#The Confederation of Legions

[captain-hades]

The legal name change to Hades Murphy goes hard ngl 🙏

[haaaaaaaaaaaave-you-met-ted]

Star Wars: Legion - BX-series Droid Commandos Unit Expansion - Vibroswords by Colin Searle

[mothiir]

homecoming

For @remembrancer-of-heresy

Hope this is okay ! I’m not completely pleased with it but if I don’t publish it now I never will.

cw: threats of cannibalism, dubcon.

Sevatar, like all his brothers, is accustomed to a war fought from the shadows: striking into the soft underbelly of the foe, departing like mist at dawn, leaving them to find the strung-up bodies of their children in the rafters, and warnings daubed in blood on the floor. If you do not obey the Emperor, you earn his justice — so goes a somewhat tongue-in-cheek saying from Nostramo, for only the most starry-eyed idiots of the legion truly believe that what they do is just. 

To be a Night Lord is to be a killer: a defiler, a flenser of flesh, a bane of the innocent. Sevatar has known this to be true since the moment he took the midnight; indeed, he knew before that, when he was naught but a neophyte, battling for scraps with his brothers, all fresh-grown muscle and sharp teeth. 

He knows who he is, and he feels no shame in it. He knows what sort of war he is bred to fight, and he feels no shame in that either — the term ‘fair fight’ is a tune that means nothing, sung only by fools. 

And yet there are times — like this — when he cannot help but bemoan his lot just a little. This campaign is challenging; they face not an isolated world in rebellion, but a confederation stretching across worlds. A whole system, grown complacent and fat through Imperial protection. They stopped paying their tithe, and the Emperor was merciful, sending a diplomatic envoy to explain the error of their ways. 

The diplomats were executed as the red sun rose, and the message could not have been clearer: we do not want your peace. 

And so the Emperor had sent Konrad, instructing him to keep as much of the infrastructure intact as possible — this is a valuable system, rich with resources, with cities that span entire continents. This is no barbarous benighted rock, which Mortarion can scour clean with his latest pet virus, or the Lion can turn to charred rubble. 

No: this operation requires a scalpel.

All of this to say, that Sevatar has been busy these last few weeks. Skipping from world to world, with barely time to clean his blades between kills. He led his claw from assasination to assasination: flaying some noble in his quarters, leaving his lover to wake up beside a red raw corpse; obliterating an entire barracks worth of elite soldiers, sparing only one to carry the story on. He has not stopped; he has not rested. He has subsisted only on nutrient paste and the occasional bite of one of the rebels.

By the time he’s arrived back in his quarters he’s half-delirious with exhaustion, ravenous, and twitching with the desire to gut something. You’re sprawled out on his bed, snoring softly. It’s unusual to see you splayed about like that; whenever he is around you curl in on yourself, knees to chest, forehead to hands. 

Seeing you sprawled out, legs akimbo, hair sticking a little to your face…it’s decadent. Saliva pools in his mouth. You’re the most appetizing thing he’s seen in weeks, and he focuses on removing his armour to avoid doing something he will probably end up regretting. 

He murmurs the rites to appease the machine spirits of his armour as he disrobes; unlike other legions. Night Lords wear armour designed to be removed without the assistance of a tech-priest. No son of Nostramo worth his salt wants to be dependent on another for help clambering in and out of the suit that will save his life. 

The bodysuit is left in an ignoble pile of fabric by the bed. You’ll pick it up in the morning, tidy it away. He missed that when he was on campaign; those tiny insignificant acts you perform that make his life that much easier. 

Not that he needs you there, of course. It’s just pleasant not to have to think about these things. 

The only light in the room is the faint neon lights from the power-cables running along the walls; but to his eyes, it’s bright enough to see you in intricate detail. The slight downy hair on your cheeks; the movement of your eyes beneath your lids. Your breathing, steady and slow. 

He sniffs along the curve of your neck, your skin goose-pimpling at his exhalations. You smell sweet as cinnamon. He’s careful to suppress his Betcher’s Gland, not wanting to drizzle acid onto your flesh — but he is still drooling. Moisture drips onto your shoulder, runs down towards your clavicle. You twitch at the movement, starting to blink towards wakefulness. He hears your heart-rate change, speeding up; your scent spikes with delicious stress-hormones. This does nothing to assuage his hunger — fear makes every meal that much sweeter.

“Shhhh,” he breathes, his nose buried in your hair. “Do not leap away.”

His blood is up; he has more control than most, but he is still a hunter. Should you bolt like a prey-animal — well. He cannot be responsible for his instincts. 

You’re well-trained. You freeze at once, every limb rigid. “My lord,” you whisper. “Welcome home.”

He hums softly, still sniffing along your throat. The blue of your jugular is a tempting velvet ribbon, begging to be torn open and sucked dry. 

“Welcome me properly,” he coos. He’s teasing, though you would be forgiven for thinking it a threat. The hissing cadence of his voice always sounds like it promises swift violence. ”Like I showed you.”

You’ve been in his keeping for a little over two months, plenty of time to learn precisely how he likes you — and you’re a quick study. Without a moment of hesitation, you roll onto your belly, lifting your hips up in clear invitation. Your spine is one elegant curve. He runs his fingers along it, feeling the knobs of your vertebrae through the thin fabric of your nightgown, reminding himself that you’d make a brief meal —

(—a delicious meal—)

— a brief and unfulfilling meal and then he would have no one to arrange his bodysuit or polish his armour or swallow his cock down at the end of a long day. 

He plants a kiss just behind your ear, before reorientating himself, kneeling behind you, dragging you into the V his thighs make. He flips your nightgown up, revealing soft, plush flesh — and your cunt, hidden away. He never gets tired of the sight of your cunt before he wrecks it: pink and soft and small, and yet capable of taking so much. His thumbs dig into the cleft of your arse as his fingers splay down your thighs. 

“You’re so tiny,” he says, half to himself, pressing your cheeks together and pulling them apart once more, just to see how your cunt twitches and stretches. “You’d barely be a mouthful.”

Your body floods with cortisol; your heart rate spikes. Testament to your self control — and survival instinct — you do not attempt to squirm free. Instead, you go limp: utterly pliant. Fight, flight, freeze: those are the options humans pick from, when all else has been stripped from them. All those ancient chemicals squirting around in your amygdala, keeping your pretty heart beating. 

“My lord,” you say, your voice a little muffled against his bedding. “I don’t think —“

”Hush. I’m not planning to make a meal of you,” he says — but immediately contradicts himself, sinking his fangs into the warm flesh of your upper thigh. You stifle a scream into your palms. Normally, he’d rebuke you for that — he likes the miserable squeaky noises you utter — but he’s too busy sampling fear-ripe blood, swallowing down a drought like he’s one of Sanguinius’s self-righteous self-depriving bastards. 

When he pulls away, his chin is scarlet. 

“Not yet at least,” he says — you peer back at him, wild-eyed, unable to see anything in the gloom but his pale bulk. You cannot see the grin he throws your way, insouciant and knowing. Still, you don’t do anything as embarrassing as beg for mercy — so he assumes you know he is joking. 

He nips at your buttock, then licks a broad stripe across your cunt. This time, your squeal rings sharp and clear. 

Sevetar licks his way into you with very little grace, more concerned with loosening you for his cock than bringing you to climax. One hand holds you open, the other strokes his cock, and by the Throne, he’s as eager as a neophyte about to take his first skin. He’s practically quivering. He wants to cram himself inside you, fuck you until you scream and beg for mercy and that will only make him fuck you harder —

A few more shoves of his tongue, then he’s pulling back, spitting noisily onto your hole to give himself a little more lubrication. You whine protest at the loss of his mouth, lifting your hips, seeking out more sensation — then, too late, you realise that you are demanding something of him, and you begin to gibber an apology — 

“My lord, forgive me —“

”Hush,” he says, smacking your thigh affectionately, a honeyed mess of your slick and your blood dripping down his chin “Nothing to forgive. Missed me, did you?”

“—yes, lord,” you say, hesitating slightly. He imagines your fretsome mind whirling, trying to work out what it is that he wants you to say. He licks across your neck, drinking in the wine of your terror-sweat. “Missed you my lord, I —“

He pushes in, and you gasp, words lost in your sudden exhalation. Your cunt is a panicky clutch around his cock, trying to keep him out, but only succeeding in drawing deeper, inch by inexorable inch.

“My lord,” you manage, propping yourself up on your elbows “I —“

Sevatar adjusts himself minutely, careful not to bring his full body weight down on you, but eager to cram more of himself into your guts. Your breath staggers out in pained bursts, like you can’t heave in air around the girth of him — as if, against all biological probability, he’s fucked your lungs flat into the top of your rib cage.

“Take it,” he growls, like you have any choice in the matter. Halfway in, and he pulls himself out, slowly, slowly, slowly, watching your flesh cling sweetly to his prick — and then in again, just as slowly. Only this time, he fucks in a little deeper. And then he does it again. And again. And again. Your huffing breath soon   turns to squeaks, and then full on cries as he sinks deeper into you. 

“Y-yes, my lord,” you manage. “Th-thank you and —“

Your voice breaks into a cry as Sevatar fucks into you harder, losing himself in the delicious cling of your cunt; the feeling that nothing — not battle, nor torture, nor even the momentary approval of his Primarch’s gaze — can best. Your innards are warm, pliable, perfect, shaped around every thrust — with just the right amount of resistance to add the thrill of conquest. 

“—thank you,” you whimper. And — and —“

To be a Night Lord is to be a flenser of flesh, a bane of the innocent; sadism comes as naturally to Sevatar as shadow-stalking and skin-carving. You never sound sweeter to him than you do when you’re like this: pinioned under him, whimpering and hiccuping. His only response to your aborted attempts to speak is to fuck you harder, grabbing hold of the headboard to steady himself. His balls slap against your thighs with obscene fleshy sounds; his exhalations are more snarl than breath. 

“ — and — my lord — welcome home.”

Pleasure overtakes him in a blinding wave; he cums so hard that for a moment he sees the silvery outline of stars, a flurry of crows taking flight. His cock pulses his release into you, filling you to overflow. 

“Welcome home,” you repeat. He pulls out, and luxuriates in the sight of your puffy fucked-out cunt leaking his spend. It drips down your thighs, snagging on the wounds his teeth left. Briefly, he considers scooping it up, pushing it back inside you — but he decides against it. After all, he has been away for too long — and he has more than one load to cram inside you tonight. 

[whencyclopedia]

Franks

The Franks were a Germanic people who originated along the lower Rhine River. They moved into Gaul during the Migration Age, where they established one of the largest and most powerful kingdoms in Europe after the fall of the Western Roman Empire. Their influence, which peaked under Charlemagne (l. 742-814), helped define Europe in the Middle Ages and beyond.

Origins & Identity

The Roman conquest of Gaul, completed by Julius Caesar in the 1st century BCE, fixed the Rhine River as the edge of the Roman world. The river, therefore, became the political barrier between 'civilization' (i.e. Rome) and the 'barbaric' Germans who lived beyond; in the Roman mind, these Germans were stereotypically tall, blond, filthy, and prone to violence. For centuries, the Roman legions of the Rhine frontier kept the Germans at bay, until the gradual breakdown of Roman authority during periods like the Crisis of the Third Century allowed certain Germanic peoples to make incursions into Roman land.

One of these Germanic groups was the Franks, who first entered the annals of history in the 3rd century CE. The early Franks were not a unified people, but rather a loose confederation of individual tribes that lived along the lower Rhine, each with a separate identity. Some modern scholars think it more accurate to label them a 'tribal swarm' than a confederation, since they only seemed to band together in offensive or defensive campaigns. When they did join forces, however, these tribes were collectively known as 'Franks', a word that meant 'the fierce', or 'the brave'; only later would it mean 'the free', which became the definition most favored by the Franks themselves. Some of the Germanic tribes associated with the Franks included the Chamavi, the Chattuari, the Bructeri, the Salians, the Ripuarians, and several others. The Salians and Ripuarians would eventually emerge as the most dominant tribes.

There are several different accounts of the origins of the Franks. The 6th-century historian Gregory of Tours states that they originated in Pannonia and migrated to the Rhineland before moving on to settle in Thuringia and Belgium. The Chronicle of Fredegar and the anonymously written Liber Historiae Francorum offer more legendary accounts, and each ties Frankish origins back to the Trojan War. According to these myths, King Priam led 12,000 Trojan refugees to Pannonia where they founded the city of Sicambria. Some stayed there while others followed a leader named Francio to the Rhine, where they became known as 'Franks'. The connection to Troy was likely an attempt by the Franks to give themselves a bloodline on equal footing with that of the Romans, who also claimed descent from the Trojans. While this origin tale is certainly mythical, some modern scholars like Ian Wood state that there is little reason to believe the Franks embarked on any great migration at all, and that they had originated in the Rhineland.

Continue reading...

[kore-pythia-hayashi]

Luke: You mentioned me being a - what?- legacy of Jupiter. What did you mean, Kore? I knew about Roman gods, of course I did, and I was aware of their offspring - in fact, I met and befriended a few Roman demigods in my life- but I don’t understand what would they possibly have to do with me? Are they stupid Olympians hiding things again?

You'd better sit down, Luke [She goes into the kitchen, her long hair flowing behind her like a shining golden halo, she returns with a bottle of wine and one glass] you'll probably want a drink and I'll clarify I won't. not a fan of alcohol.

[Opens a bottle, pours wine into a glass and puts it in front of him].

What do you know about Roman demigods, Luke? They are different from us, they are more organized, disciplined and strict, the Greeks appreciated grace, gentleness and intelligence, the Romans appreciated discipline, strength, and loyalty.

When Troy fell and Aeneas the son of Venus [Roman hypostasis of Aphrodite] took the remnants of the Trojan people and fled, his legacy took deep roots and so the Roman people appeared. The gods changed to become their patrons, they became different, in other words, our parents had a split personality. Except Venus and Nemesis, because love and revenge are unchangeable, Apollo has changed only slightly.

When the Roman Empire fell, Jupiter saved and protected the Twelfth Legion Fulminata, he ordered them to gather demigods, give birth to children and stay alive, thus preserving the legacy of Rome.

Thanks to their organization and cohesion, the Romans were able to erect a city safe for the demigods - new Rome, where they could serve ten years in the legion, go to live, go to college, grow old, start a family, lead an almost ordinary protected life.

The Romans live much longer than we do, in new Rome there are entire families and clans that are distant descendants of the gods - legacies, children and grandchildren, great-grandchildren of demigods.

As for you, Luke, you are not only the Greek son of Hermes, but also the Roman legacy at the same time - your grandmother was the daughter of Jupiter, the Roman hypostasis of Zeus. Jupiter is the god of justice and law, I think that's why you're so eager for justice.

The gods hide and keep the Greeks and Romans away from each other because the civil war of 1861-1865s... it was a war between demigods, the Romans represented the confederation, the Greeks represented the union... it was a terrible war, bloodshed and death were everywhere and colossal on both sides, and the gods fell into madness because of it, disagreeing with their Roman side.

They used a powerful fog and made us forget each other.

This is the truth about the Romans, Luke, I know this because I am an oracle and too much has been revealed to me.

[southernprideyall2]

Mort Kunstler - “Valor In Gray”

“Northern troops in the Army of the Potomac made repeated assaults over the wide-open killing fields below the Confederate line on Marye's Heights. That's what I tried to portray in Courage in Blue, which shows the 20th Maine charging up the hill in the thick of fighting - led by Lt. Col. Joshua Chamberlain. But what about the men on the other side? I kept thinking about them as I painted the 20th Maine. They faced a superior force composed of the finest army at the time - and they held their ground and drove back those grand legions in blue.”

[is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not]

MESSAGE FOR: Ward, A., ILKHAN / FIRST LORD

FROM: M. Hazen, COMGEN

My IlKhan, as requested, here is a breakdown of the forces being sent to Helios as part of the third wave of Operation TOUCHDOWN.

------------------------------------

* National:

-- SLDF Royal:

1st Royal BattleMech Regiment "Turkina"

2nd Royal BattleMech Regiment "Werewolves"

3rd Royal BattleMech Regiment "Gunslingers" (ex-Stone's Lament/KotRS)

331st Royal BattleMech Regiment "The North American Regiment"

410th Royal BattleMech Regiment "The United Member States Regiment"

1st Royal Swiss Cavalry Regiment

13th Royal French Demi-Regiment

59th Royal Jump Infantry Regiment "The King's Own Jump Troops"

82nd Royal Jump Infantry Regiment "The All Americans"

101st Royal Jump Infantry Regiment "Screaming Eagles"

175th Royal Mechanized Infantry Regiment "The Desert Rats"

181st Royal Mechanized Infantry Regiment "The King's Own Scots Rifles"

206th Royal Mechanized Infantry Regiment "The Democrats of Brazil"

8th Royal CAAN Regiment "The Black Sea Regiment"

20th Royal CAAN Regiment "The Saipan Regiment"

124th Royal Heavy Assault Regiment "Dai Maxbuster"

1st Royal Separate Special Purpose Regiment "The Fidelis"

Elements of Clan Iron Orca - Command Star

-- SLDF Regular:

46th BattleMech Regiment "The Chrome Hounds Regiment"

171st BattleMech Regiment "The Zhukov Regiment"

332nd BattleMech Regiment "The Antarctica Regiment"

335th BattleMech Regiment "The Joan of Arc Regiment"

398th BattleMech Regiment "The European Regiment"

9th Mechanized Infantry Regiment "The Pride of Puget Sound"

59th Mechanized Infantry Regiment "New Kyoto Samurai"

80th Mechanized Infantry Regiment "The Texas Rangers"

138th Mechanized Infantry Regiment "The Chicago Regiment"

233rd Mechanized Infantry Regiment "The King of Denmark Regiment"

245th Mechanized Infantry Regiment "The Latvian Rifles"

256th Mechanized Infantry Regiment "The Dutch and Belgian Fusiliers"

1st French Regiment

1st German Regiment

1st Ukrainian Regiment

1st Infantry Regiment "The Big Red One"

4th Infantry Regiment "The Gurkha Rifles"

10th Infantry Regiment "The Welsh Foot Regiment"

61st Infantry Regiment "The Michigan Sixty-First"

77th Special Operations Group "Blackhearts"

-- Non-Star League:

>> FWL:

1st Nova Cat Provisionals

Kara's Scorchers

>> Capellan Confederation:

Death Commandos

1st McCarron's Armored Cavalry

1st St. Ives Lancers

Marshals of Tikonov

>> Federated Suns:

1st Avalon Hussars

Davion Assault Guards RCT

3rd Davion Guards

McKinnon's Company

>> Lyran Commonwealth:

2nd Donegal Guards (AWOL)

>> Draconis Combine:

Hikage

Ryuken-San

1st Genyosha

4th Arkab Legion

5th Sword of Light

>> Rasalhague Dominion:

Rasalhague Galaxy

1st Drakøns

>> Magistracy of Canopus:

1st Canopian Night Stalkers

2nd Canopian Fusiliers

>> Aurigan Coalition:

1st Aurigan Guards

>> Taurian Concordat:

Taurian Guards Regiment

>> United Hindu Collective:

Messengers of Shiva

>> Raven Alliance:

First Raven Phalanx

Alliance Grenadiers

>> Scorpion Empire:

Seeker Keshik

* Mercenaries:

Neon Knights

Lone Wolves (inc. Fox Patrol)

Lindon's Company

Steve's Stevedores

Tiamat's Terrors

Raging Horde

------------------------------------

As we discussed, this does represent a significant deployment of SLDF personnel, but the experience these units will gain will far outweigh any risks. Standing up units with the names and recruitment profiles of old SLDF regiments is a powerful tool to establish continuity with the old Star League, and provide the people of Terra incentives to join up. I am hoping similar programs can be carried out as the Star League expands.

Deployment of these forces will begin on D+6, following destruction of remaining Blakist assets in the Coen Regional Area of Operations (CRAO), currently scheduled for tomorrow, D+5. Most of the forces listed here will deploy to pre-selected AOs across Helios, with several SLDF Regular units detailed to continue occupation operations in the CRAO following the first and second wave units departure to a new AO.

Mercenary and non-Star League forces will be assigned as deemed fit. Currently I plan on attaching the following units to my own operational sector command - in addition to those already attached in prior waves:

2nd Royal BattleMech Regiment

59th Royal Jump Infantry Regiment

124th Royal Heavy Assault Regiment

1st Royal Separate Special Purpose Regiment

46th BattleMech Regiment

1st Ukrainian Regiment

1st Infantry Regiment

Taurian Guards Regiment

1st Canopian Night Stalkers

2nd Canopian Fusiliers

Hikage

Ryuken-San

3rd Davion Guards

Neon Knights

Yours,

M. Hazen

Commanding General, SLDF

MESSAGE ENDS

STOP STOP STOP

[talonabraxas]

Ashtar Solar Star Command Talon Abraxas

The main function of this command is the protection and administration of other stellar commands that are on missions of rescue and study of their lost or mission-bound children on Earth. The Ashtar Command develops an important soul rescue program in collaboration with other commands that are attuned to their ancient souls incarnated on Earth for various reasons.

Some assignments of this command include:

Planetary atmospheric cleansing Orbital system alignment Magnetic field correction Protection against non-confederation ships Support for the Masters of the White and Blue Brotherhood of Sirius Unrestricted assistance to Sananda Astral plane cleansing by legions of Angels Interaction with the intraterrestrials Mediation between the Draconians and the Zeta Reticuli Cultural exchange among star seeds Recovery of Earth's Temporal Grid Awakening consciousness programs for prodigious children Operation at the Temple Embassy and Portal of the 22 Rays Monitoring of nefarious groups from the Deep State Divine reconnection with incarnated star seeds

These assignments represent some of the work conducted by various teams, so there is complete collaboration among the different commands.

The Ashtar Command is not merely a military structure. It is a group of ascended beings who work within the universal law of love and cosmic balance.

[rainintheevening]

Things I think about: In the liberation of Ryloth, when Obi-Wan and Mace are bringing the three Acclamators in, one of them gets shot down, and like... that had a whole freaking other legion in it. Not to mention the support staff? The ship's crew (engineers, mechanics, cooks, officers)? Like the whole idea of filling the Navy with clones is preposterous, there could never have been enough. So the clones and the nat-born crews and officers aboard a ship the size of an Acclamator would number well past 10,000.

Ten thousand.

Now there would be survivors, even with the ship falling out of the sky they'd get every gunship out of there they could. Of course the ramp could be damaged. But like, everyone knows the crash procedures. So there would be SOME survivors.

Unless it got freaking fireballed, in which case... 10,000 lives lost.

10,000 that's as many Jedi as there were left to take the field in the entire galaxy.

Imagine the backlash in the Force.

Imagine how the Jedi have to take that. Imagine them wishing that the clones were droids, so they didn't have to feel it, and then feeling horribly guilty.

Imagine wishing you could send everyone else home and you alone could be the one life at risk to save all those people the Separatists are threatening to wipe out. But you can't. Alone, you are nothing in the face of the Confederate might and power.

So you stay. And you take every metaphorical punch to the gut, because it's better than standing by and doing nothing.

Saving lives costs lives in war.

[yatescountyhistorycenter]

Serving his country, his community, and his fellow veterans

By Jonathan Monfiletto

His great-grandfather escaped from slavery in Virginia and worked for the Union Army during the Civil War. His grandfather made a family home on Cherry Street in Penn Yan and owned a blacksmith shop on Maiden Lane in the village. His father served during World War I as apparently the only Black soldier from Yates County in the conflict. And Stanley Clark followed in their footsteps and made his own history in a career of service to the military and the community.

Stanley Clark was born January 21, 1935 in Penn Yan to Franklin and Lena Clark, who at the time lived on North Avenue in Penn Yan. Franklin, in turn, had been born in August 1894 in Ingleside, near Prattsburgh in Steuben County, to William and Sarah Clark and – at least by the time of his entrance into the military – raised in their Cherry Street home. Franklin served as a farrier sergeant – he took care of the horses, forging and fitting their shoes, among other tasks – with Battery D of the 349th Field Artillery, 92nd Division. Department from Camp Dix, New Jersey, Franklin served from his drafting in November 1917 until his discharge at Camp Upton, New York in March 1919.

Stanley Clark died at age 85 on December 21, 2020 – exactly one month before his 86th birthday – having served his country and his comrades in the U.S. Army for a full 20 years, as director of the Yates County Veterans’ Service Agency, and with the American Legion at the post, county, district, state, and national levels. Though he is recent in history, as I like to say of those who existed during living memory – I’m sure there is someone reading this article who knew Stanley – I wanted to write about him because I have written about the three generations in his family who came before him.

These generations include Nathaniel Clark – Stanley’s great-grandfather – and Franklin, whose military service I wrote about in honor of Black History Month on February 9, 2022, just the second article on the Oliver’s Travels blog. At the time, I hadn’t firmly connected the two men as relatives, but on November 23, 2022, I wrote about the two men and connected them through William, Nathaniel’s oldest child and Franklin’s father. Since that time, I have been researching Stanley – the fourth generation of the family to live in Penn Yan – and wanting to write about him to close the loop, so to speak.

A quick word about Nathaniel before I continue on with Stanley’s story: Born into slavery in October 1842 on a plantation near Port Royal, Virginia, he worked as a porter at a hotel in Bowling Green when troops under command of Union General Ambrose Burnside took him and other enslaved people and assigned them to different duties. Nathaniel worked for Col. William Clark (it is unclear if this is a coincidence or if Nathaniel eventually adopted Clark’s surname) as a cook and caretaker with the 9th Army Corps, 3rd Division, 2nd Brigade.

Three years later, during a battle at Suffolk, Virginia, Clark was taken prisoner by the Confederate Army and made a cook on a Confederate vessel. After six weeks on the ship, Clark and Uncle Joe, a fellow enslaved man, deserted the army, signaled a Union picket boat, and then helped sink the Confederate ship and free the Union prisoners.

Stanley followed his father and great-grandfather into military service while still a student at Geneva High School, enlisting in the U.S. Army at age 17 in 1952 and receiving his high school diploma while on active duty. He retired with the rank of sergeant first class 20 years later in 1972. In between, he served with the 2nd Infantry Division during the Korean War from 1952 to 1953. He later served two deployments during the Vietnam War, first from 1965 to 1967 with the 1st Infantry Division and then from 1969 to 1971 with the 197th Transportation Battalion. During his second tour, Stanley was the captain of a tugboat on the Mekong River. For his career of service, he received the Combat Infantryman’s Badge and the Korean and Vietnam Service Medals.

Two years after retiring from the Army, Stanley embarked on another 20-year career of serving his fellow veterans. In 1974, the Yates County Legislature appointed him as the county’s director of veterans affairs. At the time, Stanley was 39 years old and living on Main Street in Dundee. Upon his retirement in 1994, Stanley was the honoree of a testimonial dinner held at Johnson Costello American Legion Post 355 in Penn Yan. The 50 guests in attendance included the sitting State Assemblyman and a representative of the sitting State Senator, both of whom presented Stanley with citations; Yates County legislators, officials, and co-workers; members of the American Legion, VFW, and 40/8 as well as their ladies auxiliaries; and Stanley’s son James.

The following year, Stanley was named Humanitarian of the Year 1994-95 by the Seventh District of the American Legion. The Johnson Costello post had nominated him for that honor as well as for Legionnaire of the Year; the Yates County American Legion had awarded both of these honors to him and forwarded his nominations to the district level. He had joined the Johnson Costello post in 1972, after his own military career, and worked his way up to Post Commander for the year 1977-78. He served as Yates County Commander in 1985, District Commander Aide in 1986, and New York Department Sergeant-At-Arms in 1987.

“Stories of his assistance to veterans, their spouses, and family are endless and cover any hour of the day. He is just a very nice person, and I like him,” said Joan Byrnside, of the Dundee American Legion Auxiliary. These stories – largely during his tenure as veterans services director – range from transporting veterans to the hospital in his own vehicle after hours to assisting and comforting a dying veteran’s wife to serving as fiduciary for 15 veterans who were unable to handle their own affairs.

A decade later, for the term running from July 2005 to July 2006, Clark was elected American Legion State Commander, the first resident of Yates County to hold this position. Part of his duties included visiting every American Legion post home in the state, and as a result he logged 31,600 miles on his Legion-provided car. He visited Yates County posts in Penn Yan and Dundee in March 2006 for a homecoming celebration of sorts before he concluded his tenure a few months later.

In 2011, the Department of New York State elected Stanley as its Alternate National Executive Committeeman, one of two representatives of the state on the American Legion’s National Executive Committee, the organization’s policy-making board. With a two-year term as the alternate, Stanley once again became the first resident of Yates County to have this role and was in line to serve another two years as National Executive Committeeman.

Stanley’s son Stan also served in the Army and is currently the commander of the Yates County American Legion. From a patriarch who achieved his freedom from slavery, the five generations of the Clark family in Yates County have each made their own contributions to their country and their community.

[captain-hades]

WE’VE GOT A FLAG BITCHESSSSSS 🗣️🔥🔥🔥

[haaaaaaaaaaaave-you-met-ted]

Star Wars: Legion - Magnaguard Unit - Electro Whip by Colin Searle

[southern-god1]

Here’s a story a friend and I collaborated on. Credit goes to my buddy Downbelow82 on Coiledfist.

This was set in an idea I was exploring at the time, where the Civil War is won thanks to Southern giants, and this is set shortly thereafter. Fellow history buffs will notice some famous names: Eiffel is known for his Eiffel Tower, while Bartholdi was the designer of the Statue of Liberty. I loved that ironic touch. Also loved the “tour of devotion” idea for Yankees. And, of course, the cocky country boy Confederate soldier titans!

Anyway, hope y’all like it as much as I did.

-

While it had only been a few years since the war had officially ended, the monuments to the honored, victorious confederates sprouted up and down the Eastern seaboard. While there was no shortage of statuary in the heart of the South itself, usually constructed by an army of enslaved, the Confederate High Commission on Battle Monuments paid especial attention on the construction of monuments in the “Occupied North.” While the monuments in the South were sizable in their own right, the statuary constructed in the captured northern cities, or rather the remains of these cities, from Philadelphia to Boston, were to be mammoth in size.

These massive leviathan structures would rival nothing since ancient times when the Colossus strode the harbor at Rhodes. Much of Washington, the jewel of the former Federal union, was cleared away for the construction of a veritable Valhalla to the honored victorious Army of the South, vast monuments and temples on what used to be the capital city. The construction there continues. From the day of victory to the present day, wage slave laborers and outright slaves work round the clock to bring this sacred sight to fruition.

However, other cities were not without their honored places. In Philadelphia, for example, in the “Night of the Reb’ Purge” as the locals called it, behind closed doors, much of the cities famous sites of Revolutionary fame were destroyed.

At Independence Hall, where that famed document cementing North America’s divorce from the British Empire was signed, all that remained was an empty lot. The old Georgian hall had suffered at the wanton destruction and mercy of the Confederate Super Soldiers and their Giant Legion. While the mass of bricks, timber, and other ruin were carefully excavated from the sight, the massive bootprints of the giant soldiers were purposely left behind, a stark reminder of the power of the Arisen South and their superior military might.

While the massive indentations were left as is, with just the ruins moved out, one exception was made. In one particularly massive boot print were the crushed remains of the once famed Liberty Bell, which was tolled in a fateful July some 4 score and seventy years earlier, as an ex Northern politician once notably put to words. The new masses of second class citizens were made to visit, from separate viewing platforms than the ones used for tourists from the South. The honored Southern tourists watch in amusement as these lower citizens and chattel were made to literally bow before this now deemed “sacred” sight. The way a pilgrim would bow in Lourdes or Mecca, the newly incorporated citizenry would be made to bow with great reverence at the boot print and crushed bell. Before their “tour” was complete, a kiss was required on the banner of Confederate Battle Flag (to which they would also bow, the Battle Flag now a sacred symbol across the nation) and the Stars and Bars. Once done three times in each month, their monthly “service of devotion” was completed, as mandated by law.

Not far from the former site of Independence Hall was a specially constructed, Athenian inspired temple, housing more sacred relics. A pair of massive boots of one of the honored veterans of the Battle of Philadelphia were put on permanent display. The leather of the huge boots, particularly on the tongue area, was faded pale from the hundreds of hands touched upon in daily, rubbing for good luck and reverence. A huge battle flag was proudly on display, to which Northerners bowed and Southerners proudly saluted.

This was all well and good but was not satisfactory enough for the Battle Monuments Commission or the government in the burgeoning metropole of New Richmond. No, something much more groundbreaking would be constructed in the backdrop of the ruins of Independence Hall. While Europe was still in turmoil over the events in North America, maintaining a very uneasy neutrality, a flurry of entrepreneurs flooded into the Confederacy for a chance at opportunity and the age old pursuit of lucre. This included many great European architects and sculptors. A noted many, including a civil engineer named Eiffel and a sculptor named Bartholdi were encouraged to emigrate by the government in New Richmond.

The project in Philadelphia, like many monuments across the great nation, would commemorate the Giant Soldiers of that great war. It would take months of back breaking labor, resulting in the deaths of numerous workers, but an amazing structure would emerge to tower over Philadel,’ nearly 300 feet in height. An ingenious skeletal structure was surrounded by sheets of hammered copper. It was a glorious site to behold as it neared completion. A 300 foot tall recreation of a Confederate soldier, complete with an immensely handsome young face and musculature not so subtly covered beneath his gray battle uniform. In his massive right fist was a towering flagpole, with the Stars and Bars raised and proudly flowing mid air. His left arm held tightly his trusty rifle that had slaughtered easily so many yanks. His even more trusty weapons, his left boot and right boot made their own respective statements.

The massive right boot was frozen in a pivot, grinding a marble sculpture of the old constitution of the Defeated Federal Tyranny. Under the massive left boot, a recreation of the old White House that once sat proudly in Washington City, was in the midst of being crushed by the weight of the powerful young soldier. While the old Republican minded Frenchman, Bartholdi and Eiffel were a bit uncomfortable at the subject matter of this construction, they realized this was the new way of things and were grateful for the work. All effort was put into making the statue a work of perfection and immaculate engineering and structural integrity.

With just one day before the officially planned opening and unveiling ceremonies, an impromptu visit by certain “authorities” was made known to the builders with virtually no time to prepare. The visitors were dispatched from the Confederate Base on the Delaware River, Fort Davis. The occupied cities were no strangers to the giant soldiers who continued to patrol their streets and wreak havoc..or rather, law and order as they saw fit. Philadelphia was no exception.

By noon, the ground began to tremble with a sinister rhythm. A shadow soon cast over the building site. Thousands of laborers froze in place as the team of behemoth white soldiers approached. They were young, between the ages of 18 and 20, and were sent by the Base commander as a show of arrogance. Their huge grey uniforms fluttered in the gust of wind that blew in from the riverside. The bills of their peaked caps kept the upper portions of their faces in shadow, leaving only their smirking mouths visible to the bug sized people below. Finally, the oldest soldier in command, a 20 year old LT stepped forward, his massive boot obliterating a horse and carriage that was unfortunate to be in his path. The god sized soldier spoke, his sexy Southern twang unmistakable.

“WELL…WELL…WELL. WHAT HAVE WE HERE, BOYS? LOOKS LIKE THE CITIZENS HAVE CONSTRUCTED A LIL SOMETHING IN OUR HONOR. WELL, HO-LY SHEE-IT. LOOKS PRETTY DAMN GOOD.”

The men grumbled and laughed.

The foreman cautiously approached the soldiers face, from high atop the wooden scaffolding surrounding the statue. At least a hundred other workers remained frozen in place atop that same scaffold.

‘Please….Monsiuer…we ‘ave labored very very hard…with this great construction….umm…for the honor of your um…les militaires…your giant soldat, Sir.”

The soldier giggled at the heavy accent of the foreman.

“GODDAMN, BOY. YOU SPEAKIN’ WITH MOLASSES IN YOUR MOUTH…YOU NEED TO LEARN SOME ENGLISH NICE AND PROPER, YA HEAR? THAT GOES FOR ALL Y’ALL. THIS IS CONFEDERATE AMERICA, RUNTS. WE FUCKING SPEAK ENGLISH HERE!”

The forman cowered.

“Oui!…Oui, Sir. D’accord!”

“WELL, BOYS…WHAT DO YA THINK?”

The giant young men mumbled to each other.

One Private spoke up.

“LOOKS GOOD, SIR….BUT NEEDS A SLIGHT…”ADJUSTMENT.”

The Private winked, and the other soldiers laughed in agreement.

“WHY, PRIVATE, I DO BELIEVE YOU ARE RIGHT. IT IS DAMN PERFECT. A TRUE REPRESENTATION OF OUR MIGHT…BUT IT DOES INDEED NEED A LIL ADJUSTMENT.”

The LT pointed to the Stars and Bars and a private approached and carefully removed the flag with great respect and care.

“GOOD…DON’T WANNA BE MUSSIN’ UP OUR SACRED FLAG…..NOW…WHERE WAS I….”

The soldier approached the statue, and the scaffold, with absolute disregard and care for the men atop it. His massive muscled arms extended out, crashing into the wooden structure, in order to grapple the statue underneath. The tiny men screamed out in terror and pain as they were crushed or flung to the ground below, the fall killing most. Some, broken and bloodied, were crushed under the soldier’s shifting boots.

The foreman cried out with one last plea.

“Mon Dieu….please!! Do not do is! This is for you, my Lords…why? Why??”

The soldier gave a quick glance and with a flick of his thumb and forefinger, the tiny frenchman was brutally flicked away, his broken dead body landing in one of the nearby Independence Hall boot prints.

The soldier has successfully wrapped around his bulging arms around the statue and began to lift. The accompanying giant young men began to shout their infamous rebel yells as the statue crumbled and separated from its base. The manly grunts could be heard for miles around. The LT smirked so broadly, his pearly white teeth glistened in the sun.

With a few steps, he stood over the remaining laborers and callously dropped the statue. In an instant, a hundred men were crushed or trapped under the iron work and copper. The soldier dusted off his hands and spoke to all around that were still clinging to life.

“IT’S GOOD….A DAMN GOOD STATUE…BUT IT AIN’T FUCKING GOOD ENOUGH…START OVER. BIGGER. BETTER.”

More rebel yells erupted as the soldiers slapped each other on the back and slowly stomped off, crushing as many fleeing Yanks as they could. It was their prerogative to do so and nobody would stomp them. Some, in desperation, ran over to the sacred boot prints and in a religious fervor bowed and prayed for forgiveness from their Southern Gods.

[rebelyells]

Recently discovered bodies in Williamsburg could have been any of these men- our Brothers

[mindisland]

The Philosopher's Flight and The Philosopher's War Timeline

Tom Miller clearly planned these two novels stupendously, and I found myself wanting to put everything together in order so I could follow the timeline the way he intended. Hope someone else finds this helpful!

1750: Sigilry comes into widespread use 1831: Cadwallader invents smoke carving 1857: Transporter sigil first comes into use 1861: Wainwright starts Legion of Confederate Smokecarvers April 6, 1865: Petersburg massacre 1865: Birth-control sigils are published 1870: Franco-Prussion war begins 1871: Cadwallader’s Siggilrists break the Korps des Philosoph beseiging Paris 1891: Chilean Civil War - Beau Canderelli is a military philosopher 1892: Maxewell Gannet alludes to his list of 200 sigilrists 1897: Beau Canderelli and Emmaline Weekes meet in Havana January 1899: Robert is born 1901: Second Disturbance - Emmaline Weekes and Beau Canderelli guerrilla fight the trenchers November 1901: Beau Canderelli dies of a gunshot 1902: Hatcher and Jimenez make the first Transatlantic Flight hovering back-to-back 1914: The Great War breaks out February 1916: Gallipoli; Danielle Hardin evacuates most of the Commonwealth army solo 1916: Corruption discovered in 1st Division of R&E by Blandings; Gen. Rhodes creates 5th division for Blandings before Rhodes is fired April 6, 1917: Philosopher’s Flight begins August 1917: Edith Rubinsky (Edie or Ruby) gets her legs ruined January 1918: Robert gets his sigil fixed January 1918: Robert places 3rd in the Long Course of the General’s Cup May? 1918: Danielle becomes aide to Sen. Cadawaller-Fulton July 1918: Robert goes to Europe as part of R&E Early October 1918: Drale dies, Punnet dies in Battle of Saint-Mihiel Late October 1918: Robert breaks 1000 evacuations October 30th, 1918: the mutiny begins; Germans attack Metz and head towards Paris with their plague smoke October 31st, 1918: Robert picks up Bertie Synge and gets trapped under German cloud of smoke November 1st, 2pm, 1918: Edie finds Robert and Bertie November 2nd, 1918: Robert and co. end the war by transporting Berlin January? 1919: Robert ties 1st with Dmitri in the endurance flight February? 1919: General Pershing decimates the Corps, renames it the Army Philosophical Service; Essie stays on and rises through the ranks March 1919: Thomasina Blandings is court-martialed, subsequently gets sentenced to 10 years imprisonment at Ft Leavenworth Christmas 1919: First Zoning law passed January? 1920: Robert ties 1st with Michael Nakamura March? 1920: limits on hoverers license passed; Robert is living in Massachusetts January? 1921: Robert places 1st in Endurance flight 1922: Assuming she held to her timeline, Danielle Hardin runs and wins the Representative seat in Rhode Island 1926: Second Zoning Act - Danielle Hardin campaigns against December 26, 2926: Danielle Hardin writes to Robert 1930: Robert and (presumably) Edie’s daughter is born January 1932: Pilar Desoto orbits earth, Robert powers her 3rd-stage booster 1939: Preface to Flight, Robert is exiled in Mexico and is Field Commander for the Free North American Cavalry (at some point lbefore this, Freddy Unger starts teaching at the Universidad de Tamaulipas, Essie is promoted to Major General of the US Army Philosophical Service, Edie becomes a doctor of Neurology at Matamoros General Hospital) 1941: Danielle Hardin is/was Secretary of Philosophy to Franklin D Roosevelt November 11, 1941: Preface to War, Robert is promoted to Commander and Brig. General of First North American Volunteer Air Cavalry, and is in China due to personal request from Roosevelt (in exchange for amnesty for sigilrists in exile from United Stages)

[piratesexmachine420]

People are always (in my experience anyways) tryna justify the FO:NV Independent ending with "the theme of the game is letting go of the past, so you should pick Independent, because the other factions are just trying to recreate the past" -- but, like, its not just about not trying to recreate your real-life past. The fucking Master's Army didn't exist in real life, and the game devotes plenty of time to discussing why recreating that is a bad idea. You can't possibly claim the independent ending isn't chasing an idealized past, that's exactly what it is doing -- chasing the ideal of the "uncorrupted" Mojave, the Mojave before House woke up, before the NCR and Legion found the dam.

The "Independent" Mojave wasteland was a sucky place to live! And if the ending slides are to be believed, it's still a pretty sucky place to live for a long time after! Yeah, you can headcanon that you'll set up a grand utopian confederation of city states, and that actually the slides are wrong and the Followers do stick around and so forth... but why can't I do the same for the NCR ending? Why can't I headcanon that I'll get elected senator for the state of Mojave? That I'll make a successful presidential bid, and re-institute socialist policies? That I'll break the Brahmin-Baron class over my knee and work to consolidate a federation of equals? Why shouldn't I care about raising the standards of living in Angel's Boneyard just as much as those in Goodsprings?

(Also, sidenote: I've occasionally seen [mostly in pro-Legion or pro-House dickhead circles] people make fun of the Courier's "reward" in an NCR ending [the golden olive branch, highest civilian award in the NCR] as being somehow cheap or insipid? Like what did you guys want? Do you think that, say, the worth of the US Presidential Medal of Freedom is in being able to melt it down and sell the gold on eBay? Did you want a military award? You're not in the military. This isn't Skyrim, it's not even Caesar's legion. You can't just join the military because some general thinks you're cool. This a country. There are laws. Did you want, like money? Or a house? Let's not kid ourselves, bud -- you've got plenty of both by the time of the Second Battle.)