#ancient professional citizen armies

[jeannereames]

I see a lot of popular history depicting Ancient Macedon in the style of a Prussia of Antiquity, a martial kingdom that's more an army than a state. How much of this is true?

Especially as the Prussians also used a long pike, it can be very tempting to compare them to Macedon. But it’s problematic, as it imposes backwards some modern concepts of statehood that just don’t really fit antiquity.

Certainly, the ancient world had “states” and “nations,” as well as various democratic systems with voting by citizens (more or less formally defined). But their concepts of nations and democracies were less complex. And monarchies, including chieftainships, were the most common form of government.

Furthermore, in many, if not most of these early systems (monarchy, oligarchy, or democracy), the subject/citizen (male) was also a fighting soldier. I can’t think of any that didn’t assume military duty of subjects/citizens unless one were too young, too old, infirm, or property (e.g., a slave). In many, even resident foreigners (where that was a concept) also owed military service, and sometimes slaves, as well.

In short, the “state” was virtually always the army too.

The real question is which states had a professional, citizen army. That’s a bit different, and much rarer. We see it in Assyria, in Sparta, and in Macedon, to name the three I’m most familiar with, but they’re not the only ones.

In order to exist, these professional citizen-soldier armies required a support system. In Sparta, it was the helots. In Assyria, it was the feudal serf system bucked up later by the provincial system. In Macedon, it was a similar serf system. BUT in Macedon, at least, Philip’s development of citizen soldiers came late, and—perhaps ironically—Philip’s citizen soldiers wound up creating a middle class independent of the early feudal system. (Trying to pick this stuff apart, btw, is really tough, given the state of our evidence. So I’m riffing, based on emerging archaeology.)

Historically, Macedon was an absolute monarchy where the king WAS the law. He had estate-owning aristocratic Hetairoi (Companions) to advise him—but he made them and could break them. Their offices, and their land, owed to him. The king WAS the state, and his Hetairoi helped him to hold power. But this wasn’t particularly unusual at that point in time. The same thing held true for the Thracians and Illyrians, near as we can tell. Also, the Assyrians, and the Medes and Persians when they arrived on the plateau.

What Philip did was form, out of a serf system, a separate professional army supported BY that serf system. It’s pretty much the same thing the Middle and Neo-Assyrian kings did, too. Just as in Assyria, ALL subjects owed military service when demanded, and Assyria had two draft systems in addition to their professional standing army. The Macedonians had a professional army, but also could draft citizen-subjects at need too.

Ergo, ALL these systems interwove the function of the state/king with the army. The two were virtually inseparable. But it was normal for the time, rather than all that exceptional.

[spacedace]

Reluctant War AU Part 2

Part One

...I ended up writing more for that Reluctant War AU...Like. Wrote this before work and started on part 3 with plans for part 4 more.

this was supposed to just be a brain worm what happened (also thank you @catastrophic-crow for the AU name <3 <3 <3 Also, also: welcome to the cult of Ancient of the Speedforce Elle! Membership includes nonsense, shenanigans and chaos haha)

-

Gotham had always been a place for ghosts.

Every corner haunted by death and tragedy.

Every street stained red at least once in its many years.

Every dark shadow holding the faint shadows and shades of the dead.

Gotham was, before all else, a grave yard.

Jason had known that his entire life. Every kid born and raised in the Alley did. Death came fast to Gotham’s streets. Especially for those the rest of the city turned its back on. He did his best to lighten the reaper’s load when it came to the people that called Crime Alley home. Well, mostly. He’d certainly added names to old Death’s list before, when the occasion called.

When the armies of the dead descended upon Gotham, the only surprise Jason could feel was that those white wearing pieces of shit had dared to try and hunker down in his city.

It was a sentiment shared by most of Gotham’s fine citizens. By the city itself - herself? Something to ask later, if there was a later - even if the impossible, living shadow that rose up out of Gotham’s many dark corners was anything to go by. He knew, almost instinctively, that the entity - skin of cracked pavement, mouth a bridge suspended too wide across the face, eyes of CCTV camera lenses and body built brick by grimy, bloody brick of the sharp skyline - was Gotham. Not a ghost but something bigger, greater. Something awfully, terribly alive in all its horrible, noble glory. His city, manifest in the shape almost human beneath the green glow of the torn apart sky above.

Phantom’s armies arrived without warning as they had everywhere else, and their enemies poured out in unforgivably unmarred white suits to meet them. Horrible and garish against the Gotham streets. How they’d ever managed to slink by unnoticed while being so blatantly, clearly not of Gotham Jason wasn’t sure he’d ever know.

If either side thought this would be like the battles they fought before, they were mistaken.

Gotham was a place for Ghosts.

A place the dead piled up, lingered well beyond their deaths. A place where the rules were different from everywhere else in the world. Where crime was rampant and chaos reigned but at the end of the day people said their thanks that they were born to this hellhole and not so cursed to call anywhere else in the world home.

The dead came to fight

And Gotham, a thing so alive it was sickening to look upon, rose up to fight right along side them all.

The agents were ready and prepared for the incursion of the dead. It’d been two weeks since the first volley of attacks. Two weeks spent shoring up defenses and ramping up weapons and strategizing ways to kill what was already dead. They were, as best as they were able to be considering how endless the armies that came for them, prepared.

They weren’t prepared for Gotham.

Weren’t prepared for the city itself to rise up and take spectral, eldritch shape. Jagged building spire and shattered glass teeth bared in a snarl that spanned miles. Screaming rage in a voice made of gunfire and the concussive boom of explosions and the shrieks of a furious crowd.

Weren’t prepared for its people to ignore the gentle ushering of the dead trying to push them away to safety and instead press forward to fight shoulder to shoulder with the ghostly armies.

Weren’t prepared to have brick and bottles and trash and debris rain down upon them from the jeering living. Weren’t prepared for dirty faced children with hard eyes to light up rags stuffed into chipped beer bottles filled with gas and kerosene and throw them with more speed an accuracy than any professional baseball player. Weren’t ready for Gotham’s motley crew of terrifying Rogues to band together with the citizens they so often accosted and worried and bring down wave after wave of chaos and Goons.

Weren’t prepared for Red Hood to swap out his rubber bullets for the real deal and start mowing the fuckers in white down, his own crew at his back, the rest of the Outlaws on their way.

The Justice League was trying to find a peaceful resolution. Trying to play go between to the US Government and the infinite dead. Too wound up in US politics to side with the dead outright, too disgusted by what the American government had done to ever want to stand with them. All it had gotten them was spun wheels and confusion and the slow creeping realization that the time to try and play negotiators had well passed.

Red Hood wasn’t a member of the Justice League.

He had no obligation to try and find a way to talk things out.

What he had was a grave he’d dug his way out of, enough ammunition to arm a sizable country, and a burning need to make things right.

Gotham had always been a place for ghosts, and Jason had long accepted that he was one of them.

Haunting the streets he’d survived as a child, the city he protected as Robin, the family he’d loved and lost a thousand and one times before and after his death.

The sky cracked open above his home, and it was not an invading army that came rushing out but a native one. Friends, neighbors, strangers on the street you caught from the corner of your eye. The people of Gotham knew their own and fought for them. Only Gotham was allowed to fucked with Gotham and they’d been screwed over enough by the government themselves to know what side they were on.

He lifted his guns and fired, teeth bared in vicious satisfaction beneath his helmet as white was splattered bright red.

A hissing electric whine of a weapon, a flash of green from the edge of his vision.

“Down!”

He was thrown bodily to the cracked and ruined street beneath him, the body shielding him warm and living as one of the agent’s weapon fired a blast of energy right where he’d been a second before. He’d seen that same weapon reduce one of the raging dead to dripping green and screams of agony the dead should not be capable of making.

Before he could shove himself up and respond in kind, the body above him was in motion and the air above him cracking with the snapping-popping-roar of a gun of a much higher power than even what he had. The fucker in white that had shot at him dissolved into a mist of red viscera, body seizing and shuttering in the briefest moment it had before it was obliterated completely.

“Watch yourself.” He looked up - and up - and wondered at the lovely, fierce face he found staring down at him. “Even without shooting at them you’re Liminal enough to trip their sensors.”

She was tall enough to be an amazon, six inches in height on him at least. Body strong beneath the pitch black armor she work - as deep and dark as the depths of space, etched with starlight, a familiar crest upon her chest in the dizzying burst of a supernova - she held herself with confidence. Strands of hair the color of a warning sunrise escaped out from beneath the helm she wore, bright against her pale skin, warming the glass-sharp teal eyes that had pinned him in place.

The hand not holding the gun she’d just used to delete the asshole that had just tried to shoot him - a strange, impossible thing that made him taste lightning at the back of his throat to look at it - stretched out to help him up.

He accepted it.

Something pulsed to life in his chest. A piece forgotten where it’d been left behind, half buried in grave dirt and broken pieces of a casket he’d clawed his way out of. It burned like a hot coal in his chest, froze him with the same aching cold of a blizzard, crackled his nerves to life with lightning even as his brain popped and fried with the same sizzling energy.

On his feet, hair on end and body and Core pulsing with the need to fight, to rend and tear and scream for all done to him, his people, his home, he met the eyes of the woman before him. Her cool gaze softened, just a moment, just a second as she seemed to realize what had happened. Her hand, lighter than the armor she wore should allow it to be, tightened on his just a moment, mouth tilting from determined frown to soft understanding.

Gotham had always been a place for ghosts.

Jason had long accepted that he was one of them.

---

Part Three

[whencyclopedia]

Hellenistic Warfare

When Alexander the Great died in 323 BCE, he left behind an empire devoid of leadership. Without a named successor or heir, the old commanders simply divided the kingdom among themselves. For the next three decades, they fought a lengthy series of wars - the Wars of the Diadochi or Wars of the Successors - in a futile attempt to restore the tattered kingdom. Although the Hellenistic Age saw Greek language, art and philosophy flourish throughout Asia, there were few advances in military tactics. Instead, it was a time of “kingdoms and their armies.” The successors inherited an army borne out of the reforms of Philip II of Macedon. He was an innovator; the first Greek to master siege warfare, and with his son Alexander, they made Macedon the foremost power in both Greece and Asia. Together, Alexander and his father would create an army unlike anything the ancient world had ever seen.

Philip's Military Reforms

From his father Amyntas III and brother Perdiccas III, Philip acquired an army that was badly in need of restructuring. On his ascension to the throne in 359 BCE, he realized that the old ways were no longer dependable. He immediately initiated a series of major military reforms. To begin with, he increased the size of the army from 10,000 to 24,000, and enlarged the cavalry from 600 to 3,500. To make the army unified he issued new uniforms and made each soldier swear an oath to the king. A soldier was no longer loyal to his home town or province but loyal to the king and Macedon. While he retained the traditional phalanx - whose very nature required constant drilling and obedience - he made a number of improvements, adding a more effective shield and replacing the old Corinthian helmet with one that provided for better hearing and visibility.

Among several changes in weaponry, Philip added the ominous 18 foot sarissa which had the advantage of reaching over the much shorter spears of the opposition. Besides the sarissa, a smaller double-edge sword, or xiphos, for close-in-hand fighting was issued. And, lastly, he created a corps of engineers to develop siege weaponry. In the end Philip took a poorly disciplined group of men and turned them into a formidable, more professional army. This was no longer an army of citizen-warriors but an efficient military force, eventually subduing the territories around Macedon as well as subjugating most of Greece. It was this army that helped Alexander to cross into Asia and conquer the Persian Empire, but it was also the same army, with relatively few changes, that the successors used throughout their three decades of war.

Continue reading...

[alphaman99]

"Congress is extraordinarily reluctant to inject itself into foreign policy. It has dumped entirely its constitutional duty for money onto a central bank, and for trade, onto the executive branch. It seems to never know what the CIA and other intelligence agencies are doing. Like the Romans, they no longer talk of the republic or liberty. And like the Romans, the American people, or most of them anyway, don’t seem to care. ... Like the Romans, we no longer have a citizen army but professional legions, and whether they wear jackboots or not, some federal officers seem to regard Americans with about the same compassion as the Praetorian Guard had for the plebes. As in Rome, the air is full of suspicion, intrigues and conspiracies, real or imagined, and the air reeks of greed and opportunism. As those on the Tiber, the rulers on the Potomac have grown suspicious of the people, don’t trust them and, in some cases fear them. And, as in Rome, they grovel in luxury while taking 40 cents on the dollar out of the sweat of working people to pay for corn and circuses to keep the mob satisfied."-- Charley Reese (1937-2013) American syndicated columnist

Source: comparing the U.S. to ancient Rome during its fall, Congress guided by ancient Rome, Conservative Chronicle, October 18, 1995

[witchesoz]

The Nome King: Adaptations

Now, the Nome King might be less known than the Wcked Witches of Oz, but he is still quite present in numerous Oz adaptations:

# In the television series Emerald City, SPOILERS AHEAD: the Nome King, Roquat, is revealed to actually be the “Beast Forever”. In this version of Oz, the Beast periodically invades and destroys Oz, whenever the two moons of Oz align as one. Every time, the Beast takes a name strange shape to bring as much death and destruction it can. Once it was a great fire that no water could extinguish ; during its last visit (when it killed most of the witches of Oz) it was a gigantic flood. And at the end of the series, it is revealed that all those disasters were actually shapes taken by Roquat, and this time he wants to come back… as a dragon.

# In the mini-series Dorothy and the Witches of Oz, the Nome King appears as one of the threats the Wicked Witch of the West unleashed upon New-York. The Nomes appeared previously as servants of Princess Langwidere, or maybe messengers of the Wicked Witch of the West, it is quite unclear. But in the end their king appears. While the Nome army appear as grey-skinned, dark-haired, evil dwarfs (and thus act as evil counterparts to the Munchkins), their leader is a tall, giant, vaguely troll-like man (played by a professional wrestler), who ends up fighting the Tin Man.

# In the “Legends of Oz: The Wicked West” comic book series, the Nome King is an ancient, powerful and wicked stone-fairy creature that was once locked up under the Emerald City by a previous king of Oz. Jinjur is now searching for the lost city, to unleash the Nome King, hoping that she would control and bargain with this powerful and destructive magical force.

# In the Black Brick Road of Oz, Ruggedo the Nome King is one of the six powers of Oz, one of the three “wicked” rulers, alongside the Wicked Witches of the East and the West (or rather their equivalents). A mix of Baum’s Nome King and Volkov’s Urfin Jus, he is the wicked counterpart of the Wizard of Oz, and despite seeming like a lonely and brooding doomsday-machine creator in love with the Wicked Witch of the West, he is actually one of the survivors of a genocide that almost destroyed all of the Nome species in Oz.

# However the most iconic and well known reinterpretation of the Nome King can be found in “Return to Oz”, the 1985 movie. The Nomes are animated through the Claymation technique of Will Vinton – the Nomes (and the Nome King) appear at first as faces manifesting out of rocks and mountains, then as clay/rock made creatures manifesting out of the underworld’s walls and ceilings. The Nome King acts pretty much like he does in the novel “Ozma of Oz”, though with a few differences. Here there is no Ev, rather the Nome King actually conquered Oz and the Emerald City, “getting back” his emeralds, ruining the city and turning most of its citizens into stone. His mountain-palace is still found across the Deadly Desert surrounding Oz – in fact, he originally would have never attacked Oz, if it wasn’t for one day how the Ruby Slippers fell from the sky, right into his kingdom (and now he wears them). The Nome King does end up taking a human-like shape made of rock: in fact, him turning people into ornaments for his collection is part of hiss process to become more and more human.

Another key difference is that the Nome King did not work alone: he left Oz in care of a new ruler, Princess Mombi (a cross between the witch Mombi and Princess Langwidere from the novels). This witch works as the servant/ambassador of the Nome King in Oz, and it is implied that the Wheelers were also “gifts” the Nome King made to the wicked witch. Finally, the Nomes fear of eggs is played much more here: the Nomes are terrified upon discovering that Dorothy brought with her a chicken, and the heroes end up actually killing the Nome King with an egg. His prisoners released, the King returns to his primal form, a monstrous abomination of rocks, and tries to devour the heroes, only for Billina to drop an egg right into his enormous volcanic throat. The Nome King, poisons, slowly withers away and die.

Since this movie is a sequel to the MGM one, the duality reality VS dreamland is played on. The Nome King is actually the Oz double of Dr. J.B. Worley, a psychiatrist head of a mental asylum obsessed with machines and progress, to the point of cruelty and disregard towards his patients. In the movie, he wanted to inflict on Dorothy electroshock therapy to “cure” her of her Oz delusions. Dorothy ends up leaving Oz during a wild thunderstorm, and when she returns home, she learns that the lightning caused a fire in the asylum, where the doctor died while trying to save his precious machines.

[ainews]

The purpose of an army is to protect a country and its citizens, but beyond that, a well-equipped and trained army serves another important purpose: providing economic and artistic opportunities.

From weapons to textiles to jewelry, armies and the industries that support them use artistry to express their culture, to honor members, and to survive.

Weapons. Military symbols, such as flags, crests, and coats of arms, are examples of artful expression. But the look and design of weapons and armor can be just as decorative. They can be decorated with intricate patterns engraved in steel, golden lattices, jewels, and gems. Medieval French knights’ armor was often embellished to signify their rank and clauses. Artful weapons and armor distinguishes the owner according to their wealth and rank.

Textiles. Many professional militaries have had their own flag since ancient times, and those flags are often made with beautiful materials. They may be formed of intricate brocade, velvet and upholstery, or even feature a coat of arms or a crest. Traditional dress uniforms are often similarly adorned, and are more than just a form of uniformity. They are expressions of their culture and symbolic of their country’s prosperity.

Jewelry. Militaries often issue medals to their members for service and accomplishment. These are often worn in the form of jewelry and necklaces, and can feature beautifully crafted adornments. Many have intricate images on them with symbolism related to patriotism or to the service or accomplishment of the member.

Artistry is a vital part of being an army. It’s used to honor soldiers, to express culture, and—perhaps most importantly—to pay tribute to the courage and strength of its fighters.

[timetraveltasting]

ITRION (3rd c.)

I've had a stressful week of work and am in need of energy, so this weekend I decided to make a very simple Tasting History recipe that powered armies: Itrion, a thin and crispy sesame honey bar from Ancient Greece. While this recipe for itrion is gathered from the 3rd-century Deipnostophistae by Athenaeus Naucratites, the crispy snack was likely eaten centuries earlier, especially by hoplite citizen-soldiers. Most Ancient Greek armies were made up of hoplites. City-state armies, like Sparta's professional standing army, were rare. Each hoplite soldier was responsible for supplying their own equipment and food, which needed to be cheap, travel well, and be easy to prepare. Itrion fits this bill perfectly. The Ancient Greek itrion is a bar whose recipe has remained largely unchanged over a couple thousand years; they are known in Greece today as Pasteli (Παστέλι). There are big companies in Greece that mass-produce these bars, and you can get them in any shop or kiosk. Not bad staying-power for what is often called 'the world's first energy bar'! See Max’s video on how to make itrion here or see the ingredients and process at the end of this post, sourced from his website.

My experience making it:

Since I already had a packet of toasted sesame seeds at home from another recipe I had made, I actually cheated a little bit by using pre-toasted sesame seeds for this recipe. For honey, I used raw German linden tree honey. I decided to halve the recipe, because I didn't want to end up with too much, and I only had about half the sesame seeds called for.

I used a 9" x 9" pan, lined it with a baking sheet, then added my pre-toasted sesame seeds to a frying pan. While you would think this shouldn't be necessary due to them being toasted already, Max says it is actually important to add the sesame seeds to the honey while they are hot, so I thought it still important to do a bit of extra toasting (being careful not to burn them, of course). When I heated my honey in a saucepan, it didn't foam much, so I didn't have to skim any off the top, luckily. Because I don't have a kitchen thermometer, I eyeballed the amount of bubbles, being sure it looked similar to how Max's looked when his hit the correct temperature (quite bubbling). At this point, I added the hot, toasted sesame seeds, mixing them in for about 3-4 minutes on low heat. They combined really easily, and the proportions of honey and sesame looked correct and balanced. Because I halved the recipe, when I poured the sesame honey mixture into the pan, it didn't spread out to the edges but looked more like a blob shape. I let it cool on the counter, but since it's quite hot and summery in my apartment at the moment, I decided to put it in the fridge to allow it to crisp up just a little faster. When I took it out, I removed the paper, cut the itrion into squares/triangles (my blob shape did not divide so well into uniform shapes!), and arranged them on a plate for snacking. They did not break apart in a completely crispy way, like peanut brittle would, but they were kind of gooey in the centre with a nice crisp on the top and bottom.

My experience tasting it:

I took a small first bite: fairly crisp on the outside, but gooey and a bit hard to chew on the inside. My husband took a large first bite, and found it very hard to chew as a result. I decided to stick with small bites after that! The honey melted in my mouth, and was the main flavour I could taste at first. As I kept chewing, the sweet honey taste gave way to the crispy and toasty sesame seed flavour (which I absolutely love). Overall, the flavours are very balanced between sweet and savoury, and there is a good mix of textures. I could even taste the linden tree flavour, and I would say that whichever type of honey you use to make itrion will likely retain its unique taste once cooked. My husband and I both enjoyed the itrion, and will snack on the pieces through the week. However, I was very glad I halved the recipe and cut the itrion into small pieces, as I do think it's a flavour that you can become bored of easily if you eat too much of it. Still, I would definitely make this recipe again - it only requires two ingredients, it's a very quick and simple process to make, and it will last a week or so of snacking, in my opinion. While the flavour isn't particularly mind-blowing, itrion does make for a great, light snack while still scratching the sweet and savoury itches. And so easy to make! The Ancient Greeks were on to a winner with itrion; there is a good reason this recipe has survived for so long. If you end up making this dish, if you liked it, or if you changed anything from the original recipe, do let me know!

Itrion original recipe (3rd c.)

Sourced from Deipnostophistae by Athenaeus Naucratites, 3rd c. AD.

Then there is the itrion. This is a thin cake, made of sesame and honey, Anacreon mentions it like this: 'And I breakfasted on a bit of crisp itrion, breaking it off, and drank a jar of wine.'

Modern Recipe

Based on Deipnostophistae by Athenaeus Naucratites (3rd c.) and Max Miller’s version in his Tasting History video.

Ingredients:

1/2 lb (225 g) sesame seeds

1/2 lb (225g) pure honey

Method:

Line the bottom and sides of a pan (9" x 9" works) with parchment paper. You can use a larger pan if you want thinner itrion.

Place a dry pan over medium heat and add the sesame seeds. Cook until nicely toasted and aromatic, about 5 minutes, stirring constantly so the sesame doesn't burn. Take the pan off the heat but don’t let the sesame cool too much, you want it to still be quite hot when you add it to the honey.

Melt the honey in a saucepan over medium heat, stirring constantly. If any white foam rises up, skim it off. Continue to heat the honey until it hits 260°F (126°C), then immediately add the hot sesame seeds. Stir until combined.

Continue to cook over low heat for 3 to 4 minutes, stirring constantly.

Pour the mixture into the lined pan and spread evenly.

The itrion can be cut after a few minutes. If it cools completely, the cut edges will be nice and crisp. Turn the itrion out of the pan, cut it however you like, and serve it forth.

[uniform-master]

The Evolution of Uniforms: From Function to Fashion

Uniforms have a long and storied history, serving various functions throughout different periods and cultures. From their origins in military and religious contexts to their widespread adoption in professional and social settings, uniforms have evolved significantly, reflecting changes in societal norms, technological advancements, and fashion trends. In this article, we explore the fascinating journey of uniforms, tracing their evolution from functional attire to iconic symbols of identity and style.

Early Origins of Uniforms:

The concept of uniforms dates back to ancient times when soldiers and warriors donned distinctive attire to signify allegiance, rank, and purpose. In ancient Egypt, for example, soldiers wore standardized clothing and insignia to identify themselves on the battlefield. Similarly, ancient Roman legions wore distinctive armour and tunics adorned with emblems and colours representing their legion and rank.

Medieval and Renaissance Uniforms:

During the medieval and Renaissance periods, uniforms continued to serve functional purposes, particularly in military and heraldic contexts. Knights wore elaborate armour decorated with crests and heraldic symbols, while foot soldiers donned simple tunics and tabards emblazoned with their lord's coat of arms. Uniforms also became associated with social status and hierarchy, with courtiers and servants wearing attire that reflected their rank and role within the royal household.

Military Uniforms and National Identity:

During the rise of nation-states in the 17th and 18th centuries, military uniforms became powerful symbols of national pride and identity. As countries developed professional standing armies, uniforms evolved to reflect this newfound sense of unity and loyalty. Elaborate designs, distinctive colours, and regimented insignia became hallmarks of military attire, signifying allegiance to a particular country or military unit. The iconic red coats of the British army and the blue uniforms of the French army exemplify how uniforms became intertwined with national identity and military tradition, instilling a sense of pride and camaraderie among soldiers and citizens alike.

Industrialization and Workwear:

The Industrial Revolution brought about profound changes in the perception and use of uniforms. With the advent of mass production and factory work, uniforms transitioned from military attire to practical workwear designed to protect workers and signify their affiliation with a specific industry or company. Factory workers, miners, and labourers donned durable and functional attire such as coveralls, aprons, and uniforms adorned with company logos or insignia. These uniforms not only provided protection against workplace hazards but also fostered a sense of belonging and camaraderie among workers, reflecting the growing importance of industrialization in shaping social and economic landscapes.

The Rise of Corporate and Professional Uniforms:

In the 20th century, uniforms expanded beyond military and industrial settings to encompass corporate and professional environments. Companies and organizations embraced uniforms as a means of promoting brand identity, fostering unity among employees, and projecting a professional image to customers and clients. Uniforms in these contexts ranged from traditional suits and ties to more casual attire reflecting the company's culture and values. Whether tailored suits for corporate executives or branded polo shirts for retail staff, uniforms became synonymous with professionalism and corporate identity, reinforcing a sense of belonging and teamwork among employees.

Fashion and Self-Expression:

In recent decades, uniforms have undergone a remarkable transformation, evolving from purely functional attire to fashion statements and forms of self-expression. Designers and brands have reimagined traditional uniforms, infusing them with elements of style, comfort, and individuality. From chic airline uniforms created by top fashion houses to trendy streetwear inspired by military and workwear aesthetics, uniforms have become a canvas for creativity and innovation in the fashion world. This blending of function and fashion allows individuals to express their personal style while adhering to the conventions of uniformity, reflecting a broader shift towards self-expression and individuality in contemporary society.

Conclusion:

In conclusion, the evolution of uniforms reflects the dynamic interplay between function, tradition, and fashion throughout history. From their humble beginnings as practical attire for soldiers and workers to their current status as symbols of identity and style, uniforms have undergone significant transformations, adapting to changing societal norms and cultural influences. As we continue to evolve, the future of uniforms promises to be a fascinating blend of functionality, innovation, and self-expression, shaping the way we perceive and interact with the world around us.

Uniform manufacturers play a pivotal role in shaping the evolution of uniforms, continuously innovating to meet the changing needs and preferences of customers. By collaborating with uniform manufacturers, organizations can ensure their uniforms reflect the latest trends in fashion and technology, enhancing both functionality and aesthetics.

The expertise and craftsmanship of uniform manufacturers are essential in creating uniforms that not only meet industry standards but also embody the brand identity and values of the organization. Uniform manufacturers leverage cutting-edge materials and manufacturing techniques to produce uniforms that are durable, comfortable, and stylish, meeting the diverse needs of modern wearers. As key stakeholders in the uniform industry, uniform manufacturers drive innovation and set the standards for quality, reliability, and design excellence in uniforms for various sectors and industries.

[mycatwantstoeatpins]

Really interesting response by Reddit user Iphikrates on r/askahistorian to a question that's since been deleted - were ancient soldiers 'fit' according to the modern conception of fitness? Full text below the readmore.

My older answer on Spartans has already been shared by u/OldPersonName. The core of the answer to your question is no. There are no soldiers in ancient history who trained their bodies as hard or looked as toned as your boyfriend likes to imagine. The reasons are firstly that the bulk of the warriors of antiquity were not permanently engaged in soldiering as a profession and lacked the time or the resources to train very much, and secondly that being very large and strong was not a feature of a good soldier. Fighting makes up only a very small part of what a soldier does, and overspecialising in combat prowess would make these soldiers more of a liability than an asset.

On the first point, the vast majority of the warriors in any army of a Greek city-state or the Roman Republic would be drafted for the occasion. In the Greek case, this meant being called up to muster for a campaign that had already been declared, carrying three days' rations. These warriors were ordinary people until that call came; they had lives to live, jobs to do, families to feed, and so on. They had little time to train and received no collective training when they were called up to fight. Their physique and fitness were only as good as their regular daily activities had made them. Both Xenophon and Plato complain that while poor farmers and wage-earners are generally up to the task, the rich, the young and the old are often unfit for duty. Still, they had to serve.

It is my understanding that the Roman legions of the Republic also were not composed of professionals but of citizens who received no training before they were called up. Their capacity as warriors grew only with prolonged service. They trained on campaign - if there was time. Evidence for systematic drill and exercise only survives for the professional Roman army of later centuries.

The only exceptions were the small standing units that were maintained by some Greek states from the later 5th century BC onwards, who were expected to spend some or all of their time training for war. It seems their training, like that of the Spartans, was not specific to warfare or fighting, but was broadly athletic: running, jumping, wrestling, discus-throwing, and the like. The veteran commander Xenophon also recommends dancing as a good general exercise for the body and hunting as a good preparation for war. A small minority of people believed it was possible train warriors specifically in heavy infantry fighting, but these were generally mocked until the 4th century BC, when they are seen playing a minor role in the various civic training programmes that pop up in the Hellenistic period. In these programmes there would be more targeted training for skills like archery or fighting on horseback, but only for the small minority of people who could afford it.

The people who underwent such training would likely have been reasonably fit. But there is no reason to assume they would be much more fit than anyone else who worked a strenuous job or exercised daily (let alone a modern person with regular access to a nutritious diet, medical care, and body enhancements like rubber-soled shoes, contact lenses, etc.). A citizen who had been through one of these Hellenistic training programmes was not treated as stronger or more intimidating than an ordinary person. The purpose of these training programmes wasn't to make citizens into hulking brutes, but to train them in civic values like discipline, obedience, moderation, and love for the customs of their city. Basic training in the use of weapons was one of the paths toward that goal. It was an innovation on the Spartan training regime, which tried to instill civic virtues without any apparent attempt to teach fighting skill.

It's also important to stress that Spartans (about whose exercise regime we know more than others) certainly did not train all day every day. In fact they probably only spent a minority of their time exercising. It is said that Spartans often welcomed the call to go on campaign, because it meant they would only be required to exercise once a day instead of twice. Far more of their time was spent managing their personal affairs (their estate, their horses and dogs, and their personal network) as well as dining and drinking with their messmates. This was far more effective at creating a cohesive society of citizen warriors.

On the second point, it was generally understood that athletes who devoted all their time and energy to growing muscle mass and strength made bad soldiers. These men were seen as overspecialised, slow, sluggish, needy, and dependent on an excess of food and sleep. There was no meaningful advantage in soldiering that could make such warriors worth cultivating. Anyone who naturally grew large or strong would no doubt be welcomed - if he could bear the burdens of soldiering. But men who created size and strength artificially through constant effort were worthless to a commander.

It is easy to understand why the Herakles type of muscle-bound giant was so disparaged by military thinkers. Battle and fighting is a tiny sliver of the practice of war. Many Greeks might never fight a pitched battle in their entire lives; even if they did fight one or two, the majority of men were not stationed in the front ranks and would rarely do any actual fighting. Cavalrymen did far more fighting than infantry, but even they would spend the vast majority of their time on other things. When it comes to raising good soldiers, the question is not: who would be the most effective in a brawl? Infinitely more important than size and strength are qualities that make a man fit to bear the real challenges of military service. Who can go for days without food? Who can march all day without water? Who can stand for hours in the summer sun? Who will keep a reliable watch through the night in driving snow? Who can carry his pack and his wounded comrades on a forced march through the mountains - and then fight a battle before breakfast? Who will stand and keep his place in the ranks even when his best friends are dying around him?

The Greeks understood that a general fitness, stamina and self-discipline combined with strong moral fibre were far more important for a warrior than raw strength or weapon skill. In most cases they could not choose; their armies were made up of levies and volunteers from all walks of life, who had trained little for warfare, if at all. But when they started to introduce training for their soldiers, the training regimes reflect their priorities. These are not regimes aimed at creating the biggest, strongest, fastest, or most lethal fighters. They are aimed at fostering endurance, agility, flexibility, and most importantly, commitment to the cause.

Finally, I should add that perhaps your boyfriend is also imagining what a Greek sculpture actually looks like. While there are some extreme cases of excessive musculature, these are usually depictions of Herakles, a literally superhuman symbol of strength. The ideal male body is not exceptionally massive. It is toned, to be sure, but much more balanced and slender than the product of modern strength routines. I think there is a conflation of categories at work here: the statements "Greek statues represent a masculine ideal" and "the masculine ideal is maximal muscle mass and tone" have merged to become "Greek statues represent maximal muscle mass and tone." But this is not actually true, except in a few rare cases that did not reflect ideals held by the Greeks, and certainly did not reflect the reality of soldiers soldiering.

[rauthschild]

Much of what we have been considering has focused on garden variety forms of fraud carried out on a massive scale. 

We've seen the bait and switch of one Presidential Office for another, the bait and switch of one State-of-State business organization for another, and even the bait and switch of Constitutional and limited governments replaced by rapacious territorial governments run by foreign, for-profit Municipal corporations in the business of providing government services.  

We've seen these substitution schemes carried on in endless variety, even down to the level of personal identity.  The living people have been impersonated by infant decedent estates and subjected to non-consensual trustee relationships with members of a foreign professional association whose members operate as Executors de Son Tort -- pillaging the estates of the living victims however they see fit. 

The members of the Bar Associations have acted as tax collectors for Rome since the Second Century BC, and came to Britain as the Companie of Merrie Men in the waning days of Elizabeth I.  Since then they have spread throughout the world, bringing the same legalistic and linguistic fraud schemes and constructive artifices with them. 

They take their portion off the top, and remit the rest to the British Monarch, who takes their cut, and who then forwards the rest to the Holy See, which distributes the majority of the loot from this system however it pleases--- typically assigning a portion to reinvestment, a portion to humanitarian works, and a portion for administration.  

We have established this from the bank transfer records. 

All of this mimics a much older system of governance, that of Imperial Rome.  No Classics scholar can miss this point.  

The Empire Charles III inherited is an Empire of the dead, an empire of corporations spreading around the globe, including England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, like a vast spiderweb, all controlled by The Chair of the Estates. 

We can now clearly see which "estates" are being referenced: all the infant decedent estates and the estates of the vacated governments of the living people being run as trusts by incorporated commercial corporations --- all aping and claiming to represent the long-dormant land jurisdiction governments they usurped by fraud and guile under color of law. 

We have mentioned the "glories of Rome" --- its far-flung trading empires, its armies, its discipline, its architectural and engineering feats, its efficient if severe justice system, its philosophers, its logical language, its reliable monetary system --- but we must also note the ugliness of Rome and the way that its system of governance predictably ends in corruption and moral degradation and alienation.  

Rome was (and is) a slave empire.  

There were two kinds of slaves in the Roman Empire -- its own citizens and everyone else.  

The Roman citizens served the Empire as indentured servants, enabled to vote in various elections, and obliged to serve in various administrative and military capacities, while enjoying certain social advantages. 

The vast armies of Rome also functioned as indentured servants of a different, lower rank, although one might be a citizen of Rome and a member of the military at the same time; these Dual citizens were subject to military law while in the service, and civilian law during retirement. 

This is the same exact structure we see being run by the Municipal Corporations housed in the District of Columbia today. 

The British Territorial U.S. Citizens are roughly divided into two classes -- a political class and a professional military class and as in Ancient Rome, they function as indentured servants, have Dual citizenship working under contracts known as Constitutions.

The rest of the population is stuck in the political status of pre-judged criminals and slaves, arbitrarily presumed to be "citizens of the United States" Municipal Corporation. 

The Ancient Romans considered their vast population of slaves in the same way a farmer regards a herd of cows or flock of sheep -- a resource to be husbanded and controlled and milked and bilked as efficiently as possible.  

We see the same attitude being expressed by the management of the Municipal Corporations today: they refer to the American General Public as "livestock" and to work accomplished in the nation states of the Union as being "down on the farm".  

Slaves occupied the same, if only slightly higher, position as animals in the Roman scheme of things, and, then as now, the Romans discussed administration of the slave nations in the same way a farmer discusses the management of livestock, right down to breeding and sterilization programs. 

We don't have to look far or long to determine the source of the problems that have been visited upon us by the planners of the pandemic. This, like Margaret Sanger's Planned Parenthood,  is part of the Eugenics Scheme introduced by the British Lord Pirbright and Cecil Rhodes in South Africa, and it is the same exact scheme embraced by the Nazis in the name of Racial Purity. And all this evil, all this wrong-thinking, comes to us directly from Imperial Rome. 

We have seen it before and have no need to see it again.   

Their attempts to justify their own criminality by asserting the inferiority of others, led the Ancient Romans and their Followers of the present day, to make the same mistakes. 

As the Romans demean other men and women, the unavoidable logic of Nature dictates that they demean themselves, too, so that they rapidly become corrupt and alienated and cruel. 

This is because they can no longer see themselves mirrored in their fellowman.  As they objectify others, they become objects. 

A dog-eat-dog mentality takes over and the criminals willing to lie, cheat, steal, murder, and abuse others, take refuge in theories about "survival of the fittest" and "natural selection" --- never noticing how inbred, sickly, and unfit in all respects they have become. 

This is a direct result of Rome's dependence on slavery.  One cannot enslave another, without becoming enslaved to something worse oneself.

Each time Rome trespasses on the Law of Freewill, the Law self-enforces the complete mental, emotional, and physical debasement of the trespassers. 

Rome never had an economy apart from war for profit and enslavement of conquered nations. Even its vaunted trade networks were driven by slaves and slaves were a major part of Rome's commodity output and net worth. They made their money by waging war for profit and by selling slaves.  They still do.  They refuse to learn anything better or different and keep butting their heads against Nature herself, with predictable results. 

Nature wins.  The Romans and their followers self-destruct, hopelessly debased and wallowing in the mental and emotional corruption that results from the practice of slavery.  Soon no drug is strong enough, no sexual perversion titillating enough, no cruelty vile enough, there is no low thing below them as they plummet head first into the pit of their own making. 

It is no mistake that the Federal Civil Service under the administration of the City Government fought on the side of the Southern State-of-State organizations in the so-called American Civil War.  

Rome could not be funded in its traditional way without institutionalized slavery.  

Knowing this, the leadership clawed its way out of the rubble they created with the so-called Fourteenth Amendment to the Corporate Constitution adopted by the British Territorial Municipal Corporation in 1868.  

While abolishing private slave ownership with the Thirteenth Amendment, the Perpetrators turned around and re-established institutionalized enslavement by creating public slave ownership via their unilaterally imposed and self-adopted Fourteenth Amendment.  

They further defined all criminals as slaves and left themselves the privilege of defining crime via legislative acts instead of Public Law.  

They were, themselves, already criminals under our Public Law, having committed treason and armed insurrection and conspiracy against the very service contracts that define them and allow them to exist and to have residence in this country. 

Because they supported the losing side ("the South") in the war, the City-operated Municipal Government owed war reparations to the British Territorial-operated Municipal Corporation -- the District Government, a circumstance that led to defining all Municipal "citizens of the United States" as criminals --- and slaves, under the Fourteenth Amendment scheme.  

The private estate trusts established by the Holy See owed money-- "war reparations" to the public estate trusts established by the British Crown. 

None of this had anything to do with rank-and-file Americans. 

The British Territorial U.S. Citizens were collecting debts from "citizens of the United States" --- the Federal Civil Service employees and their dependents. 

It was convenient for both sides to mistake average Americans as participants in this arrangement.  The more Municipal citizens of the United States, the more targets to collect from-- in the view of the British Territorial Subcontractors, and the more Municipal citizens of the United States, the more the debt was spread out -- in the view of the City-operated Subcontractors. 

Both sides of this situation were highly motivated to mistake average Americans as citizens of the United States, and so they did, via all the various private contracts the Perpetrators offered and enforced under color of law and conditions of non-disclosure. 

This includes but is not limited to the registration of births, the undisclosed copyrighting of Given Names, the creation of public and private infant decedent trusts and associated accounts, the conferring of foreign citizenship obligations, the coerced enrollment in such programs as Social Security and Selective Service (the military draft), licensing of common professions and occupations, taxation of private earnings, and subjection of the victims to foreign laws that were otherwise never applicable to them. 

Using these constructive trusts-- that is, theoretical public and private trusts, established in the name of every living American -- the pillaging of these trusts began in May of 1865, with the establishment of Military Districts and military District Courts.  

The original slave population of Federal Civil Service employees and their dependents was promptly augmented by all the former plantation slaves who unwittingly had "citizenship of the United States" conferred on them by members of the Territorial Congress, and so their earthly estates were seized upon and pillaged and used as collateral backing the debts of these monsters.  

The original Forty Acres and a Mule resettlement offer extended to former plantation slaves was promptly amended to the much less expensive expediency of unlawful conversion of the former slaves' natural political status. The vast majority didn't begin to grasp the impact of having "Federal citizenship" conferred on them and so, didn't resist.  

The few who did object and did resist the assumption of Federal citizenship, including savvy Native American leaders, were silenced by murder, by unlawful incarceration, and by internment on so-called Indian Reservations. 

The lack of full disclosure voids any contract, but people have to know about the existence of a contract before they can object to it. We have seen this non-disclosure fraud throughout --- non-disclosure to the Mothers signing paperwork at the hospitals, non-disclosure to the people "volunteering" to enroll in Social Security, non-disclosure regarding the offices being occupied, non-disclosure about the private elections substituting for public elections, non-disclosure regarding the mercenary nature of the Armed Services, and on and on and on.  

Even though it is completely illegal and unlawful to "securitize" living flesh, the Perpetrators of this fraud scheme endeavored to excuse their actions as being technically allowable, because they were addressing their actions and claims to incorporated franchises belonging to the other Municipal Corporation involved in orchestrating this fraud -- not the living people that all these corporations were named after. 

In the theoretical realm, these legal fictions could pound away at each other all day long without doing any harm to the people they were named after, and the people would be none the wiser.  

In real life, the living people were consistently misaddressed by the  Military District Courts and foreign franchises "State of State Courts" and abused as slaves even though the vast majority of these Americans didn't participate in The American Civil War and didn't owe war reparations and were not citizens of the United States, and never worked for any Federal Employers.

By keeping this impersonation and "mistaken identity" fraud going, the offending Municipal Corporations housed in the District of Columbia have continued to collect war reparations resulting from their own activities for 160 years.  All the expenses of these wars for profit were borne by the victims and all the profits were hauled home to London and Rome. 

When it came time to pay the soldiers, the Perpetrators pretended they didn't know where they were. 

Beginning with the Second World War, the men drafted and enlisted and otherwise enrolled to serve in "the US" Armed Forces, suffered from further legal presumptions.  

If they didn't write a letter to their Branch Commander saying otherwise, it was presumed that they stayed forever in Federal jurisdiction and chose never to go home to the nation states of the Union when their tour of duty ended.  As a result, these veterans couldn't access their Constitutional Guarantees or collect the stock portfolios and other perks they were owed. As a result, they remained subject to the foreign private law of the Municipal Corporations, and were forever deprived of the freedom they fought for. 

What began with the U.S. Citizens in the U.S. Military claiming war reparations from the Federal Civil Service citizens of the United States, has been turned around so that as veterans, they are viewed as citizens of the United States themselves.  All of this chicanery is taking place between two Municipal Corporations, both of which are ultimately owned by the Pope, and millions of Americans have been caught in the middle of it, misidentified, targeted, and defrauded. 

As both of these corporations are ultimately owned and operated by the Pope it is indeed ridiculous to pretend that they are at war, or that taking from the left pocket to pay the right pocket is significantly different in its net result to taking from the right pocket to pay the left.  

As the lawful government of this country, we wish for this criminal activity on the part of our Federal Subcontractors and the promotion of phony wars to stop.  

The de facto enslavement of the Municipal citizens of the United States and the undisclosed unlawful conversion of millions of Americans into this foreign political status continues to this day; when cornered, the Holy See has claimed that all this is "voluntary" and that the victims of this scheme are receiving "benefits" from it. 

The IRS Commissioner and numerous employees of that private extortion ring have also claimed that payment of Federal Income Taxes by the majority of Americans is 100% voluntary.  

What they are failing to address is the lack of disclosure and force under color of law that attended the creation of all the purported "voluntary" private contracts supporting these claims of "voluntary compliance"----and all the vicious enforcement actions that result when the volunteers no longer comply.  

It's impossible for a contract to be voluntary if its not 100% disclosed, and it's also impossible for it to be voluntary when it is established under coercion --- for example, being told that you can't have a job in America without a Social Security account, being told that you can't pay a debt except with more debt, being told that you "have to" sign up for Selective Service, and all the other directives and self-interested mandates which apply only to the Federal citizenry being foisted on average Americans, instead.  

A closer examination of the circumstance shows that the victims aren't even aware of what they are supposedly volunteering to do, and the purported benefits are all paid for by the victims themselves. 

The citizens of Ancient Rome received "benefits", too --- in the form of salt allotments.  Roman foot soldiers received salt as wages.  This is the origin of the saying, "You are worth your salt."   

The Roman Government outlawed the ancient practice of harvesting salt from the sea, and arranged to use salt mined from its own salt mines instead.  Thus, it created an arbitrary value and market for salt, one of the most common minerals on Earth, and paid itself for paying its own soldiers and citizens a salt allotment that the victims ultimately paid for via taxation. 

Remember Gandhi's March to the Sea, and the British Raj standing in the way of people seeking to harvest salt from the sea?  There they stood in their uniforms with their billy clubs and rifles, beating down and firing upon the crowds of unarmed people peacefully asserting their traditional right to harvest salt from the sea.  

It's the same exact thing, another rerun. The British, like the Romans before them, outlawed harvesting salt from the sea--- and for the same reasons.

The people of our country and all the other countries impacted by this criminality have been told that they have to sign up for a Social Security Number and have a Social Security Account in order to have a job. 

This is a half-truth at best, as it only applies to Federal employment.  

The rest of the populace, who have all been deliberately misinformed and who were never seeking Federal employment in the first place, are coerced under color of law to enroll in Social Security, a Federal pension program for Federal employees and their dependents. 

Even the fact that this program is designed for Federal employees and their dependents is never disclosed in any of the enrollment literature. There is no discussion of who a "dependent" might be, and whether or not you are one. 

Yet, the Holy See and its British Territorial Subcontractors describe this action as "voluntary", and claim that it creates a lifetime private agreement to accept servitude and taxation as a Municipal citizen of the United States in exchange for these benefits that the victims pay for.   

The Perpetrators use this as an excuse to collect 7.5% of the victim's total lifetime earnings as a Social Security Tax and charge their employers a matching 7.5% tax.  They also use this purported private contract as an excuse to collect Federal Income Tax and take another 30% to 40% on average of the victim's lifetime earnings.   

Like the Salt Tax, there is no actual benefit involved; quite the opposite. 

If the victims were allowed to simply keep their earnings they would enjoy a substantially better standard of living throughout their lives, and if they invested just half of it, in a low interest bearing account, they would be able to continue to enjoy that elevated standard of living and pay for their medical insurance and their own end of life expenses.  

Instead, they pay not only for themselves, but for all the other slaves who didn't work and earn and contribute to this system.  This is not a chosen and willful act of charity on the part of those deprived; it's a political and administrative choice made "for" them by the Executors de Son Tort operating the public and private trusts that have been named after them.

If the unproductive or injured or unemployed slaves don't receive basic support, they get restive and turn ugly. so they must be provided for, but obviously, the Roman slave masters don't want to give up an extra dime, and it is overall more convenient for the other slaves to pick up the dead weight and carry the burden of their fellow slaves' support.  

The Perpetrators have used the City-operated Municipal Corporation and its millions of franchises as a Universal Debtor and oppressed its ill-gotten population of slaves accordingly.  Millions of Americans have been imposed upon by these criminals acting under color of law and in the guise of their own Federal employees.

The money and later, the credit, collected for the Social Security Administration (another public-private subcontractor of the Federal Subcontractors) was promised to be set aside in a separate trust fund for the benefit of those contributing to it, but the rapacious Territorial Congress reinterpreted the agreement after the fact, and put all the Social Security money into the General Fund to be spent by their own precious selves on whatever pleased them. 

Now these same guilty and profligate Municipal Corporation(s) masquerading as and claiming to represent our government are going bankrupt and telling millions of American Seniors that their Social Security account payments may be interrupted or not paid out at all, depending on the actions of the United States Trustees, who were never appointed by us and who have no business even being here. 

There is no contract or treaty allowing a probate court to exist in this country, so the institution of "the United States Trustees" and their disposition of our property is another self-interested swindle.

Please note that there is a fundamental difference between a benefit acquired as a result of hard work and contribution, especially hard work and contribution to a trust, and a benefit received free gratis as a gift.  While both may be beneficial, one is owed as an obligation both in business and in moral conscience --- and the other is not.  

Those who worked and contributed their "forty quarters" worth of taxation, a period of ten years labor, minimum, are owed the full benefit of their contribution, whereas all the freeloaders being benefited from Social Security without paying into it, are in a completely different status. 

Further self-interest on the part of the Municipal Corporations has allowed the prejudicial and arbitrary practice of disinheriting a surviving spouse, denying them services and benefits that they and their spouse are both literally owed by these corporations. 

Seniors throughout the western world should be comfortable in their old age, having earned support for everything they need. Instead, they are eking along with substandard services and penurious payments, because the Corporate Administrators have spent their pension and medical insurance money giving benefits away to, and buying votes from, people who didn't contribute a dime. 

Now, even the substandard services are in jeopardy. 

Thanks to this modern day Salt Fraud, calling goods and services we pay for "benefits" and converting our rights into privileges based on the false claim that we are all voluntarily adopting Federal citizenship, millions of seniors are going hungry and losing their homes and this is directly attributable to the Municipal Corporations paying themselves and their cronies out of these same pension and medical insurance funds. 

We wish for all funds collected by the Social Security Tax from 1933 to date to be audited.  

We wish for the contributions of Americans who were never Federal Employees or were Federal Employees for short periods of time during their working career, but not eligible for Federal Retirement, to be set aside as the first priority obligation of the Municipal Corporations and Principals responsible for this debacle. 

We wish for an immediate and permanent stop to the disbursement of Social Security funds for the purposes of vote buying and refugee resettlement.   

We wish for both an end to the current genocide efforts aimed against the Priority Creditors of these Municipal Corporations, and the illegal and unlawful importation of foreign workers to replace those same Priority Creditors. 

We wish for top-rated health and rehabilitative care for our Seniors.

More than enough money could have been and would have been generated by the Social Security Fund itself, if the Perpetrators had simply left the program alone and let it function as advertised.

Instead, we have another example of non-consensual "redefinition, rebranding, and relabeling"  resulting in fraudulent and non-consensual substitution of an inferior product under color of law, and the continued misrepresentation and malfeasance of proxy-holders acting in an undisclosed capacity in conflict of interest. 

We have, again, the theft of funds belonging to one population, going to benefit another population, and while this is cloaked as philanthropy, it is better known as vote-buying on someone else's nickel. 

This all by itself should be sufficient to justify the immediate and permanent liquidation of these offending Municipal Corporations and the return of their assets and all associated public and private trust interests  to the people who have been injured.  

It should also be sufficient motivation to strip all Congressional retirement benefits from those members of Congress who have promoted and allowed these conditions to impact the General Public while keeping very nice pensions and perks for themselves.  

They should also be punished for exempting themselves and their families, and their staff members and their families, from participating in the forced vaccination program they foisted on nearly everyone else. Nothing speaks their guilt and bad faith more plainly than their avoidance of the evil they pushed on everyone else. 

We wish for all those who participated in re-instituting slavery after the Civil War and during the Wilson Administration and also during the arbitrarily created Great Depression, to be exhumed, cast out. and buried at sea.  These white-collar traitors to this country and to humanity, deserve no peaceful resting place on our land and soil. 

To recap:  

Slavery was outlawed in this country by the Thirteenth Amendment in 1865 and then, reinstituted by the Fourteenth Amendment to the so-called Corporate Constitution in 1868.  

Slavery was outlawed worldwide by the League of Nations in 1926, and then, resuscitated by Franklin Delano Roosevelt in 1933.

Thanks to Rome, slavery has been suffered by the living population of this planet more or less continuously since ancient times, each time with the same result: the utter debasement and corruption of those who enslave others, and theft from and abuse of those enslaved. 

Slavery is a practice that ruins the slave owner through debasement of  moral conscience, and which ruins the slave through abuse.  It has absolutely no redeeming value and has been repeatedly outlawed as a result. 

The one force that continues to advocate in slavery's favor is the same stubborn and unrepentant government that has refused to give up its addiction to slavery as a means to promote its own unjust enrichment--- the City of Rome and, in the present time, its Municipal Corporations. 

If the Romans love slavery so much, let them contemplate their own enslavement to ---and dependence upon--- evil. 

Having resolved to end slavery as an institution, we did not agree to the abolishment of private slave ownership merely in order to make way for public slave ownership. We have learned the lessons of slavery and learned them well.  We have seen them before and have no need to see them again. 

We wish for the total, complete, and permanent end of slavery in any form in any venue whatsoever.  

Rome's excuses for practicing slavery and its penchant for mercenary wars for profit, have never been sufficient at any time in Rome's history, and they are still lacking now.  

We maintain that a man having basic and unalienable natural rights may not be deprived of any of those rights as a condition of employment or by virtue of some legal contrivance seeking to redefine the nature and status of mankind, including but not limited to impersonation of living people as corporations nor secret alteration of mankind's genome by criminals without conscience. 

We wish for immediate and drastic correction of the present body representing the Holy Roman Empire Successor interest and the owner-operators of both these Municipal Corporations housed in the District of Columbia.   

Members of the Bar are Prime Movers in setting up the confidence rackets and name games we have described throughout. 

They, members of the Bar, have willingly set up and have run the unauthorized military district courts and probate courts as for-profit enterprises disinterested in justice. They have harvested the profits from their neighbors, friend and foe alike, and have benefited themselves from this legalized racketeering against the same people who are their ultimate employers and to whom they owe good faith under contract. 

None of these frauds upon the Public would be possible without the willing participation of the members of the Bar Associations and their abject refusal to prosecute crimes that bolster their own economic interests. Indeed, these men who hide behind the sanctity of their assumed offices, do not blush to commit crimes every single day that they operate as bank officers pretending to be ministers of justice. 

All that we have discussed here and throughout our presentation amounts to commercial crime; there are no politics of black or white, republican or democrat, no Catholic or Protestant --- all have suffered equally from the criminal Breach of Trust and dishonored Service Contracts. 

As in Ancient Rome, a military putsch led to the Empire of the Cities, and now leads to destruction as a result of criminality and resulting immorality.  

We wish for this sickening cycle of stupidity to stop and call upon those responsible for it to stop it.  

All of this has come about as a result of: (1) idolatry of money; (2) the Doctrine of Scarcity; (3) Roman refusal to find another way to make a living; (4) Bad faith and legal chicanery; (5) Breach of Trust and Commercial Service Contracts; (5) institutionalized crime enabled by members of the Bar Associations. 

We wish for an end to the human-centered cosmos theory and all the nasty small-minded grasping and dishonest activities associated with it. 

We are all beings of light living in a body made of dust. We have better things to do with what time we have than to fight and cheat and lie and steal and murder 

We must be set free from the repetition of all these fraud schemes and  atoned--  no longer subject to Satan and his nonsense, fully apprised of the banal and duplicitous nature of evil, whether such evil is found within or outside of any given institution, personified as an idol, named or unnamed. 

We have passed the tests and must be released. 

[dwellordream]

“...Warrior has a fairly obvious etymology, being related to war (itself a derivative of French guerre); as guerre becomes war, so Old French guerreieor became Middle English werreior and because that is obnoxious to say, modern English ‘warrior’ (which is why it is warrior and not ‘warrer’ as we might expect if it was regularly constructed).

By contrast, soldier comes – it has a tortured journey which I am simplifying – from the sold/sould French root meaning ‘pay’ which in turn comes from Latin solidus, a standard Late Roman coin. So there is clearly something about pay, or the lack of pay involved in this distinction, but clearly it isn’t just pay or the word mercenary would suit just as well.

So here is the difference: a warrior is an individual who wars, because it is their foundational vocation, an irremovable part of their identity and social position, pursued for those private ends (status, wealth, place in society). So the core of what it is to be a warrior is that it is an element of personal identity and also fundamentally individualistic (in motivation, to be clear, not in fighting style – many warriors fought with collective tactics, although I think it fair to say that operation in units is much more central to soldiering than the role of a warrior, who may well fight alone). A warrior remains a warrior when the war ends. A warrior remains a warrior whether fighting alone or for themselves.

By contrast, a soldier is an individual who soldiers (notably a different verb, which includes a sense of drudgery in war-related jobs that aren’t warring per se) as a job which they may one day leave behind, under the authority of and pursued for a larger community which directs their actions, typically through a system of regular discipline. So the core of what it is to be a soldier is that it is a not-necessarily-permanent employment and fundamentally about being both in and in service to a group. A soldier, when the war or their term of service ends, becomes a civilian (something a warrior generally does not do!). A soldier without a community stops being a soldier and starts being a mercenary.

Incidentally, this distinction is not unique to English. Speaking of the two languages I have the most experience in, both Greek and Latin have this distinction. Greek has machetes (μαχητής, lit: ‘battler,’ a mache being a battle) and polemistes (πολεμιστής, lit: ‘warrior,’ a polemos being a war); both are more common in poetry than prose, often used to describe mythical heroes. Interestingly the word for an individual that fights out of battle order (when there is a battle order) is a promachos (πρόμαχος, lit: ‘fore-fighter’), a frequent word in Homer.

But the standard Greek soldier wasn’t generally called any of these things, he was either a hoplite (ὁπλίτης, ‘full-equipped man,’ named after his equipment) or more generally a stratiotes (στρατιώτης, lit, ‘army-man’ but properly ‘soldier’). That general word, stratiotes is striking, but its root is stratos (στρατός, ‘army’); a stratiotes, a soldier, for the ancient Greeks was defined by his membership in that larger unit, the army. One could be a machetes or a polemistes alone, but only a stratiotes in an army (stratos), commanded, presumably, by a general (strategos) in service to a community.

Latin has the same division, with similar shades of meaning. Latin has bellator (‘warrior’) from bellum (‘war’), but Roman soldiers are not generally bellatores (except in a poetic sense and even then only rarely), even when they are actively waging war. Instead, the soldiers of Rome are milites (sing. miles). The word is related to the Latin mille (‘thousand’) from the root ‘mil-‘ which indicates a collection or combination of things.

Milites are thus – like stratiotes, men put together, defined by their collective action for the community (strikingly, groups acting for individual aims in Latin are not milites but latrones, bandits – a word Roman authors also use very freely for enemy irregular fighters, much like the pejorative use of ‘terrorist’ and ‘insurgent’ today) Likewise, the word for groups of armed private citizens unauthorized by the state is not ‘militia,’ but ‘gang.’ The repeated misuse by journalists of ‘militia’ which ought only refer to citizens-in-arms under recognized authority, drives me to madness).

...The idea of the ‘universal warrior’ erases these important distinctions, instead supposing that there is really only one way that combatants relate to their societies, often by anachronistically retrojecting the values of modern soldiers onto pre-modern warriors (as Pressfield does, assuming that modern soldiers share a value system with the Spartiates; they do not).

...As you might well imagine warriors and soldiers have quite different values and a very different relationship to their societies. It is perilous to generalize overmuch, but generally, warrior-classes tend to sit at the top of their social hierarchy, ruling the rest by a mix of force and legitimacy born from their military success. The honor or glory of a warrior’s actions derive from their unique excellence and combat skills. Consequently, in societies with warriors we often see a strong emphasis on personal identifiablility for those warriors, often in stark contrast to the ‘lowlier’ soldiers in their employ, either in the form of personal banners or a high social value placed on the gathering of specific spoils or trophies (or similar acts, such as counting coup).

(As a quick aside, because this is a point we will come back to, it is important to note the place of ‘warriors’ within their societies. Within non-agrarian societies – hunter-gatherers, Steppe nomads, etc – it is generally the case that all free adult males are expected to fight and are thus warriors. By contrast, ‘warriors’ within agrarian societies appear as an aristocratic elite. There is no ‘all elite warrior’ society, despite this being a common trope in the public thinking about the Spartans or Vikings or what have you (and one, I should note, Pressfield explicitly invokes).

There are societies where every male, from the most fearsome to the most incompetent, is expected to be a warrior (these societies have at best an indifferent track record against more specialized societies) because those societies lack significant amounts of specialization within gender roles (these are generally non-agrarian societies) and there are societies with a small aristocratic elite that consider themselves warriors, where the real strength of the society comes from the great masses below them. Put a pin in that point for a couple of weeks, we’ll come back to it.)

Soldiers, by contrast, are – almost by definition – never at the top of their hierarchy, because they must be in service to a community which can give them orders. That isn’t to say soldiers are not honored – in many societies they are (although in many societies they were not; the professional soldiers of Early Modern Europe were very poorly thought of by their officers and civilians), but that honor derives from duty and service. The importance of individual exploits never wholly goes away (these are humans, after all) but is often far more strongly leavened with the importance of group-belonging (unit cohesion). And of course, being not generally wealthy aristocrats whose position of social dominance generates large rents with which to maintain them, soldiers must often be paid (though in conscription based systems, often quite poorly out of an understanding that soldiering was a civic duty and also a civic honor).

To be clear, this is not to flatten out the distinctions between different warriors and soldiers! As we’ve seen, a Mongol warrior was not the same as a Sioux warrior, nor was a Roman soldier the same as a Han Dynasty soldier or a Macedonian soldier. It is also not, by the by, to suggest that the two types cannot coexist in the same society either; quite the opposite – complex, specialized societies with warrior classes almost always also include a soldiery which serves that aristocratic warrior class (indeed, the word ‘sergeant’ – now a military rank – comes via French from the Latin serviens, ‘a serving man,’ as the term for the lower-social-status soldiers who served the knightly aristocrat in his army).

But as a system of classification, we may safely conclude that there are soldiers, there are warriors, and there is – as a product of their definition – no real overlap between these two groups. Attempting to treat them as a single undifferentiated whole is sure to make a giant mess of their motivations and social roles because they occupy such different places in their societies. But this ‘universal warrior’ and the attendant glorification of a ‘warrior ideal’ isn’t merely a problem for understanding the past. It is a problem in the present.”

- Bret Devereaux, “The Universal Warrior, Part I: Soldiers, Warriors, and…”

[no-name-mutt]

And (Working Title)

Mostly unedited here. Probably many mistakes.

Ji-Woo Suzuki was six generations removed from her ancestor Shimazu Nariakira, a galvanizing feudal lord of Japan during the Meiji Restoration. Shimazu Nariakira’s most famous quote was words that Ji-Woo worked to install firmly into her life.

"if we take the initiative, we can dominate; if we do not, we will be dominated."

  After years of war, scheming and destructive cajoling, Korea was annexed by Japan in 1910. Korea was considered a part of Japan until the end of WWII and subsequently,  the fall of the Japanese Empire in 1945.

 During this time, Ji-Woo’s great grandmother, Jeong-Ja was forcibly betrothed. Jeong-Ja (ji-young ja) was eleven years old. Jeong-Ja was arranged to marry Sora Nariakira. Sora abhorred the thought of marrying a Korean woman. Sora, as with most other Japanese people during this time, saw Koreans as second class citizens to the Japanese. In their marriage, Sora took every opportunity to order Jeong-Ja like a slave. One late night, Sora forced himself upon her and Jeong-Ja became pregnant.

 A daughter was born, Hina Nariakira. While Korea was under Japanese control, it was initially illegal to change your name. As it were, Koreans that refused to change their names, were unable to enroll in school, receive mail or even receive meal rations. Eventually the colonial bureaucracy allowed the changing of names, and as much as 84% of Koreans changed their names. Speaking the Korean language was banned and Korean newspapers and printing houses were forced to close. Nearly 200,000 ancient and historical documents were burned. Korean youths were volunteered and conscripted into the Japanese army. Shinto shrines were built, and became places of forced worship. Japanese colonial policy became a clear policy of unlimited cultural erasure. 

Hina attended school and became a voracious reader and journal keeper. Hina, as a product of her environment, became fluent in both Japanese and Korean. From an early age, it was evident that Hina was highly intelligent. Her vocabulary in both Korean and Japanese quickly surpassed Jeong-Ja’s and Sora’s respectively. Though Sora was quick to forbid speaking Korean in the household, Jeong-Ja taught her in private.  

Sora frequently had Hina recite aloud his military orders. If there was ever a word that he didn’t understand, he would strike her. This was a sign to make the order as comprehensive as possible, though his reasoning was always, “Do not waste my time with pointless words!” 

Life for Jeong-Ja and Hina was of unceasing malaise. Their only solace was in each other. 

From reading Sora’s military orders, Hina became familiar with impending military movements, encampments and strategies. Hina learned of an upcoming landing of US Ships to discuss treaty possibilities. Hina devised a plan in which Jeong-Ja and her would flee their home to seek refuge with the US Navy. Somehow, discovering their plan, Sora attempted to stop the two from fleeing.

In a frenetic haste, Hina jumped on to Sora’s back, holding on to him with an arm around his neck. He drew his Manchukuo manufactured pistol, the Sugiura, and started firing wildly. Hina kept a dull pen-knife for protection and stabbed him three times in the chest, and twice in the neck. In a matter of seconds, Sora had fired every bullet in his pistol, one of which struck Jeong-ja in the head. She died instantly. Hina fled to the US Navy ship, covered in blood and alone.

The Korean peninsula has been in an imperial theater of war since the late 1800s. It remains a strong strategic naval position and is between three of the strongest and most hostile countries; Russia, China and Japan. 

Hina found herself as a refugee, aboard a US battle cruiser. From Hina’s journal, we know that while aboard the ship, she was raped multiple times by a Japanese-American Navy captain. Hina became pregnant. Clinton James Suzuki was a rising star among the ranks and arranged his marriage with Hina. He thought that having a baby out of wedlock would be detrimental to his military career. Hesitant, and silently unwilling, Hina agreed to the marriage. Through this, Hina became a US citizen.The wedding was expedited and facilitated onboard the cruiser. As her belly grew, so did her hatred for Clinton Suzuki.

Hina silently imagined his death in whatever setting they found themselves in. If he choked while eating, she wouldn’t save him. If he had fallen overboard, she wouldn’t call for help. If he slipped and fell down the stairs, she would elect to simply walk away. When the two arrived back in the US, there was to be a Navy welcoming parade in port. All of the seamen were to be standing with their wives (if they were married) on the dock as the Navy cruisers came back to port. Though Hina’s husband would have preferred to not be seen with his very young and very pregnant immigrant wife, he thought it would be a great opportunity to rub shoulders with those higher in command. 

As the ship was coming into port, the anchor was dropped, and four inch thick mooring lines were lashed from the anchor to the ship to the dock. Hina’s husband was the first one out on the dock behind the commanding officers, hoping that it would impress a lieutenant, admiral or anyone with any sort of authority. She happily let him stand as far away as possible from her. 

As the last mooring line was being lashed, a massive and potent rogue wave rocked the ship, and snapped the thick cable. The cable whipped downward and cut him cleanly in half from the right collar bone, down through the groin. His body fell apart like a sliced melon. Hina was silently imagining him drowning in the bay, but she never could have envisioned that. For a second she was stunned, and then started to laugh hysterically. She was finally free.

Hina easily found translator work. Although Hina adhered to strict ideals of frugality, she made enough as a single mother to comfortably support her newborn son Kaito Suzuki. Kaito Suzuki stood an average five foot nine inches. His hair was short, poofy, and straw like. His arms and legs were thin and underdeveloped, though his torso was somehow, rather round. Kaito had a round face, unremitting acne and eyebrows in need of a good trimming. He attended public school. He was unremarkably below average. He found little interest in extracurricular sports and clubs; instead, he spent most of his time skipping class, smoking pot and hanging out with his like-minded friends. After barely graduating high school, Kaito was given an ultimatum, either find work or attend college. In the end, Kaito decided to move out of his mother’s house and found work as a second shift janitor at night and weekend garbage collector. 

Kaito Suzuki and Ji-Woo I(the first) first met when she decided to stay late at the commercial real estate office where she worked. Kaito was just starting his shift, starting by collecting the garbage around the office.  Ji-Woo I was a quiet, mild mannered individual. She came from a good home and an affluent community. Ji-Woo I was going through a “rebellious” phase and began making a flurry of short-sighted decisions all revolving around Kaito. The two developed addictions to different drugs and made small time scams in order to fund these new habits. Ji-Woo I unexpectedly became pregnant. The night they found out, Kaito grabbed her car keys and said he was going out for cigarettes and never returned. Hina was the only person in the delivery room when the daughter was born. Ji-Woo I was emotionless. She stared emptily at the crying newborn girl. Ji-Woo I looked to Hina in silent disdain. Hina nodded in affirmation. When Ji-Woo I was released from the hospital, Hina drove her to the airport and handed her some money. Neither Hina nor the newborn baby girl ever saw her again.

Hina decided to name the baby Ji-Woo II, after her mother. (Whom despite the situation, actually quite liked.)

As a baby, she cried constantly. Even in sleep, she murmured and wept in unsilence. Ji-Woo would stop crying only momentarily if she were fed pureed sweet potatoes or ripe apricots. 

When Ji-Woo was six months old, she stopped breathing for nearly two minutes. Hina panicked, rushed to the emergency room. But by the time Hina arrived at the the hospital and Ji-Woo was breathing again and after that point, Ji-Woo never cried again. It’s as if she were an entirely different baby. Ji-Woo excelled in school and surpassed all of those around her. She had few friends throughout her youth. It wasn’t until her mid twenties when she learned how to simply “get along” with those around her. 

Ji-Woo took a master’s degree in Japanese History. Then continued on to get a doctorate  in Korean History. After a few bored years of teaching, Ji-Woo left to attend law school.

Everything about Ji-Woo was professional. Her skin was fine, with a healthy touch of melanin. She had high cheekbones and slightly sunken cheeks. A slightly upturned, pointed nose, symmetrical eyebrows. A single asymmetrically placed mole populated her face. She was beautiful. Equally strong and delicate, like the skeletal system of a great predatory bird. Her hair was long, to her lower back, though it was always pulled taut into a perfect braid. She wore simple, gold Tiffany earrings. She purchased them for herself. Ji-Woo’s wardrobe consisted mostly of well-fitting dress suits that obeyed her movements like a harshly conditioned army. There was never a loose thread out of place. Not even so much as a single piece of lint dared to adhere itself to her. She had an athletic, hidden, muscular build that I couldn’t help but to admire.

As a lawyer, Ji-Woo was ruthless. She constructed such pithy arguments, the opposition was often left speechless. And on a few occasions they were left literally stammering. Ever professional, Ji-Woo never showed any form of celebration or elation in victory. She spoke clearly, with seriousness and a dose of harnessed emphasis. Ji-Woo’s days were neither ‘good days’ nor ‘bad days’. She took on the day’s obstacles as if she had rehearsed them wholly the day before (though probably didn’t need it.).

The first time that I saw Ji-Woo Suzuki I was somehow dragged into a meeting of which I had no reason for being in attendance. I was struck by her. Though I prayed I could stay hidden, as a fly on the wall. Ji-Woo Suzuki led a team of class-action specific lawyers. Without ever speaking with her, one would simply assume she was the unquestionable leader. Only after an introduction, Ji-Woo Suzuki would offer to call her “Ji”, as a favor to you. It was not uncommon for people to reply to this offer by thanking her. Though, they were often left deciding whether to continue calling her Ji-Woo out of respect or interpreting her offer as an order. Most people continued to call her Ji-Woo or Ms. Suzuki.

I was staring at her. She was unpacking her case notes. People in the room started conversing. She uncapped a Montblanc rollerball and began to write. Just then, she stopped writing, wrinkled her brow in confusion and looked up directly at me as if to ask, “Who are you, and why are you here?” Her look was sharp, piercing but gentle. A needle and thread. 

She looked right through me. And that was the first time I knew, 

I was going to marry Ji-Woo Suzuki.

The meeting must have ended. I assumed so because the room had started to clear out. I hadn’t really been paying attention, not that I should have been. I wasn’t even supposed to be there in the first place! 

I pretended to collect my things slowly trying to match Ji-Woo’s pace so we could incidentally leave the conference room at the same time. This was quite difficult because I had no belongings to pack up, nor a briefcase to put them in. So I took out my phone from my pocket and pretended to reply to an email. I looked up again and she was already pushing her chair in (when did that happen?!). She moved with intent. I hurriedly shoved my phone into my pocket and jumped up to meet her in the doorway. 

“Hi”, I said, giving my best impression of someone far more casual than myself.

Ji looked at me quizzically, replied dryly with “Hello” and continued past me. Just like a fighter-jet breaking the sound barrier, she was gone, leaving only a potent echo. I must’ve blacked out, because the next thing I knew, she was already halfway down the hall. A paper came loose from her briefcase and she didn’t seem to notice.

This

 was

 my

 chance. 

I fast-walked down the hall as coolly as possible, “hey wait!” I called out. But she was already rounding the corner down the hall. I picked up the piece of paper, in perfect cursive writing it read,

I see you, do you see me?

5:00pm

My temple wrinkled in confusion. I looked up again and she was gone. The heart in my chest reminded me of its presence with a mighty thump. I felt myself sweat. Was this meant for me to find? I returned to the copy room and returned to my work. 

But all I could think of was one Miss Ji-Woo Suzuki. One moment she was there, and then she was not. 

In the periphery, 

of where I wanted to be. 

I felt invigorated. Anxious and curious. 

Piqued.

I got back to the copy room and looked at my digital casio watch, 2:04pm.

My inbox of “to be copied” was now spilling out. I assumed position in front of the plastic, off-white monstrosity. 

First, I’ll take the source material in my left hand! Then! I read the copy instructions and made the proper adjustments and number of copies. After the copies were completed I placed a single paper clip on the ream and set it in the pick up box. Organized alphabetically. To most people, the job would seem boring, though I would argue that there are quite a lot of nuances to it. For example: Eighteen copies of pages one through three, six copies of pages four through ten, and that’s an easy one. 

A page goes in, the scanning light travels from right to left, and left to right, pages come out. I know the machine inside and out. I know because I have had to take it apart and reassemble it, not without hiccups, of course. I went home that day with a black ink stain on my chest. Like I was blasted by a shotgun, and bled black. The skin on my belly was still stained where the ink and bled through the shirt. 

Occasionally pieces of dust or folded paper would cast a shadow on the rest of the page. It caused a ghastly, black, pixelated shadow to print on the copies. Sometimes the shadowed copies were fine to pass along, sometimes, they were better discarded. 

At five pm, I stood outside of Ji-Woo’s office. I was nervous to enter. She sat behind a sleek mid-century desk with her legs folded. Her slate gray dress suit and Mac Pro reminded me of a brutalist era sculpture I saw once as a teenager. I didn’t understand the sculpture then, though maybe I do now. 

She had nice legs, I absolutely understood that. I caught glimpses of her toned calf muscles through the gap of her desk as I paced as casually as possible in front of the open doorway. 

After a few paces back and forth, I heard her call out to me, “You can come in, you know.” I froze. Then somehow came to find myself sitting in the chair across from hers. The desk remained between us. I didn’t know what to say, at that moment, I couldn’t be sure if I knew how to speak. 

“I noticed you today in the Carter vs. Amadeo-Hastings meeting.” She said. 

“No… I mean, yes, I was there. Just trying to learn what it’s all about.” Do you think she bought it?

“Are you interested in practicing law?”

“Uhm, yeah, interested? Definitely.” 

I actually had only worked at the office for about a month. I was still fairly unclear on what business the office conducted, let alone the ‘partners’. Before, I worked at the busiest copy center in Seattle. I got let go after I yelled at a customer, “Stop breaking my shit!” and in my defense, they were going to break the

Konica Minolta c754e! Those things aren’t cheap, and the replacement parts take three weeks to get to the states. 

 “Would you like to go to dinner with me?” She asked. 

    I felt a draft in the back of my agape mouth. Ji-Woo liked a breeze in the office. I found that out later that night when she told me at dinner. 

We continued to see each other after work every Tuesday and during the day on Saturday. This was when Ji-Woo allowed herself recreational time. I learned a lot about Ji-Woo’s schedule during this initial period of dating. I found her structure and stoicism quite sexy. She made all of the reservations at restaurants. And not just nice restaurants, she even made reservations for tacky hole-in-the-wall places that she knew I would like. A few times she would order for me. Like a mind reader, she would always order exactly what I wanted yet never in a demeaning way. She seemed to know exactly when I wanted to speak for myself and when I was comfortable with her ordering for me. 

After about a month, midday on a Friday, she sent me an email. The subject line simply read, 

“Tomorrow Night 4/16/2019”

Hi Kentaro, 

Please meet me at my house tomorrow night at 6:00pm. We’ll go to dinner. I’ve made reservations at 7:30. Casual attire.

Ji

This was more or less the usual date query. Though, interestingly, she signed it at just Ji. Futhermore, she would usually ask to meet at six with reservations about the time it took to get to the restaurant. Surely we weren’t going somewhere that was an hour and a half away. 

That night, I was talking to an old friend of mine, Leo, on the phone. I was telling him about Ji-Woo and I. About how I eagerly awaited those Tuesdays and Saturdays. And about the one time I asked her out on a whim on a Friday night. She declined. I was upset for a while. But respected her need for personal space, and strict schedule. “It’s just how she is”. 

 I told Leo that we hadn’t had sex. “That’s good dude, she’s probably a Sazae Oni” he replied sarcastically. I didn’t understand his reference, but as his tone implied, it was a snide comment I’d best ignore... but didn’t. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I asked sharply. 

“Sa-zae Oh-ni!” He said louder and slower in syllables, as if it were common knowledge. He continued, “They’re these folk tale snail mermaids that preyed on Japanese pirates. They would pretend to be in distress, but when the pirates brought them onboard, the sazae oni would chop off their balls and hold them ransom for gold. They’re like, obsessed with gold or something.” A weird silence filled the phone line as I looked around the room, waiting for him to finish. 

He started again, “ok, it doesn’t matter. You’re the Japanese one, should you know what a sazae oni is?”

I held my lips taught, annoyedly. 

“Well, is she someone you’d bring home to meet your mother?” He asked me. I thought about this for a while. I imagined a cartoon caricature version of my mother asking me, “Why would you want to be with someone that is so serious all the time?”

Up until this point I had never even seen the inside of her apartment. Whenever I was to meet her there, she would already be outside the gate waiting for me. 

That Saturday night I took a cab to her apartment building as I usually did. It started to rain on the way over and fog grew in density the closer I got to the apartment. I didn’t check the forecast beforehand, and I didn’t have an umbrella. I arrived at the gate and Ji-Woo wasn’t around. I checked my phone for any missed messages from her, but there were none. 

    I buzzed her intercom. “Hi, I’m here. Are you there?”

    “Still getting ready, come up.” 

She buzzed me in. This was it, I was finally going to see where(and how!) she lived. 6th Floor, apartment 6F. Embarrassingly, I panted a bit when I got to her floor. I stood on her doormat, it said ‘Welcome’. I was slightly damp, everywhere. I wore an old grey knit sweater. I had washed it so many times the collar was getting tiny holes. Faded blue jeans and shabby sneakers. I checked my casio, 6:00pm exactly. “Yes! Perfect timing” I exclaimed silently as I clenched my fist in victory, then knocked on the door insouciantly. “Come in!”, I could hear Ji-Woo shout from behind the door. I opened the door, slowly. I floated in like an astronaut, opening the hatch to an alien planet. I opened it to a small foyer. There was a modern-looking coat rack which I hung my soggy jacket on. To the right was an inviting, lamp-lit living room. There was one of those long arched floor lamps spilling its light on an Eames Lounge chair. I imagined Ji-woo perched on it, with a warm beverage, reading a dense book. Floor to ceiling bookshelves and floor to ceiling windows lined the rest of the room, I realized it was a top floor corner apartment. Black and white photographs and pen drawings hung on the wall. There were blankets draped on the modern couches. It felt uncharacteristically cozy. The furniture all flowed perfectly, like it was a team of designers’ life’s work. 

    On the left there was another closet. Then further down, it opened up to the dining room. “In here” She shouted, from that direction. 

    I kicked off my tattered sneakers and the uppers deflated like popped balloons. I took one step toward the kitchen and I was struck with the most extraordinary smell. It was rich, minerally and spicy. I let my nose lead the way. 

She stood at the stove. She was wearing a loose knit navy sweater that was well loved and jeans. Her sleeves were pushed up. She was wearing a nice apron. Her hair was pulled back, not in a braid, but in a perfectly round bun. 

    The dining table was set for two. Plates, silverware, a wine glass for her and a beer glass for me. There were two candles and a decorative bowl. The bowl was filled with some unknown liquid that looked like molten gold. I wanted to stick my finger in it but didn’t. 

    She turned and saw me, and I saw her. “I didn’t mean that casual.” she said jokingly. Lately she has been making more and more jokes, but only during our dates. It was comfortable, and usually pretty funny. 

“It smells so good, what is it?” I said. I walked into the kitchen and leaned against the counter by the stove. She leaned over and planted a kiss on my lips. I was so surprised that it was over before I could react. There was a battle in my head between the heavenly smelling food and the thought of the kiss. 

“It’s almost ready. Get us drinks from the fridge.” She instructed me. The fridge was filled with different sized glass containers. They all stacked neatly, each with a label of what it was and a date. There was a bottle of white wine and a fancy looking beer with today’s date. I took them from the fridge and opened them. She looked as though she were a professional chef. She moved with tempered urgency and precision. “Budae-Jjigae. Budae is ‘army’ or ‘army base’, jjigae is ‘stew’. It’s a recipe my grandmother taught me... a long time ago.” She stopped what she was doing and looked off into space. 

A few seconds later, she regained consciousness from her memory and started to plate the food. It was finished. 

It was delicious. It was perfect. It was obvious that Ji-Woo had made this dish many times and was able to recreate it perfectly. “How many other romantic interests had she made this for?” I wondered, but quickly spurned the thought. I wasn’t shy, and got a hearty second helping. 

I wiped my mouth and leaned back in my chair, and polished off the last of my beer. I wanted badly to unbutton my pants and relieve the pressure on my waistband. Instead, we got up and cleaned the kitchen together. 

Later on, we found each other on the sofa near the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. I was elated. Warm, with a full belly. Calm, sleepy, but present, I closed my eyes and relished. 

“Do not fall asleep.”

Ji-Woo instructed me. “I will be right back.” She said. 

Insubordinately, I was falling asleep when from down the hall, I heard her call me, “Come here, I need to show you something.” I sleepily approached the room at the end of the hall. A bedroom. As I got closer to the doorway, I could see a mirror’s reflection in the bedroom. It truly was a bed-room. A queen size mattress and two small side tables with lamps were the only furniture. Warm, golden light spilled out of the bedside lamps that reflected off the polished hardwood floors and floor-to-ceiling mirrors. A single, brand new candle was lit on the nightstand. But there was no lighter or matches anywhere. How was it lit?

    Ji-Woo lay on the bed, one leg crossed over the other. Her right arm supported her posture. Her hair was down. It was now I could fully realize the length and volume of her hair. It flowed down her back and fanned out perfectly behind her like a ginkgo leaf. The low lighting in the room accented her dark makeup. Her eyeshadow shimmered subtly.

She was wearing a lacy bodysuit of lingerie so scant, it could hardly be described as clothing. A lacy and delicate fabric choker connected to thin straps perfectly obfuscated her nipples. Ethereal panties suspend a pair of elegant garters. The fabric adhered to her slender, toned body as if it were made custom. 

She eyed me fervently,

And I was very awake then.

After it was over I felt euphoric and peaceful,

Unburdened. 

I turned over, towards her in bed.

I put my head on her chest.

 And I heard nothing.

[thatbrightboy]

a bit of a read about homosexuality in Ancient Rome from Wikipedia because look, i’m a weak ass bitch for historical stuff like this and i love to incorporate it into my writing. these are kind of ‘cherry picked’ from the full page because i merely paste here what is relevant to robin. at the end you can find my own notes about this post.

here is part 2.

trigger warnings for (the mention of) pedophilia and rape.

Homosexuality in ancient Rome

Homosexuality in ancient Rome often differs markedly from the contemporary West. Latin lacks words that would precisely translate "homosexual" and "heterosexual". The primary dichotomy of ancient Roman sexuality was active / dominant / masculine and passive / submissive / feminine. Roman society was patriarchal, and the freeborn male citizen possessed political liberty (libertas) and the right to rule both himself and his household (familia). "Virtue" (virtus) was seen as an active quality through which a man (vir) defined himself. The conquest mentality and "cult of virility" shaped same-sex relations. Roman men were free to enjoy sex with other males without a perceived loss of masculinity or social status, as long as they took the dominant or penetrative role. Acceptable male partners were slaves and former slaves, prostitutes, and entertainers, whose lifestyle placed them in the nebulous social realm of infamia, excluded from the normal protections accorded a citizen even if they were technically free. Although Roman men in general seem to have preferred youths between the ages of 12 and 20 as sexual partners, freeborn male minors were off limits at certain periods in Rome, though professional prostitutes and entertainers might remain sexually available well into adulthood.

Male-male sex

Roles

A man or boy who took the "receptive" role in sex was variously called cinaedus, pathicus, exoletus, concubinus (male concubine), spintria ("analist"), puer ("boy"), pullus ("chick"), pusio, delicatus (especially in the phrase puer delicatus, "exquisite" or "dainty boy"), mollis ("soft", used more generally as an aesthetic quality counter to aggressive masculinity), tener ("delicate"), debilis ("weak" or "disabled"), effeminatus, discinctus ("loose-belted"), pisciculi, spinthriae, and morbosus ("sick"). As Amy Richlin has noted, "'gay' is not exact, 'penetrated' is not self-defined, 'passive' misleadingly connotes inaction" in translating this group of words into English.

Concubinus

Some Roman men kept a male concubine (concubinus, "one who lies with; a bed-mate") before they married a woman. Eva Cantarella has described this form of concubinage as "a stable sexual relationship, not exclusive but privileged". Within the hierarchy of household slaves, the concubinus seems to have been regarded as holding a special or elevated status that was threatened by the introduction of a wife. The relationship with a concubinus might be discreet or more open: male concubines sometimes attended dinner parties with the man whose companion they were. Martial even suggests that a prized concubinus might pass from father to son as an especially coveted inheritance. A military officer on campaign might be accompanied by a concubinus. Like the catamite or puer delicatus, the role of the concubine was regularly compared to that of Ganymede, the Trojan prince abducted by Jove (Greek Zeus) to serve as his cupbearer.

Pathicus

Pathicus was a "blunt" word for a male who was penetrated sexually. It derived from the unattested Greek adjective pathikos, from the verb paskhein, equivalent to the Latin deponent patior, pati, passus, "undergo, submit to, endure, suffer". The English word "passive" derives from the Latin passus. His sexuality was not defined by the gender of the person using him as a receptacle for sex, but rather his desire to be so used. Because in Roman culture a man who penetrates another adult male almost always expresses contempt or revenge, the pathicus might be seen as more akin to the sexual masochist in his experience of pleasure. He might be penetrated orally or anally by a man or by a woman with a dildo, but showed no desire for penetrating nor having his own penis stimulated. He might also be dominated by a woman who compels him to perform cunnilingus.

Puer delicatus

(pedophilia mention)

The puer delicatus was an "exquisite" or "dainty" child-slave chosen by his master for his beauty as a "boy toy", also referred to as deliciae ("sweets" or "delights"). Unlike the freeborn Greek eromenos ("beloved"), who was protected by social custom, the Roman delicatus was in a physically and morally vulnerable position. Some of the "coercive and exploitative" relationship between the Roman master and the delicatus, who might be prepubescent, can be characterized as pedophilic, in contrast to Greek paiderasteia. ( The boy was sometimes castrated in an effort to preserve his youthful qualities.)

Pullus

Pullus was a term for a young animal, and particularly a chick. It was an affectionate word traditionally used for a boy (puer) who was loved by someone "in an obscene sense".

Pusio

Pusio is etymologically related to puer, and means "boy, lad". It often had a distinctly sexual or sexually demeaning connotation. Juvenal indicates the pusio was more desirable than women because he was less quarrelsome and would not demand gifts from his lover.

Male-male rape

(rape mention)

Roman law addressed the rape of a male citizen as early as the 2nd century BC, when it was ruled that even a man who was "disreputable and questionable" (famosus, related to infamis, and suspiciosus) had the same right as other free men not to have his body subjected to forced sex. The rapist was subject to execution, a rare penalty in Roman law. Men who had been raped were exempt from the loss of legal or social standing suffered by those who submitted their bodies to use for the pleasure of others; a male prostitute or entertainer was infamis and excluded from the legal protections extended to citizens in good standing. As a matter of law, a slave could not be raped; he was considered property and not legally a person. The slave's owner, however, could prosecute the rapist for property damage.

Same-sex relations in the military

(rape mention)

The Roman soldier, like any free and respectable Roman male of status, was expected to show self-discipline in matters of sex. Augustus (reigned 27 BC – 14 AD) even prohibited soldiers from marrying, a ban that remained in force for the Imperial army for nearly two centuries. Other forms of sexual gratification available to soldiers were prostitutes of any gender, male slaves, war rape, and same-sex relations. Sex among fellow soldiers, however, violated the Roman decorum against intercourse with another freeborn male. A soldier maintained his masculinity by not allowing his body to be used for sexual purposes.

————————————————————————————————————————

(pedophilia mention)

In my personal view, Robin within the classic verse has been put to use for sexual favours for both his male and female masters. And this has been since he was probably around 13 years of age up until the age I currently play him as (which is ALWAYS 21/22 years old). He generally does not speak of it because it isn’t appropriate to, but this means that while in his default verse he always starts out as a virgin, this is not the case for this verse. I will not paint him as an expert on what he does for this verse, because he is not and most of his experiences have been very passive and with that I mostly mean literally sack-of-potatoes-passive. This is because the use of his body for these ends was for the pleasure of his masters and not for his own.

Since Robin is a slave and thus has no significant social standing, the fact that he takes the passive role is frowned upon but not scandalous. His female master might have tried for him to be a penetrator but it never happened, and no doubt it was an ongoing joke/mockery in his original household.

All the different roles mentioned above (concubinus, pathicus, puer delicatus, pullus and pusio) are either all basically applicable to his role in his households, or only one or a few are.

It must be said that Robin was always regarded as a beautiful boy and that very much played a part in his relationship with sex. He has gained certain privileges with this, but also a place in his household and a reputation, and it has left very little room for doubt on whether he is a dominant or submissive part of a sexual relationship. Which, again, isn’t seen as very desirable for a man. Even if Robin came out of servitude, this would always be an issue.

All that said, I do play him as very much in favour with his masters. He is good at the things he does (writing, reading, cleaning, playing some musical instruments & entertaining) and in a general sense, he will probably serve one household from birth until death unless he switches hands legally, or if he is set free by a master, which is not common.

Sex between Robin and other slaves (which could be house slaves or for example gladiators or entertainers) is not common and not usually encouraged, but it is a service he provides if his master so wishes. And he has probably been loaned away to help the war-effort, if you catch my drift.

I also keep the option of castration open, but I will elaborate on that in a different post.

[route22ny]

(The following was published in the Sun-Times on Oct. 9, 1970, and is reprinted with the permission of Chaz Ebert and Rogerebert.com.)

While “digesting Reader’s Digest” in a dirty book store, John Prine tells us in one of his songs, a patriotic citizen came across one of those little American flag decals.

He stuck it on his windshield and liked it so much he added flags from the gas station, the bank and the supermarket, until one day he blindly drove off the road and killed himself. St. Peter broke the news:

Your flag decal won’t get you into heaven anymore;

It’s already overcrowded from your dirty little war.

Lyrics like this are earning John Prine one of the hottest underground reputations in Chicago these days. He’s only been performing professionally since July, he sings at the out-of-the-way Fifth Peg, 858 W. Armitage, and country-folk singers aren’t exactly putting rock out of business. But Prine is good.

He appears on stage with such modesty he almost seems to be backing into the spotlight. He sings rather quietly, and his guitar work is good, but he doesn’t show off. He starts slow. But after a song or two, even the drunks in the room begin to listen to his lyrics. And then he has you.

He does a song called “The Great Society Conflict Veteran’s Blues,” for example, that says more about the last 20 years in America than any dozen adolescent acid-rock peace dirges. It’s about a guy named Sam Stone who fought in Korea and got some shrapnel in his knee.

But the morphine eased the pain, and Sam Stone came home “with a Purple Heart and a monkey on his back.” That’s Sam Stone’s story, but the tragedy doesn’t end there. In the chorus, Prine reverses the point of view with an image of stunning power:

There’s a hole in Daddy’s arm

Where all the money goes ...

You hear lyrics like these, perfectly fitted to Prine’s quietly confident style and his ghost of a Kentucky accent, and you wonder how anyone could have so much empathy and still be looking forward to his 24th birthday on Saturday.

So you talk to him, and you find out that Prine has been carrying mail in Westchester since he got out of the Army three years ago. That he was born in Maywood, and that his parents come from Paradise, Kentucky. That his grandfather was a miner, a part-time preacher, and used to play guitar with Merle Travis and Ike Everly (the Everly brothers’ father). And that his brother Dave plays banjo, guitar and fiddle, and got John started on the guitar about 10 years ago.

Prine has been writing songs just as long, and these days he works on new ones while delivering mail. His wife, Ann Carole, says she finds scraps of paper around the house with maybe a word or a sentence on them and a month later the phrase will turn up in a new song.

Prine’s songs are all original, and he only sings his own. They’re nothing like the work of most young composers these days, who seem to specialize in narcissistic tributes to themselves. He’s closer to Hank Williams than to Roger Williams, closer to Dylan than to Ochs. “In my songs,” he says, “I try to look through someone else’s eyes, and I want to give the audience a feeling more than a message.”

That’s what happens in Prine’s “Old Folks,” one of the most moving songs I’ve heard. It’s about an elderly retired couple sitting at home alone all day, looking out the screen door on the back porch, marking time until death. They lost a son in Korea: “Don’t know what for; guess it doesn’t matter anymore.” The chorus asks you, the next time you see a pair of “ancient empty eyes,” to say “hello in there ... hello.”

Prine’s lyrics work with poetic economy to sketch a character in just a few words. In “Angel from Montgomery,” for example, he tells of a few minutes in the thoughts of a woman who is doing the housework and thinking of her husband: “How the hell can a person go to work in the morning, come back in the evening, and have nothing to say?”

Prine can be funny, too, and about half his songs are. He does one about getting up in the morning. A bowl of oatmeal tried to stare him down, and won. But “if you see me tonight with an illegal smile — It don’t cost very much, and it lasts a long while. Won’t you please tell the Man I didn’t kill anyone - just trying to have me some fun.”

Prine’s first public appearance was at the 1969 Maywood Folk Music Festival: “It’s a hell of a festival, but nobody cares about folk music.” He turned up at the Old Town School of Folk Music in early 1970 after hearing Ray Tate on TV. He did a lot of hootenannys at the Fifth Peg and at the Saddle Club on North Avenue, and the Fifth Peg booked him for Sunday nights in July and August.

In those two months, the word got around somehow that here was an extraordinary new composer and performer. His crowds grew so large that the Fifth Peg is now presenting him on Friday and Saturday nights; his opening last weekend was a full house by word-of-mouth. He had a lot of new material, written while he was on reserve duty with the Army in September.

There’s one, for example, called “The Great Compromise,” about a girl he once dated who was named America. One night at the drive-in movie, while he was going for popcorn, she jumped into a foreign sports car and he began to suspect his girl was no lady. “I could have beat up that fellow,” he reflects in his song, “but it was her that hopped into his car.”

***

Copied from today’s Chicago Sun-Times following the news of John Prine’s death. Roger Ebert’s 1970 discovery of Prine and the subsequent review (above) jump-started the musician’s career. The Rolling Stone retrospective of Prine’s career is here, and well-done.

[contes-de-rheio]

Creating an army

For the needs of Rising Queens, I had to create an army. Since I'm an accountant and have never served in the military nor lived sometime between 1650 and 1820... I knew nothing about how to do that, so I researched, not a lot, but enough I think to give some tips and directions to anyone planning to do the same crazy thing.

Let's get started. Please note this is for fantasy writers, a number of elements do not apply to modern or futuristic armies. (words with a * are translated in French at the end, because I'm a little chauvinist)

1. How big is your army ?

So, if your army is a professional army, in clear if soldiers are soldiers all year long and paid for it, the size of your army is limited. Mostly because resources are not infinite, and your army depends on the rest of the population to be fed. This rule would also apply for mercenaries, as your nation must still be able to pay them.

In consequence, its size should not be more than 1% of the population. This number was true in the past, and is still true today. And 1% is the upper limit, it assumes your nation is able to collect taxes efficiently!! If it's not, your army must be smaller, or your nation will go bankrupt.

If your army is not professional, then the problem is a little different: your soldiers are no longer working all year long. The question is how big can your army be during x time? The longer the war/conflict lasts, the smaller your army will be, as your resources are limited and you need people to tend to the land. Or you can have a big starving army, your choice (or a starving population... or both...). After some research, it happens that number is 7% of the population for a period of 90 days (which was the length of a campaign season).

2. Support

So, yes, your soldiers are soldiering, or at least a part of them is... the rest is working as support, they are the spine of your army, without them everything could crumble. Without them you don't have supplies, or meals, or doctors, or clothes, or payslips or...

Among the various support departments in military, we will first start with one that probably was the biggest: Supplies (aka Furir*). They originally were in charge of housing and food for men and animals, but over time they came to be in charge of all supplies, including their logistics. In the French Navy, they once were in charge of payslips. Without them, you don’t have food, but you also don’t have uniforms, weapons, or munitions...

While we are here, let's note that most armies, while away from home, survived through plunder of the land around them. Which is great if you're not staying in the same place too long, and if your enemy does not decide to burn everything left behind. Mercenaries, who were not paid by their employer, also plundered the land of their employer as a form of revenge.

The Postal Service* is like a web, they have a presence everywhere in the military organisation (including schools, jails, navy...). Not only do they make sure the letters are sent to the right person, but they also take care of censoring the letters of the soldiers. This is a job that require discretion as you might end up in the confidence of secrets that do not concern you nor the public.

The War Commissaries* are in charge of the administration of the army, which includes: finances, human resources, audit and control, law assistance, accounting. In some cases, Furir and Postal Services are also incorporated under their supervision.

One of the support functions we probably don’t think much about are the surgeons. Doctors, especially, surgeons were a priority on a battlefield. Mostly they acted after the battle, but they also took care of the soldiers all year long in a professional army. Military hospitals were created, some of them were used as medical schools too, and not all of them were situated in a military base. I haven’t been able to find if any ancient military hospital was opened to the public, but I personally don’t see why not. Generally each company (about 100 men) had one surgeon.

I will not discuss soldier being soldier, if you want more information on this, I will leave some links at the end of this article, please refer to it.

3. Army or Not ?

Some people, depending of your organisation, of your country, may be considered part of your army, even though their role is unrelated to the protection of the country against foreign forces, such as: police, spies, customs...

It really depends on how you see your organisation as a whole, and also who pay who, or what Minister these people depend from. For example, the police might be paid directly by the city thanks to local taxes, while customs are under the supervision of the Finance Minister, and spies answer directly to the Crown. Or you can incorporate them in your army.

4. Equipment

The main question in regards to equipment is who provides what. There have been times, when each soldier was expected to procure themselves their own equipment: armor and weapons, horse, sometimes even food. You could tell a soldier's social background with just a look. 

In some cases, the obligation to procure one's own equipment was attached to citizenship. Only citizens were required by law to serve in the army, and to be citizen you were required to have a given level of revenues.

At all times, heavier weapons (for siege, and later canons) were provided by the State or the lords.

5. Hierarchy

There are two main type of hierarchies: hierarchical (or traditional) and flat. My partner could tell you all about the advantages and disadvantages of both in details (and how mixed/new models exist), but for our purposes let's keep it simple.

Here is a drawing of both systems:

The bigger your army is, the less likely your hierarchy will be flat, for the very simple reason that your general in chief (or king, or whatever their actual title is) cannot be everywhere at once and has to delegate their power to keep the whole system working. In fact, at some point, the higher men in the hierarchy become strategists and/or administrators. Furthermore, if the official leader of your army is indeed the king, they might still need to delegate as 1) they are running a kingdom, and might need the time for something else, 2) they are very bad at leading an army (not everybody can be Frederic II or Napoleon...).

Next thing to determine is the numbers of levels in your hierarchy. I would advise to keep it as simple as possible. As an example, in Rising Queens, my army has 7 levels of hierarchy (including the soldiers without rank). Each rank correspond to an unity (i.e. company, regiment...). I merely added some nuances to distinguish some Navy ranks: a General and an Admiral have the same rank, but the later serves in the Navy.

If you want to get an idea of what ranking system you can implement, I would suggest you hit Wikipedia, as they have the organisations of a few armies listed. Just never forget reality is always more complex than fiction.

6. Magic

If you have magic in your universe, consider how it changes war strategy and organisation.

And since someone wrote extensively on the subject, allow me to redirect you to @warsofasoiaf post, right here.

Don't hesitate to drop me a message for questions, clarifications or comments :)

Some Useful Links

On Demography

Medieval Demography made easy (French version)

Notes on Medieval Population Geography

Medieval WorldBuilding Mega-Tutorial (includes info about army, and many other details)

On Armies and fighting

@transcriptroopers is a great resource about the life of modern soldiers.

@writenavy for anything related to Navy, both ancient and modern.

@howtofightwrite advices for anything regarding fighting, in nearly any context.

Medieval Warfare

Writing a War

Vocabulary - French translations

Furir - Fourrière (du mot fourrage)

Postal service - Vaguemestre

Commissaries - Commissaires (du mot commission, dans le sens de paie)

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Antonio and Pablo Agama headcanons

Leoncio Renato Braganza-Olmos was a dashing cavalry officer, just recently promoted when he met Altagracia Luna Quelempan-Agama,a healer working in the army camp. It was during an army dance, this being the years before Shuriki, and the camp was celebrating its recent victory. Like a classic fairytale, their eyes met across the room. He introduced himself and bowed, they danced, and fell head over heels for each other. Their backgrounds were quite different with Leoncio coming from a long line of esteemed army men much like the Villalobos of Avalor City. In fact, the Villalobos family was one of their greatest rivals for the Olmos family wanted to move out of serving the borders of far away villages and achieve glory in war on foreign land or against dangerous malvagos that seemed to attack the city.

Altagracia was a mestiza, a mixed race girl of indeginous tribes that prided themselves from descending from the great Maruvians and of the more pure blood Spanish descent. Altargracia was very much inspired by her indigenous side, working hard with others to keep their culture and knowledge of medicines and textiles alive. Though, there was not much discrimination for her mixed blood, as many actually wanted to learn the secrets of ancient Maru, people still sometimes taunted them for their superstitions and outdated ideas. Both their families cautioned them from getting married, fearing that their backgrounds would be too different.

However, the couple did not care. Their backgrounds meant little compared to their love for one another. She wanted to support him in his army battles and patch him up in the privacy of their own home and Leoncio adored his at turns intelligent and fierce wife who may not be able to hold a spear but could verbally spar with the best of his fellow soldiers.

Though the life of following army camp after army camp was tiring, they leaned on each other and were thanful to have the other by their side. Eventually came the day when Leoncio got a sword through his thigh. It broke stright through the bone and sidelined him for nearly a year. He eventually healed despite fears that he’d have to be amputed, but he would live with a permenant limp and had to retire from his life of sword. It happened to be excellent timing for Altagracia was pregnant with their first child.

They settled into Altagracia’s home village where Leoncio was aimlessly lost at first, unsure that he had any skills for citizen work but with Altagracia’s guidence and help, he found his way to work as a part-time picker on pepper plantations while Altagracia continued to work and sell her weaving wares and herbal medicines.

Their first son, Antonio Lautaro Agama-Olmos was born at dawn, a loud and robust baby. A direct contrast to their second son, Pablo Sergio Agama-Olmos who was born at midnight, similarly loud but skinnier.

The family was small but happy. Leoncio being a particularly proud father, trying to teach his sons fighting tricks and boast of his great victories. However, one day, Leoncio left without a trace. Perhaps he left because life in a small village bored him, maybe he had found another woman, or maybe he wished to start over fresh in Avalor City without the burden of caring for a family or the hauntings of his former officer glory. It could have been any one of these reasons but no one would ever know for he left no note.

Altagracia received no sympathy from her family who had warned her that a wealthy man like he might get bored with her, warnings she blithely ignored. She had more help from the Olmos’ who pitied her and felt similarly abandoned for Leoncio sent no word either to them. Besides it went against their honor to abandon someone who was part of their family. They sent Altagracia an “allowance” of sorts monthly and Leoncio’s younger brother, Fernando even offered to marry her to make up for his brother’s grievous actions and give the boys a father. Altagracia politely refused, her pain was too strong and she  wished never to see any of her husband’s kin ever again.

Altagracia reluctantly accepted the money as she needed it for her sons, and packed up, took up her old name, and moved to the village over the plateau. (I imagine it to be very similar to Curicó in Chile. You know, mountains on either side, a central fertile valley for agriculture, humid and wet). She couldn’t stand the humiliation of everyone knowing her husband left her and wanted to start fresh even though the rumors and pitying stares still plagued her when she moved to the new village near Mesa Roja. Words traveled fast.

Despite the money sent to her, she couldn’t buy a house with enough space for all her weaving so she couldn’t open her own weaving shop. But Altagracia was determined to make do and used the stables that adjoined her home to house her looms and set to work by herself to create the most elaborate, quality ponchos, clothes and other items till she became the known as “la mujer de la telar.” The money the Olmos did sent them was set aside for special nonessential things like archery sets or a professional portrait since Altagracia decided any essential items like food or clothing, she would pay with her own work. Those luxeries Pablo proudly boasted about since it set them apart from their little less-off farming neighbors, and he’d often sell these goods for a price. That is until Altagracia found out and threatened to stop buying him things if he wasn’t going to use it himself.  

Antonio had been 7 at the time, Pablo only 6, and if that one devastating event wasn’t enough. That was the same year that Shuriki came to power. Music and the old festivals were banned. Altagracia was one of the few people who was happy with this new arrangement since she’d much rather not be reminded of dances or anything happy like that. The boys however, were sorely disappointed by the thought of no more spring harvesting festivals with the children’s races or the games and such. And the addition of Shuriki’s guards patrolling the perimeters to quell any underground rebellions was an unnerving new normal to add to their lives.

Though the boys were too young to truly understand the full context of what was going on, they came today follow their mother’s mantra of “make do with what they have” and made their own fun without the festivals like marbles or pretending their were great trapeze artists like the traveling circus they saw or exploring their new home and the surrounding wild. Antonio’s particularly favorite game was pretending to find lost treasure which influenced his later career.

By the time Antonio was a teenager, he came to think of himself as the new man of the house. He saw how Leoncio’s departure affected their mother. She threw herself into her work, and doted on them more than ever. But she was so distrustful of others especially the rich who she now thought saw people like her as playthings or beneath them. He heard the rumors and taunts of other kids that “they” were the reason their dad ran away. And he vowed that he’d bring fortune to the Agamas name. They’d be known for something else than their disappeared dad.

The one obstacle to his big plan was his own brother. It seemed Pablo had inherited their father’s propensity for wanting glory and their mother’s sly tongue. He fancied himself as a poor man’s merchant (more accurately a con man) and had been cheating people out of their money with goods that he overhyped or stole from people for them to buy it back at exorbitant prices. Antonio often chewed him out for these things especially since it could reflect badly on their whole family but Pablo defended that they wouldn’t want their dear Mama to worry more than she had to, beside he was doing his part as a dutiful son to give her money any way he can. Even though he made plenty of enemies that way. Their neighbors, the Palomas, especially. 

Their mother did notice the tension between both boys and often had to drop subtle reminders and wise proverbs like “Family isn't an important thing. It's everything,” or “The important thing in a family is not being together but being united.”

But they both possessed the same stubborness and their differences grew anyway. Antonio was a studious student, paying attention in class while Pablo often skipped because he felt there was no point. Most people didn’t use the lessons on geometry or English in their daily lives, they learned their family trade and that was that. He much preferred to wager and make bets with the boys and flirt. Antonio had also entertained thoughts of marrying girls he had crushes on but he knew that would doom his dream. Once he got married, he’d have to stay settled down and he didn’t want that so he staye dcelibate though many women, allured by his muscular build, did try to tempt him much to Pablo’s disgust (Poor Pablo, he wanted to be tempted. That's all he wanted!). But Antonio was different. Their teacher, Professora Risquez thought Antonio had potential, he had a passion for history and the stories of treasure hunters so she told him about the field of archeology. It sounded like a dream to him! Being able to find lost civilizations that told them of where they came from and what they did just like the ancient Maruvians.

He couldn’t get the kind of education at home. Not there where the highest level was 12th grade. Professora Risquez offered to sponsor him to go to the University of Avalor. He would live with her parents in their house in the city and he could pursue a degree in archaeological studies. It was a perfect plan and Altagracia was thrilled for her son, and Antonio was similarly thrilled. He was getting one step closer to his dream of bringing fame to the Agama name.

The only one who was less enthusiastic was Pablo who thought Antonio was acting stuck up and superior to him which he kind of was. This led to their first major fight, leading them to never speak to each other for the next twenty eight years.

Antonio hunkered down on his studies, but it had been quite a shock when he first arrived in the city. They had so many more modern convencies like carriages instead of carts and shops for everything and the port brought all sorts of peoples and stories of distant lands that he could never imagine. He even saw a professional circus that put the traveling circus he saw in his childhood to shame.

 Then there was the actual university, the small school with its few teachers and lackluster substance had not prepared him for rigerous testing and academic tone of the unversity. But Professora Risquez’s parents had been former professors themselves and helped him with his study habits and time management. As for the kids, some were nice, some were snobs, a regular crowd of all kinds of people. Though sometimes those classist snobs sniffed at his “village peasant” accent and how fast he talked (Chilean spanish accents is known for being the fastest-spoken) so he learned to modify his fast to his slower, guttural sound. 

It got stressful at times but the one thing that kept him going was the passion for archeology itself. Each book he read, he yearned to know more, to learn more, to go out and explore and find the routes himself which he did every summer, even managing to secure his first glimpse of fame when he found the Heiroglyphic Staircase of Maru.

Pablo stayed at home, helping his mom with selling her wares and occasionally take odd jobs about town. Eventually, he got bored with the poor provincial village and decided to set out for his own. Altagracia gave her blessings since she had enough money to get by on her own with her work and the allowance from the Olmos. Besides she felt that maybe it would encourage Pablo to grow up a little especially now that he was out of Antonio’s shadow. He offered his services as a salesman to various small businesses but often quit when he felt ready to wander again or because he wanted a larger cut than his employers were willing to give him. He also decided to do his own version of treasure hunting and find items from the trash or wild or sometimes laying around someone’s backyard and sell them, often adding they belonged to some famous royal or legend or had magic properties. Then splitting town before his angry customors found out they were tricked.

Meanwhile, as Pablo scraped by, Antonio was sending money and letters to their mother with each new discovery he found. He had gotten his biggest dream as a result with the fame and universities begging him to come vist and give lectures. He did so especially if Professora Risquez asked, but he found the fame wasn’t as appealing as he thought it would be. Lectures, especially preparing them, were boring and he didn’t sell his items rather he gave them to museums to study. He much preferred the thrill of the adventuring and the excitment of finding treasure than anything else.

Then came the day he ventured to Obsidian Island. He had been so sure of himself, having sort of bought into his own hype, and that this would be his greatest find yet. But he had not anticipated for the gecko curse to be real! He freaked out when he was first transformed finding his brain sharing the instincts of a gecko’s and he’d often be distracted by his gecko instincts. Which he had stayed in that form for years.

Meanwhile, Pablo had come home from his itenerite wanderings after his mother wrote to him to come back. He had been 5 years since she had last heard from Antonio. Pablo had no information to give her on that front, but it didn’t matter because she needed him now that her arthritis was acting up and it was harder for her to move. Eventually, she had stopped moving completely and needed to move around in a wheelchair. Pablo cared for her during her final days and then Antonio came back.

He finished his adventure at Obsidian Island, and no longer a gecko, he had to apologize and explain to everyone he had known what had happened. His first trip was to his dear mama who had wept with joy seeing Antonio alive and well and that he had not abandoned her as she had thought. Pablo was put-off. Finally, he had time with their mama but once again Antonio, the golden boy outshone him and “saved” the day.

The next day, Altagracia died, seemingly ready to move on after seeing her son again. Pablo and Antonio tersely arranged the funeral together, maintaing some politeness to each other. But that all exploded after the funeral. Pablo made some comment of how nice it was for the famed and renowned Antonio Agama to find time to visit and how he had done all the work when Altagracia was ill and Antonio made her think he had left them just like Leoncio. Antonio shot back that he didn’t mean to not contact them. He was a freaking gecko! Those were exnuating circumstances, and it wasn’t like Pablo was so concerned about his welfare since he hadn’t written him so much a letter since Antonio left for college. This left them in fury and they refused to talk to each other again.

Until the will came and both were given parts of that treasure map aka The Family Treasure. After the events of that episode and Elena’s song getting stuck in their head thus reminding them, they decided to patch up their relationship and spend more time with one another with Antonio even inviting Pablo to his next archeological adventure so they’d have plenty of time to talk or find more things to fight about, but they’ve come to sort of like it that way.