#capitalism is the enemy of rest and health

[ohello0]

I consider most concerts to be superspreaders but I’ve never seen the level of disregard taylor swift has for herself and her fans

Thousands of fans in different locations going online saying how sick they feel after the concert and now multiple videos of miss swiffer wet jet herself pulling mucus from her nose while performing and continuing anyway

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Frev Friendships — Robespierre and Couthon 

…Moreover, don’t forget to remind me of the memory of Lacoste and Couthon. Robespierre in a letter to Maurice Duplay, October 16 1791, while away on a leave in Arras.Couthon, Lacoste and Pétion are the only of his friends that he mentions in the letter. Considering Couthon came to Paris after being elected for the Legislative Assembly on September 9 1791, while Robespierre was away from the capital between October 14 and November 28, the two must have befriended each other quite rapidly. In a letter dated September 29 1791, Couthon reveals that he has moved into the house of one M. Girot on Rue Saint-Honoré (the same street where Robespierre lodged), and according to Robespierre (1935) by J.M Thompson, the Almanach royal for 1792 gives Couthon’s address as 343 Rue Saint-Honoré. So the proximity between their lodgings might have been a contributing factor.

My friend, I anxiously await news of your (votre) health. Here, we are closing in on the greatest events. Yesterday the Assembly absolved La Fayette; the indignant people pursued some deputies at the end of the session. Today is the day indicated by a decree for the discussion of the forfeiture of Louis XVI. It is believed that this matter will be further delayed by some incident. However, the fermentation is at its height, and everything seems to presage for this very night the greatest commotion in Paris. We have arrived at the outcome of the constitutional drama. The Revolution will take a faster course, if it does not sink into military and dictatorial despotism. In the situation we are in, it is impossible for the friends of liberty to foresee and direct events. The destiny of France seems to leave it to intrigue and chance. What can reassure us is the strength of the public spirit in Paris and in many departments, it is the justice of our cause. The sections of Paris show an energy and wisdom worthy of serving as models for the rest of the state. We miss you. May you soon return to your homeland and we await with equal impatience your return and your recovery.  Robespierre in a letter to Couthon, August 9 1792 (incorrectly dated July 20 1792 in the correspondence)

I saw [Couthon] towards the last days of the Legislative Assembly; he appeared to me to be in a mood similar to mine; enemy of the anarchists and of the authors of the massacres of the first days of September, enemy of Marat and Robespierre; he constantly declaimed against them. Supplément aux crimes des anciens comités de gouvernement, avec l'histoire des conspirations du 10 mars, des 31 mai et 2 juin 1793, et de celles qui les ont précédées, et tableau de la conduite politique d'un représentant du peuple mis hors la loi (1794) by Jacques-Antoine Dulaure.

Couthon, whose infirmities give a new value to his patriotism… […] Lettres de Maximilien Robespierre à ses commettans, number 1 (September-October 1792)

During the first three months of the session of the National Convention, the members of the Puy-de-Dome deputation fraternized and dined together once a week. Couthon then never ceased to pour out invectives against Robespierre. Once I told him that I thought Robespierre an intriguer. ”So you call him an intriguer,” he answered me with vivacity, ”You are too nice, I regard him as a great scroundel.” I heard him, in the presence of several of my colleagues, one day when the deputation was summoned to his house, say: ”I no longer want to live in the same house as Robespierre, I am not safe there; every day we see a dozen cutthroats coming up to his house to whom he gives dinner. I do not know how he managed to meet these expenses before being elected to the Convention, while my allowances are barely enough for me to live with my family.” He often applauded the fact that the entire deputation professed the same principles, and that, consequently, we would always be united in heart and mind. This was Couthon's opinion at the time, and he held to it until the constitutional committee was formed. He had the ambition to be a member; he becomes furious at not being inclined to it. This was the time when Couthon changed his opinion, abandoned his conscience to indulge in his passions. Supplément aux crimes des anciens comités de gouvernement, avec l'histoire des conspirations du 10 mars, des 31 mai et 2 juin 1793, et de celles qui les ont précédées, et tableau de la conduite politique d'un représentant du peuple mis hors la loi (1794) by Jacques-Antoine Dulaure. Dulaure’s claim that Couthon for a time lived in the same house as Robespierre is confirmed by l’Almanach national, an II (cited in Paris révolutionnaire: Vieilles maisons, vieux papiers (1906) by Georges Lênotre) as well as by a letter dated October 4 1792 Couthon wrote to Roland from Rue Saint-Honoré n. 366 (Robespierre’s address) asking for rooms in the Tuileries, saying that he must move out of the house within eight days (Roland responded with a negative answer four days later). When exactly he moved in is however harder to pinpoint. According to Robespierre (1935) by J.M Thompson, the Almanach royal for 1792 still gives Couthon’s address as 343, not 366, rue St. Honoré, and in the article The Evolution of a Terrorist: Georges Auguste Couthon (1930) Geoffrey Bruun writes that Couthon moved to Cour de Manège 97 in 1792. It can therefore be concluded that Couthon’s stay on Rue Saint-Honoré n. 366 was most likely rather short. Couthon’s motivation for moving out, aside from Dulaure’s claim that he disliked Robespierre, could also be related to the fact Robespierre’s brother and sister moved in with the Duplays shortly after he wrote the letter to Roland.

The Lamenths and Pétion in the early days, quite rarely Legendre, Merlin de Thionville and Fouché, often Taschereau, Desmoulins and Teault, always Lebas, Saint-Just, David, Couthon and Buonarotti. The elderly Élisabeth Le Bas on visitors to the Duplays during the revolution

Robespierre notes this expression: “for fear that Couthon’s speech will not be heard.” Couthon will be heard, he said, and I maintain that the representative assembly has no right to stifle his voice any more than that of anyone else, because the Convention is not a power above the rights of its constituents who have invested every deputy with the sacred right to express their wish, and one could only obstruct this by an attack against liberty, and by trampling on national sovereignty. Robespierre takes this opportunity to recall the maneuvers of a large party of the Convention, to violate this sacred right that each member has to make his voice heard; and we see, he says, this game of intrigue played out every day with incredible modesty. In the Constituent and Legislative Assemblies, which despite their perversity, at least knew how to respect the freedom of opinions, Couthon's patriotism, which his infirmities make more interesting, never served the most perverse men as a pretext to stifle his voice. Robespierre therefore invites us to come out strongly against this new system of villainy, and to never allow a deputy to ever be deprived of the ability to express his opinion. He ends by supporting the impression of Couthon's speech; it is put to the vote and adopted. Robespierre makes sure the Jacobins print one of Couthon’s speeches regarding the trial of the king, after protests that they ought to wait until it’s been pronounced at the Convention as well, January 6 1793

If you want, and it would be a crime to doubt it, to preserve the liberty, unity and indivisibility of the Republic, you cannot hesitate to adopt Couthon's proposal [to issue a proclamation that the Insurrection of May 31 saved liberty] at once. To begin a discussion on this question would be to allow the conspirators to come to this rostrum to make new declarations against Paris, with their ordinary perfidy. Robespierre at the Convention June 13 1793

The proposal [to have Robespierre enter the Committee of Public Safety] was made to the committee by Couthon and Saint-Just. To ask was to obtain, for a refusal would have been a sort of accusation, and it was necessary to avoid any split during that winter which was inaugurated in such a sinister manner. The committee agreed to his admission, and Robespierre was proposed. Memoirs Of Bertrand Barère (1896) volume 2, page 96-97. Couthon was elected to the Committee of Public Safety on June 10 1793, Robespierre on July 27 1793. In his memoirs, Barère pushes the thermidorian idea that the two plus Saint-Just formed a ”triumvirate” within the committee. On page 146 of the same volume he nevertheless also writes that Robespierre and Saint-Just rarely came to the committee, instead working together in a private office.

Robespierre, Saint-Just and Couthon were inseparable. The first two had a dark and duplicitous character; they pushed away with a kind of disdainful pride any familiarity or affectionate relationship with their colleagues. The third, a legless man with a pale appearance, affected good-nature, but was no less perfidious than the other two. All three of them had a cold heart, without pity, they interacted only with each other, holding mysterious meetings outside, having a large number of protégés and agents, impenetrable in their designs. Révélations sur le Comité de salut public (1830) by Prieur-Duvernois. Later in the revelations, Prieur nevertheless also writes that ”Couthon was never difficult on the Committee; there was no altercation until the day before 9 Thermidor, when the moment to throw away the mask had arrived.”

The National Convention, citizens colleagues, witnessed with pleasure your entry into Lyon. But its joy could not be complete when it saw that you at the first movements yielded to a sensibility way too unpolitical. You seemed to abandon themselves to a people who flatter the victors, and the manner in which you speak of such a large number of traitors, of the punishment of a very few and the departure of almost all, have alarmed the patriots who are indignant at seeing so many scoundrels escaping through a gap and going to Lozère and mainly Toulon. We therefore won’t congratulate you on your successes before you have fulfilled all that you owe to your country. Republics are demanding; there is national recognition only for those who fully deserve it. We send you the decree that the Convention issued this morning on the report of the Committee. It has proportioned the vigor of its measures to your first reports. It will never remain below what the Republic and liberty expect. Beware above all of the perfidious policy of the Muscadins and the hypocritical Federalists, who raise the standard of the Republic when it is ready to punish them, and who continue to conspire against it when the danger has passed. It was that of the Bordelais, of the Marseillais, of all the counter-revolutionaries of the South. This is the most dangerous stumbling block of our freedom. The first duty of the representatives of the people is to discover it and avoid it. We must unmask the traitors and strike them without pity. These principles alone, adopted by the National Convention, can save the country. These principals are also yours; follow them; listen only to your own energy, and carry out with inexorable severity the salutary decrees which we address to you.  Committee of Public Safety decree to the representatives in the newly entered Lyon, among them Couthon, written by Robespierre on October 12 1793. Couthon had left Paris for a mission to the army of the Alpes already on August 21 1793.

Send Bô. Montaut, recall the others, except Couthon and Maignet. Notebook note written by Robespierre sometime before October 19 1793, when a CPS decree tasked Bô with going to the army of Ardennes.

…Farewell, my friend, embrace Robespierre, Hérault and our other good friends for me. Couthon in a letter to Saint-Just, October 20 1793, while on mission in Lyon. Couthon was called back to Paris on November 23.

[Collot] has been strongly denounced for his conduct in Lyon, after the recapture of that city. But I was witness to the fact that he only accepted this mission with the greatest reluctance, and that Robespierre skillfully employed the strongest solicitations to persuade him to do so, alleging that he alone was capable of combining justice with the necessary firmness, that Couthon had become moved on the scene and cried like a woman; finally a host of reasons to highlight the importance of exemplary punishment against the rebels of this unfortunate city. Révélations sur le Comité de salut public (1830) by Prieur-Duvernois. While Prieur’s testimomy is written long after the fact and therefore deserves to get treated with some caution, the claims he makes here are to an extent collaborated by a letter from Collot to Robespierre dated November 23 1793, where he claims it was ”on your (ton) invitation” he went to Lyon.

Couthon proposes that the Society take care of "drafting the indictment of all kings", and that it for this purpose appoints commissioners responsible for collecting the particular crimes of tyrants. This proposal, warmly applauded, is adopted. On Momoro's motion, the Society appoints Robespierre, Billaud-Varennes, Couthon, Collot d'Herbois and Lavicomterie as commissioners. Jacobin club, January 21 1794

…Yesterday, Robespierre held a very eloquent speech on our political situation. As soon as this speech has been printed, I will send it to you, it deserves to get read. Couthon in a letter dated February 6 1794, regarding Robespierre’s speech On Political Morality, held the day before.

Couthon and Robespierre enter the hall; all the members and citizens in the tribunes demonstrate through their applause the satisfaction of seeing these two patriots again.  Journal de la Montagne describing a triumphant entrance to the Jacobin club made by Couthon and Robespierre on March 13 1794, after both had been ill for a few weeks.

“In the absence of my brother,” said Mlle Robespierre to Gaillard, would you like to try to see Couthon? He prides himself on being good for me, I will ask him to receive you, he will not refuse me, I will precede you by a quarter of an hour, he will give the order to let you in and we will exit together.” Gaillard gratefully accepts, takes the address of Couthon who lived at n. 97 of the Cour du Manège, today rue de Rivoli, near rue du 29 Juilliet, and the next morning arrives at the indicated time. Couthon, whose face was truly angelic, wore a white dressing gown. A child of five or six years old, beautiful as Love, was between his father's legs; he had a young white rabbit in his arms which he was feeding alfalfa. Mme Couthon and Mlle Robespierre stood in the embrasure of a window overlooking the Tuileries.

“You are,” said Couthon to Gaillard, a friend of Mlle Robespierre, you therefore have every kind of right to my interest, tell me, citizen, how can I be of use to you?” [Gaillard then goes on to explain his errand to Couthon] “Citizen,” continues Gaillard, with great emotion, you are convinced that the signatures of these addresses have not committed a crime, you are all-powerful in the Committee of Public Safety where your opinion always prevails. Today, seventy unfortunate people are being led to the scaffold, their condemnation based on nothing other than the signing of these addresses…”

Couthon's face changed, he suddenly takes on the tiger's mask, makes a movement to grab the bell pull... Mlle Robespierre rushes at him to stop him (he was paralyzed from the legs down), turns towards Gaillard and says to him: “Save yourself!” In the confusion into which all this throws him, Gaillard takes Couthon's hat, she notices it, warns him, he runs across the apartment and reaches the stairs. He had barely gone down eight or ten steps when he heard Mlle Robespierre shouting to him: “Go and wait for me at the Orangerie.” […] [Gaillard] has barely gone down into the courtyard of the Orangerie when he goes back up onto the terrace, looking anxiously to see if his good angel was arriving. As soon as he sees her, he runs towards her, loudly asking her five or six questions at the same time without paying attention to the crowd around them. Mlle Robespierre, calmer, tells him in a low voice that she will answer him when they have reached the Place de la Révolution.

“Explain to me, please,” said Gaillard to Mlle Robespierre as soon as they were offshore, ”your haste to tell me to take flight flee and why you held back Couthon in his chair?”

“You were fooled, my dear monsieur, by the profound hypocrisy of Couthon, I was completely fooled myself; I believed your judges saved and you forever at peace like all the signatories of these addresses to Louis XVI... Couthon only showed himself to be so good-natured in order to get to know the depths of your thoughts, you fell into his trap, I could not have avoided it more than you. Your bloody and so justly deserved reproach regarding the 63 victims of today struck in the hearth, my presence, even my confidence could not have stopped his vengeance. The members of the Committee of Public Safety each have five or six men at home who are resolute at their command, because they are constantly trembling. Had he reached the bell pull, this very afternoon you would have been placed in the tumbril alongside the 63 unfortunate people you wanted to save... Fortunately, I succeeded in making him ashamed of the crime he was going to commit by immolating a friend that I had brought to his house... Will he keep his word to me? I followed your conversation very attentively, you did not say a word from which Couthon could conclude that you do not live in Paris... Return home quickly, do not follow the ordinary route out of fear that, remembering the name of the city where your judges were to sit, he sends for men to follow you on the road to Melun.”  La Révolution, la Terreur, le Directoire 1791-1799: d’après les mémoires de Gaillard (1908) page 268-273. Anecdote described as taking place in May 1794. Evidence Couthon had contacts with not only Robespierre, but his sister as well. If the dynamics between the three changed after this incident is however something the anecdote leaves unknown…

Is it not known to all citizens since the sessions of 12 and 13 Fructidor, that the decree of 22 Prairial was the secret work of Robespierre and Couthon, that it never, in defiance of all customs and all rights, was discussed or communicated to the Committee of Public Safety? No, such a draft would never have been passed by the committee had it been brought before it. […] At the morning session of 22 floréal [sic, it clearly means prairial], Billaud-Varennes openly accused Robespierre, as soon as he entered the committee, and reproached him and Couthon for alone having brought to the Convention the abominable decree which frightened the patriots. It is contrary, he said, to all the principles and to the constant progress of the committee to present a draft of a decree without first communicating it to the committee. Robespierre replied coldly that, having trusted each other up to this point in the committee, he had thought he could act alone with Couthon. The members of the committee replied that we have never acted in isolation, especially for serious matters, and that this decree was too important to be passed in this way without the will of the committee. The day when a member of the committee, adds Billaud, allows himself to present a decree to the Convention alone, there is no longer any freedom, but the will of a single person to propose legislation.  Réponse des membres des deux anciens comités de salut public et de sûreté générale… (1795) by Bertrand Barère, Billaud-Varennes, Collot d’Herbois and Alexis Vadier. It is unclear if Robespierre and Couthon really were alone in having drafted and/or supported the Law of 22 Prairial. The idea that they were was also lifted by Prieur-Duvernois in his Révélations sur le Comité de salut public (he claims Saint-Just was also in on it), Fouquier-Tinville in his Requisitoires de Fouquier-Tinville (he claims that, in the days the law was being worked out, Billaud-Varenne, Collot d'Herbois, Barère, Carnot and Prieur told him it was Robespierre who had been charged with the project) and Laurent Lecointre in Robespierre peint par lui-même et condamné par ses propres principes (1794) (he claims Robespierre wrote the law and confided only Couthon with it). If all these sources are to be treated with caution given their authors and the time they were written, it can nevertheless be established that Couthon and Robespierre (the first one in particular) are the only ones where any direct involvement in the development of the law can be traced, and that they did fight side by side (and harder than any other committee member) against the Convention to get it passed on both June 10 and June 12.  I’ve written about this more in detail in this post.

Couthon: All patriots are brothers and friends, as for me, I want to share the daggers directed against Robespierre (here the entire hall rises with cries of: Me too!) […] Couthon at the jacobins July 11 1794

Couthon, all the patriots are proscribed, the entire people have risen up; It would be a betrayal not to join us to the Commune, where we are now. Signed: Robespierre the older, Robespierre the younger, Saint-Just. Letter urging Couthon to come to Hôtel de Ville. According to Hervé Leuwers’ Robespierre(2014) this letter is in Augustin Robespierre’s hand. According to 9-thermidor.com Robespierre and Couthon, alongside Augustin, Saint-Just, Le Bas were all declared under arrest by the Convention around 1:30 PM. Around 5 PM they were taken to the Committee of General Security and served dinner, before getting seperated and taken to different prisons between 6:30 and 7 PM. Couthon was the last to reunite with his friends at Hôtel de Ville at around 1 AM, less than an hour before the building was stormed.

The two Robespierres were [in the meeting room], one next to President Lescot-Fleuriot and the other next to Payan, national agent. Couthon was carried into the room a moment later; and what is noteworthy is that he was still followed by his gendarme. On arriving he was embraced by Robespierre, etc. and they passed into the next room, which I entered. The first word I heard from Couthon was: “We must write to the armies immediately”. Robespierre said: “In whose name?” Couthon replied: “But in the name of the Convention; is it not still where we are? The rest are only a handful of factions that the armed force we have will dissipate, and of whom it will bring justice.” Here Robespierre the elder seemed to think a little; he bent down to his brother's ear; then he said: “My opinion is that we write in the name of the French people.” He also, at that moment, took the hand of the gendarme who entered with Couthon and said to him: “Brave gendarme, I have always admired and esteemed your body; always be faithful to us; go to the door and ensure that you continue to embitter the people against the rebels.” Letter from H. G. Dulac to Courtois, July 25 1795, regarding the night at the Hôtel de Ville on 9 thermidor. 

As soon as Couthon entered [Hôtel de Ville], three or four members led him away, and two or three presented him with papers and ink. Robespierre and Couthon said: ”We cannot write to our armies in the name of the Convention or of the Commune, given that this would be stopped, but rather in the name of the French people, that would work much better,” and, instantly, Couthon began to write on his knees saying: ”The traitors will perish, there are still humans in France and virtue will triumph.” Robespierre took the hand of gendarme Muron and said to them both: “Go down to the square immediately and energize the people!” Testimony of gendarmes Muron and Javois, who escorted Couthon to Hôtel de Ville. Cited in Autour de Robespierre… (1925) by Albert Mathiez, page 224-225. The Hôtel de Ville was stormed somewhere before 2 AM. At 5 AM, the injured Couthon was brought to l’hospice d’humanité (Hôtel-Dieu de Paris), before joining Robespierre at the Committee of Public Safety. At 11 AM the two plus Gobeau were escorted to the Conciergerie prison and locked up in individual cells. According to number 675 of Suite de journal de Perlet, released two days after the execution, Robespierre and Couthon sat in different tumbrils when they around 6 PM got driven to the scaffold. Couthon was executed first, Robespierre second to last. 

—

Throughout his first year as a deputy, Couthon appears to have been closer to the ”girondins” than the ”montagnards.” In a letter dated January 3 1792 he calls Brissot and Condorcet ”two distinguished patriots with superior talent” apropos of their recent works calling for war. On January 19 1792 he expresses his own support of France going to war in another letter, and on April 20 1792 he was among the deputies that voted in favor of war with Austria (only seven did however vote no). In a letter dated September 1 1792 Couthon calls the Insurrectionary commune to which Robespierre belonged (and, according to some, dominated) ”[a] municipality led by a few dangerous men [that] seems to ignore decrees, and believes itself above the first power,” expressing his hopes that ”this distressing confusion will soon end and that the Municipality of Paris will cease to consider itself the Municipality of the whole Empire.” A week later, September 8 1792, he reports that ”the functions of the ardent chamber of the people have been broken since the evening before last, due to the care of the brave and virtuous Pétion.” In the letter to Roland dated October 4 1792 previously mentioned, Couthon still calls him “brave and estimable minister.” But just a week after said letter had gotten penned down, October 12, he more or less broke with the girondins, when he at the Jacobins said they were a group composed ”of gentlemen, subtle and intriguing, and above all ambitious” that ”wish a republic because popular opinion has demanded it, but they wish it aristocratic, they wish to maintain their control, and to have at their disposal the offices, the emoluments, and especially the finances of the state,” and ending by calling for all energies to be turned against ”this faction, which desires liberty only for itself.” (Bruun speculates this was due to him not having gained a place on the Committee of Constitution within the girondin dominated Convention the day earlier). This move surprised Madame Roland, who in a letter dated October 14 urged Bancal to ”go and see Couthon and reason with him; it is incredible that such a good mind allowed himself to speak out in a strange way against the best citizens.”

Throughout their time on the Committee of Public Safety, Robespierre and Couthon often rose up together at the Convention and the Jacobin club to speak for or against certain subjects. Besides the law of 22 prairial, the two also joined sides against petitioners talking with their hats on (December 20 1793), against Dufourny (March 18 1794), the establishment of a police bureau (April 16, April 18 1794). They helped contribute to the expulsion of both Rousselin (May 25) and Dubois-Crancé (July 11) from the Jacobins, and joined hands in speaking for arresting ”any individual that dares to insult the Convention” (July 24 1794). It was Couthon who asked for the printing of both Robespierre’s On Political Morality Speech on February 5 1794 as well as for his report on Religious and Moral Ideas on May 7 1794. As for Robespierre’s final speech on July 26 1794, Couthon proposed and got through ”that it be distributed throughout all of the Republic.” At the jacobins later the same day he proposed the immediate exclusion of all those who had voted against the printing of the speech, and once again he had his way.

On July 3 1794 we find a CPS decree signed by Collot, Carnot, Saint-Just, Barère, Billaud and C-A Prieur ordering Couthon to go to the army of the Midi, an order that he never followed through with. This could be interpreted as Couthon understanding Robespierre’s enemies were plotting againt him by trying to send him away, but choosing to stay at his side and share his fate.

Couthon to Robespierre while on the CPS: your little sister ATTACKED me!!

[kelpeigh]

Okay as long as I'm out here defending and over-analyzing Too Sweet here's an old text I sent a friend at 4am shortly after Too Sweet came out:

“Too Sweet” is a huge shift in a narrator's perspective from anything we've seen from Hozier before. It's the closest a Hozier narrator's come to blaming "Babe" for the breakup. And as a result we finally learn something about her, not just how the nature of his love for her and what he'd do for her/what effect she has on him

Most of his songs that have anything to do with heartbreak either have the narrator shouldering the blame completely, or maybe possibly sharing a tiny bit of the blame with Babe: -All Things End is all “even a perfect match can’t stay together forever, technically” -Unknown has the slight dig of “and there are some people, love, who are better unknown” and is an overall vague acknowledgment of some betrayal (though I still don’t quite see it fitting in the theme of treachery tbh) -NFWMB (not a heartbreak song but worth a mention) is “if she kills me, don’t prosecute. She wouldn’t kill me if I didn’t have it coming and if she killed me then oh, what a way to go”. -Cherry Wine runs into problems with fan reception because the narrator self-victim blames, and romanticizes the hell out of the abuse. Even when Babe is clearly in the wrong, the narrator is saying “but I love it and I’ll always come back for more, so what blame is there to assign? What good would that do?” Having volunteered for a crisis line, our hands are kind of tied if someone calls with a clear problem (drugs, abuse) but doesn’t see it as a problem. If they call because they’re upset about a death in the family and casually mention using meth 10x a day, we focus on the death in the family. I think about that every time I listen to Cherry Wine -Jackie and Wilson: “well that’s what I get for putting someone I just met up on a pedestal, whatchagonnadoaboutit”

“Too Sweet” itself has the thesis statement of “good for you, live your own way, literally no FAULT in it (kinda sad you prob fell victim to a system that's selling you your own health at the cost of the full human experience :'c but That's Capitalism, babey), but it’s not compatible with how I want to live”.

So it's still not saying “you wronged me” or even “you annoy me” on any level. So still not necessarily assigning blame. HOWEVER. This is the most we’ve ever actually learned about the object of his affection in any song, and it happens to be the one where he’s most directly complaining. In other songs he’ll allude to qualities of Babe in ways that tell us a lot more about the narrator’s view of her, than anything actually about her. We learn she’s “like the love that discovered sin” etc, but…. Literally his whole discography to this point concerning a lover only tells us HE loves her so much she inspires HIM. He’ll be the shrike to her thorn, he’ll fuel the pyre of her enemies, he’ll crawl home to her. But what about her inspires this devotion? What about her prompted the creative metaphors he used to express that devotion? I think the closest we got until 2 days ago was “she’s the giggle at a funeral”. She’s funny enough to make you laugh even in the bleakest of settings. But the rest of TMTC is “here’s a list of the feelings she makes me feel and the things I’d do for her.”

It feels like he’s been so careful to not badmouth anyone ever that he inadvertently scrubbed any identity away. In his selflessness, he makes it about himself. Don’t get me wrong, when he hides behind poetry we get some of the most beautiful lyrics of all time. I’m not saying he needs to stop. In fact it’s something that’s always stuck out to me in a good way: his lyrics are elevated beyond any one experience. It makes them evergreen and still relatable to a bitch like me who’s only ever gone on one date, and only agreed to that date as a joke. I’m not accusing him of copping out the way a lot of pop stars do, leaving out details to lower the common denominator of about whom he can possibly be singing. His other love songs are not lacking by omitting characterization of Babe. He simply hasn’t needed to describe her in any way; if anything he is painting a beautiful picture AROUND her silhouette that tells us everything that matters.

Like. The fandom girlies (no hate, I'm one) get to insist that Hozier wrote xyz song about/for their ship because he wrote about the act of loving, not loving a specific person. So it can apply to anyone. I bet you anything Too Sweet will get hijacked 80% less because he hasn’t scrubbed the object away and left us only with the eye of the beholder.

But this new POV is engaging a whole new aspect of his point of view.

In Too Sweet we FINALLY learn she goes to bed by 10 and gets up at dawn, she’s careful about what she eats to the point of insanity, etc. Stuff she does. Stuff she likes. Stuff she refuses to do.

In summary: Too Sweet is, to me, a million times more intimate than Warm Climate, because after 10 years he’s finally telling us what kind of person takes him to church (in this case, health influencer church)

[not-terezi-pyrope]

"Fun" watching the creative professions experience the violence of capitalism and immediately turn on tech workers/hobbyists like vengeful hounds as if they are not also workers.

"Fun" watching people who are reliant on the fruits of an industrialised society discover for the first time that the ladder of progress that gave us that society has been runged by an iterative process of capital-holders discarding the welfare of the previous generation of workers, and decide that the problem is industrial progress itself rather than that system of power and inequality.

"Fun" watching people in creative professions experience this for the first time and rehash tired discourse that society was doing in the 1700s, because while it is of course natural and necessary to mechanise food production, manufacturing, medicine et al., redundancies within the arts are a novel threat to the soul of humanity, because they are doing Art instead of silly manual labour busywork.

"Fun" seeing people decide that, rather than the iterative development and deployment of new technologies and tools having been a human constant for millennia that has allowed us to reduce scarcity and hard labour, to bolster happiness and health, the violence of the ruling class means that that process has to be stopped, by violence if necessary. That whole industries should be burned to the stake to protect the status quo, the comfortable version of capitalism where they are not being personally crushed, but can peacefully rest atop the bodies of those crushed before them.

The idea that the creation of new tools is a fundamental human trait and a net good, and that the target of their ire should be the wealth-hoarders that use it as an excuse to enact the violence of capital holding? That the violence is at the hands of these ruling classes, in their stockpiling of resources that diverts them away from improving lives, rather than those of tech researchers and hobbyists online? This is not considered.

Fight the right damn enemy.

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Nineteen

Maera had come to appreciate the new routine she had established in her life at the Red Keep. The early morning sparring sessions with Aemond, the quick return to her chambers for a change of clothing with the help of Thena, and then the rest of her day dedicated to assisting Queen Helaena in her various duties. Her days were a whirlwind of tasks, but Maera embraced them wholeheartedly. She stood by the queen's side through courtly affairs and diplomatic meetings, always ready with a reassuring smile or a whispered word of encouragement. Some days she would attend to the twins, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, whether the role be tutor or entertainer, her time with the children brought her immense enjoyment.

Aemond's absence during his duties in the Riverlands, quelling rumored rebellions and ensuring loyalty to the crown, became a recurring pattern. When he returned, Maera noted a slightly better mood about him, likely a reflection of his success in managing the realm's affairs. It was a welcome sight, even if their interactions remained punctuated by their shared history and the complex emotions they both harbored. Maera couldn't help but admire his dedication to his responsibilities, even if it meant sacrificing his own peace.

During his time away, Maera found herself missing his presence. Their time together, though centered around sparring, had rekindled some of their past camaraderie, and Maera appreciated the moments of connection she still shared with him, even if fleeting. She often pondered the fact that Aemond seemed to handle many of the duties that were typically expected of a king. Yet, Aegon, the reigning monarch, spent most of his days in revelry, indulging in drink and pleasures of the flesh. It was probably for the good of the realm that Aemond took on these responsibilities, Maera mused.

A recent role, assigned to Maera by Queen Alicent, involved overseeing the preparations for the upcoming Harvest Moon Ball, taking place in ten days. The women had been meticulously coordinating every detail together to ensure the event's success. Managing these affairs helped keep Maera focused and occupied, a necessary distraction from the continued deterioration of Queen Helaena's mental state. With the combined efforts of Queen Alicent, Maester Orwyle, and Maera herself, they managed to keep Helaena's fragile mental health under control. It was a delicate balance, one they maintained with great care, for the sake of the queen and the realm.

One day, as Maera supervised the delivery of Dahlias and Violas, flowers destined to adorn the grand hall for the upcoming event, a letter arrived at her chambers. The wax seal bore the emblem of House Wylde, and Maera's heart raced with anticipation. She eagerly tore open the letter, her eyes scanning the contents with a mixture of excitement and longing for her family's news.

Dearest Maera,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and high spirits amidst the splendor of the capital. It brings me great joy to inform you that our family is well, our fortunes ever favoring our endeavors. The days at Rain House pass with a tranquil swiftness, but a hole has been left in your absence, and we miss you deeply.

There have been some changes since your departure. Guston’s wife is with child for a third time, and he is hoping for another son. Dermot has written from Essos and tells me his travels are going well and does not intend to return to Rainwood any time soon. Our younger sisters, Brienna and Delfine have taken up an interest with the sword, just like you. At least we can get them into the courtyard, unlike Cedric, who remains cooped up in the library. I think he will ask father soon if he has his permission to join the citadel, like our three elder brothers.

I also must let you know that your presence in King's Landing has not gone unnoticed. Your closeness with Queen Helaena has allowed father to establish connections with many other Lords in Westeros. It is with a mixture of pride and bittersweet resignation that I convey to you that our Lord Father has found advantageous marriage pacts for two of our dear sisters.

Wynni has found herself betrothed to Lord Tarly. His house holds influence and respect, and it is with hopes for a prosperous future that this arrangement has been made. Sabine, our fiery spirit, is to be wed to Lord Tarbeck – a union that Father and Guston believe will forge alliances both unyielding and formidable.

I understand the weight of this news, Maera, and the shock it may elicit. But it is due to your hard work that such advantageous matches have been made, and I have been reassured by Guston that Wynni and Sabine’s intended husbands are kind souls of a similar age.

Though distance separates us, please know that your influence and guidance have not been in vain. Our hearts remain connected, and I eagerly await your response of stories from the capital.

Faran

Maera's breath caught in her throat as she read the final words of the letter. Her thoughts raced, a tumultuous whirlwind of emotions surging within her. Shock, disbelief, and a profound sense of loss mingled together, threatening to overwhelm her. She clutched the parchment tightly, as if seeking solace in the ink-stained words.

The news that her younger sisters, Wynni and Sabine, had been betrothed without her knowledge left her seething with rage. Lord Wylde had not only made her available for marriage but had also done the same for her beloved sisters. It was as if he considered them all mere bargaining chips in his quest for power, and Maera couldn't bear the thought of her sisters being treated that way. Feeling deceived and hurt, she couldn't hold back her anger any longer. She stormed into her father's chambers, her eyes blazing with fury. Lord Jasper looked up from his work, surprised by his daughter's sudden entrance.

"Father," Maera began, her voice carrying a tone of unwavering resolve, "I cannot remain silent on this matter. The betrothals you have arranged for Wynni and Sabine... they are far too young to be bound to such alliances."

Lord Jasper's gaze remained stern, his eyes cold and unyielding as they met his daughter's unwavering stare. "Maera," he responded curtly, his tone laced with an underlying frustration, "you underestimate the responsibilities and duties that come with our station. It is our duty as lords and ladies to secure alliances that will benefit our house."

Maera's hands clenched at her sides, her frustration mounting. "But they are children still, Father! They have never stepped foot outside of Rainwood. Sabine has just had her sixteenth name day, and Wynni cannot possibly understand the complexities of this world as a fifteen year old girl!”

Lord Jasper's gaze bore into Maera's, his voice sharp and unforgiving. "They have both flowered, Maera. It is time for them to take on the roles they were born into. It is a tradition that has been upheld for generations, and it is not for you to question."

A flash of anger ignited within Maera's eyes, her resolve strengthening. "I question the haste with which you seek to marry them off to lords in distant lands. Is their happiness not of any concern?"

Lord Jasper's face reddened with a mixture of anger and frustration. "Happiness, Maera, is often a luxury we cannot afford. Our duty to our house and our people must always come first. And speaking of duty, let us not forget your own. Had it not been for vile rumors tarnishing your virtue, you too would have been wed by now."

Maera's cheeks flushed with a mixture of anger and humiliation. The words struck a painful chord, a reminder of the rumors that had swirled around her name in King's Landing. She took a step back, her voice quivering with emotion. "Those rumors were baseless lies, Father, and you know it. I have dedicated myself to our house and our family's honor. But I cannot stand by and watch my sisters' lives dictated by politics and alliances."

Lord Jasper's eyes narrowed, his voice cutting like a blade. "I won’t sit here and tolerate your disrespect, Maera. You have no say in this matter. My decision is final."

The room fell silent, the weight of their confrontation hanging heavy in the air. Maera's breaths came quick and shallow, her heart pounding against her chest. With one last searing look, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the hall, her footsteps echoing through the corridors as she retreated from her father's presence.

Tears welled in her eyes, a mix of frustration, sadness, and a deep-seated determination to protect her sisters. But her father was right, it was their duty and as their elder sister, she had no say in the marriage pacts that were made. Like many women before them, their futures be dictated solely by the whims of tradition and politics.

Under the shade of the ancient Weirwood tree, with its crimson leaves and haunting carved face, Maera found a semblance of solace. The holy book, "The Seven-Pointed Star," translated into High Valyrian, lay open before her, its pages filled with intricate characters. Her eyes scanned the chapter of The Maiden, her lips silently forming the unfamiliar words. As she tried to immerse herself in the religious text, attempting to improve her grasp of the language, Maera hoped it would provide a welcome distraction from the turmoil within her. Her mother's necklace hung around her neck, a comforting presence against her skin, and she silently prayed to the gods that Lady Gael was watching over her and her siblings.

The footsteps approaching were unmistakable, and Maera recognized them as Aemond's. His presence, even without looking up, was as familiar to her as her own heartbeat, and she had grown more vigilant since their sparring sessions had resumed. Maera called out to him in High Valyrian, a hint of playful admonition in her voice. “Nyke daor hae nāqopsir naejot tyvagon nyeshka gō, dārilaros.” I'm not as easy to sneak up upon as before, my Prince

Aemond, dressed in black riding leathers, acknowledged her with a wry smile. His presence carried with it the subtle scent of dragon, a reminder of his recent return from the Riverlands. He leaned against the Weirwood tree, his arms crossed and his white hair cascading down his back in long, straight locks. His presence offered a welcome distraction from the overwhelming thoughts that had plagued her since reading Faran's letter.

“Skoro syt se raqagon jaes tembyr?” Why the sudden devotion to religious texts? Aemond inquired, genuine curiosity in his voice.

With a sigh, Maera held up the letter from her brother for him to read. It was a small act of trust, one that revealed her vulnerability in the midst of her turmoil. Aemond accepted it and read the contents, his expression unreadable.

"Well," he began, his tone measured, "your hard work in the capital has not gone unnoticed. These matches are a testament to that, particularly ones beyond the Stormlands. That's commendable.”

His words were meant to comfort, but they couldn't dispel the cloud of sadness that hung over Maera. Aemond returned the parchment to her hand before she could reply, her voice, tinged with sadness. "Nyke emagon qringōntan hāedars." I feel like I've failed my sisters.

His reply was measured and surprisingly understanding. "Skorkydoso sīr?" How so?

Maera closed her book, leaning against the Weirwood tree, her gaze averted from his so that Aemond couldn't see the tears that had crept into her eyes.

“Nyke se mandia,” I'm the eldest, she began, the words heavy with emotion. "Nyke yenka emagon issare idīntan ēlī . sytiotāpagon zirȳ va skorkydoso naejot sagon sȳz ābrazȳrys se muña. Y…” I should have been married first. So I could guide them, advise them on being good wives, good mothers, on how to navigate the wedding night. But instead I… Her words trailed off, alluding to matters unsaid.

Aemond didn't respond with his usual sarcasm or indifference. Instead, he listened attentively, the weight of her words hanging in the air between them. After a thoughtful pause, he hummed softly before breaking the silence.

"Many women face this fate, my Lady. Duty often outweighs personal desires. You must do what is expected of you and fulfill your role."

His words struck a chord, and Maera couldn't help but feel a surge of resentment. "And what about you, Aemond? You speak of duty, but I do not see your intended Baratheon bride here. You're free to pursue your own desires."

Aemond's expression remained unreadable as he regarded her. "My duties lie elsewhere, as do my ambitions. I may not be confined to a marriage, but that doesn't mean I'm free from the demands of my name, or my blood."

Maera absorbed his words, feeling a mix of emotions. His perspective offered a glimpse into his own struggles, ones that were different but just as significant. She sighed, closing her eyes briefly. "I understand. It's just... difficult."

Aemond's voice held a rare gentleness. "I know it is. But you have the strength to navigate this path, and your sisters will need your support, Maera. Write to them, tell them you are genuinely pleased for them. Ease their fears, for they are likely more frightened for themselves than you are for them."

Maera nodded slowly, appreciating his unexpected empathy. Perhaps in this moment, despite their complicated past, she found a kindred spirit who understood the weight of expectations and duty. The prince extended his gloved hand downward towards her, silently offering her assistance with standing. As their fingers met, a subtle but electrifying sensation coursed through her. It was as if a spark had ignited between them, a sensation she hadn't anticipated. The heat in her cheeks grew as she rose to her feet, grateful for his support.

His hand lingered a moment longer than necessary before he released her, his fingers slipping away. He broke the spell with words, his voice holding a touch of sincerity that she wasn't accustomed to hearing from him. "You're a good sister, Maera. Not just to your own siblings, but to Helaena as well."

Maera met his gaze, her emotions a swirl of conflicting feelings. She nodded in acknowledgment, her voice slightly unsteady as she replied, "Thank you, my Prince. That means a lot."

He nodded, his expression inscrutable as he turned to walk away. Maera watched him go, the echoes of their conversation and the lingering touch of his hand creating a turmoil within her. She was left alone with her thoughts and the weight of her responsibilities, both to her family and to her duty at court.

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ����

[creature-wizard]

Why do new agers insist that even the physically disabled and chronically ill choose victim mentality blah blah blah blah? It's so ghoulish

While it's not unique to or even universal among New Agers, many of them have come across ideas like the Law of Attraction and the Law of Assumption, which both of which derive from New Thought, an early 19th century movement that proposed that the state of your health and wealth depend upon the state of your thinking.

But moreover - and this part is very important - shit like the Law of Assumption and the Law of Attraction are being pushed by exploitative businesses (including but not limited to multi-level marketing schemes!) to make workers feel like they're at fault when they can't succeed within a system designed to overwork them and keep the vast, vast, majority of them trapped in shitty positions.

Of course, the nature of capitalism is such that a few people do improve their situations, and these few people really do think the LoA was the reason for it; they end up thinking that they just did it better than the rest, rather than being the lucky winner in the lottery of capitalism. They tout themselves as proof that the LoA really works - failing to realizing that they're falling prey to survivorship bias.

So yeah, as it so often happens, the real enemy is capitalism here.

[dailyanarchistposts]

Take Back The World!

We are absolutely clear that it is the whole rotten capitalist system that has to be destroyed. Capitalism has nothing to offer humanity except more war, more poverty and starvation, more oppression and alienation, more pollution and degradation of the natural world. If we are to have any sort of decent life for the majority of people on this planet, if we are to establish an equitable and sustainable relationship between our species and the rest of the natural world then the capitalist system must be overthrown in order to build the world human community, anarchist communism.

The transformation of social relations between people — the Revolution — must be accompanied by a change in how humans relate to other life: other animals, plants and the ecosystem. All life (excepting humans at present) exists in a certain dynamic equilibrium with other life, since plant and animal populations interact and adjust to changes between themselves and their environment in order to maintain a stable, though changing, system. Post-revolutionary society will therefore need to establish a way of life in a similar equilibrium with the rest of nature, rather than the present relationship of domination and destruction that has resulted from industrial capitalism and class society. Practically, this would mean an end to the industrial methods of agribusiness, such as large scale monoculture that poisons the land with chemical fertilisers and pesticides, the abolition of factory farming which is harmful to both animals and people (e.g. foot and mouth disease, salmonella, BSE), and the end to the industrial fishing that is decimating fish populations and harming the environment. In place of such dangerous techniques there will have to be a system of sustainable agriculture, smaller scale, largely or wholly organic, with, for example, crop rotation to restore and maintain the soil. These changes would, for practical reasons, stimulate a move to a far less meat-dominated diet. The global trend is currently in the opposite direction, as the ‘under-developed world’ seeks (with the help of the advertising industry) to emulate the diseased, fat and additive-sodden West. Not only is this diet fundamentally detrimental to human health, it is unsustainable (and possibly unachievable) due to the vast amounts of resources (energy, land etc.) that are consumed by animals, as compared to arable (plant) production: larger areas of land are required to grow plants which feed animals to feed people. It seems obvious that the vast majority of animal experiments will end with the abolition of the profit motive (e.g. those connected with cosmetics, arms production etc). A new ethics arising from the future society’s desire to achieve a sustainable relationship in and with the rest of nature will also surely lead to a desire to minimise/abolish the exploitation of animals wherever possible.

To most people outside the small anarchist/communist milieu this will sound utopian, quixotic, old fashioned, mad. Communism? What are they talking about? Didn’t the Berlin Wall fall years ago? Aren’t we all capitalists now? Isn’t life wonderful? Of course our enemies want you to believe there is no alternative to capitalism; that the only choice is between ‘free market democracy’ and dictatorship. Despite the misuse of the word ‘communism’ by the state capitalist regimes of Eastern Europe and China, we still feel t is the best word to describe both our vision of a future society based on equality, freedom and cooperation and the real movement amongst humanity to finally abolish class-society and create a truly human community.

Capitalism is the current stage in the evolution of classsociety, of society divided into rulers and ruled, owners and owned, elite and mass and into competing elites who struggle against each other for the spoils of exploitation. The origins of class-society stretch back 10,000 years or more to the ’Neolithic Revolution’ and the establishment of agriculture and urban centres. The ‘progress’ from then to our modern world system of industrial capitalism is our ‘history’, with its unending horrors of war, slavery, genocide, empire and conquest. And yet class-society has also faced bitter resistance from within. Where there is exploitation there is always struggle against exploitation: slave revolts, peasant uprisings, riots, machine breaking, strikes, armed insurrections. And within these natural, human responses to life in class-society there have always been organised, conscious minorities who put forward the call for a different sort of society, one based on equality, freedom and co-operation. This is what is meant here by communism: a future society of equality, freedom and co-operation and the real movement towards it. Our anarchist communism aims at the overthrow of global industrial capitalism and the creation of a world human community:

without wage labour, money or the market, based around the principal “from each according to their abilities, to each according to their needs”.

without the state as an instrument of coercion, a human society based on social self-organisation and genuine planning to meet human needs and desires.

without borders or checkpoints to hinder the movement of people.

with human-scale communities organising social reproduction in such a way that everyone has the opportunity to develop their creativity; where “the free development of each is the condition for the free development of all”.

yet also maintaining a real, conscious, global unity to ensure that people can travel and communicate as they please, that knowledge, ideas, insights and pleasures can be widely shared and that problems of a global nature can be discussed and resolved.

At this point in history the degradation of the natural world caused by the action of class-society has gone so far and caused so much human misery that the communist project and the project of creating a sustainable way of life for our species on this planet are one and the same. We won’t get one without the other. It is for this reason that anti-capitalists should take the eco-catastrophe facing us very seriously and to try and shift things in a revolutionary direction.

[subtile-jagden]

Rudolf Berthold (Part 3)

Disclaimer: Now starts a part of German (and European) history that is highly controversial. The period shortly before the end of the war and the years afterwards were a mess of revolutions, fighting, terrorism and murder. Opinions of how good/bad it was depend on political/ideological convictions. For the sake of keeping it short, I will simplify and only mention events that are necessary to tell Bertholds story.

During the last month of the war Berthold still had hope that he will be able to return to the front: “I want to go back out to the frontlines! If only I had my healthy bones – but I can still do it. As long as the battle rages everyone with experience belongs out there.” But his health was too unstable for even his iron will to make a return possible. He returned to his home and waited. For what he wasn´t sure. 

In November the situation at the front and in Germany worsened and Marine troops started mutinies. Revolutions broke out, inspired by the Bolshevik revolution in Russia. Berthold was a fervent monarchist and held on to his Kaiser and the established social order. “Overthrow! Constitutional change! In a few days, what strong men have built up over centuries will be destroyed. The people have been seduced. Doubts are cast on the army. We're still far in enemy territory and we're supposed to surrender? Madness!”. Bertholds opinion on all that was happening is clear. 

After the Armistice in November a semi-civil war broke out in the bigger German cities. Communists, Socialists, Bolsheviks on the left; Nationalists and Monarchists on the right; Social Democrats in the middle. Mix in some Anarchists and foreign agents and the disaster was perfect. The soldiers returning from the front were being pursued by all sides to join. By many they were not treated well, their uniforms were ripped and they were called to throw down their weapons and join the fight against militarism. But many soldiers were still loyal to the emperor and did not want to accept the looming Republic.

 Especially at the end of 1918 to early 1919 the communists were very powerful. The left-wing Spartakus movement tried to overthrow the government in Berlin and took over Munich. Separatists in Western Germany called for independence of the Rhineland.

Berthold spend the rest of 1918 depressed at home. He felt angry, devastated and useless but he stayed true to his convictions: “The oath of allegiance I once swore I keep for life. A life that now lies so dark before me!”. But his mood and his perspectives changed when more and more Freikorps units (mostly right-wing paramilitary units, used by the Social Democratic government to defend itself and suppress the communist/Bolshevik uprisings) were established. He saw that there was still fight in some men.

The newly formed Reichswehr (official military of the new German state) offered the Hauptmann an active duty posting at Döberitz Airfield. He soon was back in uniform, training men. His charisma and leadership ability enabled him to even get along with the Worker´s and Soldier´s Councils (that caused a lot of trouble in other places). But shortly after, Berthold was ordered to close the Airfield and dismiss his men. Berthold worried that the ever rising number of unemployment would drive the men towards the Spartakus and similar movements.

When Munich, capital of Bertholds home region, was taken over by Communists in April 1919 and proclaimed a “soviel republic”, several Freikorps from all over of the country came to free it. For Berthold this was a turning point. He saw a purpose again. He now saw an opportunity to keep fighting for his country. He put out a call for young men to join him and form their own Freikorps. Soon he had gathered around 1,200 men for his “Eiserne Schar Berthold”. He trained the mostly very young farmers boys and in August they answered the call to go to the Baltics to fight the Bolsheviks there.

Berthold and his men travelled to Mitau, Lithuania to join with the Eiserne Division (Iron Division). There, Germans and anti-Bolshevik Russian were fighting the Red Army side by side. But also local troops that wanted complete independence and both Germans and Russians out of their country. It was a brutal fight from all sides. Bertholds right hand was still paralyzed, he was not able to join in the active fighting but he rallied and motivated his men with great success. They came into the suburbs of Riga but then it was over. Pressure from the German government to cease fighting and return home as well as strong resistance made it impossible to keep fighting. The Freikorps did not get any new supplies, be it food or weapons; something that even Bertholds iron will and dedication could not substitute. 

Starving and their numbers greatly decimated Berthold and his group returned to Germany in December 1919. There it was demanded that the Eiserne Schar be disbanded. Bertold did not agree to this, knowing that there was nothing waiting for him or his loyal fighters. They were ordered to report to several different locations, finally ending up in Harburg (near Hamburg), which was governed by Independent Socialists.  During this time a military-backed putsch (“Kapp-Putsch”) to overthrow the Government in Berlin was about to be carried out, with support of Lieutenant-Commander Hermann Erhardt, with a Freikorps of his own. 

Berthold was accused of wanting to come to its support and ordered to give up his weapons. Harburg officals ordered the officers of the Reichswehr stationed in the town to be arrested. Tensions rose and Berthold met with town representatives who promised safe accommodations and later on transportation for his troops. He and his men went to make camp in the local school. Local union trade leaders demanded of the Reichswehr soldiers to subdue Berthold but they were ordered to stay out of it. The trade leaders then called for their workers to take up arms against the Eiserne Schar Berthold. The men in the school readied their weapons, including machine guns, to defend themselves against the advancing lynch mob. A fight broke out (it is unclear who fired the first shot). Bertholds men were outnumbered and being fired at from all sides. Many died inside the school. After a while a cease fire was called. Berthold managed to come to an agreement with the local authorities: His men were to give up their arms and then be allowed to leave the city unharmed. But that deal was broken the second a disarmed Berthold and his men stepped out of the school. Some local sympathizers warned Berthold that he will be attacked and should try to sneak out on his own but he refused to leave his men. That was his doom. The men were attacked from all sides the second they stepped out of the school and soon lost sight of their leader. Shortly after one of the attackers called out tauntingly: “There lies your great leader”. The men of the Eiserne Schar Berthold looked towards a street corner where an unrecognizable body lay in the gutter.

Autopsy results:

The captain's blue tunic was completely torn open. There were severe scratch wounds to the neck. Terrible piston blows had shattered the entire top of his skull. Seven shots in the head, left and right chest shots, all from behind. The spine was completely separated.

Bibliography:

Iron Man – Rudolf Berthold: Germany´s indomitable fighter ace of World War I, Peter Kilduff

Kamerad Berthold, Thor Goote

Rudolf Berthold, Ludwig F. Gengler (this book consists mainly of Bertholds diary)

Die Geächteten, Ernst von Salomon

[ohmotherwhereartthou-if]

Noteworthy Characters

In this journey that you find yourself on, you will meet many people and foes. They will influence the many possible branching paths that you can find yourself on;

Will they be your ally? Will they be your enemy?

Or, will they be your family?

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

Mother (or Mentor):

Evangeline R. Alstone, or June as she prefers to be called, is one of the most beautiful women most will have ever seen. She captures the hearts of many with the most enrapturing azure blue eyes, and her raven black hair.

June has a passion for helping others and a deep empathy for those who are less fortunate, she is often found volunteering at shelters, churches, any any kind of charity event. As fate would have it, it was in fact during one of her volunteering visits, that she came across a young child who was starving and alone on the streets. With very little hesitation, June took the child under her wing, nursed them back to health and brought them home with her.

From that day on, June devoted herself to providing that child with a warm and loving home, as well as an education and a sense of family. She poured all of her energy into nurturing that child and watching them grow into a confident and successful young adult. Growing so close that the child even calls her either their mother or beloved mentor.

Despite the joy she found in caring for them, June knew that she couldn't stay in one place forever. She had her own reasons and duties that she knew she just couldn't ignore.

So, one day, she disappeared just as suddenly as she had appeared, leaving the child with a an empty home in their name and the bittersweet memory of a woman who had changed their life forever... Unknowing to the great lengths that child would go to in order to be reunited with her again.

In the words of the Traveler: "Your mother/mentor... the very image of a gentle and beautiful soul. She has the kindest heart I've ever known... and has not lost the habit of collecting strays, it seems. She appeared suddenly in your life to save you from certain death, she gave you a home, an education and a family. It would also seem like she disappeared just as mysteriously, all without a trace. Well, rest assured that I will be helping you in your search, just be aware that we won't be the only ones dead set on finding her..."

The Traveler:

(Traveler's face will shift and change as the story goes on, she tends to stick with certain features so you recognise her but it is not consistent) Link

The Traveler is a woman of a mysterious nature and unknown origin. Though, she tends to hint that she was born into a family of scholars who valued knowledge and exploration above all else. And that from a young age, she was taught to appreciate the histories of the world and to always seek out new experiences. Which has lead her to be very well read and traveled, seemingly knowledgeable in a vast many things.

Although she doesn't speak on it much, she is actually on a journey of her own, wandering the lands and seas of the Broken Isles in search of something as well. It seems lucky that her and The Orphan's goals seem to coincide, on top of that, she somehow seems to known June personally...

The Traveler has become a master of many languages and is a keen observer of human nature. She has honed her many different skills and is adept in means of strategy, secrecy, and survival, and earned a reputation as a wise and elusive figure, who could appear out of nowhere and disappear just as quickly.

But despite her many accomplishments and her vast knowledge, the Traveler remained humble always eager to learn more. She believes that true wisdom can only be gained through experience and that there was always more to discover about this world and its people.

Rey Abraham:

[Working to get actual art from commissioned artists, to have his portrait done.]

Rey Abraham Camacho was born into a lower class Castellion family in the outskirts of Castellio's capital city, Cortamez. As a child, he had to work hard alongside his parents to make ends meet, later even having to leave his home and family behind as he was sent off to Romadi’s Luogo Di Servizio for the mandatory labour service that every young Castellion had to undergo.

However, he never lost his strong sense of determination, ambition and sheer hard headedness. As despite the lack of a formal education, Abraham was a voracious reader with an appetite for learning, a strong interest in history, and a natural talent at military tactics.

It was also during his youth that he met the a young Romandi boy, a boy who would grow to become an Archon, Christopher Da Vis. A Romandi commoner like him, and through their shared hardships of working tirelessly with little reward, they quickly became close friends. They both shared a common dream and vision of changing the corrupt governance of their own respective countries, as they spent many nights discussing their ideas and forming a plan of action.

When they were both old enough, Abraham and Christopher rallied the oppressed people of Castellio starting with the ones living in Luogo Di Servizio to overthrow the Acosta family, who had ruled with great cruelty and an iron fist for generations. It was a bloody revolution, but ultimately a successful one. As the common people agreed that the best person fit to rule would be none other than young Abraham, the one who had started it all.

He was then crowned Rey and his family was named as the next Familiar Monarchy, marking the end of the Acosta rule and beginning the reign of the Camacho Familion.

With Rey Abraham at the helm, Castellio underwent a massive reformation, purging corruption and implementing much-needed reforms. Rey Abraham's values of family, self-reliance, faith, honor, and loyalty were further instilled in the renewed Castellion culture. 

He fortified the teachings of the [Placeholder Name] Bible, believing that a strong faith would lead to a strong people. He also strengthened Castellio's military presence, believing that a strong military was necessary to protect the country from any invading force.

Despite what some might call "radical" methods, Rey Abraham's reforms have been widely accepted by the people of Castellio. He has earned their loyalty and respect, and they see him as a fair and just ruler. His close working relationship with Archon Christopher and Romandi has also ensured the safety and prosperity of Castellio.

Archon Christopher:

[Working to get actual art from commissioned artists, to have his portrait done.]

Archon Christopher's came from humble beginnings as a commoner, born and raised in Romandi's most impoverished location, Luogo Di Servizio. Growing up, he had a strong sense of justice and compassion for those who were oppressed. Of which he developed by witnessing the harsh living conditions of the lower Romandi class in his hometown and the forced immigrant workers of Castellio. He found solace in making friends with the Castellion children who were sent off to perform mandated stewardships in Luogo.

It was there that he met Abraham, a young hot-headed boy who was always there to back him up in a fight; they quickly became friends. Christopher's kind and empathetic nature helped to calm Abraham's impulsive one; or at times encouraged it, depending on the circumstance.

The two of them spent countless nights envisioning how they could make the world they lived in a better place.

Christopher's influence and leadership grew as he included other children in their conversations, and soon, he slowly became a symbol of hope for the mistreated youths of Luogo.

As they grew older, Christopher and Abraham continued to discuss their dreams and aspirations for a better world. They both came to realize that a revolution was necessary to overthrow the tyrannical overseers that oppressed both of their people, and they began to rally Romadians and Castelliones alike to join their cause.

Christopher married his childhood sweetheart Roxanna, and together, they fought for the revolution. With best friend and chosen brother Abraham at his side, Christopher led the charge to overthrow the corrupt rulers and bring peace and prosperity to Romandi. He was crowned the 64th Archon and made Roxanna his queen.

As Archon, Christopher introduced an era of prosperity to Romandi. Art, music, food, drink, and fine crafts flourished under his rule, and he made great efforts to maintain a balance of peace between the different social classes. His greatest dream is to build n education system that would provide learning opportunities to everyone who wishes to learn, regardless of their social class or financial status. He believes that everyone deserves a chance to learn and grow, and that education is the key to a better future.

Christopher's warm heart and love for learning have led him to adopt the ideology of seeing the best in everyone. He is a fair ruler who tries his best to understand and empathize with the needs and concerns of his people. His kind and compassionate nature has won him the love and respect of his subjects, and he is best known by his title given to him after winning the war for the freedom of the weak in Romandi; "The Champion Of The People".

[fzzr]

Let me tell you the story of why Morrowind remains my favorite game of all time. When you start out in Morrowind, the first thing you're expected to do is rob the customs office where they're not done processing you for release from prison. The first two quests you're likely to get are giving an elf dude back his ring and then robbing him blind on behalf of a dude he owes some money to. As soon as you walk out of town, you hear a bloodcurdling scream and a dude falls out of the sky and splats to his death right in front of you. On his body are scrolls that buff your jumping skill to 1000 (ten times the natural maximum and enough to let you jump so high the ground starts to recede from your view distance) but only for 7 seconds, meaning that if you use them, you suffer the same fate he did (unless you stall your fall in some way). The wildlife is nuts, all dinosaurs and giant mushrooms. The first cave you find is full of cat people slaves you can free and an asshole wizard who will probably kill you in the first encounter. All this just sets the tone.

A decent number of levels later, I was feeling pretty confident in myself. I had gotten some okay equipment, done some quests, killed some dudes. I was given a quest to go out into the wilderness and meet some folks. They gave me a starting point and some directions and left the rest to me. There are no quest pointers in Morrowind. There is a map that you fill in by exploring. I headed into the wilderness lightly stocked, confident that like before, I'd be able to live off the loot of the land and come back laden with goodies. One of the first things I met was an alligator demon. It took a huge chunk out of my health and I ran the hell away.

Shortly afterward I realized I was lost. I tried to follow the general directions, but I was in the middle of a more or less landmarkless wasteland by this point. I headed north, tried to guess if my bearing was right, decided to head east for a bit, decided I was nowhere near where I was supposed to be, and decided to just follow the first thing I saw that looked like a road. I was still poking my head into every cave to check for easy enemies or loot, but I was run off as often as I ran off with new potions and gear. I gained levels. I slept in the field. I ran out of repair hammers for my armor. I found better armor on a guy I just barely managed to kill and discarded my old armor for his (I didn't have room to carry more stuff at this point anyway). I was in the east half of the island by this point, which I'd never explored before. I decided to head south, toward the nearest city I knew about.

Eventually I got out of the wastelands and into some vaguely green terrain. I came across a massive stone fortress. I charged in, slaughtered everyone, chugged potions and looted more off the bodies of the dead. My sword was damaged so I dropped it and picked up a lesser one in better condition. When I killed them all, I was able to replenish most of my supplies. I dropped loot I'd carried halfway across the map in order to take more repair hammers, I'd learned that keeping gear in shape is not a joke. I came across a road sign. Balmora it read in one direction, Vivec in another. All I had to do was follow those signs, that road, to safe and familiar cities.

Instead, I kept on heading south, to the closer-as-the-bird-flies city I'd initially set my sights on. The path led over more mountains. There weren't many caves to raid. I fought off Cliff Racers. I killed a demon just like the one I'd run from at the beginning of my trip. I climbed down the side of a mountain toward my target, a town I'd first visited by paying someone to take me there. I reflected on how boring towns were compared to the field. I sold what little loot I had left. I didn't need to replenish my stores; I'd returned better supplied than I'd left. I took another look at the map, and thought about how much faster it would be to pay a few gold for a quick trip back to the capital. I decided to walk instead.

tl;dr: Went from Maar Gan to Suran by way of a loop around Red Mountain and Falensarano or Marandus, not sure which. Left a boy, returned a man. I post this on reddit all the time and I figured it was time to move it to tumblr.

[ravenaohridska]

As a Brazilian with universal healthcare, I agree! OP is so fucking right!!

I know SUS (acronym for Unified Health System, in Portuguese) is not perfect, I know, but damn.

I would wait 8 months to see a specialist without paying nothing more than my taxes than having to sell my house to pay my treatment just to wait the same 8 months.

And I say that as a chronic ill person.

I'm in constant pain. I CANNOT work a regular job.

I haven't been able to do my freelancer job for months now.

I have no money.

I couldn't afford thousands and thousands for the rest of my life!

ALSO, I'm autistic and we have a HUGE problem here with insurance simply canceling contracts of autistic people (and probably other chronic conditions too) because they know it's a lifelong thing that will use the plan to its maximum. And they don't want that.

They want us to pay and pay for years without using it so they could profit more and more.

The problem it's NOT the universal healthcare guys.

It's capitalism.

They are greedy.

They don't care about human life.

Or any life in general.

Please remember who the real enemy is.

The working class should stick together.

We're stronger together.

They know that.

We need to remember that.

Sometimes I see people from countries with public healthcare systems post videos that are like “This is the reality of socialized medicine. I had to wait in the ER with my sick baby for 4 hours.” “I had to wait 8 months to see a specialist. That’s egregious.” or “They didn’t have a bed for my loved one in mental health treatment.” and it’s like. Come to America babygirl. You can experience all of this and have your insurance deny it and pay thousands and thousands of dollars for it. Like I know healthcare systems in countries with public health can be bad but when I see someone imply they’re bad because the healthcare is universal, I want to jump through the screen and put my elbow on their throat. “The NHS is deeply flawed, therefore we should abolish it and go back to private healthcare. That will definitely make healthcare in this country better!” I am going to Kill You.

[ineedtobeheardnotseen]

Well the propranolol works like a charm

Even though my depression has reached abysmal depths, I have very little anxiety

Which is great, because the anxiety is the part that makes me want to kill myself

The depression just makes me want to make decisions that will bomb my life

Like quitting my easy, steady job

It's hard not to view my job as the enemy even though I work for a government service that helps kids and families

After all, they still force us to work a full 40 hours per week on a regular 8-5 schedule, which scientists have repeatedly established is basically torture

I think I need to stop watching or reading the news for the sake of my own health because it doesn't help

My depression really just makes me tired and clouds my thoughts, it's all the awful news that makes me feel hopeless on top of it all

I read something about the fact that earth's water cycle is being disrupted, and the article was framed in such a way that it only really talked about the financial repercussions of such a thing, such as the impact on various countries' GDP and the agricultural industry

It said virtually nothing about how rising prices of both food and water due to this scarcity will impact communities and add to our suffering

Because the people who could fix this problem don't care about that

But honestly, presenting it the way the writers did just makes the situation look ideal to people who have stock and interest in water and agriculture because they will be able to raise prices and quote this article as an excuse

It's not going to drive them to make any sweeping and emergency policy changes

Rich people are playing a game of elimination, the point is to destroy as many of their peers as possible and steal their resources until there's only one man left holding all of the cards

The increasing disasters of earth only speed the game closer to its eventual conclusion

Those of us that aren't viewed as competitors in the game are instead viewed as managed resources, expended or conserved by our owners only as necessary to defeat other players in this game

They aren't kidding when they call capitalism a death cult

And we're powerless to stop them without risking both our lives and the lives of our loved ones

All we can do is live our day-to-day and hope for small joys to outweigh our suffering

You can imagine how thinking about all of that might impact my depression

It's Sunday

I have tomorrow morning off, and I'm supposed to go back into work for the afternoon

I hate going into work depressed, but I need to get used to it

My job is easy, my coworkers are kind, and I have plenty of opportunities to rest

I just have to do what I need to in order to get through each day

A friend is coming from out of state to visit me at the end of the month

A family member from out of the country is coming to see me at the beginning of next month

I have enough to look forward to, just gotta manage my mood in the meantime

[pawneol]

Cybercity wanderer | rangers subclass

what day are we on again? i wanted to take a few days off to make this better... 6/14 i think?

Wandering the waste lands has made you a significantly better hunter, but has also taught you what it means to be prey. Civilization has reverted back to what it began as, group persistence hunting. If alone, you’ve been conditioned to hide in the shadows, never fighting unless you outnumber the enemy. You specialize in turning the odds of a fight into the party's favor, doing better against stronger enemies than early game creatures. Some abilities have a different effect depending on if you are above or below half health, making this a significantly harder subclass to play. 

Perseverance hunting

Starting at 3rd level, you begin to slowly dwindle at your enemies, never allowing them a break. If they try to strike back you simply retreat before returning from the shadows, never allowing them a fighting chance.

When you start a combat and are above half health, you choose a target. If you go back above half health after dropping from half health you may choose to select a new target or stick with your old target.  If your target dies by one of your actions, you may select a new target an equal amount of times to your proficiency bonus. Your movement speed changes to match the targets, and you roll to hit on this enemy with advantage.  If you have hunters mark on this enemy and they take the dash action you gain a free action dash on your turn. If you fall below half health, you drop your target and all bonuses that come with it.

If you start the combat at below half health or fall below half health during a combat, you are compelled to flee. Your movement speed doubles, and you can disengage as a bonus action. At the start of every turn (while in combat) you heal Xd8, where X is equal to your proficiency modifier divided by two rounded down. This healing has a limit of 3 turns per combat, and can be used in an amount of combat equal to your proficiency per long rest.

Hunting eye

Starting at seventh level, you begin to learn to hide in the crevices and track down prey later after being badly hurt. You begin to become feared among your prey, knowing that even if they escape it will only be a matter of time before you hunt them down. Hunter's mark is no longer a concentration spell for you, and can last as long as you want it to. You no longer have advantage on tracking the enemy afflicted with hunters mark, instead always knowing where it is. When you take the hide action (or bonus action), you roll with advantage. If the target you have hunters marked attempts to find you, they roll with disadvantage. Whenever you attack with hunters' mark against a favored enemy, you can choose to make the bonus for hunters' mark  not a flat damage dice. Instead roll a percentage dice, then do that percent of their health. If this is above 30 percent, immediately become 30 percent instead. If you roll lower than a 30 percent round the damage down, if you roll a 30 percent or higher round the damage up. You can use this an equal amount to your proficiency bonus per long rest.

Precision strike

You begin to see openings in your prey's escape, them stopping to drink water, or to catch their breath. You capitalize on this weakness, allowing your strikes to be more powerful.

Starting at level 11, Whenever you have hunter mark’  attached to an enemy and are above half health, any attack with a base roll to hit of 18 or higher against them gives them a point of exhaustion. Any roll to hit with a base roll of 15-20 while above half health does 1.5x damage rounded down.

Whenever you have a hunters mark attached to an enemy and are below half health you can take the disengage action for free whenever you strike said enemy. Every successful attack gives you five extra feet of movement speed as well as healing you 1d12+CON. 

Ranged defiance

Your strategies tend to fail when they can fight back from a distance, you must not allow this to continue before they evolve.

Starting at level 15, you begin to use shields at your advantage. When using a shield, you are immune to piercing damage, and can collect any arrows shot at you for no action in the middle of combat. When not using a shield, you are much more adept at dodging, always taking half damage from spells. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

your honor, in my defense i missed a bunch of days because i was working on one of my campaign and a few of its systems. anyways, how does one ranger? I've played ranger exactly once... and it was a one-shot. i hope i did a better job balancing this due to me looking over it a million times and taking my time. the only thing i'm questioning is the ranged defiance ability, it isn't broken as I've seen it in other homebrews, but its got me raising my eyebrows at it due to i eliminating one of this classes counter plays.

[child-of-the-cataclysm]

Chapter Nineteen: A Moment of Rest

Metka was resting, packed into a bed in the medical tent in the hopes of our relatively minimal medical crew nursing her back to health. Riota had been sitting at her side nigh-constantly since Metka had returned, leaving only to attend to her basic needs. I’m sure she would have eaten by Metka’s side, if the medic hadn’t ushered her away the first time she tried. 

Our new Silver Hand was weak, compared to the other two factions in this war. Morati’s Kadien Empire - small as it was compared to the grandiose name - had nevertheless come into existence with a ready-made army, built up during the time of the old Silver Hand during their march towards the capital. Since then, they had managed to capture at least two villages and one of the Crown’s outposts, building a powerbase to operate out of. Rumours had spread that Morati had even hired foreign mercenaries - groups of skilled soldiers from the other slices of the Crown’s holdings. Given that the Kadien Empire apparently held the ravine crossing over to one of those other holdings, it seemed feasible. 

The Crown, on the other hand, was the indomitable power at the centre of it all. The capital alone would have been enough to give them the edge in this war, but they had soldiers and civilian supply lines spread throughout the entirety of the shattered kingdoms. Even before they had brought in their iron wagons and the strange new fire-belching weapons which were mounted atop the Capital’s walls, they would have been my pick to win most battles. 

This new form of the Silver Hand, compared to both enemies, was quite small. We had maybe five total medics, and our total military was made up of about 100 people - many of whom were injured quite seriously from previous battles by this point. In terms of civilian support, many of those who had been harmed by the Crown or the Kadien Empire provided what little support they could, but it remained minimal. 

Our best source of support so far was, shockingly, the Leamin family. Not Rahkor himself, of course. Splintering idiot had joined the Bloody Hand just to get the chance to kill me. The rest of his family were merchants, for the most part, based out of the capital and trading with several of the other slices of the shattered kingdoms. Every so often, during a trade caravan through our slice, some of their goods or money would ‘go missing’ and turn up in the hands of one of our operatives. It was a small blessing, and one of the few things keeping us going. 

The other thing that kept us going was a bit simpler - while the Crown’s soldiers would fight back if we attacked them, the king had apparently made some executive order preventing them from making the first move. It was baffling to think that even after all I had done to make it clear that I wouldn’t side with him, the king still refused to make me his enemy openly. Nevertheless, thanks to his refusal to initiate attacks against us, the Silver Hand was essentially only at real war with Morati’s people. 

So, we kept our core forces on the move. Our medics had two stable locations, one in Chester and one in a small town called Bemric. Two of the medics stayed at each of those stable locations, with one staying with the rest of us on the move. Right now, we had 76 soldiers with us. The rest stayed at one of the stable medical locations - whether for care or as guards - for the most part, with a few strays out gathering information. It was far from an ideal layout, but our stable locations were unmarked, and keeping the rest of our forces on the move kept us all safer than we might be otherwise. 

Of course, being on the move constantly was what I was used to in the first place - my time with the old Silver Hand had driven that into me. Flick was less gung-ho about it. He complained constantly about wanting a proper bed, or a quiet room, or even just a real meal, but ultimately he stuck it through. He was still darker than he once had been. When he and I first left the Capital, most of Flick’s family had come with us. Flick had managed to convince them of the danger they would face if they stayed in the capital while he went on to become a rebel of sorts. Some of his family had stayed behind - most notably his older brother, who had recently been sighted in the uniform of an officer in the Crown’s army. 

What really made things worse for Flick, though, didn’t come until about two months into our little campaign. Back then, we had tried to stay in one place, using a stationary hidden headquarters built into a cave system near the edge of the wyldlands. The Bloody Hand found them, somehow, and swept through the headquarters in a flash. When it was all over, most of Flick’s family was dead, as were a large number of our other members and civilian support. 

That was the conflict that had led to Metka and Riota abandoning Morati’s new empire, disgusted by what had been done. During their escape, Morati himself had cut off Riota’s arm. It had ingrained in all of us the idea that Morati really had become something… different from Nileas. Something monstrous. 

Flick’s mother, the Lady of Roses, was the only member of his family (of those who had left the capital with us) who had survived that assault. She was even darker than Flick, after that. Thinking to use that, I had put her in charge of our spy network, but had to put her back to traditional military work after I found a soldier of the Kadien Empire who had been tortured to such a state that I could barely recognize him as human. 

Fortunately, the Lady of Roses took to the role of military commander quite a bit better. She was still brutal, but without the excuse of information gathering, her cruelty was… slightly more restrained, and generally only directed against those who were actively trying to kill her. It was still less than ideal, given our attempt to be something better than those we were fighting, but it worked. 

(~)

I was jolted from my reverie by the sound of metal striking metal. Warily, I stood, peering out from my tent, looking for what might be creating the noise. Just outside my tent, the Hand had formed a loose circle. Sighing, I cracked my back and stood straight, then pushed through the circle. In the centre, as expected, two of the soldiers were circling each other, blades outstretched. 

“Oi!” I shouted, cupping my hands around my mouth to emphasise the word. “We don’t have the medics to get you idiots patched up if you poke each other full of holes! Drop ‘em!” The crowd groaned, and I flipped them all the sign of the lady. “Oh sod off, you lot! Find something less deadly to entertain yourself!”

The two who were at the centre of the circle tried to fade off with the rest of the crowd, but I fixed them with a glare, and they awkwardly stood still. “Alright. One at a time, what’s going on here?”

They glanced at each other, then one of them - a short woman with body hair approaching that of a wyldling’s - spoke. “Well, beggin your pardon miss, I was mindin my business, choking down some of that slop what the quartermaster’s been ladellin, when this one came along and swiped m’damn bread!” 

The other, a blank-faced man who looked so generic that I half-forgot his face every time I blinked, snorted. “Pigshit! Your ladyship, that bread were rightful mine! She took the last damn loaf right afore I would have had it myself!” 

The woman and I both stared at him incredulously, and after a moment I picked my jaw off the ground and shook my head. “My good man, do you mean to say you feel the bread was yours because you would have had it were she not ahead of you?” He nodded firmly, crossing his arms. Throwing my hands up in exasperation, I glanced apologetically at the woman. “Well, man, in this unit, every soldier has equal right to every piece of bread. If she was ahead of you, that bread was rightful hers, you hear? If you want to fight someone over that judgement, I’m right here.” Stepping forward, I puffed my chest out, shaking out my hands and folding them into fists. “Well? What think you, soldier?” 

Awkwardly, the man stepped back, pushing his sword into its sling at his side. “No miss, I… It were rightful her bread, it were my mistake.” He bowed to me, then awkwardly to the woman, then turned and ran off. Sighing, I shook my head, then glanced over to the woman. 

She gave me a sly grin, then pulled out two loaves of bread from a small bag at her side. Stunned, I let out a full-chested laugh, and she grinned bigger, then held one of the loaves out to me. “For that wondrous judgement of yours, miss.” 

Shaking my head again, I grabbed the bread and took a bite out of it. It was no wonder she had taken two of the loaves. The quartermaster, bless his heart, couldn’t make an edible stew to save his life, but his bread was truly remarkable. 

“What’s your name, soldier?” I asked, once the bite was down. She dropped into an over-dramatic bow, flinging her arm out to one side as she did. “Well miss, I’ve been known by one or two names in my day. Right now I reckon the one most are callin me by is Liara.” 

I nodded, hooked a crate with my foot, drew it over, and sat atop it. “Well, Liara, you have a clever way with words. How are you with that sword?” 

She mimicked me, pulling her own crate to sit on, took a bite of her bread large enough to show off a mouthful of shark-like teeth. After a moment or two, she grinned over at me. “I reckon I’m good enough. I’d do better with a rifle, but by the seemsways of things, I’m not right sure you’ve got those here, so the sword will do just fine.” 

Intrigued, I leaned in. “A rifle? I’m not sure I know what that is, right off. Where are you from, Liara?” 

Liara leaned in herself, mimicking my posture down to the fingers I had steepled in front of me. “I reckon you wouldnae have heard of it, miss.” She dropped the mimicry of my posture and grinned, leaning back and stretching. “Across the ravine, suffice to say. Then a few more crossings additional, if I have my bearins about me right!” 

Raising my eyebrows, I nodded. “Well. I find myself curious what leads someone who has travelled so far to join up with our outfit - and what a rifle might be, of course.”

Liara slapped her knee, taking another chunk out of her loaf of bread. “I willnae lie to you, miss, I didnae rightly intend to join you when I came. Right out of your depth, you are!” She grinned ferociously at me, and I nodded, smiling slightly. “By my reckonin, though, you an those Bloody Hand fellers are maybe the only ones out there fightin the Crown right now, and that Bloody Hand seems like a gathering of right gits.” 

I snorted and nodded. “Aye. That they are.” She winked at me, then continued. “As to what rifles are… I imagine we’ll be seein the Crown use them afore too long… Think of them as the next step forward from crossbows. Dangerous blighted things, too. Relics of the old days, for the most part, although some places have started in on makin their own.”

Groaning, I settled my face into one of my hands. “Of course. Old world weapons. Just what we needed to make this fight even less possible.” Liara kicked at my foot, and I looked up at her. “Dinnae worry ‘bout it, miss,” she said, giving me what would have been a comforting smile if it weren’t for the jagged shark-like look of her teeth. “In my experience, once one side starts in on usin them, both sides end up with em quicklike.”

(~)

After our first meeting, Liara quickly weaselled her way into being one of my top lieutenants. It only took a few days for me to convince the others of what had been immediately evident to me - she had a lifetime of battlefield experience, and quite a few of those experiences had been in kinds of battle we couldn’t quite imagine from our own limited experience. 

She wasn’t quite what you might want out of an advisor, with her seeming inability to take anything too seriously, but she was adept with strategy, had a keen mind for logistics, and was a remarkably solid commander. Once she had carried out a raid on a Crown supply caravan with only five soldiers behind her, the others quickly accepted her at the head of things with us. 

With Liara included, the head of the Silver Hand as it stood now consisted of myself, Riota, Flick, Metka (at least once she was healed up), and her. We were still one shy of having a proper Hand in the fashion of the old one, but that was hardly a major problem. What was a problem was the news we received from one of our spies shortly after Liara was officially accepted as a core member of the Hand - Morati had received an envoy from the Crown at Ketwin. 

There were quite a few things that such a meeting could actually mean. An offer for a prisoner exchange, for instance, was relatively common these days, from what we had observed. Every time it happened, though, we feared that the envoy would bring news of the Empire being officially accepted by the Crown, and the eyes of Morati turning solely towards us. It seemed unlikely, but each time the Empire won a victory over the Crown, it became ever-so-slightly more plausible. 

Even if it wasn’t that dreaded news, we needed to know what it was the envoy had gone there for. So, after giving our spy a good meal as thanks for his work, I sent him back out. Gathering information from the area directly around Ketwin was about the most dangerous assignment one of our spies could be given, but it was deeply necessary. Actually going in to Ketwin and finding out what was going on in the central hall of the Empire was even worse. It was a sign of the spy’s immaculate character that he agreed to do so regardless of the danger, simply because it was information we needed. 

Of course, he would be rewarded on his return, assuming he survived. Any spy who could get into Ketwin and retrieve information from Morati’s court was worth a bonus. If I had the choice, all of the Hand’s membership would be getting bonus pay all the time, but we didn’t exactly have the funds for that. Rewarding outstanding work would have to do. 

Waiting for the news of what had gone on in Ketwin was harrowing. I found myself spending much of the time with Riota and Metka, holding Metka’s hand and praying to whatever forces governed this world that she would recover. The only religion I had ever known about at that point was the Lady’s Will, which made the idea of praying somewhat alien to me, but I knew it was something people did, and I found myself doing it as well. 

After a few days, the spy returned. Metka was just barely well enough to sit up in her bed, so the core members of the Hand received the spy in the medical tent. She might not have been capable enough to talk much, but she was still one of us, and if nothing else she deserved to know what was going on. Besides, she was the only one of us to have spent any significant time under Morati’s… care. That experience might have ended up relevant. 

What the spy told us was, fortunately, not that the Crown and the Empire had made an effort at peace. Unfortunately, what he had brought back from his investigation wasn’t that much better; the Crown’s envoy had brought a request for ceasefire. Apparently, some coup had been enacted at the highest levels of the Crown’s leadership, and the new leaders were willing to make some concessions to Morati’s Empire in exchange for some time to gather themselves. 

The spy had been unable to discern what Morati’s response had been. He hadn’t made it into the Kadien court proper, of course. I wouldn’t have asked him to try, unless he thought there was a way to do so completely safely. From the talk outside of the court, it was clear that there had been some commotion around the time of the envoy’s arrival, and it had tainted the negotiations, but very little about the outcome seemed to be floating to the surface of things. 

Thanking him, I told him to get his bonus from the quartermaster and take a nice, long rest. Sitting around Metka’s bed, we all looked more than a little glum. It was impossible to say for certain how Morati would have responded to a request like the envoy had sent, but concessions and the opportunity to have a period of time in which they could focus their efforts on just one of the thorns in their side seemed like it would probably go a long way towards making the offer seem appealing. 

Voice crackling and pained, Metka asked if we had any idea what the commotion before the envoy’s arrival might have been. Looking around the group, it didn’t seem like any of us had heard from any of the spies we operated. Whatever it was, it must not have gotten very far out of Morati’s hall. We would have to hope it was nothing important. For now, we had bigger worries on our minds. 

[zipmartini]

I live in a state that has effective one-party rule. You probably do, too: three-quarters of the United States have one political party in control of both its governorship and its legislature. And I can tell you, as an anonymous minor government apparatchik working in that system, the only thing uniting a party's various factions together is the enemy of their enemy being their friend.

I've talked before about how the Republican party is really three parties glued together, with very few overlapping interests: the Finance party, the Bible party, and the Tea party. One cares about capital gains, one cares about abortion, and one cares about immigration. There are slivers of color on the Venn diagram: the Finance and Tea parties both care about income tax, for example, and the Bible and Tea parties care about nationalism. But they all agree on one thing: the Democrats oppose their aims and goals, and they cannot defeat them separately.

(The marvel here is how Donald Trump dominated all three wings of the Republican multiparty by not only being a Tea Party guy but convincing those in the other two wings that he's a also a pious billionaire, neither of which are true.)

(Actually, ha, no, they do not believe that, but they are very, very, very afraid of the Tea Party guys, and will therefore pretend that they do believe it, to ludicrous effect every time they have to act it out, out loud.)

Absent the Democrats, these three wings would eventually be unable to co-exist. They would splinter into Finance Party and Christo-Fascist Party and that would be what we'd be voting for in our elections. That's the thing about having a winner-take-all election system, by the way: it always comes down to two parties. Not three, and not one.

The same thing would happen — in fact, I'm going to say "will happen," if demographics do win out over fascism — if and when the Republican Party is reduced to a historical afterthought. The Democratic Party will splinter into its socialist and centrist wings, and will fight it out for the will of the American voter. Debates will pretty much go like this:

Centrist Democrat: "We should pay for universal health care by consolidating the populace into a single payer, taking advantage of the levers of the capitalist system that I love so much to create a monopsony, spearheaded by the federal government, to keep prices within current entitlements." Democratic Socialist: "We should have a complete government socialization of health care in the United States; doctors and nurses should be like postal workers, and hospitals should be like the DMV. We're going to up your taxes 30% to pay for it, but it's not like you're going to have to pay for shit like ambulance rides and nursing homes anymore. Most people will probably come out ahead, unless they make eight figures." Third Party Weirdo ("Republican"): "Well, I don't think there should be universal health care at all... every individual should have to pay cash money for their own health care, thank you very much."

This, to quote 2017, is the future that liberals want.

The problem with a certain kind of liberal (many of which are on this very website) is that they want to have this future today and skip the step where they dump the Republican Party into the dustbin of history. They are invariably Democratic Socialists very eager to get about the business of having that schism with the Centrist Democrats right here and right now. The "Joe Biden is as bad as the rest" types, as if he's in a completely different political party. He isn't. Not yet.

The business of today is doing whatever it takes to keep the country out of the hands of the members of this deeply, deeply weird cult (and I say that as a former Catholic, and a former Libertarian). There's your common ground. Those bizarre cultists are within a fingernail's width of climbing back in... and if they do, they'll never leave, because they know they were lucky to have this last shot and it'll over the minute they're back out again. They'll never forget that they were sliding off the roof to meet their Third Party Weirdo destiny, but grabbed the gutter and somehow survived. They'll climb back on and make sure no one else ever gets near the place again. See, they know this is existential. That's why they're freaking the fuck out so hard about it. That's why they're cheating. They know that — if US society evolves naturally and they're powerless to impede — in ten or fifteen years, it's Gary Johnson-ville for those guys. They can't have it.

But, yeah, tell me you've never spoken to a Democrat, without. They don't want one-party Democratic rule. Those two wings cannot wait to be rid of each other and duking it out on the big stage. They're so anxious to get on with it that they're already getting started, about one to two decades prematurely. They might end up going down together.

fuck this guy and everyone who supports him

[childofthecataclysm]

Chapter Nineteen: A Moment's Rest

Metka was resting, packed into a bed in the medical tent in the hopes of our relatively minimal medical crew nursing her back to health. Riota had been sitting at her side nigh-constantly since Metka had returned, leaving only to attend to her basic needs. I’m sure she would have eaten by Metka’s side, if the medic hadn’t ushered her away the first time she tried. 

Our new Silver Hand was weak, compared to the other two factions in this war. Morati’s Kadien Empire - small as it was compared to the grandiose name - had nevertheless come into existence with a ready-made army, built up during the time of the old Silver Hand during their march towards the capital. Since then, they had managed to capture at least two villages and one of the Crown’s outposts, building a powerbase to operate out of. Rumours had spread that Morati had even hired foreign mercenaries - groups of skilled soldiers from the other slices of the Crown’s holdings. Given that the Kadien Empire apparently held the ravine crossing over to one of those other holdings, it seemed feasible. 

The Crown, on the other hand, was the indomitable power at the centre of it all. The capital alone would have been enough to give them the edge in this war, but they had soldiers and civilian supply lines spread throughout the entirety of the shattered kingdoms. Even before they had brought in their iron wagons and the strange new fire-belching weapons which were mounted atop the Capital’s walls, they would have been my pick to win most battles. 

This new form of the Silver Hand, compared to both enemies, was quite small. We had maybe five total medics, and our total military was made up of about 100 people - many of whom were injured quite seriously from previous battles by this point. In terms of civilian support, many of those who had been harmed by the Crown or the Kadien Empire provided what little support they could, but it remained minimal. 

Our best source of support so far was, shockingly, the Leamin family. Not Rahkor himself, of course. Splintering idiot had joined the Bloody Hand just to get the chance to kill me. The rest of his family were merchants, for the most part, based out of the capital and trading with several of the other slices of the shattered kingdoms. Every so often, during a trade caravan through our slice, some of their goods or money would ‘go missing’ and turn up in the hands of one of our operatives. It was a small blessing, and one of the few things keeping us going. 

The other thing that kept us going was a bit simpler - while the Crown’s soldiers would fight back if we attacked them, the king had apparently made some executive order preventing them from making the first move. It was baffling to think that even after all I had done to make it clear that I wouldn’t side with him, the king still refused to make me his enemy openly. Nevertheless, thanks to his refusal to initiate attacks against us, the Silver Hand was essentially only at real war with Morati’s people. 

So, we kept our core forces on the move. Our medics had two stable locations, one in Chester and one in a small town called Bemric. Two of the medics stayed at each of those stable locations, with one staying with the rest of us on the move. Right now, we had 76 soldiers with us. The rest stayed at one of the stable medical locations - whether for care or as guards - for the most part, with a few strays out gathering information. It was far from an ideal layout, but our stable locations were unmarked, and keeping the rest of our forces on the move kept us all safer than we might be otherwise. 

Of course, being on the move constantly was what I was used to in the first place - my time with the old Silver Hand had driven that into me. Flick was less gung-ho about it. He complained constantly about wanting a proper bed, or a quiet room, or even just a real meal, but ultimately he stuck it through. He was still darker than he once had been. When he and I first left the Capital, most of Flick’s family had come with us. Flick had managed to convince them of the danger they would face if they stayed in the capital while he went on to become a rebel of sorts. Some of his family had stayed behind - most notably his older brother, who had recently been sighted in the uniform of an officer in the Crown’s army. 

What really made things worse for Flick, though, didn’t come until about two months into our little campaign. Back then, we had tried to stay in one place, using a stationary hidden headquarters built into a cave system near the edge of the wyldlands. The Bloody Hand found them, somehow, and swept through the headquarters in a flash. When it was all over, most of Flick’s family was dead, as were a large number of our other members and civilian support. 

That was the conflict that had led to Metka and Riota abandoning Morati’s new empire, disgusted by what had been done. During their escape, Morati himself had cut off Riota’s arm. It had ingrained in all of us the idea that Morati really had become something… different from Nileas. Something monstrous. 

Flick’s mother, the Lady of Roses, was the only member of his family (of those who had left the capital with us) who had survived that assault. She was even darker than Flick, after that. Thinking to use that, I had put her in charge of our spy network, but had to put her back to traditional military work after I found a soldier of the Kadien Empire who had been tortured to such a state that I could barely recognize him as human. 

Fortunately, the Lady of Roses took to the role of military commander quite a bit better. She was still brutal, but without the excuse of information gathering, her cruelty was… slightly more restrained, and generally only directed against those who were actively trying to kill her. It was still less than ideal, given our attempt to be something better than those we were fighting, but it worked. 

(~)

I was jolted from my reverie by the sound of metal striking metal. Warily, I stood, peering out from my tent, looking for what might be creating the noise. Just outside my tent, the Hand had formed a loose circle. Sighing, I cracked my back and stood straight, then pushed through the circle. In the centre, as expected, two of the soldiers were circling each other, blades outstretched. 

“Oi!” I shouted, cupping my hands around my mouth to emphasise the word. “We don’t have the medics to get you idiots patched up if you poke each other full of holes! Drop ‘em!” The crowd groaned, and I flipped them all the sign of the lady. “Oh sod off, you lot! Find something less deadly to entertain yourself!”

The two who were at the centre of the circle tried to fade off with the rest of the crowd, but I fixed them with a glare, and they awkwardly stood still. “Alright. One at a time, what’s going on here?”

They glanced at each other, then one of them - a short woman with body hair approaching that of a wyldling’s - spoke. “Well, beggin your pardon miss, I was mindin my business, choking down some of that slop what the quartermaster’s been ladellin, when this one came along and swiped m’damn bread!” 

The other, a blank-faced man who looked so generic that I half-forgot his face every time I blinked, snorted. “Pigshit! Your ladyship, that bread were rightful mine! She took the last damn loaf right afore I would have had it myself!” 

The woman and I both stared at him incredulously, and after a moment I picked my jaw off the ground and shook my head. “My good man, do you mean to say you feel the bread was yours because you would have had it were she not ahead of you?” He nodded firmly, crossing his arms. Throwing my hands up in exasperation, I glanced apologetically at the woman. “Well, man, in this unit, every soldier has equal right to every piece of bread. If she was ahead of you, that bread was rightful hers, you hear? If you want to fight someone over that judgement, I’m right here.” Stepping forward, I puffed my chest out, shaking out my hands and folding them into fists. “Well? What think you, soldier?” 

Awkwardly, the man stepped back, pushing his sword into its sling at his side. “No miss, I… It were rightful her bread, it were my mistake.” He bowed to me, then awkwardly to the woman, then turned and ran off. Sighing, I shook my head, then glanced over to the woman. 

She gave me a sly grin, then pulled out two loaves of bread from a small bag at her side. Stunned, I let out a full-chested laugh, and she grinned bigger, then held one of the loaves out to me. “For that wondrous judgement of yours, miss.” 

Shaking my head again, I grabbed the bread and took a bite out of it. It was no wonder she had taken two of the loaves. The quartermaster, bless his heart, couldn’t make an edible stew to save his life, but his bread was truly remarkable. 

“What’s your name, soldier?” I asked, once the bite was down. She dropped into an over-dramatic bow, flinging her arm out to one side as she did. “Well miss, I’ve been known by one or two names in my day. Right now I reckon the one most are callin me by is Liara.” 

I nodded, hooked a crate with my foot, drew it over, and sat atop it. “Well, Liara, you have a clever way with words. How are you with that sword?” 

She mimicked me, pulling her own crate to sit on, took a bite of her bread large enough to show off a mouthful of shark-like teeth. After a moment or two, she grinned over at me. “I reckon I’m good enough. I’d do better with a rifle, but by the seemsways of things, I’m not right sure you’ve got those here, so the sword will do just fine.” 

Intrigued, I leaned in. “A rifle? I’m not sure I know what that is, right off. Where are you from, Liara?” 

Liara leaned in herself, mimicking my posture down to the fingers I had steepled in front of me. “I reckon you wouldnae have heard of it, miss.” She dropped the mimicry of my posture and grinned, leaning back and stretching. “Across the ravine, suffice to say. Then a few more crossings additional, if I have my bearins about me right!” 

Raising my eyebrows, I nodded. “Well. I find myself curious what leads someone who has travelled so far to join up with our outfit - and what a rifle might be, of course.”

Liara slapped her knee, taking another chunk out of her loaf of bread. “I willnae lie to you, miss, I didnae rightly intend to join you when I came. Right out of your depth, you are!” She grinned ferociously at me, and I nodded, smiling slightly. “By my reckonin, though, you an those Bloody Hand fellers are maybe the only ones out there fightin the Crown right now, and that Bloody Hand seems like a gathering of right gits.” 

I snorted and nodded. “Aye. That they are.” She winked at me, then continued. “As to what rifles are… I imagine we’ll be seein the Crown use them afore too long… Think of them as the next step forward from crossbows. Dangerous blighted things, too. Relics of the old days, for the most part, although some places have started in on makin their own.”

Groaning, I settled my face into one of my hands. “Of course. Old world weapons. Just what we needed to make this fight even less possible.” Liara kicked at my foot, and I looked up at her. “Dinnae worry ‘bout it, miss,” she said, giving me what would have been a comforting smile if it weren’t for the jagged shark-like look of her teeth. “In my experience, once one side starts in on usin them, both sides end up with em quicklike.”

(~)

After our first meeting, Liara quickly weaselled her way into being one of my top lieutenants. It only took a few days for me to convince the others of what had been immediately evident to me - she had a lifetime of battlefield experience, and quite a few of those experiences had been in kinds of battle we couldn’t quite imagine from our own limited battles. 

She wasn’t quite what you might want out of an advisor, with her seeming inability to take anything too seriously, but she was adept with strategy, had a keen mind for logistics, and was a remarkably solid commander. Once she had carried out a raid on a Crown supply caravan with only five soldiers behind her, the others quickly accepted her at the head of things with us. 

With Liara included, the head of the Silver Hand as it stood now consisted of myself, Riota, Flick, Metka (at least once she was healed up), and her. We were still one shy of having a proper Hand in the fashion of the old one, but that was hardly a major problem. What was a problem was the news we received from one of our spies shortly after Liara was officially accepted as a core member of the Hand - Morati had received an envoy from the Crown at Ketwin. 

There were quite a few things that such a meeting could actually mean. An offer for a prisoner exchange, for instance, was relatively common these days, from what we had observed. Every time it happened, though, we feared that the envoy would bring news of the Empire being officially accepted by the Crown, and the eyes of Morati turning solely towards us. It seemed unlikely, but each time the Empire won a victory over the Crown, it became ever-so-slightly more plausible. 

Even if it wasn’t that dreaded news, we needed to know what it was the envoy had gone there for. So, after giving our spy a good meal as thanks for his work, I sent him back out. Gathering information from the area directly around Ketwin was about the most dangerous assignment one of our spies could be given, but it was deeply necessary. Actually going in to Ketwin and finding out what was going on in the central hall of the Empire was even worse. It was a sign of the spy’s immaculate character that he agreed to do so regardless of the danger, simply because it was information we needed. 

Of course, he would be rewarded on his return, assuming he survived. Any spy who could get into Ketwin and retrieve information from Morati’s court was worth a bonus. If I had the choice, all of the Hand’s membership would be getting bonus pay all the time, but we didn’t exactly have the funds for that. Rewarding outstanding work would have to do. 

Waiting for the news of what had gone on in Ketwin was harrowing. I found myself spending much of the time with Riota and Metka, holding Metka’s hand and praying to whatever forces governed this world that she would recover. The only religion I had ever known about at that point was the Lady’s Will, which made the idea of praying somewhat alien to me, but I knew it was something people did, and I found myself doing it as well. 

After a few days, the spy returned. Metka was just barely well enough to sit up in her bed, so the core members of the Hand received the spy in the medical tent. She might not have been capable enough to talk much, but she was still one of us, and if nothing else she deserved to know what was going on. Besides, she was the only one of us to have spent any significant time under Morati’s… care. That experience might have ended up relevant. 

What the spy told us was, fortunately, not that the Crown and the Empire had made an effort at peace. Unfortunately, what he had brought back from his investigation wasn’t that much better; the Crown’s envoy had brought a request for ceasefire. Apparently, some coup had been enacted at the highest levels of the Crown’s leadership, and the new leaders were willing to make some concessions to Morati’s Empire in exchange for some time to gather themselves. 

The spy had been unable to discern what Morati’s response had been. He hadn’t made it into the Kadien court proper, of course. I wouldn’t have asked him to try, unless he thought there was a way to do so completely safely. From the talk outside of the court, it was clear that there had been some commotion around the time of the envoy’s arrival, and it had tainted the negotiations, but very little about the outcome seemed to be floating to the surface of things. 

Thanking him, I told him to get his bonus from the quartermaster and take a nice, long rest. Sitting around Metka’s bed, we all looked more than a little glum. It was impossible to say for certain how Morati would have responded to a request like the envoy had sent, but concessions and the opportunity to have a period of time in which they could focus their efforts on just one of the thorns in their side seemed like it would probably go a long way towards making the offer seem appealing. 

Voice crackling and pained, Metka asked if we had any idea what the commotion before the envoy’s arrival might have been. Looking around the group, it didn’t seem like any of us had heard from any of the spies we operated. Whatever it was, it must not have gotten very far out of Morati’s hall. We would have to hope it was nothing important. For now, we had bigger worries on our minds.