not a fashion disaster or anytime though; I think he just… for as much as he tries to be preppy, his true style is more wild and tough. Doesn't feel entirely comfortable in formal wear.

Leona

He seems to like his clothes worn loosely and in his own way; for example, the buttons are undone in his School Uniform and his armband is worn like a belt.

Many of his looks involve low cut tops or unbuttoned tops to reveal… let’s say more than it probably should 😭

Leona says that people back home took issue with his sense of fashion.

Beaded bangles are a specialty of his home country; Leona himself wears quite a few bracelets.

Leona complains about clothes that take forever to put on and take off. He also hates outfits that are heavy and have too many decorations.

When his braids fall out of place or get loose, he’s too lazy to redo them and commands others to fix it for him.

He doesn’t care for compliments about his looks.

Leona claims be only buys what “catches his eye”; price is not an issue. He says that any clothes are fine as long as they look good on him and fit.

In the manga, Leona sleeps shirtless. We also see that he handles his clothes carelessly and slings them all over his room.

He recognizes the Fairy Gala Couture as being tasteful, but just not to his style.

He appreciates extravagant and traditional clothes from his home country. In fact, Leona cites his outfit as being the only good part of going home for Catch the Tail/Bead Brawl.

Leona sometimes has Ruggie shop for clothing for him. This is the case for his Outdoor Wear.

We have to account for his ears + tail in regards to fashion. He also has a sensitive nose, so that’s a consideration for perfumes.

My impression: Leona is able to tell what does and doesn’t look good, but he usually doesn’t like to make the effort to dress up himself. He has a very “wild” sense of style, meaning loose fits and showing off… assets… and doesn’t like overly complicated or impractical outfits. Leona appears to like luxurious looks, as he buys what “catches his eye” and praises his own King’s Garb.

Ruggie

Ruggie will generally go with anything he gets his hands on, even hand-me-downs that are too big for him. This is the case for his Dorm Uniform, which is one of Leona’s.

If he thinks he can sell it later for cash, he'll pick the most extravagant clothes and accessories he can. He doesn't like to wear fancy clothes himself though; he doesn't feel comfortable in them.

He prefers for his outfits to have fewer buttons, as they're a hassle to deal with.

Ruggie likes shorts, which are light and comfy. He values mobility in his outfits, which is why he also says he likes casual clothes.

Not a fan of pure white clothes, as they get dirty easily. Ruggie says he can't eat in them.

He praises his Dorm Uniform for being easy to move in and not too fancy. Ruggie calls it "right up [his] alley".

We have to account for his ears + tail in regards to fashion. He also has a sensitive nose, so that’s a consideration for perfumes.

My impression: Ruggie has very practical tastes, though he generally isn’t picky and will accept clothes as long as he’s getting them for free and they fit him. He prefers casual clothes that allow for mobility, aren't too fancy, and are easy to slip into, similar to his Dorm Uniform.

Jack

He says he's not into highly glamourous fashion.

When instructed to wear something "neat and tidy", Jack's immediate thought is his Lab Wear.

He uses wax instead of gel to style his hair, as he finds gel to leave his hair much too stiff.

Doesn't like heels that are too high. They make it difficult for him to balance!!

He gets all hype when he wears a lot of accessories; it makes him feel like something exciting is about to happen.

Jack reports he usually wears a shirt and cardigan or jacket back home. This combination makes it easier to regulate his body temperature.

He likes the Savanaclaw Dorm Uniform because it's easy to move in and durable; it doesn't flop around.

We have to account for his ears + tail in regards to fashion. He also has a sensitive nose, so that’s a consideration for perfumes.

Jack also shops in Foothill Town for clothes.

My impression: Jack has a more simplistic fashion sense; he isn’t into super flashy or impractical clothes, instead choosing to prefer function or how the clothes perform in a given situation. For example, he will choose to wear cardigans or jackets in his cold northern home and something “neat and tidy” when working at the Mostro Lounge.

Azul

He only has a single pair of glasses, the rectangular ones that he wears on his face. After speaking with Trey, Azul says he feels like trying new frames out. Azul worries that glasses that aren't his usual style (like the circular lenses in his Masquerade Dress) may not suit him.

Though he does need correction for his vision (he says his lab goggles have a prescription), he implies that he wears glasses because they make him appear smarter.

He wears a cologne because it helps to sell the image of him being well-composed and trustworthy, especially in business dealings. Azul is very particular about his cologne, as it is one of his favorite parts of living on land.

In fact, a lot of how Azul presents himself is to create this impression that he is cool and can be trusted. This extends to his clothes, hair, and makeup.

Having grown up in the frigid Coral Sea, he has a higher tolerance for cold than most others do.

Azul is particular with how the twins present themselves too. When Floyd gifted Jade a goofy T-shirt, Azul told Jade not to wear it outside.

My impression: Azul carefully considers his grooming and dress, taking care to not appear disheveled to others. It's all a part of his personal brand! He typically sticks to the same frames, but has indicated that he may branch out. It sounds like Azul isn't too confident about changing his style until he gets validation from his peers.

Jade

When camping, Jade wears a hat so as to prevent sunburn. He also dresses in layers so he can adjust his outfit depending on the changing weather conditions.

He is also very well-put-together like Azul; this helps with gaining others' trust as he goes about gathering information for Octavinelle.

Jade says he is fond of asymmetrical designs, such as what is featured in his Halloween Dress.

Not used to clothes with excess fabric; presumably, this is also true for Azul and Floyd, although not explicitly stated.

He recommends sling bags so as to free up the hands. This is especially useful for the mountains.

Fascinated by the concept of dressing up differently for different occasions. He didn’t know the difference between pjs and street clothes back then and once walked out in public in pajamas.

Jade seems to prefer a certain brand and tends to buy his clothes from that brand.

He wears shoes that Floyd calls "way too basic", even if they are high-quality.

Having grown up in the frigid Coral Sea, he has a higher tolerance for cold than most others do.

Jade tries to get people to wear things he think they would look funny in, though Jade claims he is simply “curious” about the fashion of other races.

He irons his clothes in the morning and makes sure they are free of wrinkles.

Received a T-shirt from Floyd that he loves.

Jade describes simple black cloth as “gentlemanly and demure”.

Applying sunblock is important to him. All of his products, including makeup and lip care, include SPF.

Removes his earring when exercising.

My impression: Jade mostly dresses formally (“gentlemanly and demure”), but when he is engaging in his hobbies he plans for the scenario (layers, hats, bags, etc.). We do see bits of his disdain for boredom peeking through though, as he says he likes asymmetrical designs that will keep the eye amused. He’s creative with fashion mainly when he is dressing others for his own amusement. When it comes to himself, he tends to dress to disarm others.

Floyd

Floyd loves fashion and the freedom to pick what he wears for himself (though he handles his clothes carelessly). But! He takes good care of his shoes and shines them.

He leaves his collar unbuttoned most of the time because he finds buttoned collars constrictive.

Floyd likes to play with some elements of clothing, even if it's on other people. For example, when Jack wears a fluffy, fur-like boa, Floyd plays with it and calls it a second tail.

He wasn't a big fan of clothing when he first came on land. Again, they felt constrictive and he didn't like how you have to wash them after wearing them once. It seemed like a waste of time to him.

Floyd loves to coordinate with shoes and accessories, expressing a love for fashion. The trouble is that he keeps buying more stuff and just piling it in his room.

He likes graphic tees and goofy looking moray merch. Floyd has previously purchased clothes for Jade, who loved it.

Floyd states he would rather be naked than wear “lame” clothes.

According to Jade, he tends to like flashy things.

Floyd can easily spot brand name clothing.

He chooses clothes that are easy to move in and durable for Vargas Camp.

He's especially interested in bespoke shoes, sometimes looking at shoe magazines with Ace. Floyd doesn't wear shoes in his true form, so he figures he should enjoy shoes while he's on land~

He's good at coming up with ways to experiment with his looks. For example, when considering sandals, he says you can jazz them up with nail polish, anklets, etc.

Like Jade, he doesn't understand wearing specific clothes for certain occasions such as visiting the beach. Floyd does go out of his way to buy outfits for outings though.

He still fights and nail with Jade about wearing a bow tie to this day and is notably the only member of the Octatrio that doesn't care to maintain a pretense of polite or proper dress.

Having grown up in the Coral Sea, he has a higher tolerance for cold than most others do.

Removes his earring when exercising.

My impression: Floyd is much more openly adventurous and flashy with his outfits than Jade is. He doesn't like formal clothes or being told what to wear; the wants to be allowed to be experimental, especially with his accessories. Additionally, Floyd really likes luxury shoes--they're an item he pays a lot of attention to.

Kalim

Kalim often guns for the fanciest outfits without a second thought, sometimes calling for them to be made even fancier with jewels.

He tends to go for excessive jewelry too, whether for himself or for others. Kalim once almost bought everyone in Scarabia diamonds as souvenirs. Usually wears earrings himself.

Loves the color white; he says that he always picks this color when he is getting outfits tailored. Kalim is also a fan of loud and bright colors.

He reports having "lots of outfits [like the Fairy Gala Couture] at home".

Kalim usually has his head in a scarf. There are some voice lines in which he claims he cannot do his headdress by himself and other voice lines in which he offers to help you wrap your own.

He only wears clothes of the highest quality.

My impression: Kalim has a very extravagant and excessive fashion sense. He wears a lot of white and loves tons of detail and accessories in his outfits, including head scarves and jewelry. Really doesn't know when enough is enough.

Jamil

Jamil works hard at taking care of his appearance. This is partly because he, as a servant, could impact the reputation of his employers, the Asims, if he presents in a slovenly manner, especially when on the job or helping at an event.

He particularly likes to take care of his hair. Jamil likes it long, even if it takes more effort to maintain. He uses a variety of high quality and rare products on it, and his sister also gifts him hair products. Jamil has taught himself how to do his hair in the mornings with magic, though it took significant practice.

He has a keen eye for textiles and embroidery, often examining clothes and commenting on its quality when browsing.

Jamil tries on clothes before he buys them. He of course considers the design and material, but comfort is also an important factor for him.

Jamil states that he likes to wear oversized and comfortable clothes. The loose fit is nice and allows him to easily move, which probably helps with fulfilling his duties. This is perhaps why Jamil wears a hoodie in his School Uniform card.

He wears many hair ornaments. Jamil buys them himself and receives them as gifts. He claims he is not too particular about them.

Jamil feels a little uneasy about bugs, even if he knows they are fake. He's reluctant to touch the silver insects on his Fairy Gala Couture boots. Ironically, he does not express any anxiety about the scarabs on his Dorm Uniform shoes.

He likes the arm sleeve on his Basketball Club Uniform—both the design and its function, which keeps his shots steady.

Jamil doesn’t normally choose colors like silver. It’s hard for him to feel comfortable in it.

He does not like accessories that can throw off his balance.

Warns others to be careful with delicate items such as corsages.

Jamil says prefers to not be bothered and to not stand out.

My impression: Compared to Kalim, Jamil's fashion is much more demure and dialed back. He still dresses well and fine fabrics so as to not bring shame to the Asims. For more casual attire, he prioritizes quality and comfort, preferring oversized and comfortable clothes he can easily move in. Probably avoid bug designs. Jamil wears his hair in an elaborate style but claims he doesn't think much of it + the accessories... which I don't personally buy for one second. It's one of the few things he has control over in his life, and why would he keep buying accessories and being gifted them if he supposedly doesn't care??? I think bro's humble bragging www

Vil

He, as a model and influencer, is familiar with the top brands and even works closely with some of them. He's well aware of the value of his face and won't allow others to use it without proper compensation.

He sometimes has to wear disguises to avoid paparazzi.

Notices little details like slightly different stripe thicknesses.

Vil is comfortable parading around in a variety of styles; he doesn’t seem to have a particular preference for one over the other, as he tends to have praise for whatever he finds himself wearing, as well as the clothes of other cultures. If an outfit can be stylish as well as functional, he can commend that too.

Often agrees with Crewel. For example, they both think Vargas has very "strange" tastes in fashion.

He won’t compromise on his looks. For example, he’ll bring an entire skincare routine with him when camping.

Expresses a jealousy towards his celebrity rival Neige's popularity. This may be in part to Vil being aware that he can't pull off the same "cute and innocent" aesthetic that Neige does.

Vil creates his own perfumes, skincare, and other cosmetics. He gives these to his dorm members as well.

Has scathing words for those who put no effort into their appearance and/or those who look down on caring about one's looks.

Notably, Vil is the concept of gender itself/j very comfortable wearing even very feminine outfits, such as more makeup-heavy looks or skirts/dress-adjacent additions.

My impression: One of the most fashion forward in the NRC cast, as well as one of the most flexible with his dress. He doesn't have one particular style he favors, though he is often seen in classic and elegant clothes that the public seems to think best suit his image. Vil is also gender non-conforming in his fashion, sometimes wearing traditionally "feminine" looks and being conident in it. Able and willing to call out what he deems as unseemly.

Rook

He used to cut his bangs with a knife. Back then, Rook was only concerned about keeping his vision clear. Nowadays, he ties his hair back when he exercises or cooks.

His hair is easily damaged by UV, so he has to take extra good care of it. Without that extra care, Rook says his hair becomes wheat-like in texture. Vil describes his old hair as being "long and unkempt" "dry and shaggy", and lacking in volume.

He used to wear denim jeans with holes and tears in them (as the result of animals). He also wore sweatpants often.

Rook tans easily; before meeting Vil, Rook didn't really have a skincare routine. His cheeks were freckled and the tip of his nose was red.

Vil says that Rook's only criteria for casual clothing used to be that it should be easy to move in. Rook has no trouble still hunting in his Pomefiore uniform, but also remarks that it was much easier to move in his Savanaclaw one.

Rook consistently wears hats. In his Savanaclaw days, the hat was consistently dirty with sticks, leaves, and soil. He recommends it to others as well to keep the sun out of their eyes while hunting.

He is also usually wearing gloves. This is probably because, as an archer, he needs to protect his hands when he pulls on the strings. Additionally, it could be that the gloves help to further conceal his presence (fingerprints).

His concept of beauty is not grounded in looks alone; Rook is able to appreciate even things others would typically consider ugly or odd.

Rook adopted a more elegant “Pomefiore” sense of style after he transferred and was encouraged by Vil to make himself as beautiful as the subjects he observed. To be clear, Rook states he does enjoy the Pomefiore uniform. He now also encourages others, such as Epel, to embrace the Pomefiore ways.

He says, "I never forget my duty to live up to the clothes I wear."

He doesn’t wear scent unless commanded to by Vil. This is because smell can give away his presence to others.

Rook has a keen eye for detail and can hone in on slight physical changes in both himself and in others.

My impression: Though Rook prioritizes dress that is easy to move in, allows him to hunt, and still conceals him, he currently dresses very differently and follows a new style that’s more in line with Pomefiore traditions. It’s not certain whether Rook still prefers his old threads and self-care routine, but he definitely seems loyal to his new ones at the moment. I get the sense that he really wants to "live up" to the standards of whatever outfit he has on.

Epel

Epel agrees with Deuce that flaming skulls would be a cool motif. It seems they share a sense of style.

He admits to having never thought much about his own appearance. If given the choice, however, Epel would prefer to be called cool rather than cute.

Epel appreciates the light, warm nature of the Applepom outfits. He's proud of his hometown and how the community comes together to prepare clothes and such for visitors.

Though Epel often scoffs at the skincare items Vil forces upon him, he does extol sunblock, as the sunlight bouncing off the snow of his home village can be very harsh.

He's somewhat clumsy, so he cannot handle outfits with excessive fabric too well. Epel tends to trip over himself.

He likes apple patterns on clothes, particularly the poison apple. Epel just thinks it's so cool!

Doesn't like tight clothing or clothes with ribbons and frills on them.

My impression: Epel wants to be seen as "cool"!! ... Which, if we know anything about Epel, is probably something along the lines of "traditionally masculine", seeing as how he looks up to people like Leona. He can learn to appreciate non-masculine outfits like his Rabbit Costume and Applepom, given the right circumstances (the former is rabbit-themed, which he likes, the latter is practical and comes from his hometown). His clothes should fit him and not be oversized in case he trips over it. Epel also favors apple patterns when possible.

Idia

Idia despises the idea of dressing up. It's implied that his usual threads are pretty plain (which makes sense; he doesn't like being stared at).

He repurposes his lab coat and goggles over his pajamas, finding the combo comfortable yet functional. The large pockets allow him to stash his phone or anything else he wants in them. The coat can also catch any spills or crumbs that get on it while he is snacking. Idia has modified the lenses to filter out blue light to make the goggles optimal for gaming. The gloves keep his fingers from getting sweaty and playing poorly. He gets all the functionality while others can't tell he's actually being a slob; Idia calls this "stealth mode".

Idia praises the functionality of the Applepom outfit as well. (The pom-pom on the hat is protective.)

There are rare instances in which Idia will praise the aesthetic; for example, he claims the gloves in his Lab Coat are part of the "aesthetic", but then he immediately continues to comment on the practicality of them.

Idia expresses that he is unable to relax when his hair is pulled back. This is likely because it called more attention to his face.

Very hyped about getting merch of his favorite things, such as a very exclusive T-shirt of his favorite girl group.

He speaks more confidently when he is wearing a mask or helmet, as it conceals his face.

Idia notices the quality and skill it takes to make cosplay. He incorporates his own knowledge of technology and materials to (for example) make a functional Halloween costume with light armor and sound effects.

My impression: Overall, Idia values function over form/looks and prefers his face to be hidden as much as possible. He chooses to dress in a non-descript way and loathes getting dolled up. There are exceptions to this rule; Idia can appreciate a good aesthetic and be passionate about clothing items if they are related to his niche otaku hobbies and interests.

Ortho

Ortho doesn't wear clothes like the traditional human would; rather, his parts can be switched out as needed. Many of his Gears are designed and installed by Idia, whom Ortho praises. He even refers to himself as his older brother's "masterpiece".

Ortho has a large span of capabilities depending on which Gear he is currently wearing, as each is designated with specific functions in mind. He describes Gears as containers he can upload his data into.

His body is capable of having many external add-ons. For example, Idia has made an Oral-Energy-Intake Gear so Ortho can simulate eating food on his birthday.

He thinks that cleaning his individual parts must take forever compared to just doing a load of laundry.

Ortho must consistently update his data to stay up to trend. To do this, he goes out to look at what's currently avaliable.

Post book 6, Ortho becomes more independent of Idia and more willing to design his own Gears. For example, Ortho is responsible for his White Rabbit Gear and contributes his own idea of "evolution" to his Fairy Gear (designed by Crewel).

Sometimes Ortho will ask Idia to make his Gears more decorative. For example, he requests that stars be added to his Starsending Gear.

Other times, Ortho will want to try out new Gears simply to sate his own curiosity. One example is in his Athletic Gear; he was curious about what it feels like to have feet, so Ortho asked Idia for them.

My impression: Like his older brother, Ortho values functionality. Unlike Idia though, Ortho is more experimental and curious with his looks. He actively goes out to gather more data about fashion and seeks new experiences which will enhance his own understanding of what it means to be human.

Malleus

Black is the color of Briar Valley’s royal family. Therefore, Malleus often wears large swathes of black.

He is not comfortable in clothes he barely wears such as his Ceremonial Robes. In the case of the robes, they stir up memories of being left out or uninvited.

Malleus points out the gold rose embroidery on the black fabric of his Masquerade Dress. He then remarks that the maker must “shares [his] tastes.”

Malleus is interested in uniforms. He thinks it is fascinating how, simply by wearing clothes, people assume a new role (such as “student” or “teacher”). Notably, be says few people dress “like this” in Briar Valley, implying that the fashion norms there are very different.

He notices striking makeup and accessories, as well as good fabric quality. Malleus invites others to take note of these too.

Malleus needs specially tailored headwear to accommodate for his horns. For example, his ceremonial robes have holes in the hood.

He rarely shows his tail, so it normally doesn’t need to be accounted for in his outfits.

Malleus says he often wears cloaks back home.

My impression: I get the feeling that Malleus's fashion sense is elegant yet VERY outdated due to a combination of being so long-lived and sheltered. He seems interested in learning more about fashion as it relates to social status and occupations, but doesn't make a strong effort to explore it. It seems he also longs to be invited to events so he has an excuse to wear clothes that suit them, such as NRC's ceremonies. He defaults to wearing a lot of cloaks and the color black to show off his affinity to the Briar Valley royal family.

Lilia

The most experimental in Diasomnia. He loves to paint his fingernails different colors, as well as dye his hair different colors.

In his days as a war general, he wore a mask that most humans would call scary. Lilia however thinks that the mask is "pretty stylish."

He cuts his own hair, as well as Silver and Malleus's.

Lilia is quite confident in his looks, often playing up and praising his own cuteness and charm.

He loves seeing clothing from cultures outside of his own.

Lilia notes that he used to wear stuffy uniforms to formal events. It seems he doesn't quite care for those clothes.

He is weak to the sun, so he has various methods to minimize his exposure and/or to deal with the sunlight.

Lilia doesn't mind clothes that impede him, such as his lab coat which has long sleeves. He "just [deals] with it" because he prefers his clothes to stay cute.

Like Vil, Lilia is another member of the cast that is comfortable wearing traditionally more "feminine" clothes, such as ruffles and skirts.

My impression: Lilia definitely has the most unique sense of style in Diamonia. Despite his age, he is flexible and willing to change with the times and cultures he encounters. He loves trying new things and adopting clothes, hair, and makeup that, although burdensome, enhance his cuteness. He also doesn't mind more "sinister" or edgy styles, such as what he wears for his Club Wear card and in his General's Armor card. Probably no formal clothes in his free time unless there's some added spice to it.

Silver

Silver thinks black uniforms are cool because Briar Valley's royal guard wears black too.

He grooms himself to "meet basic standards" but doesn't know much about fashion. Silver says he is 'clueless" about these kinds of matters.

He has a limited understanding of beauty in general. When Vil asks him to think of something beautiful, Silver replies with "Vil-senpai", and when Ortho tells him he looks like a fairy tale prince, Silver wonders if he looks like Malleus.

His headwear may be crooked sometimes, as Silver is falling asleep while standing up so often. He may also rub at his eyes, which smudges his makeup.

He likes practical clothing, nothing how his Dorm Uniform is easy to move in and how his Fairy Gala Couture boots could make for useful weapons in a pinch.

Silver thinks of some articles of clothing and accessories as obstacles. He notes that he may have to remove necklaces and such, as they could catch on his sword and impede him.

Other times, he thinks that bothersome items could serve as good training opportunities for him. For example, in his Masquerade Dress, his hat limits his field of vision but Silver says it can help him learn to be a better knight.

Silver reports that even if he is dressed up fancily, he is always prepared for emergencies.

My impression: Silver is (in my eyes) the least fashion forward of the group just based on his dialogue. He has a very limited way of thinking about how he dresses and prioritizes optimization for combat or training, not even considering how outfits look for the most part. Silver strikes me as the kind of guy who wears whatever others tell him to (particularly his dad), otherwise he'll go with something sensible and simple.

Sebek

Sebek maintains a neat and tidy appearance so as to not dishonor his liege.

He uses a LOT of hair gel to slick his hair back every day.

Sebek is sensitive to the cold, so he has to bundle up in the winter or snowy areas. He considers wearing a hat that covers his ears all year-round due to how comfortable he finds it.

He says he is not sure what clothes suit him best; he usually wears whatever he is given.

Sebek seems to favor protective gear, describing his coat for Vargas Camp as “durable, waterproof, [and] breathable”. He has lovingly stuck on Diasomnia iconography onto that rainwear too, really letting his inner fanboy speak.

Enthusiastic about clothes endorsed by Malleus and/or Lilia.

My impression: Like Jamil, Sebek takes care of his appearance so he, a servant, doesn't make his master look bad by association. This includes styling his hair so not a single strand of it falls in his face. He also seems to favor protective clothing, sharp uniforms, and anything with approval from Malleus or Lilia.

Crowley

Crowley presents as quite the vain character; he takes quick 3 minutes showers in the morning but leaves ample time for massages and beauty treatments.

He loves shiny things like jewels and precious metals, stating that he could stare at them forever if allowed to.

Crowley calls the mirrors on his belt beautiful. Again, this is probably because he likes shiny things.

He takes care of his shoes. When he notices they are even a little scuffed, he says that he will polish them until they are sparkling later.

He is reportedly never seen without his mask.

Students say they think Crowley would enjoy vacation clothes.

My impression: Crowley is upset when others—staff or student—do not give him the respect he feels he deserves. He is also shown many times over to care about the prestigious reputation of his school. If we extrapolate these feelings, it may explain why Crowley dresses the way he does: to come across like a respectable man, one who represents the interests of NRC (symbolized by the raven). The raven look may also just be because that’s the kind of fae he is, though this has not been confirmed by canon. Of course, he has also managed to incorporate the shiny accessories that catch his eye. People seem to think he likes vacation wear (such as Hawaiian shirts) due to his penchant to slack off.

Crewel

Crewel enjoys both current trends as well as vintage fashion; on his days off, he says he visits some vintage shops, as he finds older clothes that have lasted a long time have a certain aura about them that is hard to replicate.

He loves that the world of fashion is always evolving. It reminds him of his own inadequacies, which he works tirelessly to improve upon.

Crewel designs clothes and has done so for various students and himself. He is also shown to be capable of magically reinforcing them to be studier for combat.

He has experience working in the fashion industry prior to teaching. It’s clear that fashion is very near and dear to his heart, even to this day, since he continues to keep up with and engage with it.

Crewel also concocts his own cologne. He wears one of his own creations.

His fur coat is custom-made. It seems that he finds value in the uniqueness of it.

Crewel may share similar tastes and design philosophy as Vil, as the two work together in Fairy Gala and Fairy Gala: If to design and train the NRC runway models.

My impression: Crewel’s style strikes me as very flexible, forward-thinking, and willing to change. He demonstrates respect for both classic and modern fashions and doesn’t allow himself to be bound by a specific era. The man is always inventing something or on the hunt for the next best thing.

Trein

Trein claims that he is not particular at all with his outfits.

When asked about the way he dresses, he says he just makes sure his outfit and personal grooming befit that of a professor. This includes carrying around a lint roller to clean himself and the area of Lucius’s fur.

My impression: Though Trein doesn’t really seem to care for fashion, I wouldn’t say he has no sense for it or that he’s a slob—he very clearly puts effort into his appearance, if only to look professional. It’s just not an area he has a particular investment in, but he what he does take seriously is his job. This is therefore reflected in how perfectly groomed his appearance is.

Vargas

He prefers clothing that is easy to move around in; in one of his Unified Exam lines, he expresses that he cannot understand why Crewel’s fur coat is so expensive yet is also so impractical to move around in.

Vargas seems to canonically have a poor eye for aesthetics. In Vargas Camp, he appears in a strange beast-like outfit that he designed himself. In the sequel event, he gives Crewel a similarly eccentric and over-the-top outfit which everyone hints it is odd-looking. Vargas however thinks his designs are cool and powerful.

He suggests a heavier material for the school's P.E. uniforms so as to help the students enhance their muscles while they work out.

My impression: Vargas is really into sportswear/garments that are easy to move in, as well as things that look cool or strong to him (but are weird-looking to everyone else). He may also like clothes that help him with his training in other ways.

Sam

Sam states that he has multiples of the same suit that he just swaps around.

He explains the charm of his outfit as “whimsy peeking out from the formal”, most likely referring to the unique skeletal pattern on his suit.

Crewel states that Sam is aware of how he presents himself. Crewel also commends Sam's style as "unique" and "splendid", even if his tastes differ from Sam's.

My impression: Bro’s a NPC— I think Sam has said it pretty plainly himself; he likes formal clothes that have some fun or whimsical element to it. It also sounds like he doesn’t change up his style very often, given that he has so many of the same thing in his closet.

Yuu and Grim as a bonus

Yuu and Grim often have matching outfits whenever they get new ones (especially during events).

Grim loves outfits that make him stand out and emphasize his coolness. He tends to show off when he’s in something new.

Yuu realistically may have a NRC school uniform provided for them by Crowley; this is noted in the light novel (as in, Crowley actually hands Yuu a uniform), but not in the game or manga.

The Ramshackle Ghosts have made Halloween costumes for them out of old curtains. It follows that perhaps this is something they do for other occasions.

My impression: Aw, twinsies 🥺 That aside, Yuu and Grim have to take what they can get cuz otherwise Yuu’s literally only got the clothes on their back when they first arrived in Twisted Wonderland and Grim is basically naked. They can’t afford to be picky, just take whatever is handed to them and walk off with it

[binart]

SRPA Chapter 3

(First) (Previous) (Next)

(Content warning for hallucinations, dissociation & PTSD episodes!)  

—

In late evening of the next day, Keith messaged Lance.

All members of their team had retreated back to their rooms (though Hedrox and En suspiciously left together), and Lance had just finished a call with his mom. She apologized like she did in all of them, for crying. But she clearly missed him just as much as he missed her.

As Lance grabbed some tissues from the shelf above his bed to blow his nose with, his phone next to his pillow dinged; the specific beep to indicate one of the old Voltron crew was messaging him. He dove for it.

A text from Keith, “Samurai 😫✨💦” in his phone, read: “Meeting with the team tomorrow. 0700. Deploying in the PM. See you then.”

One thing Lance found really endearing about Keith was his old person way of texting. If someone mixed Keith's texts in with his dad's, they'd be practically indistinguishable aside from the subject of the texts. He scrolled up to their last conversation.

“Good training. En wanted extra pointers. Staying behind for a bit.”

                                “K, I'll save u some of those spicy green chips u like 👍”

“Good luck........... Chip fiend Hedrox won't be happy. L. O. L.”

                                 “🤣 Thanks for the heads up man! See you soon.”

“Over and Out.”

                                  “🫡”

“L. O. L !”

“🫡”

He set his phone down and buried his face into the softness of his mattress. Then he threw his pillow across the room for good measure. He went about his nightly routine a little lighter despite the homesickness pulling at his chest, and wondered what they'd be doing tomorrow. They still hadn't gotten a replacement for Torat, and Hedrox confirmed there was still possibly a weeks-long wait before they could move on any intel from the bugged base. Maybe they'd be going on a super spy infiltration somewhere? Though there were plenty of other things the Blade of Marmora was doing these days too. They were trying to become a more public-facing organization, after all.

Slipping into a hazy state of half-consciousness before long, Lance only vaguely registered a far away blue flash against his closed lids, and an oddly familiar fuzzy jostling of his arms before falling asleep.

—

0700 on the dot. He arrived at the team meeting room, same one as where they gathered the last time, only now without Torat leaning up against the wall. As Lance walked in to see the others already there and waiting, he wondered what the big guy was doing now. He'd been transferred to a different team, but that was about all he knew.

“Morning, Lieutenant.” Kestin, though usually pretty quiet, was the first to notice him, and waved. Keith looked up from the hologram table he was studying with En and Hedrox, and smiled.

“Mornin'.” Lance was still a little tired despite mostly adjusting to the longer day cycle, but everyone else seemed full of energy. En sharply saluted him, then turned back to face Keith.

“Hey Lance, sleep well?” Lance nodded in between a tired yawn. “Pff, you sure?”

“I got my nine hours, I just had a super weird dream..” He'd dreamt of one of those pretty furry moths back on Earth, except huge, that kept trying to lick his face and sit on him. It was mildly terrifying. “Anyway, I'm good. What's going on with this mission?”

“Big supply delivery to a colony. I'll show you the details.” From all around, everyone approached the table and regarded the screen sat within it. Just as before, a series of images with accompanying text lit up in the 3-d display. Lance eyed a familiar looking planet.

“Elysium-2?” Keith nodded.

“You've seen the news, then. Good. The refugees from the original settlement landed about half a year ago, and we're gonna hand out some medical and food supplies that are running lower than initially projected.”

“And actually—the Blade wasn't the only one to volunteer to offer supplies, but the Inter-galactic Coalition thought it might be good PR for us,” Hedrox supplied as he raised a lanky finger. “Looootta people are still afraid to trust us since, y'know. Most of us are half-Galra and all..”

There was a brief silence, then En leaned forward and regarded his teammate with lowered brows. “A prejudice we shall eradicate, in time.” Hedrox tilted his head back and forth in a strange motion before letting out a watery chuckle.

“That we will! Anyway, what are our roles, Commander?”

“..We'll be working distribution and security. There's a couple of teams on this for the different areas of the settlement given how big it is, and we'll be stationed here.” He pointed to a glowing yellow point on the planet-sphere in front of them. It swiftly zoomed in to show a 3-d rendering of the area. Two additional yellow spots appeared. “We'll drop down and hand out supplies here, and monitor security over here.” One of the dots was placed within a very modern looking building, similar in design to the ones quickly built back when New Altea was being settled.

“There's been reports of potential suspicious movement in the system, so in case anything happens, we want our best on sight.” Keith looked at Lance. “You in?” Immediately Lance's face grew hot. He certainly didn't feel like he deserved to be called their best, but he cleared his throat and gave a assured 'mhm!' regardless. “Good, that's everyone on board, then. We'll go over the specifics of the layout and the expected timeline for everything going down. After that we'll grab our gear and Kestin will take us in.”

Pre-mission anxiety skimmed and bubbled in the pit of his stomach once again, but this time Lance found it a little easier to ignore.

—

Touchdown was at 1300. Kestin joined up in the atmosphere with two additional fighter pilot personnel manning the supply ships to make up B squad; Keith's team, Kolivan's team, and another Blade commander called Thiga's team. Landing went without incident from teams A to D who kept in close contact despite the miles of distance between them. Lance gripped his sniper rifle's strap across his torso tightly when the ship lurched to a stop and snuck a subtle glance at his friend beside him.

For this mission, he'd be separated from Keith. Lance was, embarrassingly, more anxious about that than anything else. It was important for higher profile blade members like Kolivan and Keith (as well as Krolia in D team) to be the face of the operation, and so they would be handing out supplies to the residents. There was potential danger there if the reports of suspicious movement were to be believed, and so Lance was pretty sure that's why Keith delegated Lance to overseeing the security division of their group. He and Hedrox would rendezvous with the blades under Thiga's command in the building across the way from the supply ships, then from there observe to make sure everything went smoothly. He didn't like the idea of Keith openly risking himself while stashing Lance away, but was surprisingly too embarrassed to say anything. His mask was activated, and as the doors to the shuttle hissed open, Lance headed towards the exit.

“Hey Lance.” He turned around to face an also masked Keith. “Watch my back out there, alright?” Lance thought about his only strength—his aim, and how he'd probably be useless if he were at Keith's side like he wanted to be.

“..You bet. Careful out there, Keith.” He nodded, and Lance picked up his pace to meet up with Hedrox.

His nest this time was a lot different from the last; A large office-like space within the building had been cleared out to make way for several massive server-looking machines that were clearly Marmorite-y in design. He had no idea what they were for. Hedrox and Lance entered to find the security team already there and settled in. When they noticed their approach, all but one of the members of Commander Thiga's team whipped up and gave sharp salutes. “Lieutenant!” There were six of them in total, all of various size and race behind their masks, and stood stone rigid in front of him as he shifted uncomfortably. Normally Lance would have loved to be treated with such clear importance, but he was distracted by the unease of not being able to see if Keith was okay.

“Uh, at ease, soldiers.” He wanted to get himself set up at the windowed opening straight away, but realized he should probably do the leader stuff he was meant to do. “Status?”

“Ready and at your command, Lieutenant!” The shortest blade rumbled in the deepest voice Lance had ever heard. “And might I add what an honor it is to work alongside a Paladin of Voltron..!” Lance jerked, then immediately caught himself and stiffly walked over to the windowed opening. He turned away.

“Cool, cool, uh, I'll set my stuff up here, and you guys do... your thing. Let me know if anything happens.”

The stony line of blades once again saluted, and quickly set about their work. Hedrox pulled out some supplies from their blade-issued backpack, and sidled over to Lance.

“You good, Lieutenant..?” He whispered through their personal comms as he set up several tablet devices next to Lance. With his rifle now pointed towards the platform in front of the supply ships where Keith was standing, Lance breathed out a small chunk of worry. His right ring finger tapped the comms button on his palm.

“Why'd Keith make me leader? I dunno how to lead! I'm just here to shoot bad guys if they show up.” Hedrox snorted.

“Oh, I dunno, Lieutenant. Maybe because the Commander always goes on about how much everyone respects you, and how insanely skilled you are, and how much he trusts you?” Lance whipped his head up to look at them so quickly his neck clicked.

“H-He said all that..?!”

“Uh-huh. It's also favouritism for sure, but you still absolutely deserve to be here if that's what you're worried about.”

“Distribution commencing, Lieutenant,” a blade informed from off to the side. Lance studied Keith in his scope next to Kolivan and some other masked blade that was probably that Thiga guy, and swallowed to help with his suddenly very dry throat. En was there, too, loading the heavier of the alien supply crates onto hovering carts.

“U-Understood, thanks.” He pressed the button on his thumb once again. “I didn't know Keith said all that stuff!” Hedrox once again tilted their head strangely as they typed away.

“Really? I thought with how obvious the both of you are about your feelings for each other, you already knew..” Lance nearly fumbled his rifle then and there. His pulse picked up as his face grew sweaty.

“F-Fee—Um! What?!" Quiznack, why were they talking about this?! And how did he know?!

“Lieutenant... Come on. Or, actually... Would it be helpful if I told you how much I love the intricacies of human social interactions? And humans in general. You guys are so cool and interesting, so uh. I tend to notice that sort of stuff.” From beneath his hood, Hedrox's little sunflower bots fluttered to life around him. “But both of you are also super obvious.”

Lance was at a loss for words. Under his mask he knew he was red as a beet as he watched Keith unmask and start handing out supply kits to the forming lines of residents. His ponytail had gotten a bit loose and strands once again framed his handsome face. He was smiling.

“Keith's—I mean. He's—into guys?” His hands were sweaty now too, with his arms beginning to shake from holding them so tightly still. He hoped nothing was going to happen, because his aim was definitely shot!

“Maybe not all of them, but you? Yeah, Lieutenant, yeah. Very. It's really sweet how much he likes talking about the stuff you guys used to do together! Hmm.. I just assumed you two were already a thing, though, so maybe it's not really my place to talk about this. My bad.”

“No, uh, I was—Like I didn't know if Keith was into—“ Lance lifted his right hand away from his rifle to gesture at himself and distantly wondered how crazy he looked to the other blades who couldn't hear their conversation. He retreated back to his position. “So I didn't wanna. Assume? A-Anyway!” Frantically Lance desperately searched his mind for something else to talk about, because this was quickly becoming too much to deal with. “Human behaviours? That's your thing? How'd that come about?” Hedrox chuckled.

“Subject change, understood. Yes! Humans are the coolest—I'm gonna move to Earth someday, so I started studying your speaking and social patterns so it's easier to fit in. And because it's fun.”

From through his scope, Keith raised a hand to his ear, nodded, then continued to pass out supply canisters. “Huh.. Why us? I'm pretty sure there are a bunch of cooler alien species out there than plain old humans.”

“Now that's where you're wrong, Lieutenant! Humans are fascinating. All so similar, yet none exactly the same.” They pressed their back up against the plain, modern wall next to Lance. “..On my planet, conformity was umm.. kind of a given. Our ancestors were actually a hivemind, so.. we stay close to our roots and expectations.” A hivemind? Lance could recall only a single occasion where team Voltron interacted with one of them, and it was super weird.

“Data crunching comes really easily to most of us,” Hedrox continued. “And I actually found out about Earth when I was snooping around the Blade database of our highest ranking members and found—um, the Commander's mom. Super classified, by the way, don't tell anyone I was doing that.” Lance laughed.

“Reminds me of Pidge, but yeah, my lips are sealed dude, don't worry.”

“Coolies, thanks. Anyway when I learned about Earth I quickly discovered all of the amazing things you guys have like movies, and music, and so many different cultures, and—and individuality in general! Also, related, I'm insanely ugly by Yorith standards. Look.” Lance obeyed and turned his head to watch as Hedrox's mask shifted away from his face,

and one of the most shockingly attractive faces Lance had ever seen appeared. Blue tinged skin, rosegold eyes with soft lashes, near-glowing long golden locks curling around a sharp but also somehow soft jawline, intricate neon swirling designs tracing around the outer portions of his face and onto his horn... Maybe not as much of Lance's type as Keith was, but man oh man he was hot hot.

“........Dude. You're hot, what?”

“I know, right?!” Quickly, they reactivated their mask when they saw the other blades turn to examine them. “One day me and En are gonna settle down on Earth and I'm gonna be a crazy popular stone—er, rockstar, that is. That's my dream.” Some of his tiny floating bots scooted out of the window as he curled his legs in close, and Lance wondered what his and En's relationship was. “But only once the empire is totally gone.”

From the opening his rifle was pointed out, excited chatter from the beings below drifted upwards and into his ears. There was a sizable crowd now, and Lance listened to Hedrox as he kept his eyes peeled for threats. “Yeah, I get it. Too risky otherwise. My family's in New Altea just in case they keep attacking..”

Hedrox sighed. “Yup.. The empire invaded my home planet half a millennia ago and everything sucked, of course. But when I was growing up it was at least always.. quiet. Then one day they sent in some giant planet cracker and destroyed it. For some rare material near the core used to make ship parts.” Lance went cold, and thought of his old house, half buried beneath rubble and waves.

“Geez.. Sorry to hear that.”

“It's okay.. I've had a while to get over it. That's also where I met En, actually! He was in charge of the mining operation before he double-crossed the empire for killing most of his crew.”

“En.. worked for the empire?” Sharp, immediate fear pierced Lance as he watched the very same alien pass close by keith with a large hover cart. He obscured his vision of Keith for a moment before continuing on to the residents below. “C-Can we trust him?!” His breath sped up, and his scope immediately honed in on En's masked head.

“Yeah, don't worry, Lieutenant, he's trustworthy. His non-Galran half makes it so that, when he bonds with someone, it's a lifetime thing. He's got a rough exterior, sure, but only to keep his extra soft inside parts safe!” Lance still felt queasy watching them move around so closely to Keith. “And if you need more convincing,” Hedrox began, and pulled off one of his gloves. He lifted up his palm, and it glowed a brilliant color Lance couldn't even put a name to. “On top of all my amazing gifts and genius, I can read souls.” His fingers wiggled. “Hivemind remnants, and all that. He's good people, I checked very thoroughly, since originally I was gonna, uh. Kill him.”

Man, that was a lot to take in. “...Okay, I guess—Yeah, I trust you, at least. I'm just worried about—I dunno, something happening to Keith.”

“I get you, Lieutenant, all of us are pretty much the same. The Commander's the whole reason we were even able to do anything with our lives, after all. We basically owe him everything.”

Before Lance could respond, he noticed a subtle shift of Keith's head, before his eyes widened. A blade made a noise of concern from beside him, Keith shouted something, then En dashed towards Keith and grabbed him. Lance moved to immediately take him out, and then—a massive explosion.

The force of it reached Lance and the rest of the security team as the building gave a violent shudder, though he couldn't see an impact crater. Dust and smoke filled their view, and Lance quickly pressed his comms. “Keith?! You okay?!” Rapidly he pulled his scope around to try and see past the debris. Hedrox sent out all of his drones, then began furiously typing away at his console. For a moment there was no response. Then,

“Ugh.. I'm alright.” Keith's strained voice filtered into his ears, and he coughed. “En's hurt. D squad was just attacked too. Can you see anything from up there?” Lance quickly scanned the horizon again, still just as obscured. Screams and wails came from down below.

“Just getting smoke and dust up here..!”

“Must be a smokescreen. Kestin, what's your status?”

Kestin spoke in a mildly panicked tone into their comms. “The ship's controls are jammed. Something external. If we can get it online I can activate thrusters to help with visuals. Hedrox?”

They were already out the door. “I'm grabbing En, then I'll come help.” Lance turned back and squinted through the obscurity. In the corner of his eye, a hundred or so meters away from Keith, something glowed. Purple. He swivelled and pointed his rifle, zoomed in, recognized the glowing insignia, then fired.

“Your 3 o'clock, incoming sentry drones, guys!”

A small hoard of bright, glowing purple poured into view. They weren't running, no—there were barely visible bursts from jet-boosters coming from the swarm's backs. Some of the other security blades began firing away on their own rifles alongside Lance. But there were what looked to be hundreds. The telltale sound of galran rifle firing began at the same time as another explosion roared off to his right. The foundations shook. Lance couldn't breathe.

Focus. Focus! Find Keith. Keep him safe.

The smokescreen thinned slightly for a moment and Lance spotted Keith next to Kolivan, carrying a limp En with his arm under their shoulders. Another set of glowing insignia's erupted from his right.

“9 o'clock too. Couple hundred drones on both sides!”

“Keep us covered until Hedrox can get us into the ship.” He watched as Keith immediately vanished from his view, followed by Kolivan and then En. From his wrist, he watched as the battery on their cloaking began to drain.

Didn't need to tell him twice. “Roger.” He switched his rifle to rapid-cooldown mode so he could fire off more shots, held his breath, then began to take them out.

Easy. No complexity to their movements. Lining themselves up to be mowed down. Hedrox's cloaking went up, too. More screaming from down below. Couldn't worry about civilians. Keep Keith safe. Exhale, inhale, position, fire, position, fire, position, fire, position, fire. Exhale. Distantly,

“Alrighty, in we go!” The doors to the shuttle opened, but some sentries from his left had nearly made it there already. Nope, no no no! Not today. Immediately he took them out.

“You six, focus on the eastern sentries!” Lance barked a command to the other blades with him. They were all obnoxiously slow, and he couldn't rely on them to help with the sentries already too close to Keith. He had to do it himself. The sky brightened, and so did the ground, and Lance, once again, took aim.

It was impossible to say how long it was until Hedrox and Kestin brought the ships back online and activated their thrusters. He was lost to the repetition of taking aim, firing, taking aim, firing. His vision swam, his wrist ached, his rifle was his old bayard again, but he was going be damn sure no one could hurt his friend.

And then, wind. The flash of light and familiar sound of the ships bursting to life; a booming twister whipped up the smokescreen that was making his job harder until it was nearly cleared away. Civilian bodies on the ground came into clear view. Don't look.

To his right, through the light filling his mask, too many sentries were still closing in. Still a threat. Keith. Inhale, position, fire, position, fire, position, fire, position, fire.. No response?

His rifle was overheated. The other blades were still too slow. Useless. He arose from his weapon, and would apologize for bruising egos later on after Keith was safe. The other sniper closest to him was the big one who didn't salute, though was easy enough to pry off and throw out of the space he needed to work. Back looking through a scope, inhale, position, fire, position, fire, position, fire. The sentries fell like flies. He could do this, he could be helpful.

“Lance, status?!”

“East and west sentries just about taken care of.” ..Was that his voice? He sounded weird. Like he was talking through a mile of water. Huh. His bracers had at some point shifted into his paladin uniform again, too. Now that Lance had a second to think about it, that was also pretty strange. Was something wrong with him?

“Huh?!”

“Commander, look—he's right! How'd they—”

“—Com..mand..er! These tactics.. are known to me.. We are being.. herded. Southern f-forces... We must needs—evacuate.” Man, En spoke annoyingly slow. The rest of the sentries to his left and right were already downed by the time they finished gasping out the intel. Lance grabbed another blade's sniper rifle and slipped through the opening of the building, activating his boosters so he could get around to the other side and start taking care of the rest. His pulse was surprisingly quiet as he landed down on the ground next to the corpse of Silvio.

“Heyy, uhh, Keith?” Several miles of water now, his voice was barely audible to himself. He wasn't sure if Keith even responded. “'Think something might be wrong with me. Dr. Nguyen was prob'ly right. I'll tell you after. ” He laughed at how easy it was to admit to Keith now, when he promised himself he'd never breathe a word.

A whisper of a voice. Keith? Impossible to tell. The light in his mask was near blinding, but he rounded the first corner of the building, watched a hilariously massive swarm of sentries arise from a crater in the ground, looked back for a second at the ship Keith was on, then, somehow, looked at it from above.

His bones felt strange. There was wind pushing all around him. Oh, he was flying. How did that happen? He tried to laugh but water came up.

And for a second, he thought he heard Blue.

-

CLIFF HANGER! okay so one of my goals has been to get across that Lance is a very unreliable narrator, and has avoidant tendencies where he doesn't like to think about the things that upset him (let alone talk about them!!), so I hope that's come across in these chapters! I wanted to vaguely hint at things like, for example, his old therapist (Dr. Nguyen) at one point recommending Lance not becoming a soldier again. Or how Lance planned on never telling Keith about that since obviously Keith wouldn't have invited him to be a Blade if he knew, & would probably feel really guilty! But I also worry I'm being too vague, so. I at least want to offer some clarity and context here. 🤣 Apologies if it's confusing at times!

ALSO. Kosmo has taken to teleporting into Lance's room and cuddling with him almost every night. This will be revealed to Lance later on LMFAO.

[whencyclopedia]

Trade in the Roman World

Regional, inter-regional and international trade was a common feature of the Roman world. A mix of state control and a free market approach ensured goods produced in one location could be exported far and wide. Cereals, wine and olive oil, in particular, were exported in huge quantities whilst in the other direction came significant imports of precious metals, marble, and spices.

Factors Driving Trade

Generally speaking, as with earlier and contemporary civilizations, the Romans gradually developed a more sophisticated economy following the creation of an agricultural surplus, population movement and urban growth, territorial expansion, technology innovation, taxation, the spread of coinage, and not insignificantly, the need to feed the great city of Rome itself and supply its huge army wherever it might be on campaign.

The economy in the Roman world displayed features of both underdevelopment and high achievement. Elements of the former, some historians have argued (notably M.I.Finley), are:

an over-dependence on agriculture

a slow diffusion of technology

the high level of local town consumption rather than regional trade

a low level of investment in industry.

However, there is also evidence that from the 2nd century BCE to the 2nd century CE there was a significant rise in the proportion of workers involved in the production and services industries and greater trade between regions in essential commodities and manufactured goods. In the later empire period, although trade in the east increased - stimulated by the founding of Constantinople - trade in the western empire declined.

The Roman attitude to trade was somewhat negative, at least from the higher classes. Land ownership and agriculture were highly regarded as a source of wealth and status but commerce and manufacturing were seen as a less noble pursuit for the well-off. However, those rich enough to invest often overcame their scruples and employed slaves, freedmen, and agents (negotiatores) to manage their business affairs and reap the often vast rewards of commercial activity.

Continue reading...

[sweet-old-hereafter]

aghrhrjdj to the three people who read Primus I AM SO SORRY. I got very distracted with the bridge hug fanart that I neglected to work on the next chapter right after a (sort of ) cliffhanger! Rude of me. Am working on it now, meanwhile please accept these random facts about this bizarre convoluted world I’ve created.

- ‘Fourbounding’ is the term used for when apes propel themselves forward with their knuckles. This is considered low-class and regressive by the Coastals (and some of the higher ranking clans). ‘Knuckle-walker’ is a commonly used insult to refer to another perceived as slow-witted or uneducated.

- The apes speak a unique dialect of English with its own grammatical conventions, such as the lack of contractions and adverbs, as well as frequent article omissions. The use of sign language is regional; the preference for brevity in dialogue doesn’t come from a lack of understanding of complex language, but from the fact it is still physically difficult for apes to speak for long periods of time.

- All of Pacifica is in California. Eagle Clan (officially recognized as ‘Mining Clan’) is a valley in the Sierra Nevada. It’s important to note that the clans don’t necessarily originate in the areas that they currently reside in. When the Coastals sought to round up the ‘sundered’, they would’ve relocated them to the nearest natural resource that could be exploited. The borders were not so strictly defined before the Darkest Chapter (the rebellion). They are now fenced and sometimes patrolled.

- The Appia (aka the Pride of Pacifica) is named after the infamous Appian Way of Ancient Rome. It connects all the clans to the Coastal City, though inter-clan travel is barred save for officially sanctioned duties.

- The equivalent of a passenger train system is the ‘caravans’, salvaged Airstream campers pulled by mules and powered by rechargeable batteries. Each system has one car solely dedicated to preparing food and more than one dedicated to refueling supplies.

- The saltwater batteries are real! They can be made from the casings of regular batteries. They aren’t super efficient but are much less dangerous to manufacture.

- The radios are supplied (and required) by the state, but they’ve been altered to only pick a certain range/ frequency….hmm what was that beeping Mae noticed in chap 3 after Noa started screwing with the radio hghhdhhfhhhhphh.

- Proximus comes from a long line of divine-right rulers who claim not only to be descendants of Caesar but to embody him spiritually. Unlike the areligious Panem, Pacifica is highly faith/superstition based.

- The Coastal apes got into that vault at least a century prior the when the story takes place, hence why the society is much more technologically advanced than what we see in Kingdom.

- That mechanical looking water fountain mentioned in chap two is a clepsydra, or a ‘water clock’.

- In case you didn’t catch it, the dead echo that Noa encounters is the one Mae mentions committed suicide. He was a ‘breaker’, the strongest of the miners. Mae is a ‘fuser’, another class of miners who’s small size is utilized to place explosives in crowded tunnels.

AND some bonus character tidbits:

- Koro (Noa’s father) defeated an invading clan during the Darkest Chapter. The rebellion created a power vacuum that enabled some of the larger clans to overtake the smaller ones. Eagle Clan managed to stay neutral, not siding with the rebels (but they did attempt to enforce their sovereignty). Despite this, the Coastals perceived this defeat as a victory on their side and granted the House of Eagle Sun special privileges post-treaty-of-treason, though they are still subject to the same provisions as the ‘traitor’ clans. Koro is very troubled by his recognition as a war hero, especially since defeating said clan involved killing. He’s now dying of a curable disease called the ‘hectic’, hence all the coughing.

- Soona and Anaya are from a lower class than Noa’s family. As they age into adults this rift becomes more obvious (and uncomfortable). Noa recognizes the narrative transpiring between the two without him and this stirs some confusing feelings….(yeah I am on a soonaya kick they’re prolly gonna kiss on the mouth)

- Noa has dyspraxia. His clumsy-ness is alluded to in Kingdom but will become increasingly relevant in this story. From a young age he’s been prone to neurosis (the reoccurring nightmares, the desire to up and leave the clan) despite his relatively comfortable lifestyle. His emotional intelligence and empathy has allowed him to realize the full scope of the cruelty of the system he exists within, yet he has to actively resist these thoughts because he knows he’ll go mad. Sure hope this isn’t used against him…

- Raka’s partner has been dead for a long time, but Raka suppresses the urge to grow flanges by keeping a photograph of him by his side wherever he goes. He sleeps with it. :(

- Mae has secrets upon secrets. That’s all I gotta say there.

[anamericangirl]

Just watched a documentary from before Trump was elected about the damage trump did to a small Scottish seaside town. He cut off an old woman's well service to build a road to a gold course and for the following years she had to go to town to buy water for drinking, bathing, washing dishes, watering plants, etc

Spending the twilight of her life bathing wither water bottles because of Trump.

You see, their well was connected right to a local spring on Trumps property. Hundreds of years of Scottish law dictates that trump maintain the spring and ensures the water is safe, but Trump had his workers demolish the pipe leading to their well. But don't worry, Trump promised to replace their system with a better one, but the water grew dirty, contaminated, and dried up completely.

Mind you, Trump said this Scottish woman reminded him very much of his own mother, and that he thought his mother would be proud of what he had done.

When the residents complained, trump said that the people of Aberdeen and the people of Scotland should be embarrassed by how dirty their barn is after painting "Trump Lies" on the side of the barn, years before Trump ran for office.

Don't believe everything you hear in documentaries.

We published an article “You’ve Been Trumped: Scots Gran, 92, ‘forced to get water with a wheelbarrow’ in dispute over Donald Trump’s golf course” on 26th October 2016 which followed a report online elsewhere. Trump International Golf Links Scot-land (“Trump International”) has since assured us the headline and related article are incorrect in various respects. Trump International states that: the water supply pipe concerned runs under land owned by Trump International, to a well; that supply pipe was not shown on plans and was inadvertently breached by contractors in 2010; the contractors repaired the pipe immediately; further work took place around the well in 2014 and 2015; this work was neither instructed by nor approved by Trump International and was not carried out by Trump International contractors. While the supply of water to neighbouring properties is not the responsibility of Trump Inter-national, it offered in November 2015 to connect the relevant properties to its mains network and this offer has never been taken up by the Forbes family. We are happy to make this clear.

[jaimebluesq]

oooo for the AU Ask Game, an alternate universe where JYL marries someone else who isn't Jin Zixuan? (your choice on who she marries and why!)

Oooh this is a fun one! All right, here we go... this might change EVERYTHING lol

Who does JYL marry? There is absolutely no question in my mind that the best option in terms of inter-sect connections, and a desire on JC and WWX's parts that she be safe and cared for, is for her to marry Nie Mingjue. She would have had a chance to get to know him during the Sunshot campaign, and we all know NMJ drinks respect -women-juice for breakfast - and is a big softie, like look what he lets his brother get away with >.< So yeah, JYL goes to Qinghe and gets a spare didi out of the deal!

But why does she marry? Because yes, she still has feelings for JZXuan, but he's still a man-child who doesn't know a good thing when he sees it ;) But seriously, we have YMJ which is still rebuilding after the war and likely getting more and more in debt to get the supplies and manpower to fix up Lotus Pier, not to mention attracting new disciples to feed and clothe, so they'd need an alliance with another great sect - one that's stable financially and could even help YMJ. Gusu is still rebuilding as well, so they're out, and we've eliminated the Jin. THankfully Qinghe is a solid option all around (as stated above). And JYL has known from the time she was young that she would marry for an alliance, not for love - she would be the one to sit JC and WWX down to tell them it needs to be done (when they hear her suggestion of NMJ, that's the thing that gets them on board - they would have fought just about anyone else).

So at Koi Tower, things might be a little more uncertain because these clans are based on hereditary hierarchy, and without an heir along Jin Zixuan's line, his position is uncertain even if he's the only legitimate son. So JGS pushes for a marriage - even worse when he sees Qin Su's pursuit of JGY, because he'll be DAMNED if he allows JGY to marry before JZXuan. Sadly, I have no idea who he'd marry, probably the daughter of a smaller sect's leader (Yao or Ouyang maybe), but it would be a rushed deal and will make poor JZXuan miserable - but he'll do it because it's what's expected of him, and even though he will not love his wife, he will still give her far more respect than his father gave his mother (I know, low bar, but the boy is TRYING).

So with JYL engaged to NMJ by the time of the Phoenix Mountain Hunt, things go a little different - yes WWX will bust out the Wen remnants and fuck out of dodge, but JYL will go to NMJ and ask him to help WWX (at the very least give him a chance to explain instead of denouncing him with everyone else). This turns the tide for many things because once NMJ sees the conditions of the Burial Mounds and what's left of the Wen, he will be amenable to helping - but will do so under the condition that WWX give up demonic cultivation (and in fact he suggests Nie cultivation as an alternative - this will lead to a sad moment when WWX FINALLY comes up with a proper story and claim that WZL melted his core to explain that he's core-less, and after much crying all around, they can finally move forward from this mess).

So the Nie will lend their protection to the Wen in the Burial Mounds and actually suggest they move up into Qinghe - not by the Unclean Realm, but he will give them land to live on that isn't full of resentful energy, and they will have QHN's protection. This is good, and in return, a certain doctor meets NMJ and will start researching his condition to treat (and hey, if you wanna have fun, have her join NMJ & JYL, I'm easy ;)

So yeah! One change and everything changes like dominos :D

Thank you for the ask!

[rjalker]

Cat and Mouse by Ralph Williams, from Astounding Science Fiction June 1959.

10,300 words long.

@thenixkat @kariachi I think you both might like this one.

@walks-the-ages read this

Note: The original version on Project Gutenberg uses a weird variation of the N slur to describe a tree trunk??? for some reason??? I got rid of that.

Can also be listend to on youtube as part of this collection, and on the regular librivox website probably. Still includes the weird usage of the N slur though.

___

The Harn first came to the Warden's attention through its effect on the game population of an area in World 7 of the Warden's sector. A natural ecology was being maintained on World 7 as a control for experimental seedings of intelligent life-forms in other similar worlds. How the Harn got there, the Warden never knew. In its free-moving larval state, the Harn was a ticklike creature which might have sifted through a natural inter-dimensional rift; or it might have come through as a hitchhiker on some legitimate traveler, possibly even the Warden himself.

In any event, it was there now. Free of natural enemies and competition, it had expanded enormously. So far, the effect in the control world was localized, but this would not be the case when the Harn seeded. Prompt action was indicated.

The Warden's inclination and training was in the direction of avoiding direct intervention in the ecology of the worlds under his jurisdiction, even in the field of predator control. He considered introduction of natural enemies of the Harn from its own world, and decided against it. That cure was as bad, if not worse, than the disease itself.

There was, however, in one adjacent world, a life-form not normally associated with the Harn; but which analysis indicated would be inimical to it, and reasonably amenable to control.

It was worth trying, anyway.

___

(Read-more was here)

October 3rd, Ed Brown got up to the base cabin of his trap line with his winter's outfit.

He hung an N. C. Company calendar on the wall and started marking off the days.

October 8th, the hole into the other world opened.

In the meantime, of course, Ed had not been idle. All summer the cabin had stood empty. He got his bedding, stove, and other cabin gear down from the cache and made the place livable. The mice were thick, a good fur sign, but a nuisance otherwise. Down in the cellar hole, when he went to clear it out for the new spud crop, he found burrowings everywhere.

Well, old Tom would take care of that in short order. Tom was a big, black, bobtailed cat eleven years old who had lived with Ed since he was a kitten. Not having any feline companionship to distract him, his only interest was hunting mice. Generally he killed a lot more than he could eat, racking the surplus in neat piles beside the trail, on the doorstep, or on a slab in the cellar. He was the best mouser in interior Alaska.

Ed propped the cellar hatch with a stick so old Tom could come and go as he pleased, and went on about his chores, working with a methodical efficiency that matched Tom's and went with his thinning gray hair and forty years in the woods. He dug the spuds he had planted that spring. He made a swing around his beaver lakes, tallying the blankets in each house. He took the canoe and moved supplies to his upper cabin. He harvested some fat mallards that had moved down on the river with the coming of skim ice on the lakes. He bucked up firewood and stacked it to move into camp with the first snow.

On the fifth morning, as he was going down to the boat landing with a pail for water, he found the hole into the other world.

Ed had never seen a hole into another world, of course, nor even heard of such a thing. He was as surprised as any one would naturally be to find one not fifty feet from their front door.

Still, his experience had been all in the direction of believing what his eyes told him. He had seen a lot of strange things in his life, and one more didn't strain him too much. He stood stockstill where he had first noticed the hole and studied it warily.

It was two steps off the trail to the left, right beside the old leaning birch, a rectangular piece of scenery that did not fit. It looked to be, as nearly as he could judge, about man-size, six by three. At the bottom it was easy enough to see where this world left off and that one began. On the left side the two worlds matched pretty well, but on the right side there was a stump in this world, the moss-covered relic of a centuries old tree, while that world continued level, so that the stump was neatly sliced in two. Also, the vegetation was different, mossy on this side, grassy on that.

On up around the hole, though, it was harder to tell. There was no clear-cut line, just the difference in what you could see through it. In the other world, the ground seemed to fall away, with low scrubby brush in the foreground. Then, a mile or so away, there were rising hills with hardwood forests of some kind, still green with summer, covering them.

Ed stepped cautiously to one side. The view through the hole narrowed, as if it faced the trail squarely. He edged around the old birch to get behind it, and from that side there was no hole, just the same old Alaskan scenery, birch and rose bushes and spruce. From the front, though, it was still there.

He cut an alder shoot about eight feet long, trimmed it, and poked it through the hole. It went through easily enough. He prodded at the sod in the other world, digging up small tufts. When he pulled the stick back, some of the other world dirt was on the sharp end. It looked and smelled just about like any dirt.

Old Tom came stretching out into the morning sun and stalked over to investigate. After a careful inspection of the hole he settled down with his paws tucked under him to watch. Ed took a flat round can from his pocket, lined his lip frugally with snuff, and sat down on the up-ended bucket to watch too. At the moment, that seemed the likeliest thing to do.

It was nearly swarming time, the Harn had many things to preoccupy it, but it spared one unit to watch the hole into the other world. So far, nothing much had happened. A large biped had found the opening from the other side. It had been joined by a smaller quadruped; but neither showed any indication yet of coming through. The sun was shining through the hole, a large young yellow sun, and the air was crisp, with sharp interesting odors.

The biped ejected a thin squirt of brown liquid through the hole—venom of some sort, apparently. The Harn hastily drew back out of range.

The hole into the other world stayed there, as unobtrusively fixed as if it had been there since the beginning of time. Nothing came through, and nothing moved in the other world but leaves stirring now and then with a breeze, clouds drifting across the sky. Ed began to realize it was getting late in the morning, and he had not yet had breakfast. He left old Tom to watch the hole, got stiffly to his feet and went on down the trail to get the pail of water he had started for. From the cabin door, he could still see the hole into the other world. He kept one eye on it while he cooked breakfast.

As he was finishing his second cup of coffee, he noticed the view into the other world becoming duller, dimming in a peculiar fashion. He left the dirty dishes and went over to look more closely. What was happening, he found, was just that it was getting dark in the other world. The effect was strange, much like looking out the door of a brightly lighted room at dusk. The edges of the hole cast a very clearly marked shadow now, and outside this shaft of sunlight the view faded, until a few yards away it was impossible to make out any detail.

Presently the stars came out. Ed was not an astronomer, but he had a woodsman's knowledge of the sky. He could find nothing familiar in any of the stars he saw. In some way, that was more unsettling than the hole itself had been.

After he had finished the dishes, he cut two gee-pole spruce, trimmed them, and stuck one on each side of the hole. He got some thin thread he used to tie beaver snares and wove it back and forth between the poles, rigging a tin can alarm. It seemed likely someone or something had put the hole there, it had not just happened. If anything came through, Ed wanted to know about it. Just to make extra sure, he got some number three traps and made a few blind sets in front of the hole.

Then he went back to his chores. Whatever was going to happen with the hole would happen when it happened, and winter was still coming.

He set some babiche to soak for mending his snowshoes. He ran the net he had set at the edge of the eddy for late silvers and took out two fish. Old Tom had pretty well cleaned up the mice in the cellar hole, but they were still burrowing around the sills of the lean-to. Ed took a shovel and opened up a hole so Tom could get under the lean-to floor. He got out his needles, palm, thread, and wax; and mended his winter moccasins.

Off and on, he checked the hole into the other world. There was nothing but the slow progression of alien stars across the sky. Finally old Tom grew bored and left to investigate the hole under the lean-to. Shortly there were scutterings and squeakings as evidence that he, too, had got back to business.

Toward evening, Ed got to wondering how a living creature would take transition into the other world. He had no intention of trying it himself until he knew a lot more about it, but he thought he might be able to scare up a surrogate. Out by the wood pile some live-traps were piled under a spruce, from the time when Ed had been catching marten for the Fish and Wildlife to transplant. One was still in pretty fair shape. He patched it up and set it among the cottonwoods at the head of the bar, where there were some rabbit trails.

When he went to bed it was still dark in the other world. He left the cabin door ajar so he could see it from his bed and set his shotgun, loaded with 00 buck, handy.

Nearing sixty, Ed was not a sound sleeper, even when he had nothing on his mind. About ten it started to get light in the other world, and that woke him up. He padded out to look, but there was no change, it looked about the same as yesterday. He went back to bed.

The next morning there was a rabbit in the live-trap. With a pole, Ed pushed the trap with the rabbit in it through into the other world and watched. Nothing happened. After a while the rabbit began nibbling at some spears of grass that pushed through the wire of the cage. Ed pulled it back and examined the rabbit carefully. It seemed healthy and about as happy as a rabbit could expect to be in a cage.

It did not get dark in the other world till about noon, that day; and about seven, when it was dark in both worlds, Ed heard the jangle of the tin can alarm, followed by the snap of one of the steel traps.

He took a flashlight and found a small hoofed animal, hardly bigger than old Tom, rearing and bucking with a broken leg in the trap. It had sharp little spike horns, only a few inches long, but mean. Ed got several painful jabs before he got the animal tied up and out of the trap. He restrung the alarm, then took his catch into the cabin to examine.

It was herbivorous and adult, from the looks of its teeth and hoofs, though it only weighed about fifteen pounds. As an approximation, Ed decided it was female. When he killed it and opened it up, at first glance it looked reasonably familiar, on closer study less so.

The blood, anyway, was red; not blue or yellow or green; and the bones were bones, just odd-shaped.

Ed cut off a slice of heart and tossed it to old Tom. The cat sniffed it dubiously and then decided he liked it. He meowed for more. Ed gave it to him and fried a small sliver of ham. It smelled and tasted fine, but Ed contented himself with a single delicate nibble, pending further developments. Anyway, it was beginning to look like a little exploration would be feasible.

The Harn, also, was well-satisfied with the way things were going. It had been a strain to pass up the juicy little quadruped in the cage, but the inhabitants of the other world seemed shy, and the Harn did not wish to frighten them. At least, it knew now that life could come through the hole, and the small herbivore it had herded through confirmed that passage in the opposite direction was equally possible—plus a gratis demonstration of the other world's pitiful defenses. At swarming time, the whole new world would be open to embryo Harn, as well as this world it presently occupied.

It looked like a really notable swarming. The Harn budded three more planters on the forcing stem, to be ready to take full advantage of it.

It got light in the other world at one in the morning that night. Ed had the days there pretty well pegged now. They were roughly twenty-seven hours, of which about thirteen hours were dark. Not too high a latitude, apparently, and probably late summer by the looks of the vegetation.

He got up a little before daylight and looked at the rabbit and old Tom. Both seemed to be doing nicely. Old Tom was hungry for more otherworld meat. Ed gave it to him and made up a light pack. After some thought, he took the .450 bear gun he used for back-up when guiding. Whatever he ran into over there, the .450—a model 71 throwing a 400 grain slug at 2100 fps—should handle it.

The first step through into the other world was a queasy one, but it turned out to be much the same as any other step. The only difference was that now he was in the other world looking back. From this side, the stump at the threshold was sliced sharply, but it had been kicked down a little when he came through, and what with shoving the cage through and pulling it back, so that some clods of moss and dirt were scattered in the other world. For some reason, that made Ed feel better, it seemed to make the joining of the two worlds a little more permanent.

Still, it had come sudden, and it might go sudden. Ed went back into his own world and got an ax, a saw, more ammunition, salt, a heavy sleeping robe, a few other possibles. He brought them through and piled them in the other world, covering them with a scrap of old tarp. He cut a couple of poles, peeled them, and stuck them in the ground to mark the hole from this side.

Then he looked around.

He stood on the shoulder of a hill, in a game trail that ran down toward a stream below, in what seemed to be a fairly recent burn. There were charred stumps, and the growth was small stuff, with some saplings pushing up through. There was timber in the valley below, though, and on the hills beyond, deciduous, somewhat like oak. South was where east had been in his own world, and the sun seemed smaller, but brighter. The sky was a very dark blue. He seemed lighter in this world, there was a spring in his step he had not known for twenty years. He looked at his compass. It checked with the direction of the sun.

He studied the trail. It had seen a lot of use, but less in recent weeks. There were sharp hoof-prints of the animal he had caught, larger hoof-prints, vague pad-marks of various sizes, but nothing that looked human. The trail went under a charred tree trunk at a height that was not comfortable for a man, and the spacing of the steps around the gnarled roots of an old slump did not fit a man's stride.

He did not notice the Harn creature at all—which was understandable, it was well camouflaged.

He worked circumspectly down the trail, staying a little off it, studying tracks and droppings, noticing evidences of browsing on the shrubs—mostly old—pausing to examine tufts of hair and an occasional feather. Halfway down the slope he flushed a bird about ptarmigan-size, grayish brown in color.

The trail was more marked where it went into the timber. It wound through the trees for a few hundred yards and came out on a canoe-sized stream. Here it forked. One trail crossed the stream and went up the hill on the other side, the other followed the stream up the valley.

The Harn followed Ed's movements, observing carefully. It needed a specimen from the other world, and this biped would serve nicely, but it might as well learn as much as possible about him first. It could always pick him up some time before he returned to his own world. Just to make sure, it sent a stinging unit to guard the entrance.

All his life, except for a short period in France, Ed had been a hunter, never hunted. Still, you don't grow old in the woods by jumping without looking. Coming into a new situation, he was wary as an old wolf. There was a little shoulder right above the fork in the trail. He stood there for several minutes, looking things over, and then went down and crossed the stream at the next riffle, above the ford. By doing so, although he did not know it, he missed the trap the Harn maintained at the ford for chance passers-by.

On the other side of the creek, the trail ran angling off downstream, skirted a small lake hidden in the trees, climbed over another low shoulder and dropped into a second valley. As Ed followed along it, he began to notice a few more signs of life—birds, small scurriers on the ground and in tree tops—and this set him thinking. The country had a picked-over feel to it, a hunted and trapped-out feel, worse where he had first come through, but still noticeable here.

The Harn did not like to cross water, it could, but it did not like to.

Ed looked at the sun. It was getting down in the sky. If there was any activity at all around here, the ford at dusk would be as likely a place as any to find it. He worked back along the ridge to a point above where he judged the ford to be. The breeze was drawing up the valley, but favoring the other side a little. He dropped down and crossed the stream a quarter mile above the ford, climbed well above the trail and worked along the hillside until he was in a position where he could watch both the ford and the fork in the trail. He squatted down against a tree in a comfortable position, laid his gun across his knees, and rummaged in his pack for the cold flapjacks, wrapped around slices of duck breast, which he had packed for lunch.

After he had finished eating he drank from his canteen—the water in this world might be good, it might not, there was no point in taking chances till he could try it on the cat—and took an economical chew of snuff. He settled back to wait.

The Harn had lost Ed after he crossed the creek—it used a fallen tree quite a way further up for its own crossing—and did not pick him up again until just before he crossed back. Now, however, he had been immobile for several minutes. This looked like about as good a time as any to make the pickup. The Harn had a stinging unit just about positioned, and it had dispatched a carrier to stand by.

After a while, sitting there, Ed began to feel uneasy. The timber was big here, and open underneath, almost parklike. The nearest cover was fifty or sixty yards off to his left, a little tangle of brush where a tree had fallen and let a shaft of sunlight through.

It looked possible, but it didn't feel quite right. Still, it was about the only place anything big enough to bother him could hide. The feeling was getting stronger, the back hairs on Ed's neck were starting to stand up now. Without visible movement, or even noticing himself that he was doing it, he let awareness run over his body, checking the position and stiffness of his legs—he had been sitting there quite a while—the balance of the gun across his knees, the nearness of his thumb to the hammer.

Thoughtfully, still studying the patch of brush, he spat a thin stream over his left shoulder at a pile of leaves a few feet away.

Thinking about it later, Ed could almost have sworn the tobacco juice sizzled as it hit. Actually, this was probably imaginary. The stinging unit was not that sensitive to tobacco, though it was sensitive enough. As the drops splattered it, the pile of leaves erupted with a snuffling hiss like an overloaded teakettle into a tornado of bucking, twisting activity.

Ed's reflexes were not quite as fast as they had been when he was young, but they were better educated. Also, he was already keyed-up. Almost as it started, the flurry in the leaves stopped with the roar of his rifle. Fired like that, the heavy gun just about took his hand off, but he did not notice it at the moment. He came erect in a quick scramble, jacking in a fresh round as he did so. The scene took on that strange timeless aspect it often does in moments of emergency, with a man's whole being focused on the fleeting now—you know, in an academic sort of way, that things are moving fast, you are moving fast yourself, but there seems plenty of time to make decisions, to look things over and decide what has to be done, to move precisely, with minimum effort and maximum effect.

Whatever the thing at his feet was, it was out of the picture now—it had not even twitched after the heavy bullet tore through it. There was a stomping rush in the little thicket he had been watching. Ed took two long quick steps to one side to clear a couple of trees, threw up the gun and fired as something flashed across a thin spot in the brush. He heard the whack of the bullet in flesh and fired again. Ordinarily he did not like to shoot at things he could not see clearly, but this did not seem the time to be overly finicky. There was no further movement in the brush.

He stood there several long moments, listening, and there was no further movement anywhere. He eased the hammer down, fed in three rounds to replace those he had used, and walked slowly back to the first thing he had shot.

At that range, the bullet had not opened up, but it had not needed to. It had practically exploded the creature anyway—the .450 has two tons of striking energy at the muzzle. From what was left, Ed deduced a smallish, rabbit-sized thing, smooth-skinned, muscular, many-legged, flattish, mottled to camouflage perfectly in the leaves. There was a head at one end, mostly undamaged since it had been at the end of a long muscular neck, with a pair of glazing beady eyes and a surprisingly small mouth. When Ed pressed on the muscles at the base of the skull, the mouth gaped roundly and a two-inch long spine slid smoothly out of an inconspicuous slot just below it.

At middling distances or better, Ed could still see as well as ever, but close up he needed help. He got out his pocket magnifier and studied the spine. It looked hollow, grooved back for a distance from the point. A drop of milky looking substance trembled on its tip.

Ed nodded thoughtfully to himself. This was what had made him uneasy, he was pretty sure. What was the thing in the brush, then? Innocent bystander? He got stiffly to his feet, conscious now of the ache in his wrist that had taken most of the recoil of the first shot, the torn web between his right thumb and forefinger where the hammer spur had bitten in; and walked over to the thicket.

The thing in the brush was larger, quite a bit larger, and the bullets had not torn it up so badly. It lay sprawled with three of its eight legs doubled under it, a bear-sized animal with a gaping, cavernous, toothless mouth out of all proportion to the slender body which seemed designed mainly as a frame for the muscular legs. It was not quite dead. As Ed came up it struggled feebly to get up, but one of the heavy slugs had evidently hit the spine, or whatever carried communications to the hindquarters. It fell back, shuddering convulsively, and suddenly regurgitated a small, furry animal.

Ed stepped back quickly to bring his rifle to bear, but the newest arrival was obviously already dead.

He turned his attention back to the larger animal. It, too, was dead now. There was an obvious family resemblance to the smaller one he had shot in the leaves. Both were smooth-skinned, many-legged, and now that he looked closely he could see this one had two mouths, a small one just under the nostrils, purse-lipped and tiny in its huge face but quite like that of the other creature. Neither looked even remotely like anything he had ever seen before.

He laid down his rifle and took out his knife.

Ten minutes later, he knew quite a bit about the thing, but what he knew did not make much sense. In the first place, its blood was green, a yellowish pussy green. In the second place, the larger mouth, complete with jaws and impressive musculature, opened not into a digestive system, but into a large closed pouch which comprised most of the animal's torso. There was no proper digestive system at all, only a rudimentary gut, heavily laced with blood vessels, terminating at one end in the small second mouth, at the other in an even smaller anus. Otherwise, the thing had no insides except a good pair of lungs and a stout heart—none at all. Bone, muscle, lung, heart—plus the ridiculously inadequate gut—that was it.

What about the small, furry, animal then; the one the other had been carrying in its pouch? There was nothing much out-of-the-way about it—a feline sort of carnivore, something like a marten. The fur looked interesting, and he skinned it out, casing the hide. On the left ham, the skin was punctured and there was a swollen, bluish area—about the sort of wound that would be made by the fang of the first thing he had shot. Ed squatted back on his heels, studying it and putting two and two together. What two and two made was pretty hard to believe, but it fitted the evidence.

He wiped his knife carefully on the grass, put it back in its sheath, and got to his feet. Suddenly, the feeling that he was not alone recurred. He looked quickly around.

Back where he had shot the first thing, a man in forest-green whipcord trousers and jacket was leaning over, hands on knees, looking at the remains. The man looked up and met Ed's eyes. He nodded casually and walked over to the second thing, prodded it with his toe. After a long moment he nodded again to Ed, smiled briefly, and winked out.

Ed stared at the empty air where the other man had been, mouth open. It was just a little too much. A lot of things had happened to him in the last few days, he had been able to take most of them more or less as they came along, but after all, he wasn't a chicken any more, he was pushing sixty, and there is a limit to what a man should have to put up with at that age. The thought of his snug cabin, with a good fire going, moosemeat bubbling in the pot, the gas lantern hissing, and the bottle of Hudson's Bay rum he had tucked under the eaves against just such an occasion as this, was suddenly very appealing.

Besides, it was getting late, and he didn't think he cared to be stumbling around this world in the dark.

He elbowed his pack up, hooked the left shoulder strap, and headed for home, staying off the trail in ordinary caution and watching his footing, but moving pretty fast just the same.

Actually, he need not have been so careful.

The Harn had been surprised and shocked by the explosive violence of the man's reaction to a routine harvesting maneuver. It was a relatively young Harn, but it retained memories of its own world, where there were also nasty, violent things which killed Harn. It was not pleasant to think that it might have evoked some such monster in this hitherto peaceful place.

Then, to top that, there had been the sudden appearance of the Warden. The Harn, of course, saw the Warden not as a man, but in its true aspect, which was not at all friendly.

All in all, this did not seem the moment to start any new adventures. The Harn pulled in all its mobile units, including the stinger it had left at the hole into the other world. It huddled protectively together in its nest, considering these new developments.

By ten that evening, Ed, in conference with old Tom and the bottle of Hudson's Bay, had done considerable hard thinking, pro and con.

Of course, he didn't have to go into the other world, just because the hole was there. He could block it off, seal it up with timbers and forget it.

He sat there and thought about this, absently smoothing the strange fur on his knee. For an old-timer like himself, things weren't too hot in this world. Fur didn't bring much of a price any more, and he couldn't get it in as he had when he was younger. His wants were simple, but there was a certain rock-bottom minimum he had to have. Too, the winters were starting to bother him a little, the arthritis in his hands was getting worse every year, times he hardly had the strength in his left hand, which was the worst, to hold an ax. Another five, ten, years and it would be the Pioneers' Home for him—if he did not get stove up or sick sooner and die right here in the cabin, too helpless to cut wood for the fire. He had helped bury enough others, bed and all when they didn't come down the river at breakup and somebody had to go up and look for them, to know it was possible.

The other world was milder, it had game and fur—good fur, too, from the looks of it, something new that could lick any mutation or synthetic on the market, and the income tax had still left a few fellows who could pay through the nose to see their women look nice.

And, the country was new. He'd never thought he'd have a crack at a new country again, a new, good country. Often, he'd thought how lucky people had been who were born a hundred and fifty years ago, moving into an easy, rich country like the Ohio or Kentucky when it was new, instead of the bitter North.

The Harn would be a nuisance—Ed did not think of it as the Harn, of course, but just as "they"—but he supposed he could find a way to clean them out. A man generally could, if varmints got troublesome enough.

And the man in forest-green whipcord, well, he could have been just an hallucination. Ed did not really believe in hallucinations, but he had heard about them, and there was always a first time.

Ed sighed, looked at the clock, measured the bottle with his eye—still better than three quarters full.

All in all, he guessed, he'd leave the door into the other world open.

He put old Tom out and went to bed.

The first order of business seemed to be to get better acquainted with the Harn, and first thing in the morning he set about it. He took the rabbit out of the live box and tethered it in a spot in the other world close to the hole, where raw earth had been exposed by a big blowdown, sweeping the ground afterward to clear it of tracks.

Getting better acquainted with the Harn, though, did not mean he had to have it come in and crawl in bed with him.

Before going to bed the night before, he had set half a can of snuff to steep in some water. He loaded a bug gun with this and sprayed the ground around the hole into the other world. From the reaction yesterday, he judged the stinging units did not like tobacco juice, and this should discourage them from coming through.

He checked his bear snares and found three in good enough shape to satisfy him—the large Harn beast, he suspected, would be about like a grizzly to hold. Three would hardly be enough for a serious trapping program. Ed made his own snares from old aircraft control cable, using a lock of his own devising which slid smoothly and cinched down tight and permanently. He got out his roll of wire and box of locks and started making up some more, sitting where he could watch the rabbit he had staked out.

By the middle of the afternoon the snares were done, but there had been no action with the rabbit, nor was there for the rest of the day.

In the morning, though, it was gone. There were three new sets of tracks in the bare spot—two smaller ones, either of which would have fitted the stinging unit, and what looked like a carrier's. The action was clear enough. The small things had prowled around the rabbit for some time, stopping frequently as if uncertain and suspicious. Finally, one had moved in, with a little flurry of action when it met the rabbit. Then it had moved back and squatted again.

The big tracks came directly to the rabbit and went right out again. They were heavy enough to be clear in the grass beyond the bare spot.

Ed went back to the cabin and rummaged till he found a pair of snakeproof pants a Stateside sport had once given him—heavy duck with an interlining of woven wire. They were heavy and uncomfortable to wear, and about as useless as wings on a pig in Alaska, where there are no snakes; but they had been brand-new and expensive when given to him, and he had put them away, thinking vaguely he might find a use for them some day. It looked like that day might be now.

He slipped them on, took his rifle and hunting pack, and set out to follow the animal that had taken the rabbit.

The trail showed well in the morning dew, going straight away along the hillside as if the thing were headed some place definite. Ed followed along for a quarter mile or so, then found himself on a fairly well beaten path, which presently joined another, and then another, till it was a definitely well used trail. It began to look to him like the thing might have a den of some sort, and he might be getting pretty close to it. He left the trail and climbed up into a lone tall tree, fire-scorched but still struggling for life. From there, he could follow the trail pretty well with his glasses for a couple of hundred yards before he lost it. Finally, he settled on a spot under an old burnt stump as a likely spot for the den.

He focused the glasses carefully and after a few minutes saw a flash of movement there, as if something had slipped in or out. Nothing else happened for about an hour. Then the grass along one of the trails began to wave and a large beast, similar to the one he had shot, trotted into sight. It slipped in under the stump and disappeared.

For the rest of the morning, nothing went in or out.

There was a very good reason for this, and Ed was it.

All night and day after he shot the stinging unit and the carrier unit, the Harn had stayed in its nest. By the second evening, it was getting hungry. It ventured out and found a few morsels, but the organized hunting network it ordinarily maintained had been disrupted, it had lost track of things, and the pickings were poor. Then it stumbled on the rabbit Ed had staked out.

Its first impulse was to leave the rabbit strictly alone. In spite of its early promise, the other world had so far given nothing but trouble. On the other hand, the rabbit was meat, and very good meat, by the smell and looks of it....

The Harn kept its observation unit prowling irresolutely around the target for half the night before it finally gave in to appetite and sent in a stinger to finish the rabbit off, a carrier to pick it up.

It was still uneasy about this when it noticed Ed near the nest the next morning, confirming its fears. It promptly broke up the net it had been re-establishing and pulled all units back in. Maybe if it left him strictly alone, he might still go on about his business, whatever that was, and let the Harn get back to its harvesting.

By noon, Ed was getting pretty stiff sitting in the tree. He climbed down and eased over toward the stump, watching where he set his feet. He was pretty sure the snakeproof pants would stop the stingers, but he saw no point in putting them to the test until he had to.

About fifty yards away, he got a good view, and it did look like there might be a sizable hole under the stump. He studied it carefully with the glasses. There was a smooth-beaten mound in front, and exposed roots were worn slick.

As he got closer, he noticed an unpleasant smell, and near the mouth of the den he got a sudden whiff that almost gagged him—a sour, acid, carrion stink like a buzzard's nest. He moved back a little. The hole was wide and fairly high, two or three feet, but too dark to see back into. Still, he had a sense of something stirring there not too far back.

Ed had considerable respect for caves and dens with unseen occupants—he had once helped carry in the bodies of two men who had poked a stick into a spring grizzly's den. At the same time, he wanted pretty badly to know what was in there. He suspected there was a good deal more than what he had already seen.

The bug gun loaded with tobacco juice was in his pack, and a flashlight, a small light one designed for a lady's purse which he always carried when away from camp. He got them out and leaned his rifle against a root sticking out just to the left of the den. Taking the bug gun in his left hand and the flashlight in his right, he stooped over to shine the light in, keeping as well clear of the entrance as possible.

All in all, he must have got about a five-second look, which is a lot longer than it sounds when things are happening.

His first impression was a jumble—eyes, scurrying movement, and bulk. Then things started to shape up. About ten feet back from the entrance was a huge, flattish, naked, scabrous bulk, pimpled with finger-sized teats. Clustered around and behind this were a tangle of slinging units, carrier units, observation units. Some had their mouths fixed to teats.

For a long second or two the scene stayed frozen.

Then the front edge of the bulk split and began to gape. Ed found himself looking down a manhole-sized gullet into a shallow puddle of slime with bits of bone sticking up here and there. Toward the near end a soggy mass of fur that might have been the rabbit seemed to be visibly melting down. At the same moment, the tangle of lesser monsters sorted themselves out and a wave of stingers came boiling out at him.

Ed dropped the flashlight, gave two mighty pumps of the bug gun, and jumped clear of the entrance. For a moment, the den mouth boiled with stingers, hissing and bucking in agony. Ed sprayed them heavily again, snatched up his rifle, and ran, looking back over his shoulder. The stingers showed no inclination to follow, though, the tobacco juice seemed to be keeping them well occupied for the moment.

Halfway home, Ed had to stop and rest for a moment while he took a spell of shuddering and gagging as a sudden picture of the slimy gullet came into his mind, with Ed Brown laying where the rabbit had been, melting down into a stinking soup of bones and gobbets of flesh.

When he got to the hole, his arrangement of tin cans, traps, and tobacco juice no longer looked nearly as secure as it had. He got his ax and cut two stout posts, framing the hole; built a stout slab door and hung it from them. Then he drove stakes close together at the threshold, to foil any attempts to dig under, and trimmed a sill tight to the door.

His feeling in this matter, as it happened, was sound.

The Harn was beginning to develop a pretty strong dislike for Ed Brown. Three of its stinging units were dead, and most of the rest were in poor shape, thanks to the tobacco spray. It had got a little whiff of the stuff itself, not enough to do any serious damage ordinarily, but right now, so close to swarming time—

Ed was going to have to go.

So far, in this world, the Harn had needed only the three basic types of mobile units. There were other standard types, however, for dealing with more complicated situations. As it happened, a couple of carrier embryos were at just about the right stage. With a little forcing, they could be brought on in not too long a time. Meanwhile, the Harn would do what it could with the material available.

When Ed came through the next day to set his snares, the Harn was prepared to test his snakeproof pants. They held, which was disconcerting to the Harn, but it was a hard creature to convince, once thoroughly aroused. Ed was not too sure of how well the pants would stand up to persistent assault himself. After the third ambush, he took to spraying suspicious looking spots with tobacco juice. He shot two more stingers in this way, but it slowed him up quite a bit. It took him all day to make four sets.

In the next three days he made a dozen sets and caught two carriers. Then, the fourth day, as he adjusted a snare, a seeming root suddenly came to life and slashed at his hand. He was wearing gloves to keep his scent from the snares, and the fang caught the glove and just grazed the ball of his left thumb. The hatchet he had been using to cut a toggle was lying by his knee. He snatched it up and chopped the stinger before it could strike again, then yanked off the glove and looked at his hand. A thin scratch, beaded with drops of blood, showed on the flesh. Unhesitatingly, he drew the razor edge of the hatchet across it, sucked and spat, sucked and spat again and again. Then he started for home.

He barely made it. By the time he got to the hole, he was a very sick man. He latched the door, stumbled into the cabin and fell on the bed.

It was several days before he was able to be about again, his hand still partly paralyzed.

During that time, the situation changed. The Harn took the offensive.

Ed's first notice of this was a rhythmic crashing outside the cabin. He managed to crawl to where he could see the gate he had built to block the hole into the other world. It was shaking from repeated batterings from the other side. Dragging his rifle with his good hand, he scrabbled down to where he could see through the chinks in the slab door. Two of the carrier units were there, taking turns slamming their full weight against it. He had built that gate skookum, but not to take something like that.

He noted carefully where they were hitting it, then backed off twenty feet and laid the .450 across a log. He let them hit the door twice more to get the timing before he loosed off a shot, at the moment of impact. The battering stopped abruptly, and through the chinks he could see a bulk piled against the gate.

For a while there was no more action. Then, after a few tentative butts at the door, the battering started again. This time, Ed wasn't so lucky. The battering stopped when he fired, but he got an impression that the carrier ran off. He thought he might have hit it, but not mortally.

In an hour or so the Harn was back, and it kept coming back. Ed began to worry about his ammunition, which was not unlimited. Ordinarily, two or three boxes lasted him through the winter. He got his .30-06, for which he had a sugar sack full of military ammunition. The light full-patch stuff did not have the discouraging effect of the .450, though, and he had to shoot a lot oftener.

Another thing, he wasn't getting any rest, which was bad in his already weakened condition. Every time he dozed off the battering would start again, and he would have to wake up and snap a few shots through the door. He held pretty much on one spot, not wanting to shoot the door to pieces, but the Harn noticed this, and started hitting the door in other places.

The second day of the attack, the door came down. It had been pretty shaky for some time, and Ed had got the cabin ready for a siege, filling butter kegs with water and nailing up the windows. As the Harn poured through, he shot several and then broke for the cabin. A carrier ran at him full tilt, bent on bowling him over. Once off his feet, he would have been easy meat for one of the stingers. He sidestepped, swung his shotgun up in one hand—he had kept it handy for the close fighting—and blew the carrier's spine in half. He had to kick it aside to slam the cabin door.

For a few minutes, then, things were pretty hectic. Ed went from one to another of the loopholes he had cut, blasting first with the shotgun as the Harn crowded around, then using the .30 as they grew more cautious.

After the first rush, it was obvious to the Harn that the cabin was going to be a tough nut to crack. On the other hand, there was no rush about it either. Necessarily, it had let its hunting go the past several days while it concentrated on Ed. It was pretty hungry, and it was in rich pickings now—Ed had always kept from disturbing game close to the cabin, partly because he liked to see it around, and partly because he had an idea that some day he might be in a fix where he couldn't travel very well, and would want meat close to hand. The Harn felt no such compunctions. The stinging units spread through the woods, and shortly a steady procession of loaded carriers began to stream back through the hole. Ed picked off the first few, but then the Harn found it could route them up the river trail in such a way that he got only a glimpse as they flashed through the hole. After that he did not hit very many.

Ed stopped shooting. He was getting short on ammunition for the .30 now, too. He counted up. There were eighteen rounds for the .450, half a box of 220 grain soft point for the .30 plus about the same amount of military stuff, and a handful of shotgun shells. Of course, there was still the .30 Luger with a couple of boxes, and the .22; but they were not much account for this kind of work.

He looked at the cabin door. It was stout, built of hewed three-inch slabs, but it wouldn't last forever against the kind of beating the gate had got. Even if it did, he was going to run out of water eventually.

Ed thought about that for a while, sitting at the table staring at the little pile of cartridges. He was going to be run out of here sooner or later, he might as well pick his own time, and now seemed about as good as any, while the Harn was busy exploring and hunting.

He sighed and got up to rummage around the cabin. The snakeproof pants had done real good, but he did not trust them entirely. There was some sheet iron laid over the ceiling joists, which he had brought up to make new stoves for his line camps. He got this down and cut it into small pieces. Around the edges he drilled a number of small holes. Then he got out his mending gear and began sewing the plates, in an overlapping pattern, to the legs of the snakeproof pants and to an old pair of moccasins. When he finished, he was pretty well armored as far as his crotch. It was an awkward outfit to move around in, but as long as he was able to stay on his feet, he figured he would be reasonably secure from the stingers. As for the bigger ones, he would just have to depend on seeing them first, and the .450.

Next, he needed some gasoline. The fuel cache was under a big spruce, about twenty yards from the door. He made the round of his loopholes. There were no Harn in sight, they were apparently ignoring him for now. He slipped out the door, closing it securely behind him, and started for the cache.

As he stepped out, a stinger came from under the sill log and lashed at his foot. He killed it with the ax beside the door, saving a cartridge, and went on, walking fairly fast but planting his feet carefully, a little awkward in his armor. He picked up a five-gallon can of gas, a quart of motor oil, and the twenty feet of garden hose he used for siphoning gas down the bank to the boat. On the way back, another stinger hit him. He kicked it aside, not wanting to set down his load, and it came at him again and again. Just outside the door, he finally caught it under a heel and methodically trampled it to death. Then he snatched open the door, tossed the stuff inside, and pulled it quickly shut behind him.

So far, good enough.

He lashed the gas can solidly to his packboard, slipped the end of the hose into the flexible spout and wired it tight. Then he cut up an old wool undershirt and wrapped the pieces around miscellaneous junk—old nuts and bolts, chunks of leadline, anything to make up half a dozen packages of good throwing heft. He soaked these in oil and stowed them in a musette bag which he snapped to the D-rings of the pack.

One of the metal plates on his moccasin was hanging by a thread, probably he had torn it loose in the scuffle at the door. They weren't going to take too much kicking and banging around, he could see, and once he was on his way, it wouldn't be a very good idea to be caught bending over with his bare hands at ground level to fix them. On the other hand, he couldn't be using all his cartridges on the stingers, either, he had to save them for the carriers. He thought about this some while mending the moccasin, and decided to take the bug gun. It might not kill the stingers, but it ought to discourage them enough so they wouldn't keep pestering him.

With his bad left arm, he had trouble getting the pack on his back. He finally managed by swinging it up on the table first. It was not too much of a load, forty or fifty pounds he guessed. Still, shaky as he was, it was about as much as he could manage. He had intended to just try it on for size, but after he got it up he thought: well, why not now? He picked up the .450, stowed the extra cartridges in his pocket, checked to make sure he had matches, hung the bug gun on his belt, and opened the door.

It was just getting dusk, but the other world was in broad daylight, the days and nights were almost completely reversed again. As he stepped through the hole, the first stinger struck. He gave it a good squirt of tobacco juice. It went bucking and twisting off and he went on, stepping carefully and solidly.

Luckily, most of the Harn was foraging in the new world. Two more stingers ambushed him, but the tobacco juice got rid of them, and he had no serious trouble till he got close to the den. Two carriers came out and rushed him there. He shot them both and then killed the stinger that was pecking at his shins. He moved quickly now, he had an idea that in about a minute all hell would break loose. He swung the pack down on the uphill side of the den, wet the musette bag with a quick spray of gas, tossed it over his shoulder, jammed the free end of the hose into the den mouth and stabbed the can with his knife to vent it. As the gas poured into the den he lit one of his oil and gas soaked bombs and ran around in front, lighting one after another from the one in his hand and tossing them into the den. The musette bag caught fire and he snatched it from his shoulder and tossed it after the bombs. A whoof and a sheet of flame blew out.

About fifty yards away there was a slender, popplelike tree. Ed had thought if he could make that, he would be reasonably secure while the Harn burned. He ran for it as hard as he could, beating at the flames that had spattered on him from the burning gas, but he never made it.

Harn were erupting everywhere. A carrier suddenly came charging out of the brush to his left. While Ed dealt with that one, the Harn played its ace in the hole. The two special units it had been developing to deal with Ed were not quite done yet, but they were done enough to work for the few minutes the Harn needed them. Ed heard a coughing grunt behind him and spun around to see something new crawling out of the flame and smoke at the den entrance.

This one was a roughly carrier shaped creature, but half again as large, built for killing. It had powerful fanged jaws and its eight feet were armed with knifelike, disemboweling claws. As it came at Ed in a lumbering rush, another came crawling out after it.

Ed shot four times, as fast as he could work the action. The heavy slugs did the job, but not quite well enough. With its dying lunge the thing got to him and tossed him ten feet like a rag doll. He lit on his bad hand and felt the wrist bones go.

As he struggled to get up, digging his elbow in and using one hand, he saw a stinger darting in at him. He had lost both the bug gun and his rifle when the fighting unit swiped him. He swiveled on his hips and kicked the stinger away. Then he saw the second fighting unit coming. He forgot about the stinger. It still might get to him, but, if it did, it would be too late to matter.

He drew his knife, managed to get to one knee, and crouched there like an old gray rat, stubbly lips drawn back from worn teeth in a grin of pain and rage. This was one he wasn't going to win, he guessed.

Ten feet away, the fighting unit suddenly ran down like a clockwork toy. It toppled over, skidded past him under its own momentum, and lay there kicking spasmodically. Ed glared at it uncomprehendingly. It arched its neck back to almost touch its haunches, stiffened, and was still.

Ed looked around. The stinger was dead too, three feet from his shoulder, and half a dozen more which had been making for him. A cloud of greasy, stinking smoke was rolling out of the den. The Harn was dead.

Ed put his knife away and lay back. He did not quite pass out, but things got pretty dim.

After a while he got hold of himself and sat up. He was not too surprised to see the man in forest green prodding at the bodies of the fighting units. The stranger looked at the smoke still oozing from the den and nodded approvingly. Then he came over and looked at Ed. He clacked his tongue in concern and bent over, touching Ed's wrist. Ed noticed there was now a cast on it, and it didn't hurt so much. There was also a plastic binding around his ribs and shoulder, where the claws of the first fighter had raked as it tossed him. That was a mighty neat trick, because the rags of his shirt were still buttoned around him, and he was pretty sure it had not been off at any time.

The stranger smiled at Ed, patted him on the shoulder, and disappeared. He seemed to be a busy sort of fellow, Ed thought, with not much time for visiting.

Ed felt quite a bit better now, enough better to gather up what was left of his gear and start home. He was glad to find old Tom waiting for him there. The cat had taken to the woods when the attack on the gate first started, he didn't like shooting, and Ed had worried that the Harn might have got him.

Ed slept till noon the next day, got up and cooked a dozen flapjacks and a pound of bacon. After breakfast, he sat around for an hour or so drinking coffee. Then he spent the rest of the afternoon puttering around the cabin.

He packed away the snakeproof pants, disassembled the flame-thrower, picked up the traps by the hole.

Old Tom seemed to have pretty well cleaned up the mice under the lean-to. Ed took his shovel and filled in the hole he had dug for the cat to get at them.

He went to bed early. Tomorrow he would take a long hike around the new world, scout out the fur and game, plan his trap-line and pick cabin sites.

The next morning, though, the hole into the other world was gone.

The posts which had marked it were sheared neatly in half. The remains of the door still hung there, battered and sagging; but it swung open on nothing but Alaska, when Ed stepped through he found himself standing beside the old leaning birch.

He tried it several times before he convinced himself.

He walked slowly back toward the cabin, feeling old and uncertain, not quite knowing what to do with himself. Old Tom was over by the lean-to, sniffing and pawing tentatively at the fresh earth where Ed had filled in the hole. As Ed came up, he came over to rub against Ed's leg.

They went into the cabin and Ed started fixing breakfast.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: The wish of the butcher ( Don’t forget to come see my on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord )

The Xuvails were a species of paradoxes.

With one hand they held technological superiority the likes of which no other species could match. They could shatter continents and rearrange them as easily as a child would move mounds of sand on the beach. Disease was nothing to them as their hospitals had developed a cure for ever infection, pathogen, plague, or genetic defect that had ever stained the face of the galaxy. Even their more mundane devices utilized such complex power supplies that one of their generators the size of a fingernail could power a battleship for at least ten years.

Yet for all this technological wonder it had twisted and warped their perspective of themselves and their place in the universe. For in the other hand they were snide, narcissistic, crude, and outright hostile to any of the other species they deemed lesser than themselves. Which was a problem for the rest of the universe as the Xuvails considered every other species lesser.

Many species attempted to negotiate and open a dialogue with them to share their wealth of knowledge for the betterment of all, yet each attempt ended in failure. Xuvails closed their borders to all and would only interact with others through one method. A cruel and barbaric tournament they called “Cha’vat Nig Rout”, which translated to “Tournament of Wishes.”

Each year the Xuvails would open their borders for several thousand sentient’s. These contestants would represent their civilizations and if they won the Xuvails would share a portion of their knowledge with them until the next tournament. Additionally, if champion completed this tournament, defeating all of the other challengers and the Xuvails’s own champion, then that contestant would be given one request that the Xuvails would grant.

The tournament was a bloodbath of carnage and savagery. Each contestant fought round after round of ruthless gladiatorial combat against each other in a variety of different settings, all for the Xuvails’s amusement. They saw it as a chance to watch the lesser species in their native states to highlight how superior they were to the rest of them.

Despite several years of running though no contestant had ever defeated the Xuvails champion; massive warrior named “Throg”. So no species ever benefited from their knowledge, let alone have their champions wish granted.

That was until the year a recently discovered species called “Humanity” entered the tournament.

No one had heard of them before. They had only recently developed inter system travel, and even then it still had a fifty-fifty chance of exploding after exiting back into system. The only things that were known were that they had strong warriors and even hardier stomachs.

At first the Xuvails did not see anything special in the humans. They were but one amongst thousands fighting and dying for their amusement. This continued as the tournament progressed to the half-way point when they started taking a closer interest in them.

Many of the species were developed for combat with thick hides, razor sharp teeth and claws, and several layers of vision ranging from thermal to sonar. Yet despite all of these odds stacked against them the human champion had crushed all opposition earning them the title of “Butcher”.

This human warrior caved in the head of a Raken with a stone, sliced open the belly of a Grek and used the stomach acid to dissolve the exoskeleton of a Yullen that had been stalking him the entire match. They had even pulled off the near impossible feat of besting a Jaskar by removing a power cell of a plasma rifle, overcharging it, then forcing the device down the Jaskar’s throat before it detonated.

As the tournament neared the finals and only ten champions remained to face each other and then Throg, the Xuvails’s interviewed each of them and asked what their wishes would be.

Some said power, others wished for a world of their own, many said unlimited wealth and desirable partners; and then came the human.

“What do you wish for?” the Xuvails host asked dramatically to the camera.

The human looked at the host through the visor of and then at the camera.

“I want to see my daughter again.”

Whatever the host had been expecting this certainly was not it for someone named “Butcher”.

“She was very sick and needed medication to survive, but the meds were so expensive.” The butcher continued. “So I joined the military. They promised she’d get medical treatment for my service.”

“So you want us to send you home to her?” The host replied mockingly. “What, does you species not even have stable transports?”

The small audience of Xuvails’s laughed but the human stood silent.

“She died while I was off fighting.” He replied and the laughter died away.

“I want you to bring her back. I want you to give her a healthy life, a life that I could not give her and let her live it to the fullest.”

This response was a first for the host. Never before had someone asked such a selfless request before.

“Well….we certainly would want that.” The host mumbled as they tried to regain their composure.

“You can grant that, right?” the human pressed. “You can bring her back from the dead? You’re smart enough to do that, right?”

Looking around for several seconds the Xuvails host coughed and then patted the human on the back. “Of course we can; but only if you win our amazing tournament.”

The crowd applauded but deep down each of them knew that even they had yet to surpass death. Now though that they had claimed that they had they were backed into a corner and felt their prideful image was in danger.

If the human won and realized their wish could not be granted, the entire universe would see them not as the gods they had portrayed themselves as. Many thought that it was still a longshot given that no one had ever defeated their champion.

So the tournament progressed and after nine bloody matches only the human remained to fight the champion. Rather than risk their champion losing, the Xuvails leaders rigged the final match with their champion.

At the height of the match after hours of continuous fighting, the human stood ready to deliver the final blow they stopped. Grasping at their chest, the human toppled over and died before he could finish off his foe leaving the Xuvails crowds cheering at yet another victory of their people. Little did they know that several Xuvails scientists had installed sonic devices around the ring that when activated trigger a humans heart to experience what they called a “heart attack”.

In a rare act for the Xuvails, they agreed that in honor of the first species to come so far they would share their knowledge with humanity. At least that is what they said to the wider galaxy. To the Xuvails’s it was in reality a mark of shame for not having been able to grant the human champion’s wish if he had won.

[faun-the-hound]

post about beastfolk since I did one on magi ages ago (that might be slightly outdated)

(buckle up this is a long one)

Beastfolk is a general term for a species separate from humans, they are identified as humanoid beings with animalistic or 'beast-like' traits and behaviours.

Subspecies found in Ru'aun consist of: Lupin (werewolves), Feline (meif'wa (more common in Tu'la), Vulpine (foxes), Cervine (deer), and Murine (mice)

Lupin are the most common to see near human/magi civilisation. They are social beasts, living in large, units called packs. Led by their matriarchs, the Lupin are a territorial and defensive race, they don't take kindly to trespassers, but in turn, teach their young never to trespass in return. Any slight on a Lupin will be returned tenfold by the entirety of their pack.

The packs are named for their environment more often than not, so the pack outside Bright Port is the Cliffs Pack (Lowell's pack), while the Lupin that kidnapped Lucinda are the Tundra Pack (where Yip came from). There are also smaller, roaming groups of Lupin that range the entire region of Ru'aun, only settling in the spring to raise pups (the Falcon Claw pack Dottie, Daniel and Rylan are a part of), these packs are not led by a distinct matriarch, but rather a group of older females.

They are often viewed as being violent, unpredictable and crude by humans and magi, living largely feral and having little interest in peace talks. In truth, they are friendly, outgoing and respectful most of the time, but as stated, if one member of the pack is harmed, the entire group howls for war, and these battles can last anywhere from a few hours, to a few generations. Inter-pack relations are actually very strong and highly encouraged, including bonds with roamers, loners, and even humans. Shared blood is strong blood, and Lupin are the strongest of the beasts.

Feline Beastfolk, most commonly called Meif'wa, are solitary, and the most welcome of the beastfolk in human society. They often take up jobs as exterminators, guards or investigators, having a keen hunting instinct, whether that be literal hunting, or just tracking things down. In Tu'la, where most Feline originate, they are revered as powerful, noble warriors, the pinnacle of elegance and deadly grace.

In Ru'aun, they are seen as sly, crafty, lazy, or just plain stupid, as many beastfolk are thought to be. They can find work and homes easily enough, but many Ru'aun Feline are afraid to walk the streets alone. They are never fully trusted, which leads to them self-isolating from larger cities and towns. Smaller villages are far preferred by wandering Feline, having less to lose means less worry of losing something. And those in struggling areas understand far more the need for safety.

Vulpine, much like Feline, are seen as craft, sly and tricksters. Unlike Feline, this is usually true. The Vulpine are a rarity to be seen, skulking through the shadows, active almost exclusively at dusk/early night. They live underground in burrows dug by their own paws, or plundered from other woodland creatures, and they are masters of stealth.

Vulpine tend to steer clear of large cities like O'khasis and Scaleswind, but have no issue pilfering the supplies of towns like Bright Port or Meteli, and even less qualms robbing weary travellers just trying to rest up the night. Usually, this thievery comes from either insatiable curiosity, or a desperation for food and supplies.

It's a self-fulfilling prophecy in a way, Vulpine are always expected to be thieves, tricksters and scammers, so they are chased away and driven out of their homes, leading to them starving, being desperate for some sort of supplies, but having no choice but to steal, only perpetuating the harmful stereotypes.

Cervine saw the harsh treatment given to other beastfolk subraces, and decided to outright abandon human society. They are the largest and most populated species, gentle giants who can and will absolutely mangle a man for crossing them. They live primarily in the cursed forest around Sun's Heart, roaming the woods with little care for keeping to the roads. They're the only race able to successfully navigate the Enchanted Forest without using the roads.

They live in massive herds, anywhere between fifty and three-hundred individuals, led by a group of stags called heralds. They are generous, calm and kind, always willing to lend a hand to lost or weary travellers, but despite their massive numbers, actually finding a herd is incredibly difficult.

Usually it'll be a solo or pair of Cervine who just happen into a town, wandering through to trade a few things here or there, and they'll give a few small donations to the needy before moving on, returning to their herd. They're an odd bunch, but they're viewed as wise and gentle sages by the people of Ru'aun, and in some places it's believed they can see the future. (some of them can, but that's extremely rare)

And last are the Murine. Mousefolk. Small, lithe and skittish little critters who live almost exclusively amongst humans. They're genuinely harmless unless trained otherwise, naturally shy and generally nervous around large crowds. They're most commonly found working in bookshops, bakeries or as florists/gardeners, usually in a small town, or living just on the edges of cities and woodlands in cottages. They're quite friendly despite their nervous nature, though they'd much rather be at home than a tavern or market.

Like all things, there are those who don't follow these stereotypes, in fact, most (story-important) members don't. There are Cervine who are cruel, Vulpine who are generous, and Murine who are extroverted, this is just the typical, instinctual behaviours of these races.

I've ramble a while, but here's a few extra fun facts:

-Lupin are born with a magical connection to the others in their Pack, called a bind, some are born without it and they are called boundless, often boundless will leave their birth pack, forming a bind to another pack, or just wandering as a loner

-Feline have no concept of a sleep schedule, they can sleep nineteen hours or two hours and wake up perfectly rested both times. The ideal amount of sleep for them is between twelve and fourteen hours a night

-Vulpine are extremely vocal, squeaking, yipping, huffing, growling, whining, etc, while most beastfolk communicate through body language or actual words, Vulpine will straight up scream if they get overexcited or startled

-Cervine are very connected to Magick, so much so that almost all of them are born able to commune with plants or heal small injuries, it's not a strong enough connection to call them Magi, but it gets closer with each generation (by mystreet time Cervine have diverged into Satyr Magi)

-Murine are natural neat-freaks, everything in their home has to be perfect, pristine and well-kept at all times, or they may simply go insane, they also have a natural disdain for children because of their need for cleanliness

Emmalyn is a Murine, mouse Emmalyn real. I feel like Kenmur is possibly a Vulpine, and Laurance has at least a little Vulpine blood in him. Maybe it shows after he gets Shadow Knighted.

Anyway. This post is long enough, so I'll wrap it up.

[dailyanarchistposts]

Chapter 6: Mutual Aid in the Mediæval City (continued)

Likeness and diversity among the mediæval cities. — The craftguilds: State-attributes in each of them. — Attitude of the city towards the peasants; attempts to free them. — The lords. — Results achieved by the mediæval city: in arts, in learning. — Causes of decay.

The mediæval cities were not organized upon some preconceived plan in obedience to the will of an outside legislator. Each of them was a natural growth in the full sense of the word — an always varying result of struggle between various forces which adjusted and re-adjusted themselves in conformity with their relative energies, the chances of their conflicts, and the support they found in their surroundings. Therefore, there are not two cities whose inner organization and destinies would have been identical. Each one, taken separately, varies from century to century. And yet, when we cast a broad glance upon all the cities of Europe, the local and national unlikenesses disappear, and we are struck to find among all of them a wonderful resemblance, although each has developed for itself, independently from the others, and in different conditions. A small town in the north of Scotland, with its population of coarse labourers and fishermen; a rich city of Flanders, with its world-wide commerce, luxury, love of amusement and animated life; an Italian city enriched by its intercourse with the East, and breeding within its walls a refined artistic taste and civilization; and a poor, chiefly agricultural, city in the marsh and lake district of Russia, seem to have little in common. And nevertheless, the leading lines of their organization, and the spirit which animates them, are imbued with a strong family likeness. Everywhere we see the same federations of small communities and guilds, the same “sub-towns” round the mother city, the same folkmote, and the same insigns of its independence. The defensor of the city, under different names and in different accoutrements, represents the same authority and interests; food supplies, labour and commerce, are organized on closely similar lines; inner and outer struggles are fought with like ambitions; nay, the very formulae used in the struggles, as also in the annals, the ordinances, and the rolls, are identical; and the architectural monuments, whether Gothic, Roman, or Byzantine in style, express the same aspirations and the same ideals; they are conceived and built in the same way. Many dissemblances are mere differences of age, and those disparities between sister cities which are real are repeated in different parts of Europe. The unity of the leading idea and the identity of origin make up for differences of climate, geographical situation, wealth, language and religion. This is why we can speak of the mediæval city as of a well-defined phase of civilization; and while every research insisting upon local and individual differences is most welcome, we may still indicate the chief lines of development which are common to all cities.[210]

There is no doubt that the protection which used to be accorded to the market-place from the earliest barbarian times has played an important, though not an exclusive, part in the emancipation of the mediæval city. The early barbarians knew no trade within their village communities; they traded with strangers only, at certain definite spots, on certain determined days. And, in order that the stranger might come to the barter-place without risk of being slain for some feud which might be running between two kins, the market was always placed under the special protection of all kins. It was inviolable, like the place of worship under the shadow of which it was held. With the Kabyles it is still annaya, like the footpath along which women carry water from the well; neither must be trodden upon in arms, even during inter-tribal wars. In mediæval times the market universally enjoyed the same protection.[211] No feud could be prosecuted on the place whereto people came to trade, nor within a certain radius from it; and if a quarrel arose in the motley crowd of buyers and sellers, it had to be brought before those under whose protection the market stood ��� the community’s tribunal, or the bishop’s, the lord’s, or the king’s judge. A stranger who came to trade was a guest, and he went on under this very name. Even the lord who had no scruples about robbing a merchant on the high road, respected the Weichbild, that is, the pole which stood in the market-place and bore either the king’s arms, or a glove, or the image of the local saint, or simply a cross, according to whether the market was under the protection of the king, the lord, the local church, or the folkmote — the vyeche.[212]

It is easy to understand how the self-jurisdiction of the city could develop out of the special jurisdiction in the market-place, when this last right was conceded, willingly or not, to the city itself. And such an origin of the city’s liberties, which can be traced in very many cases, necessarily laid a special stamp upon their subsequent development. It gave a predominance to the trading part of the community. The burghers who possessed a house in the city at the time being, and were co-owners in the town-lands, constituted very often a merchant guild which held in its hands the city’s trade; and although at the outset every burgher, rich and poor, could make part of the merchant guild, and the trade itself seems to have been carried on for the entire city by its trustees, the guild gradually became a sort of privileged body. It jealously prevented the outsiders who soon began to flock into the free cities from entering the guild, and kept the advantages resulting from trade for the few “families” which had been burghers at the time of the emancipation. There evidently was a danger of a merchant oligarchy being thus constituted. But already in the tenth, and still more during the two next centuries, the chief crafts, also organized in guilds, were powerful enough to check the oligarchic tendencies of the merchants.

The craft guild was then a common seller of its produce and a common buyer of the raw materials, and its members were merchants and manual workers at the same time. Therefore, the predominance taken by the old craft guilds from the very beginnings of the free city life guaranteed to manual labour the high position which it afterwards occupied in the city.[213] In fact, in a mediæval city manual labour was no token of inferiority; it bore, on the contrary, traces of the high respect it had been kept in in the village community. Manual labour in a “mystery” was considered as a pious duty towards the citizens: a public function (Amt), as honourable as any other. An idea of “justice” to the community, of “right” towards both producer and consumer, which would seem so extravagant now, penetrated production and exchange. The tanner’s, the cooper’s, or the shoemaker’s work must be “just,” fair, they wrote in those times. Wood, leather or thread which are used by the artisan must be “right”; bread must be baked “in justice,” and so on. Transport this language into our present life, and it would seem affected and unnatural; but it was natural and unaffected then, because the mediæval artisan did not produce for an unknown buyer, or to throw his goods into an unknown market. He produced for his guild first; for a brotherhood of men who knew each other, knew the technics of the craft, and, in naming the price of each product, could appreciate the skill displayed in its fabrication or the labour bestowed upon it. Then the guild, not the separate producer, offered the goods for sale in the community, and this last, in its turn, offered to the brotherhood of allied communities those goods which were exported, and assumed responsibility for their quality. With such an organization, it was the ambition of each craft not to offer goods of inferior quality, and technical defects or adulterations became a matter concerning the whole community, because, an ordinance says, “they would destroy public confidence.”[214] Production being thus a social duty, placed under the control of the whole amitas, manual labour could not fall into the degraded condition which it occupies now, so long as the free city was living.

A difference between master and apprentice, or between master and worker (compayne, Geselle), existed but in the mediæval cities from their very beginnings; this was at the outset a mere difference of age and skill, not of wealth and power. After a seven years’ apprenticeship, and after having proved his knowledge and capacities by a work of art, the apprentice became a master himself. And only much later, in the sixteenth century, after the royal power had destroyed the city and the craft organization, was it possible to become master in virtue of simple inheritance or wealth. But this was also the time of a general decay in mediæval industries and art.

There was not much room for hired work in the early flourishing periods of the mediæval cities, still less for individual hirelings. The work of the weavers, the archers, the smiths, the bakers, and so on, was performed for the craft and the city; and when craftsmen were hired in the building trades, they worked as temporary corporations (as they still do in the Russian artéls), whose work was paid en bloc. Work for a master began to multiply only later on; but even in this case the worker was paid better than he is paid now, even in this country, and very much better than he used to be paid all over Europe in the first half of this century. Thorold Rogers has familiarized English readers with this idea; but the same is true for the Continent as well, as is shown by the researches of Falke and Schönberg, and by many occasional indications. Even in the fifteenth century a mason, a carpenter, or a smith worker would be paid at Amiens four sols a day, which corresponded to forty-eight pounds of bread, or to the eighth part of a small ox (bouvard). In Saxony, the salary of the Geselle in the building trade was such that, to put it in Falke’s words, he could buy with his six days’ wages three sheep and one pair of shoes.[215] The donations of workers (Geselle) to cathedrals also bear testimony of their relative well-being, to say nothing of the glorious donations of certain craft guilds nor of what they used to spend in festivities and pageants.[216] In fact, the more we learn about the mediæval city, the more we are convinced that at no time has labour enjoyed such conditions of prosperity and such respect as when city life stood at its highest.

More than that; not only many aspirations of our modern radicals were already realized in the middle ages, but much of what is described now as Utopian was accepted then as a matter of fact. We are laughed at when we say that work must be pleasant, but — “every one must be pleased with his work,” a mediæval Kuttenberg ordinance says, “and no one shall, while doing nothing (mit nichts thun), appropriate for himself what others have produced by application and work, because laws must be a shield for application and work.”[217] And amidst all present talk about an eight hours’ day, it may be well to remember an ordinance of Ferdinand the First relative to the Imperial coal mines, which settled the miner’s day at eight hours, “as it used to be of old” (wie vor Alters herkommen), and work on Saturday afternoon was prohibited. Longer hours were very rare, we are told by Janssen, while shorter hours were of common occurrence. In this country, in the fifteenth century, Rogers says, “the workmen worked only forty-eight hours a week.“[218] The Saturday half-holiday, too, which we consider as a modern conquest, was in reality an old mediæval institution; it was bathing-time for a great part of the community, while Wednesday afternoon was bathing-time for the Geselle.[219] And although school meals did not exist — probably because no children went hungry to school — a distribution of bath-money to the children whose parents found difficulty in providing it was habitual in several places. As to Labour Congresses, they also were a regular feature of the middles ages. In some parts of Germany craftsmen of the same trade, belonging to different communes, used to come together every year to discuss questions relative to their trade, the years of apprenticeship, the wandering years, the wages, and so on; and in 1572, the Hanseatic towns formally recognized the right of the crafts to come together at periodical congresses, and to take any resolutions, so long as they were not contrary to the cities’ rolls, relative to the quality of goods. Such Labour Congresses, partly international like the Hansa itself, are known to have been held by bakers, founders, smiths, tanners, sword-makers and cask-makers.[220]

The craft organization required, of course, a close supervision of the craftsmen by the guild, and special jurates were always nominated for that purpose. But it is most remarkable that, so long as the cities lived their free life, no complaints were heard about the supervision; while, after the State had stepped in, confiscating the property of the guilds and destroying their independence in favour of its own bureaucracy, the complaints became simply countless.[221] On the other hand, the immensity of progress realized in all arts under the mediaeval guild system is the best proof that the system was no hindrance to individual initiative.[222] The fact is, that the mediæval guild, like the mediæval parish, “street,” or “quarter,” was not a body of citizens, placed under the control of State functionaries; it was a union of all men connected with a given trade: jurate buyers of raw produce, sellers of manufactured goods, and artisans — masters, “compaynes,” and apprentices. For the inner organization of the trade its assembly was sovereign, so long as it did not hamper the other guilds, in which case the matter was brought before the guild of the guilds — the city. But there was in it something more than that. It had its own self-jurisdiction, its own military force, its own general assemblies, its own traditions of struggles, glory, and independence, its own relations with other guilds of the same trade in other cities: it had, in a word, a full organic life which could only result from the integrality of the vital functions. When the town was called to arms, the guild appeared as a separate company (Schaar), armed with its own arms (or its own guns, lovingly decorated by the guild, at a subsequent epoch), under its own self-elected commanders. It was, in a word, as independent a unit of the federation as the republic of Uri or Geneva was fifty years ago in the Swiss Confederation. So that, to compare it with a modern trade union, divested of all attributes of State sovereignty, and reduced to a couple of functions of secondary importance, is as unreasonable as to compare Florence or Brügge with a French commune vegetating under the Code Napoléon, or with a Russian town placed under Catherine the Second’s municipal law. Both have elected mayors, and the latter has also its craft corporations; but the difference is — all the difference that exists between Florence and Fontenay-les-Oies or Tsarevokokshaisk, or between a Venetian doge and a modern mayor who lifts his hat before the sous-préfet’s clerk.

The mediæval guilds were capable of maintaining their independence; and, later on, especially in the fourteenth century, when, in consequence of several causes which shall presently be indicated, the old municipal life underwent a deep modification, the younger crafts proved strong enough to conquer their due share in the management of the city affairs. The masses, organized in “minor” arts, rose to wrest the power out of the hands of a growing oligarchy, and mostly succeeded in this task, opening again a new era of prosperity. True, that in some cities the uprising was crushed in blood, and mass decapitations of workers followed, as was the case in Paris in 1306, and in Cologne in 1371. In such cases the city’s liberties rapidly fell into decay, and the city was gradually subdued by the central authority. But the majority of the towns had preserved enough of vitality to come out of the turmoil with a new life and vigour.[223] A new period of rejuvenescence was their reward. New life was infused, and it found its expression in splendid architectural monuments, in a new period of prosperity, in a sudden progress of technics and invention, and in a new intellectual movement leading to the Renaissance and to the Reformation.

The life of a mediaeval city was a succession of hard battles to conquer liberty and to maintain it. True, that a strong and tenacious race of burghers had developed during those fierce contests; true, that love and worship of the mother city had been bred by these struggles, and that the grand things achieved by the mediaeval communes were a direct outcome of that love. But the sacrifices which the communes had to sustain in the battle for freedom were, nevertheless, cruel, and left deep traces of division on their inner life as well. Very few cities had succeeded, under a concurrence of favourable circumstances, in obtaining liberty at one stroke, and these few mostly lost it equally easily; while the great number had to fight fifty or a hundred years in succession, often more, before their rights to free life had been recognized, and another hundred years to found their liberty on a firm basis — the twelfth century charters thus being but one of the stepping-stones to freedom.[224] In reality, the mediaeval city was a fortified oasis amidst a country plunged into feudal submission, and it had to make room for itself by the force of its arms. In consequence of the causes briefly alluded to in the preceding chapter, each village community had gradually fallen under the yoke of some lay or clerical lord. His house had grown to be a castle, and his brothers-in-arms were now the scum of adventurers, always ready to plunder the peasants. In addition to three days a week which the peasants had to work for the lord, they had also to bear all sorts of exactions for the right to sow and to crop, to be gay or sad, to live, to marry, or to die. And, worst of all, they were continually plundered by the armed robbers of some neighbouring lord, who chose to consider them as their master’s kin, and to take upon them, and upon their cattle and crops, the revenge for a feud he was fighting against their owner. Every meadow, every field, every river, and road around the city, and every man upon the land was under some lord.

The hatred of the burghers towards the feudal barons has found a most characteristic expression in the wording of the different charters which they compelled them to sign. Heinrich V. is made to sign in the charter granted to Speier in 1111, that he frees the burghers from “the horrible and execrable law of mortmain, through which the town has been sunk into deepest poverty” (von dem scheusslichen und nichtswürdigen Gesetze, welches gemein Budel genannt wird, Kallsen, i. 307). The coutume of Bayonne, written about 1273, contains such passages as these: “The people is anterior to the lords. It is the people, more numerous than all others, who, desirous of peace, has made the lords for bridling and knocking down the powerful ones, “and so on (Giry, Établissements de Rouen, i. 117, Quoted by Luchaire, p. 24). A charter submitted for King Robert’s signature is equally characteristic. He is made to say in it: “I shall rob no oxen nor other animals. I shall seize no merchants, nor take their moneys, nor impose ransom. From Lady Day to the All Saints’ Day I shall seize no horse, nor mare, nor foals, in the meadows. I shall not burn the mills, nor rob the flour... I shall offer no protection to thieves,” etc. (Pfister has published that document, reproduced by Luchaire). The charter “granted” by the Besançon Archbishop Hugues, in which he has been compelled to enumerate all the mischiefs due to his mortmain rights, is equally characteristic.[225] And so on.

Freedom could not be maintained in such surroundings, and the cities were compelled to carry on the war outside their walls. The burghers sent out emissaries to lead revolt in the villages; they received villages into their corporations, and they waged direct war against the nobles. It Italy, where the land was thickly sprinkled with feudal castles, the war assumed heroic proportions, and was fought with a stern acrimony on both sides. Florence sustained for seventy-seven years a succession of bloody wars, in order to free its contado from the nobles; but when the conquest had been accomplished (in 1181) all had to begin anew. The nobles rallied; they constituted their own leagues in opposition to the leagues of the towns, and, receiving fresh support from either the Emperor or the Pope, they made the war last for another 130 years. The same took place in Rome, in Lombardy, all over Italy.

Prodigies of valour, audacity, and tenaciousness were displayed by the citizens in these wars. But the bows and the hatchets of the arts and crafts had not always the upper hand in their encounters with the armour-clad knights, and many castles withstood the ingenious siege-machinery and the perseverance of the citizens. Some cities, like Florence, Bologna, and many towns in France, Germany, and Bohemia, succeeded in emancipating the surrounding villages, and they were rewarded for their efforts by an extraordinary prosperity and tranquillity. But even here, and still more in the less strong or less impulsive towns, the merchants and artisans, exhausted by war, and misunderstanding their own interests, bargained over the peasants’ heads. They compelled the lord to swear allegiance to the city; his country castle was dismantled, and he agreed to build a house and to reside in the city, of which he became a co-burgher (com-bourgeois, con-cittadino); but he maintained in return most of his rights upon the peasants, who only won a partial relief from their burdens. The burgher could not understand that equal rights of citizenship might be granted to the peasant upon whose food supplies he had to rely, and a deep rent was traced between town and village. In some cases the peasants simply changed owners, the city buying out the barons’ rights and selling them in shares to her own citizens.[226] Serfdom was maintained, and only much later on, towards the end of the thirteenth century, it was the craft revolution which undertook to put an end to it, and abolished personal servitude, but dispossessed at the same time the serfs of the land.[227] It hardly need be added that the fatal results of such policy were soon felt by the cities themselves; the country became the city’s enemy.

The war against the castles had another bad effect. It involved the cities in a long succession of mutual wars, which have given origin to the theory, till lately in vogue, namely, that the towns lost their independence through their own jealousies and mutual fights. The imperialist historians have especially supported this theory, which, however, is very much undermined now by modern research. It is certain that in Italy cities fought each other with a stubborn animosity, but nowhere else did such contests attain the same proportions; and in Italy itself the city wars, especially those of the earlier period, had their special causes. They were (as was already shown by Sismondi and Ferrari) a mere continuation of the war against the castles — the free municipal and federative principle unavoidably entering into a fierce contest with feudalism, imperialism, and papacy. Many towns which had but partially shaken off the yoke of the bishop, the lord, or the Emperor, were simply driven against the free cities by the nobles, the Emperor, and Church, whose policy was to divide the cities and to arm them against each other. These special circumstances (partly reflected on to Germany also) explain why the Italian towns, some of which sought support with the Emperor to combat the Pope, while the others sought support from the Church to resist the Emperor, were soon divided into a Gibelin and a Guelf camp, and why the same division appeared in each separate city.[228]

The immense economical progress realized by most Italian cities just at the time when these wars were hottest,[229] and the alliances so easily concluded between towns, still better characterize those struggles and further undermine the above theory. Already in the years 1130–1150 powerful leagues came into existence; and a few years later, when Frederick Barbarossa invaded Italy and, supported by the nobles and some retardatory cities, marched against Milan, popular enthusiasm was roused in many towns by popular preachers. Crema, Piacenza, Brescia, Tortona, etc., went to the rescue; the banners of the guilds of Verona, Padua, Vicenza, and Trevisa floated side by side in the cities’ camp against the banners of the Emperor and the nobles. Next year the Lombardian League came into existence, and sixty years later we see it reinforced by many other cities, and forming a lasting organization which had half of its federal war-chest in Genoa and the other half in Venice.[230] In Tuscany, Florence headed another powerful league, to which Lucca, Bologna, Pistoia, etc., belonged, and which played an important part in crushing down the nobles in middle Italy, while smaller leagues were of common occurrence. It is thus certain that although petty jealousies undoubtedly existed, and discord could be easily sown, they did not prevent the towns from uniting together for the common defence of liberty. Only later on, when separate cities became little States, wars broke out between them, as always must be the case when States struggle for supremacy or colonies.

Similar leagues were formed in Germany for the same purpose. When, under the successors of Conrad, the land was the prey of interminable feuds between the nobles, the Westphalian towns concluded a league against the knights, one of the clauses of which was never to lend money to a knight who would continue to conceal stolen goods.[231] When “the knights and the nobles lived on plunder, and murdered whom they chose to murder,” as the Wormser Zorn complains, the cities on the Rhine (Mainz, Cologne, Speier, Strasburg, and Basel) took the initiative of a league which soon numbered sixty allied towns, repressed the robbers, and maintained peace. Later on, the league of the towns of Suabia, divided into three “peace districts” (Augsburg, Constance, and Ulm), had the same purpose. And even when such leagues were broken,[232] they lived long enough to show that while the supposed peacemakers — the kings, the emperors, and the Church-fomented discord, and were themselves helpless against the robber knights, it was from the cities that the impulse came for re-establishing peace and union. The cities — not the emperors — were the real makers of the national unity.[233]

Similar federations were organized for the same purpose among small villages, and now that attention has been drawn to this subject by Luchaire we may expect soon to learn much more about them. Villages joined into small federations in the contado of Florence, so also in the dependencies of Novgorod and Pskov. As to France, there is positive evidence of a federation of seventeen peasant villages which has existed in the Laonnais for nearly a hundred years (till 1256), and has fought hard for its independence. Three more peasant republics, which had sworn charters similar to those of Laon and Soissons, existed in the neighbourhood of Laon, and, their territories being contiguous, they supported each other in their liberation wars. Altogether, Luchaire is of the opinion that many such federations must have come into existence in France in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, but that documents relative to them are mostly lost. Of course, being unprotected by walls, they could easily be crushed down by the kings and the lords; but in certain favourable circumstances, when they found support in a league of towns and protection in their mountains, such peasant republics became independent units of the Swiss Confederation.[234]

As to unions between cities for peaceful purposes, they were of quite common occurrence. The intercourse which had been established during the period of liberation was not interrupted afterwards. Sometimes, when the scabini of a German town, having to pronounce judgment in a new or complicated case, declared that they knew not the sentence (des Urtheiles nicht weise zu sein), they sent delegates to another city to get the sentence. The same happened also in France;[235] while Forli and Ravenna are known to have mutually naturalized their citizens and granted them full rights in both cities. To submit a contest arisen between two towns, or within a city, to another commune which was invited to act as arbiter, was also in the spirit of the times.[236] As to commercial treaties between cities, they were quite habitual.[237] Unions for regulating the production and the sizes of casks which were used for the commerce in wine, “herring unions,” and so on, were mere precursors of the great commercial federations of the Flemish Hansa, and, later on, of the great North German Hansa, the history of which alone might contribute pages and pages to illustrate the federation spirit which permeated men at that time. It hardly need be added, that through the Hanseatic unions the mediæval cities have contributed more to the development of international intercourse, navigation, and maritime discovery than all the States of the first seventeen centuries of our era.

In a word, federations between small territorial units, as well as among men united by common pursuits within their respective guilds, and federations between cities and groups of cities constituted the very essence of life and thought during that period. The first five of the second decade of centuries of our era may thus be described as an immense attempt at securing mutual aid and support on a grand scale, by means of the principles of federation and association carried on through all manifestations of human life and to all possible degrees. This attempt was attended with success to a very great extent. It united men formerly divided; it secured them a very great deal of freedom, and it tenfolded their forces. At a time when particularism was bred by so many agencies, and the causes of discord and jealousy might have been so numerous, it is gratifying to see that cities scattered over a wide continent had so much in common, and were so ready to confederate for the prosecution of so many common aims. They succumbed in the long run before powerful enemies; not having understood the mutual-aid principle widely enough, they themselves committed fatal faults; but they did not perish through their own jealousies, and their errors were not a want of federation spirit among themselves.

The results of that new move which mankind made in the mediæval city were immense. At the beginning of the eleventh century the towns of Europe were small clusters of miserable huts, adorned but with low clumsy churches, the builders of which hardly knew how to make an arch; the arts, mostly consisting of some weaving and forging, were in their infancy; learning was found in but a few monasteries. Three hundred and fifty years later, the very face of Europe had been changed. The land was dotted with rich cities, surrounded by immense thick walls which were embellished by towers and gates, each of them a work of art in itself. The cathedrals, conceived in a grand style and profusely decorated, lifted their bell-towers to the skies, displaying a purity of form and a boldness of imagination which we now vainly strive to attain. The crafts and arts had risen to a degree of perfection which we can hardly boast of having superseded in many directions, if the inventive skill of the worker and the superior finish of his work be appreciated higher than rapidity of fabrication. The navies of the free cities furrowed in all directions the Northern and the Southern Mediterranean; one effort more, and they would cross the oceans. Over large tracts of land well-being had taken the place of misery; learning had grown and spread. The methods of science had been elaborated; the basis of natural philosophy had been laid down; and the way had been paved for all the mechanical inventions of which our own times are so proud. Such were the magic changes accomplished in Europe in less than four hundred years. And the losses which Europe sustained through the loss of its free cities can only be understood when we compare the seventeenth century with the fourteenth or the thirteenth. The prosperity which formerly characterized Scotland, Germany, the plains of Italy, was gone. The roads had fallen into an abject state, the cities were depopulated, labour was brought into slavery, art had vanished, commerce itself was decaying.[238]

If the mediæval cities had bequeathed to us no written documents to testify of their splendour, and left nothing behind but the monuments of building art which we see now all over Europe, from Scotland to Italy, and from Gerona in Spain to Breslau in Slavonian territory, we might yet conclude that the times of independent city life were times of the greatest development of human intellect during the Christian era down to the end of the eighteenth century. On looking, for instance, at a mediæval picture representing Nuremberg with its scores of towers and lofty spires, each of which bore the stamp of free creative art, we can hardly conceive that three hundred years before the town was but a collection of miserable hovels. And our admiration grows when we go into the details of the architecture and decorations of each of the countless churches, bell-towers, gates, and communal houses which are scattered all over Europe as far east as Bohemia and the now dead towns of Polish Galicia. Not only Italy, that mother of art, but all Europe is full of such monuments. The very fact that of all arts architecture — a social art above all — had attained the highest development, is significant in itself. To be what it was, it must have originated from an eminently social life.

Mediæval architecture attained its grandeur — not only because it was a natural development of handicraft; not only because each building, each architectural decoration, had been devised by men who knew through the experience of their own hands what artistic effects can be obtained from stone, iron, bronze, or even from simple logs and mortar; not only because, each monument was a result of collective experience, accumulated in each “mystery” or craft[239] — it was grand because it was born out of a grand idea. Like Greek art, it sprang out of a conception of brotherhood and unity fostered by the city. It had an audacity which could only be won by audacious struggles and victories; it had that expression of vigour, because vigour permeated all the life of the city. A cathedral or a communal house symbolized the grandeur of an organism of which every mason and stone-cutter was the builder, and a mediæval building appears — not as a solitary effort to which thousands of slaves would have contributed the share assigned them by one man’s imagination; all the city contributed to it. The lofty bell-tower rose upon a structure, grand in itself, in which the life of the city was throbbing — not upon a meaningless scaffold like the Paris iron tower, not as a sham structure in stone intended to conceal the ugliness of an iron frame, as has been done in the Tower Bridge. Like the Acropolis of Athens, the cathedral of a mediæval city was intended to glorify the grandeur of the victorious city, to symbolize the union of its crafts, to express the glory of each citizen in a city of his own creation. After having achieved its craft revolution, the city often began a new cathedral in order to express the new, wider, and broader union which had been called into life.

The means at hand for these grand undertakings were disproportionately small. Cologne Cathedral was begun with a yearly outlay of but 500 marks; a gift of 100 marks was inscribed as a grand donation;[240] and even when the work approached completion, and gifts poured in in proportion, the yearly outlay in money stood at about 5,000 marks, and never exceeded 14,000. The cathedral of Basel was built with equally small means. But each corporation contributed its part of stone, work, and decorative genius to their common monument. Each guild expressed in it its political conceptions, telling in stone or in bronze the history of the city, glorifying the principles of “Liberty, equality, and fraternity,”[241] praising the city’s allies, and sending to eternal fire its enemies. And each guild bestowed its love upon the communal monument by richly decorating it with stained windows, paintings, “gates, worthy to be the gates of Paradise,” as Michelangelo said, or stone decorations of each minutest corner of the building.[242] Small cities, even small parishes,[243] vied with the big agglomerations in this work, and the cathedrals of Laon and St. Ouen hardly stand behind that of Rheims, or the Communal House of Bremen, or the folkmote’s bell-tower of Breslau. “No works must be begun by the commune but such as are conceived in response to the grand heart of the commune, composed of the hearts of all citizens, united in one common will” — such were the words of the Council of Florence; and this spirit appears in all communal works of common utility, such as the canals, terraces, vineyards, and fruit gardens around Florence, or the irrigation canals which intersected the plains of Lombardy, or the port and aqueduct of Genoa, or, in fact, any works of the kind which were achieved by almost every city.[244]

All arts had progressed in the same way in the mediæval cities, those of our own days mostly being but a continuation of what had grown at that time. The prosperity of the Flemish cities was based upon the fine woollen cloth they fabricated. Florence, at the beginning of the fourteenth century, before the black death, fabricated from 70,000 to 100,000 panni of woollen stuffs, which were valued at 1,200,000 golden florins.[245] The chiselling of precious metals, the art of casting, the fine forging of iron, were creations of the mediæval “mysteries” which had succeeded in attaining in their own domains all that could be made by the hand, without the use of a powerful prime motor. By the hand and by invention, because, to use Whewell’s words:

“Parchment and paper, printing and engraving, improved glass and steel, gunpowder, clocks, telescopes, the mariner’s compass, the reformed calendar, the decimal notation; algebra, trigonometry, chemistry, counterpoint (an invention equivalent to a new creation of music); these are all possessions which we inherit from that which has so disparagingly been termed the Stationary Period” (History of Inductive Sciences, i. 252).

True that no new principle was illustrated by any of these discoveries, as Whewell said; but mediæval science had done something more than the actual discovery of new principles. It had prepared the discovery of all the new principles which we know at the present time in mechanical sciences: it had accustomed the explorer to observe facts and to reason from them. It was inductive science, even though it had not yet fully grasped the importance and the powers of induction; and it laid the foundations of both mechanics and natural philosophy. Francis Bacon, Galileo, and Copernicus were the direct descendants of a Roger Bacon and a Michael Scot, as the steam engine was a direct product of the researches carried on in the Italian universities on the weight of the atmosphere, and of the mathematical and technical learning which characterized Nuremberg.

But why should one take trouble to insist upon the advance of science and art in the mediæval city? Is it not enough to point to the cathedrals in the domain of skill, and to the Italian language and the poem of Dante in the domain of thought, to give at once the measure of what the mediæval city created during the four centuries it lived?

The mediæval cities have undoubtedly rendered an immense service to European civilization. They have prevented it from being drifted into the theocracies and despotical states of old; they have endowed it with the variety, the self-reliance, the force of initiative, and the immense intellectual and material energies it now possesses, which are the best pledge for its being able to resist any new invasion of the East. But why did these centres of civilization, which attempted to answer to deeply-seated needs of human nature, and were so full of life, not live further on? Why were they seized with senile debility in the sixteenth century? And, after having repulsed so many assaults from without, and only borrowed new vigour from their interior struggles, why did they finally succumb to both?

Various causes contributed to this effect, some of them having their roots in the remote past, while others originated in the mistakes committed by the cities themselves. Towards the end of the fifteenth century, mighty States, reconstructed on the old Roman pattern, were already coming into existence. In each country and each region some feudal lord, more cunning, more given to hoarding, and often less scrupulous than his neighbours, had succeeded in appropriating to himself richer personal domains, more peasants on his lands, more knights in his following, more treasures in his chest. He had chosen for his seat a group of happily-situated villages, not yet trained into free municipal life — Paris, Madrid, or Moscow — and with the labour of his serfs he had made of them royal fortified cities, whereto he attracted war companions by a free distribution of villages, and merchants by the protection he offered to trade. The germ of a future State, which began gradually to absorb other similar centres, was thus laid. Lawyers, versed in the study of Roman law, flocked into such centres; a tenacious and ambitious race of men issued from among the burgesses, who equally hated the naughtiness of the lords and what they called the lawlessness of the peasants. The very forms of the village community, unknown to their code, the very principles of federalism were repulsive to them as “barbarian” inheritances. Cæsarism, supported by the fiction of popular consent and by the force of arms, was their ideal, and they worked hard for those who promised to realize it.[246]

The Christian Church, once a rebel against Roman law and now its ally, worked in the same direction. The attempt at constituting the theocratic Empire of Europe having proved a failure, the more intelligent and ambitious bishops now yielded support to those whom they reckoned upon for reconstituting the power of the Kings of Israel or of the Emperors of Constantinople. The Church bestowed upon the rising rulers her sanctity, she crowned them as God’s representatives on earth, she brought to their service the learning and the statesmanship of her ministers, her blessings and maledictions, her riches, and the sympathies she had retained among the poor. The peasants, whom the cities had failed or refused to free, on seeing the burghers impotent to put an end to the interminable wars between the knights — which wars they had so dearly to pay for — now set their hopes upon the King, the Emperor, or the Great Prince; and while aiding them to crush down the mighty feudal owners, they aided them to constitute the centralized State. And finally, the invasions of the Mongols and the Turks, the holy war against the Maures in Spain, as well as the terrible wars which soon broke out between the growing centres of sovereignty — Île de France and Burgundy, Scotland and England, England and France, Lithuania and Poland, Moscow and Tver, and so on — contributed to the same end. Mighty States made their appearance; and the cities had now to resist not only loose federations of lords, but strongly-organized centres, which had armies of serfs at their disposal.

The worst was, that the growing autocracies found support in the divisions which had grown within the cities themselves. The fundamental idea of the mediæval city was grand, but it was not wide enough. Mutual aid and support cannot be limited to a small association; they must spread to its surroundings, or else the surroundings will absorb the association. And in this respect the mediæval citizen had committed a formidable mistake at the outset. Instead of looking upon the peasants and artisans who gathered under the protection of his walls as upon so many aids who would contribute their part to the making of the city — as they really did — a sharp division was traced between the “families” of old burghers and the newcomers. For the former, all benefits from communal trade and communal lands were reserved, and nothing was left for the latter but the right of freely using the skill of their own hands. The city thus became divided into “the burghers” or “the commonalty,” and “the inhabitants.”[247] The trade, which was formerly communal, now became the privilege of the merchant and artisan “families,” and the next step — that of becoming individual, or the privilege of oppressive trusts — was unavoidable.

The same division took place between the city proper and the surrounding villages. The commune had well tried to free the peasants, but her wars against the lords became, as already mentioned, wars for freeing the city itself from the lords, rather than for freeing the peasants. She left to the lord his rights over the villeins, on condition that he would molest the city no more and would become co-burgher. But the nobles “adopted” by the city, and now residing within its walls, simply carried on the old war within the very precincts of the city. They disliked to submit to a tribunal of simple artisans and merchants, and fought their old feuds in the streets. Each city had now its Colonnas and Orsinis, its Overstolzes and Wises. Drawing large incomes from the estates they had still retained, they surrounded themselves with numerous clients and feudalized the customs and habits of the city itself. And when discontent began to be felt in the artisan classes of the town, they offered their sword and their followers to settle the differences by a free fight, instead of letting the discontent find out the channels which it did not fail to secure itself in olden times.

The greatest and the most fatal error of most cities was to base their wealth upon commerce and industry, to the neglect of agriculture. They thus repeated the error which had once been committed by the cities of antique Greece, and they fell through it into the same crimes.[248] The estrangement of so many cities from the land necessarily drew them into a policy hostile to the land, which became more and more evident in the times of Edward the Third,[249] the French Jacqueries, the Hussite wars, and the Peasant War in Germany. On the other hand, a commercial policy involved them in distant enterprises. Colonies were founded by the Italians in the south-east, by German cities in the east, by Slavonian cities in the far northeast. Mercenary armies began to be kept for colonial wars, and soon for local defence as well. Loans were contacted to such an extent as to totally demoralize the citizens; and internal contests grew worse and worse at each election, during which the colonial politics in the interest of a few families was at stake. The division into rich and poor grew deeper, and in the sixteenth century, in each city, the royal authority found ready allies and support among the poor.

And there is yet another cause of the decay of communal institutions, which stands higher and lies deeper than all the above. The history of the mediæval cities offers one of the most striking illustrations of the power of ideas and principles upon the destinies of mankind, and of the quite opposed results which are obtained when a deep modification of leading ideas has taken place. Self-reliance and federalism, the sovereignty of each group, and the construction of the political body from the simple to the composite, were the leading ideas in the eleventh century. But since that time the conceptions had entirely changed. The students of Roman law and the prelates of the Church, closely bound together since the time of Innocent the Third, had succeeded in paralyzing the idea — the antique Greek idea — which presided at the foundation of the cities. For two or three hundred years they taught from the pulpit, the University chair, and the judges’ bench, that salvation must be sought for in a strongly-centralized State, placed under a semi-divine authority;[250] that one man can and must be the saviour of society, and that in the name of public salvation he can commit any violence: burn men and women at the stake, make them perish under indescribable tortures, plunge whole provinces into the most abject misery. Nor did they fail to give object lessons to this effect on a grand scale, and with an unheard-of cruelty, wherever the king’s sword and the Church’s fire, or both at once, could reach. By these teachings and examples, continually repeated and enforced upon public attention, the very minds of the citizens had been shaped into a new mould. They began to find no authority too extensive, no killing by degrees too cruel, once it was “for public safety.” And, with this new direction of mind and this new belief in one man’s power, the old federalist principle faded away, and the very creative genius of the masses died out. The Roman idea was victorious, and in such circumstances the centralized State had in the cities a ready prey.

Florence in the fifteenth century is typical of this change. Formerly a popular revolution was the signal of a new departure. Now, when the people, brought to despair, insurged, it had constructive ideas no more; no fresh idea came out of the movement. A thousand representatives were put into the Communal Council instead of 400; 100 men entered the signoria instead of 80. But a revolution of figures could be of no avail. The people’s discontent was growing up, and new revolts followed. A saviour — the “tyran” — was appealed to; he massacred the rebels, but the disintegration of the communal body continued worse than ever. And when, after a new revolt, the people of Florence appealed to their most popular man, Gieronimo Savonarola, for advice, the monk’s answer was: — “Oh, people mine, thou knowest that I cannot go into State affairs... purify thy soul, and if in such a disposition of mind thou reformest thy city, then, people of Florence, thou shalt have inaugurated the reform in all Italy!” Carnival masks and vicious books were burned, a law of charity and another against usurers were passed — and the democracy of Florence remained where it was. The old spirit had gone. By too much trusting to government, they had ceased to trust to themselves; they were unable to open new issues. The State had only to step in and to crush down their last liberties.

And yet, the current of mutual aid and support did not die out in the masses, it continued to flow even after that defeat. It rose up again with a formidable force, in answer to the communist appeals of the first propagandists of the reform, and it continued to exist even after the masses, having failed to realize the life which they hoped to inaugurate under the inspiration of a reformed religion, fell under the dominions of an autocratic power. It flows still even now, and it seeks its way to find out a new expression which would not be the State, nor the mediæval city, nor the village community of the barbarians, nor the savage clan, but would proceed from all of them, and yet be superior to them in its wider and more deeply humane conceptions.

[luulapants]

As a non-american, who really do appreciate you teaching and informing people about Political and other Important things, I feel like you are able and would be good at explaining one thing for me. How come you need to register to vote in the USA? Is there a historical reason for it? Where I'm from as long as you are 18 on Election Day, and you are a citizen, you will be able to vote. And you just show up with your ID and vote.

I tried googling but I really didn't get anywhere.

So the answer to this is a lot of historical precedent, which I'll supply later, followed by the bigger question:

Okay, but why do you still need to register to vote now?

And the answer to that, some will claim, is to combat "voter fraud" the idea that people will vote multiple times or that non-citizens will vote. In actuality, voter fraud is statistically insignificant. The real reason is that removing voter registration rules would significantly increase the number of voters, especially young, poor, and minority voters, which would threaten establishment power structures. This is a threat to conservative candidates in both parties, but especially to Republicans, which is why registration rules in Republican-dominated areas are stricter than in Democrat-dominated areas.

I will also add that there is one state where you do not register to vote: North Dakota. Ironically, though, this is also a means of voter suppression. Instead of a registry, citizens show an ID with a legal address. About 25% of Native Americans in the state do not have an address on their ID because of how addresses are set up on reservations.

On to the history:

So the first thing you need to understand about the US is that it was originally established not as a unified country but as a political alliance between 13 countries with an agreement that international and inter-state law would be handled by the federal (alliance) government but most other stuff would be handled individually by the states.

Electing a president of the federal government was, then, not about the people of the US collectively choosing the leader of the people. It was about the states choosing who would lead the federation of the states. That's part of why we still have the antiquated electoral college: each state is allowed to send a certain number of delegates who will cast their votes for the president, representing the interests of their state. Each state was allowed to determine on its own how it would go about doing that.

Massachusetts was the first state to implement voter registration, which probably had something to do with the fact that as much as half of Massachusetts's tax revenue came from its poll tax in its early statehood. Not allowing men to "register" to vote until they showed proof of payment ensured all taxes were collected. Poll taxes were a sum of money that citizens had to pay in order to vote. These came and went in popularity and implementation in various states and later became a means of voter suppression in Southern states and were finally outlawed in 1965.

Voter registration didn't really become commonplace until after the Civil War in the late 1800s. Before then, the rural nature of most communities meant that it was easy to keep track of who was allowed to vote. If nonwhite people or women weren't allowed to vote, the men running the ballots would identify them visually. If only land owners were allowed to vote, they probably knew who the landowners in town were. Communities were small, and people didn't travel much.

As industrialization kicked off and cities got bigger, there was increased concern about immigrant populations in the north, so voter registration became a way to keep noncitizens from voting. In the post-reconstruction Jim Crow south, voter registration, literacy tests, and a resurgence in poll taxes were means to prevent Black folks, mostly former slaves at that time, from voting.

Voter registration itself is not inherently bad. As with the North Dakota example, not having registration can also be a means of suppression. The real issue is that voter registration has been made unnecessarily difficult.

A little less than half of US states have automatic voter registration - that is, if you apply for a state ID or driver's license or interact with the state in any other way which gets you in the database of state residents, you're automatically registered to vote. However, not all of those states automatically re-register you if you change your address, which disadvantages renters and therefore lower-income voters. Some allow you to update your registration on election day after an address change (you get a provisional ballot pending confirmation of your new address).

Another way to go about it is allowing same-day registration. 17 states allow you to register at the polling station. As with updating, they get a provisional ballot which is effective pending confirmation of your address.

(And if you're noticing a trend of address confirmation... yes, for those who are unhoused or otherwise don't have a permanent address or proof of address, they often are not able to vote at all.)

However, any of these solutions require individual states to decide they want to make voting more accessible. The established power in a lot of states has a vested interest in reducing voting as much as possible.

[beardedmrbean]

BEIRUT (Reuters) -Lebanon's parliament will try to elect a president on Thursday, with officials seeing better chances of success in a political landscape shaken by Israel's war with Hezbollah and the toppling of the group's ally Bashar al-Assad in neighbouring Syria.

The post, reserved for a Maronite Christian in the country's sectarian power-sharing system, has been vacant since Michel Aoun's term ended in October, 2022. None of the political groups in the 128-seat parliament have enough seats to impose their choice, and they have so far been unable to agree on a consensus candidate.

The vote marks the first test of Lebanon's power balance since the Iran-backed Shi'ite group Hezbollah - which propelled its then Christian ally Aoun to the presidency in 2016 - emerged badly pummelled from the war with Israel.

It takes place against a backdrop of historic change in the wider Middle East, where the Assad-led Syrian state exercised sway over Lebanon for decades, both directly and through allies such as Hezbollah.

Reflecting the shifts, Hezbollah and its ally the Shi'ite Amal Movement led by Parliament Speaker Nabih Berri have dropped their insistence on Suleiman Frangieh, their declared candidate for the last two years, and are ready to go with a less divisive figure, three senior sources familiar with their thinking said.

Candidates in focus include army commander General Joseph Aoun - said by Lebanese politicians to enjoy U.S. approval - Jihad Azour, a senior International Monetary Fund official who formerly served as finance minister, and Major-General Elias al-Baysari - head of General Security, a state security agency.

Caretaker Prime Minister Najib Mikati said he felt happy because "God willing, tomorrow we will have a new president", according to a statement from his office.

French Foreign Minister Jean-Noel Barrot also expressed hope in comments to France Inter radio, saying the election was "a prerequisite for the continuation of this dynamic of peace" and also for Lebanon's economic and social recovery.

However, two of the sources and an analyst cautioned that it was not yet certain any candidate would be elected. To win, a candidate must secure 86 votes in a first round, or 65 in a second round.

Reflecting Western and regional interest in the vote, French and Saudi envoys met Lebanese politicians in Beirut on Wednesday. Four Lebanese political sources who met the Saudi envoy, Prince Yazid bin Farhan, last week said he spelt out preferred qualifications which signal Saudi support for Aoun.

Saudi Arabia was once a big player in Lebanon, vying with Tehran for influence in Beirut, before seeing its role eclipsed by Iran and Hezbollah.

HEZBOLLAH STILL SEEN WITH SWAY

Aoun, head of Lebanon's U.S.-backed army, would still need 86 votes because his election requires a constitutional amendment, as he is a still-serving state employee, Berri has said.

A State Department spokesperson said it was "up to Lebanon to choose its next president, not the United States or any external actor".

"We have been consistent in our efforts to press Lebanon to elect a new president, which we see as important to strengthening Lebanon’s political institutions," the spokesperson said.

Hezbollah official Wafiq Safa said last week there was "no veto" on Aoun. But the sources said Hezbollah, designated a terrorist group by the United States, will not support Aoun.

Aoun has a key role in shoring up the ceasefire brokered by Washington and Paris in November. The terms require the Lebanese military to deploy into south Lebanon as Israeli troops and Hezbollah withdraw forces.

Still reeling from a financial collapse in 2019, Lebanon desperately needs foreign aid to rebuild.

Much of the damage is in Shi'ite majority areas.

Hezbollah, its supply line to Iran severed by Assad's ousting, has urged Arab and international support for Lebanon.

Lebanon's Maronite Bishops called on lawmakers to elect a president, urging a "national awakening".

Nabil Boumonsef, deputy editor-in-chief of Annahar newspaper, was not certain anyone would be elected, even after the major shift in the balance of power in Lebanon, where Hezbollah's weapons have long been a source of division.

Underlining the influence Hezbollah and Amal still wield, he said the only way a president could be elected would be if they agreed on Aoun or Azour. But if they tried to install their preferred candidate, this would "sever the oxygen from Lebanon".

Saudi Minister Faisal bin Farhan said last October that Riyadh had never fully disengaged from Lebanon and that outside countries should not tell Lebanese what to do.

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[gtsconsultantindia05]

Simplifying GST Registration: A Comprehensive Guide by GTS Consultant

Introduction

With the economy adopting a dogfight-like pace, organisations face the need to become agile enough to grow unhindered. As goods and services tax (GST) is one of the most important reforms in the Indian tax system, it means the inclusion of indirect tax in a single tax. Understanding and filling the GST Registration is the dire straits that every company will have to face because it is to operate within the law and take the advantage. Holding a reputable GTS Consultant AB, with a past period of more than 12 years of combine experience. We are combining our expertise to offer businesses a hassle- free expedition.

In this blog, we will provide an in-depth look at GST registration, its importance, process, benefits, and the expertise GTS Consultant brings to the table.

What is GST Registration?

The identification of goods and services that require a business to be in line with local legislation by obtaining registration under the GST Act is called the process of GST registration. It authorizes the entities to not only collect tax from their clients but also to claim Input Tax Credit (ITC) for the taxes that were paid on their purchases. Depending upon the limit of the prescribed turnover or the activities engaged in, the businesses are obliged to get registered for GST

Who Needs GST Registration?

GST registration is mandatory for:

Businesses with Aggregate Turnover:

₹20 lakhs (₹10 lakhs for special category states): For service providers.

₹40 lakhs (₹20 lakhs for special category states): For goods suppliers.

Interstate Suppliers: Businesses involved in the interstate supply of goods and services.

E-commerce Operators: Platforms facilitating sales of goods and services.

Casual Taxable Persons: Individuals undertaking occasional transactions involving the supply of goods or services.

Input Service Distributors: Businesses distributing input tax credits to their branches.

Documents Required for GST Registration

For the smooth registration process, be sure to gather the following documents:

PAN Card: It's essential for the business and for the owner and owner(s) of the business to have a PAN card.

Proof of Business: This along with partnership deeds, incorporation certificates, as well as, registration certificates.

Identity and Address Proof of Promoters: The Aadhaar card, the passport, or the voter ID should be provided.

Business Address Proof: Lease agreements, contract transit costs, or utility bills.

Bank Account Details: One may use the copy of a canceled cheque, a bank statement, or a passbook copy.

Digital Signature: It is required to be electronically signed prior to online submission.

Authorization Letter: For the account signatories that are authorized to, if applicable.

Benefits of GST Registration

Legal Compliance: Penalty prevention and adherence to Indian tax laws.

Input Tax Credit (ITC): The ITC claim should be able to reduce the total tax burden by this method.

Market Expansion: GST registration will help in the inter-State sales and e-commerce trade.

Credibility: A registered GST number enhances the credibility of a business and makes it more trustworthy in the eyes of their clients.

Ease of Doing Business: One consolidated tax system offers several advantages such as easier filing of tax returns and tax payments.

Why Choose GTS Consultant for GST Registration?

GTS Consultant, located in Bhiwadi, Alwar, Rajasthan is a determined and particular accounting and tax services company dedicated to offering the best services Imagine why the companies would trust us:

Expert Guidance: Our group of skilled public accountants and chartered accountants guarantees a mistake-free and effective GST registration.

Comprehensive Support: From preparation to submission and post-registration help, we include each and every part of it.

Time-Saving: You focus on your operations, we refine your registration business process.

Cost-Effective Solutions: Services of high rank at budget prices.

Client-Centric Approach:We will customize our services so that they match your requirements and bring you the best possible benefits.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

1. What is the penalty for not registering under GST?

A penalty of the greater of ten percent of the tax due or ten thousand rupees is paid for non-registration. If a taxpayer evades tax on his own volition, DRI is supposed to impose a penalty equal to the tax that was evaded, i.e. 100%

2. Can I voluntarily register for GST?

Yes, turnover not reaching the requirement limit, businesses can choose to register at their own discretion and thus gain great benefits such as ITC and market credibility.

Contact GTS Consultant Today

Certainly, getting through the GST registration process be a hard time, however, if your partner is GTS Consultant, you can rest assured you will be guided thoroughly through the process. Be it a new business venture or an already existing set up, we, the team at GTS Consultant, will get you the best service by ensuring that we register you without pain points.

Reach us at:

Address: TC-321-325, R-Tech Capital Highstreet, Phool Bagh, Bhiwadi, Alwar (RJ) - 301019

Email: info@gtsconsultantindia.com

Website: Explore our services and resources on our official website GTS Constultant india

[gintsukiauthor]

Officially announcing my upcoming novel- SPLICERS: THE RISING GODS

Chinese Mythology meets Cyberpunk 2077 in this sci-fi romance set in a dystopian, multi-tiered city state...

Chentang City is not a place of opportunity.

It's the kind of society where you are forever locked into whatever economic class you were born into; the majority of the population live in single room shacks with their entire families in the Outer Circle, those with something of a disposable income live in relative comfort in the Inter-Circle, and the richest of the rich live amongst the neon lit skyscrapers of Prime Island.

Nezha knew he was unlucky; being born in the Outer Circle was basically a sentence to an early death after a life spent toiling away in factories, manufacturing products he'd never be able to afford. However, his desire to climb the economic ladder was only outshined by his beauty, and that made him the perfect candidate to become a Rentboy. After finding some success at a brothel in the Inter-Circle, he's convinced he’s only one good night away from changing his family's lives forever.

However, everything goes to Hell when the brothel unexpectedly shuts down, and Nezha is forced to get in on heist to steal Xiandan; the hottest drug in the city that supplies both a euphoric high, and the potential to develop superhuman powers.

When things inevitably go wrong, Nezha finds himself gifted with more power than he could've ever imagined, and he comes to an intoxicating realization; the chance to change his life that he's always wanted? This is it, and he has no intention of wasting it. He’ll join forces with Yang Jian, the leader of a group of cyber-rebels called Ghostnet, and Ao Bing, the son of the CEO who practically owns the entire city. Together, they’ll fight to bring down Chentang City’s literal and metaphorical walls, while coming to realize that the connection they share might truly be the strongest force on the planet.

Tentatively Releasing 12/2/24!

[scbhagat]

GST Registration Services in Delhi by SC Bhagat & Co.

Navigating the complex world of taxation in India can be challenging, especially for businesses in a dynamic city like Delhi. One critical aspect of compliance is GST registration, a mandate for businesses exceeding specific turnover thresholds. SC Bhagat & Co., a trusted name in accounting and taxation, offers seamless and reliable GST registration services in Delhi to help businesses stay compliant and thrive.

Why GST Registration is Crucial The Goods and Services Tax (GST) is a unified tax structure introduced to simplify India’s taxation system. GST registration is mandatory for businesses that:

Have an annual turnover exceeding ₹40 lakhs (₹20 lakhs for service providers). Are engaged in inter-state supply of goods or services. Operate under specific sectors requiring GST compliance (e.g., e-commerce, exporters). Failing to register for GST can lead to penalties, restricted operations, and reputational damage. This is where SC Bhagat & Co. steps in with expert assistance.

GST Registration Services by SC Bhagat & Co. SC Bhagat & Co. provides end-to-end GST registration solutions tailored to the unique needs of your business. Their services include:

Eligibility Assessment The experts at SC Bhagat & Co. assess whether your business falls under the mandatory GST registration criteria and advise accordingly.

Document Preparation and Submission Their team ensures that all necessary documents, including PAN, Aadhaar, business registration certificates, and bank statements, are prepared and submitted correctly.

GST Identification Number (GSTIN) Generation Once registered, SC Bhagat & Co. helps you obtain your unique GSTIN, ensuring compliance with Indian tax laws.

Post-Registration Compliance Support GST registration is just the beginning. The team provides ongoing support, including:

Filing GST returns Addressing notices from GST authorities Maintaining compliance records Benefits of Choosing SC Bhagat & Co. Here’s why SC Bhagat & Co. is the go-to partner for GST registration services in Delhi:

Expertise in Tax Laws With years of experience, the firm offers in-depth knowledge of GST regulations, ensuring accurate and hassle-free registration.

Personalized Solutions They understand that every business is unique. SC Bhagat & Co. provides tailored solutions to meet specific requirements.

Timely and Efficient Service Their streamlined processes ensure quick GST registration, enabling businesses to operate without delays.

Cost-Effective Services SC Bhagat & Co. offers affordable services without compromising on quality, making them a trusted partner for businesses of all sizes.

Why Delhi Businesses Trust SC Bhagat & Co. Delhi’s diverse business landscape demands a taxation partner that understands its challenges. SC Bhagat & Co. has established itself as a reliable ally for startups, SMEs, and large enterprises, helping them navigate GST complexities with ease. Conclusion GST compliance is a non-negotiable aspect of running a business in India. With SC Bhagat & Co.’s GST registration services in Delhi, you can ensure seamless compliance while focusing on growing your business.

[online-shopping-app-chennai]

Can I Sell Online Without GST? GST Requirements for E-commerce

In 2024, the trend of e-commerce has transformed the way people shop and businesses operate online. Whether you're selling groceries, electronic items, or running a full-fledged online store, the question of GST (Goods and Services Tax) often arises. GST is a consumption tax levied on the supply of goods and services in Chennai, Tamilnadu designed to replace various indirect taxes. 

What is GST? 

GST is a comprehensive indirect tax on online store, sale, and consumption of goods and services throughout India, aimed at simplifying the tax structure on consumers. It is mandatory for businesses whose turnover exceeds specified thresholds to register under GST and comply with its regulations. 

You Need GST for Selling Online on Shocals 

The requirement for GST registration depends primarily on your turnover and the category of your business. Here are some key points to consider for GST: 

Threshold Limits: As of the latest information available, businesses with an aggregate turnover exceeding Rs. 40 lakhs (Rs. 10 lakhs for northeastern states) in a financial year must register for GST. This turnover includes all taxable supplies, exempt supplies, exports of goods and services, and inter-state supplies. 

Inter-state Tamilnadu Sales: If you are selling goods or services to customers in different states, you are likely to exceed the turnover threshold sooner. GST registration is mandatory for businesses making inter-state supplies, regardless of turnover. 

Mandatory Registration: Even if your turnover is below the threshold, you may choose to voluntarily register for GST. This can be beneficial for claiming input tax credits on purchases and improving your business credibility. 

Selling on Shocals Partners 

If you are selling through popular Shocals Partners, you need to understand the policies regarding GST compliance. It requires sellers to provide GSTIN (GST Identification Number) during registration and ensure compliance with GST laws. 

Steps to Register for GST 

If you decide to register for GST, here's a brief overview of the registration process: 

Prepare Documents: Keep your PAN (Permanent Account Number), proof of business registration, identity and address proof, bank account details, and business address proof. 

Online Registration: Visit the GST portal (www.gst.gov.in) and fill out the registration form with required details. Upload scanned copies of documents as specified. 

Verification: After submission, your application will be verified by the GST authorities. Once approved, you will receive your GSTIN and other credentials. 

Benefits of GST Registration 

While GST compliance involves maintaining proper accounting records and filing periodic returns, it offers several advantages: 

Input Tax Credit: You can claim credit for GST paid on your business purchases, thereby reducing your overall tax liability. 

Legal Compliance: Avoid penalties and legal repercussions by operating within the GST framework. 

Business Expansion: Facilitates smoother inter-state and international sales, enhancing business opportunities. 

Conclusion 

In conclusion, while small businesses and startups may initially wonder if they can sell online without GST, understanding the thresholds and benefits of GST registration is crucial. Compliance not only ensures legal adherence but also opens avenues for business growth and competitiveness in the digital marketplace. Whether you're a budding entrepreneur or an established seller, staying informed about GST requirements will help you navigate the e-commerce landscape more effectively. 

For more details please visit - https://partner.shocals.com/