#kings of poor military tactical decisions

[paristandard]

still on my silmarillion kick and back on my ‘recreating napoleon paintings’ kick here’s the whole Formenos crew probably right after taking the Oath

[duxbelisarius]

The Dance of the Dragons: A Military Analysis (Pt. 5)

At long last, we finally arrive at the battles of the Dance! A huge thanks once again to those of you that have been following from the start; if you’re just coming across this series now, I’ll direct you to the Master Post, which lists my previous analyses!

Part 5 will offer brief analysis of the use of intelligence in the Dance, but will focus primarily on the first campaigns of the war: Stone Hedge and Rook’s Rest. I will examine the strategic and tactical decisions made by the commanders of both factions, as well as assess logistics where pertinent. A definition of terms is helpful first, as I will be making use of the terms strategy and tactics; in the context of European Warfare between 1740 and 1813, Claus Telp defines strategy and tactics as follows:

‘Strategy’ is the art of war at the strategic level, concerned with political decisions such as the definition of the war aim, the mobilization of manpower and material, the planning and conduct of campaigns and the determination of the purpose as well as the context of battle. ‘Tactics’ is the art of war at the tactical level, concerned with fighting a battle in pursuit of the strategic purpose.

Intelligence gathering and espionage in the Dance suffers from the same illogical events and poor writing by George (shout out to reddit users /u/Tribune_Aguila and /u/leonie46 for drawing attention to this). While Daemon, Mysaria and Larys Strong exert a sizeable influence on the Dance via their networks of spies and informants, their effectiveness depends on whether the plot needs them. Despite commanding the Gold Cloaks for a year and a half from 104 to 105 AC, after which he was absent for the war in the Stepstones and then was in exile from 112 AC to 120 AC, we’re to believe that Daemon’s standing in the unit is great enough to use the entire force as a fifth column in the taking of King’s Landing. Of course Larys Strong fails to detect this despite being Master of Whispers and former Royal Confessor, possessing knowledge of and contacts within the city that allows him to sneak Aegon II out of the city when it falls to Rhaenyra, and to seize control of the city from her during the Storming of the Dragonpit. Gyldan tells us that Daemon had a ‘mole’ within the Green Council, and this may well have been Larys Strong, but this information ultimately amounts to nothing and is never brought up again. This inconsistent use of intel underlines a major problem with how George writes the Dance: No matter how skilled or a effective a character or characters are portrayed to be, their quality varies considerably based on how they further George’s plot, so that their qualities are liable to deteriorate at the author’s convenience.

Referencing our timeline from Part 3, open hostilities only began a month or so after Viserys death, but the beginnings of the Stone Hedge campaign can be traced back to just after Rhaenyra’s coronation. On the 12th day of the 3rd Moon (March 12th; dates will hereafter be rendered in our calendar), Daemon and Caraxes captured Harrenhal and began gathering a host of Riverlords loyal to the Black cause. Gyldan states that Harrenhal was lightly garrisoned due to Larys Strong being in King’s Landing, implying that the bulk of the Strong household forces were with him at least. Even having lost territories during the reign of Maegor the Cruel, Harrenhal is still the largest castle in the Riverlands with substantial lands within it’s fief, but we are never told of any Strong forces fighting on Aegon’s behalf. House Bracken and Vance of Atranta are the only Riverlord houses we know of that supported Aegon, with the Tullys opting for neutrality and most of their other bannermen rallying to Daemon. 

A glaring omission through most of the narrative at this time, is how the arrival of autumn affected mobilization efforts outside the North. Gyldan tells us that Jacaerys arrived in Winterfell with autumn well advanced, and based on our calculations in Part 3 along with a distance map, the journey Dragonstone-The Eyrie-Sisterton-White Harbour-Winterfell should have taken him three to four days at least assuming a journey of c.1000 miles at 30 mph plus time for stops in the Eyrie, Sisterton and White Harbour. This means autumn in Westeros would have begun within a week of Rhaenyra’s coronation (and would last until the first half of 130 AC), while fighting began in early April following the torture and execution of Blood for the murder of Prince Jaehaerys. There was already deep snow around Winterfell when Jace arrived, and even if the the climate further south was too warm for snow we should at least expect rain, sleet and cooler temperatures. Cregan Stark was already preparing for winter at that point, and we should expect this to have been the case in the agriculture-focused Riverlands; and yet Daemon seems to have had no difficulty raising troops, with many grabbing “a pitchfork or a hoe and a crude wooden shield” and marching to Harrenhal, according to Gyldan.

The opening blows of the Stone Hedge campaign were struck by the Blacks, when raiders of House Blackwood attacked villages on Bracken land, destroying septs and homes, crops and livestock. Amos Bracken, son of Lord Humfrey Bracken and heir to Stone Hedge, leads forces to retaliate; these are ambushed by Blackwood troops at a nearby mill, leading to the Battle of the Burning Mill. As alluded to in Part 2, George resorts to an absence of security repeatedly to justify the outcomes of his battles, and Burning Mill begins this trend. Amos Bracken and Lord Samwell Blackwood are both killed, and grievous losses are suffered by both sides; Raylon Rivers, Amos Bracken’s bastard half-brother, leads the remnants of the Bracken host back to Stone Hedge. While the Brackens’ forces were fighting at the Burning Mill, forces from House Darry, Piper, Roote and Frey captured Stone Hedge with the aid of Daemon and Caraxes, and Rivers is forced to surrender to spare the lives of Humfrey Bracken and his family. 

Thus ended the first campaign of the Dance in the Riverlands, as we are told that Aegon’s supporters there followed suit with the Brackens and surrendered. We have little to work with in the way of tactical analysis, but the brief account we’re given raises serious questions. We know that House Vance of Atranta also supported Aegon, and that House Vance and Bracken controlled more land and could raise larger armies than House Tully. Even if that army was divided between Atranta and Wayfarer’s Rest in the case of the Vances, such forces should still have required time and effort to subdue. George has yet to show us where Atranta and Stone Hedge are located on in-world maps, but Atlas of Ice and Fire’s locations for them seems reasonable; despite their forces a likely close proximity, both houses are subdued without much effort and never again take up arms against the Blacks. Daemon makes effective use of Caraxes in forcing the surrender of Stone Hedge, but we only hear of Daeron utilizing his dragon in this way during the rest of the Dance, once again demonstrating the sub-optimal use of dragons by both factions. 

The involvement of House Frey in the capture of Stone Hedge is by far the most questionable inclusion by George; we have no estimates for the forces available to the Darrys, Rootes or Pipers, but we do know that House Frey has the same advantages over the Tullys as Vance and Bracken. It’s more than likely that they would have been the largest component of Daemon’s forces at Stone Hedge, which begs the question as to how they managed to get there at all. A little over half a month passes between Rhaenyra’s coronation and the outbreak of hostilities, almost the exact amount of time it would take to travel from King’s Landing to Harrenhal, while House Frey’s seat at The Twins would take twice that time to reach. The Freys would need time to muster their forces and even if they conducted a forced march to Harrenhal, they would still then have to march the length of the Trident to reach Stone Hedge and would have to fight if need be. This is where George’s inconsistency with the weather is especially telling, as inclement weather would endanger the harvest and thus delay any muster by the Riverlords; we are also told later that rain and mud delayed Aemond and Criston Cole’s march on Harrenhal, with Aemond and the bulk of the army arriving there 20 days after setting out from King’s Landing. 

The rivers offer an easy solution to this problem, though introducing river travel to the narrative of the Dance creates further problems as well shall see later. Maester Yandel’s Riverlands chapter in TWOIAF stresses the importance of the Trident and it’s tributaries; mile-long lines of poleboats are “not unknown” on the rivers, while the use of the Trident and it’s tributaries by the Ironborn longboats was crucial to the founding of the Kingdom of House Hoare. Traveling on the Green Fork means the Frey forces would only have to cross the Trident and make a short march to Harrenhal, making this the most likely outcome. The rivers are a solution to this issue but introducing them in such a way requires the narrative to be consistent in the role they play from this point on, which proves not to be the case.

This brings us to the final major campaign of 129 AC, Rook’s Rest; the goal of this campaign was to force the submission of Rhaenyra’s supporters on the mainland of the Crownlands. The impetus for the campaign came from a list assembled by Larys Strong of all of Rhaenyra’s Crowndlands supporters, which likely included Rosby, Stokeworth, Darklyn, Staunton, Crabb, Brune, Celtigar and Hayford. Lords Hayford and Harte were executed after refusing to renounce their support for Rhaenyra, but Harte is never mentioned again in the narrative, while only Rosby, Stokeworth, Darklyn and Staunton are attacked by Criston Cole. With 100 knights, 500 men-at-arms and 1800 Swellswords under his command, Criston Cole marched on Rosby and Stokeworth first, whose lords had sworn new oaths of allegiance to Aegon and so added their forces to Cole’s. Duskendale, the seat of House Darklyn, is taken by surprise and sacked, with Lord Darklyn being beheaded and his forces joining up with Cole. As with Burning Mill, we have no idea what constitutes surprise, especially not in the case of a 3000+ strong host attacking a castle; most likely they attacked during the night, or were able to secure the gates and prevent them from being closed. The Battle of Rook’s Rest itself is dominated by the battle between Rhaenys and Aemond and Aegon II, and part three addresses my issues with the use of dragons during the campaign. 

From a strategic perspective, the Greens and the Blacks had essentially traded blows with the Stone Hedge and Rook’s Rest campaigns, although the end of 129 AC found Rhaenyra in a far stronger position than Aegon II. While Daemon had succeeded in securing the Riverlands and stamping out any of Aegon’s support there, Criston Cole had robbed the Blacks of many of their loyal houses in the Crownlands. Nonetheless, Rook’s Rest was a pyrrhic victory for the Greens owing to the injuries suffered by Aegon II and Sunfyre; while Rhaenyra continued to be cut-off from her allies on the mainland, Daemon’s actions in the Riverlands combined with the support of the North, Vale and northern Reach also cut off Aegon his allies in the Westerlands and Oldtown. The stage was set for a rapid escalation of the war in 130 AC, which would bring the Blacks to the brink of victory.

[jacaela]

just saw someone called ___ a racist, who "ustified the genocide of taurens by the alliance".

"Genocide":

Ah yes, our assault on the Horde town of Taurajo. I struggled with the implications of the decision. Taurajo was admittedly what you might call a 'soft target,' primarily a hunters' camp. Still, it had been used to recruit, equip, and train Horde infantry for many years. When our scouts reported that Taurajo's most dangerous units were out on the hunt, we had to act quickly. Gossip We sacked the town? I would prefer not to use the term 'sacked,' but yes, the attack went off flawlessly. We removed Taurajo from the equation, confiscated its arms, and destroyed its smithing facilities. The assault gave our forces considerable breathing room and knocked the enemy off balance. Nonetheless, during the assault, I instructed my men to leave a gap open in our lines… Gossip Why did you do that? Taurajo had a significant civilian population. I wanted to ensure that they could escape the fighting, and many did, finding refuge in the north. There are some, even in Alliance High Command, who argued that I let an opportunity slip away. That I should've taken hostages. But I don't see the value in those sort of terror-tactics. Hear me out,: I want this war to end someday. It won't ever stop if we butcher or imprison civilians. I just pray that there are those on the other side who see things as I do.

“They took down a military target. And their general refused to slaughter civilians. He could have given the order to massacre everyone. But he didn’t.” - Baine, leader of Taurens.

While the horde gleefully terrorizes civilians in Ashenvale, Alliance are sent to kill their own fraction for daring to take a few spoils of war. The only general in this war that shows mercy is forever tagged a butcher, and had his body dragged through the dirt.

Poor horde started the terrible war, but hey, how dare the alliance to answer:

Manual: Under Garrosh's command, the Horde belligerence toward the Alliance is growing. Most recently the headstrong new warchief led his forces on a rampage through neighboring Ashenvale, claiming much of what was once night elf land. King Varian Wrynn has not backed down from Garrosh's aggression, nor has the rest of the Alliance. Offensives into the Southern Barrens have secured territory once belonging to the Horde for Varian and his allies, who are also working to retake portions of Ashenvale. With tensions rising, both factions are on the brink of all-out warfare. Quest: You're in Hellscream's army now, <name>, and in Hellscream's army we kick butt and take names. Gone are the days of our people starving in the streets of Orgrimmar as we sign treaties with elves. We take what we need now. Kalimdor belongs to the Horde! The Alliance attempts to stop our expansion every chance they get. Unsatisfied with owning most of the Eastern Kingdoms, those pig-lickers want it all!

The Hordies showed how they treat their enemies, the ones who showed mercy and compassion. The Horde has completely devalued the understanding of the word “honor”.

Perhaps it's time for someone to stop inventing an alternative lore and face the truth, the horde, with a rare exception, is a solid bunch of killers.

[thetoxicgamer]

Cities Skylines 2 Publisher Reveals Civilization Strategy Game Rival

Paradox, the publisher behind Cities Skylines 2 and Crusader Kings, has unveiled a new strategy simulation game called Millenia. This game, developed by C Prompt Games, aims to challenge the dominance of titles like Civilization and Age of Empires by offering a deep and flexible strategic experience that covers technology, economics, military tactics, and victory conditions. In an exclusive interview with PCGamesN at Gamescom, C Prompt Games shared details about Millenia. One common issue in strategy games like Civilization and Stellaris is that, after playing through them multiple times, strategies and paths to victory can become repetitive and fixed. Players tend to know the strengths of various nations or factions, the optimal early-game decisions, and the best victory conditions for their chosen civilization. Millenia seeks to address these concerns with its unique approach, starting with its central pillars. In Millenia, the progression of ages and eras is not predetermined. Depending on specific in-game conditions, players can trigger different eras that significantly alter available technologies, challenges, and potential victory paths. Some of these eras are rooted in reality, like the Age of Plague, which can be triggered by poor hygiene and health management, or the Age of Blood, brought on by constant warfare. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vx0NBKcVlH4 Other eras delve into alternate history and fantasy, such as the Steampunk Age or the Age of Robot Overlords. The first player to meet the necessary conditions for an era influences the entire game world, dragging other players into that era with them. For instance, if a civilization neglects healthcare, it could lead to a worldwide outbreak of the Age of Plague. Millenia features two types of ages: variant ages and crisis ages. While crisis ages may present more challenges, they can also offer strategic opportunities. These ages separate technology into distinct buckets, defined by each era, which creates a unique and unpredictable blend of historical and fantastical elements, making each game different from the outset. According to designer Ben Friedman, "The ages separate technology from a linear tech tree into buckets of content defined by each age. You’ll see ages like steampunk, Age of Blood, alchemy, the robot overlord stage. You’re not really sure how the game is going to go from the outset. Some of these are kind of framed as downsides, but if you’re strategically minded, you can see what those crises are and adapt to fit that." Millenia also features a highly flexible economy. Unlike some strategy games where your starting location and initial resources dictate the entire game, Millenia allows players to transform raw materials into various products and properties. Even if you lack certain resources compared to your rivals, it doesn't necessarily put you at a disadvantage. The game's economy includes diverse goods chains and improvements, providing players with deep and rich strategic choices. Territory-based resources do not constrain regions to specific roles, and players can adapt their economies based on available resources and research. Your civilization's identity in Millenia is equally flexible. Instead of being locked into a fixed set of abilities and traits, you have the freedom to shape your culture according to your preferences. Even if you're playing as a historically strong economic nation, you can choose to pursue other paths, such as becoming a bloodthirsty warmonger or a trader. This flexibility ensures that you're not penalized for choices made early in the game, promoting adaptability as a core gameplay element. Victory conditions in Millenia are also adaptable. While there are some predefined conditions, each era presents unique opportunities for victory, provided your civilization is appropriately prepared. This eliminates the predictability found in some strategy games, encouraging players to continuously adapt and adjust their strategies. Ben Friedman explains, "Destroying everyone's regions ends the game. But some of the ages are victory ages, where there are specific rules that can lead to a victory condition. We have religious victories, diplomatic victories, science victories that are built into these ages, so as you're picking the timeline, you're going to want to push towards a victory you're suited for." In summary, Millenia aims to redefine the strategy game genre by offering a responsive and adaptive experience to players. It introduces a dynamic timeline, diverse ages and crises, flexible armies and economies, a non-linear technology tree, and multiple victory conditions. By blending real history, alternate history, and fantasy elements, Millenia promises to provide a fresh and unique strategy gaming experience. While the release date has yet to be confirmed, it's clear that Millenia is a game to keep an eye on for strategy enthusiasts. Read the full article

[gchoate17]

I watched 30 movies in 2022 – down from 46 last year. Here they are, ranked in order. Most of them can be found on Netflix or Amazon Prime Video. I also ranked the shows I watched this year.

The Forgotten Battle -- Dutch-language film with subtitles. I appreciated that the movie included real-world military strategy, and it showed war from the front lines as well as from the civilians’ perspective. It managed to touch on the resistance without making it more than it was, and most impressive of all, the film humanized a character fighting for the wrong side without making him a complete saint.

To the Bone -- Usually movies about disorders, diseases, or issues in general are so focused on shedding light on those things that they forget to care about actual plot or character development, but this one did a great job on all fronts.

The King -- War in the 15th century was ridiculous, but fun to watch.

The Great Gatsby (2013) -- Baz Luhrman was the perfect filmmaker for the glitz and glam of the 1920s. The first 45 minutes of the movie was fantastic. My hangups were the shortcomings of the story – Gatsby works best as a flawless person who doesn’t need love, which is an impossibility. Also, Daisy doesn’t get to make decisions? (I get it, it was the 1920s, but still.)

The Meyerowitz Stories -- [SPOILER ALERT, kind of] This felt like a Wes Anderson story told by Noah Baumbach, if that makes sense. The characters’ behavior was too on the nose sometimes, but usually the humor of such behavior carried the scene. Great casting. Best scene was Hoffman running away from the gallery opening.

Other People -- Balances humor well with the emotional struggle that cancer brings. Probably the best acting I’ve ever seen from Molly Shannon. Also, Jesse Plemons is in every single movie, I think.

While We’re Young -- I’m scared by how much I related to the “older” couple in this movie.

The Lost Daughter -- Sad and beautiful and terrifying in multiple ways. “Children are a crushing responsibility.”

The Seige of Jadotville -- True story and military tactics and a band of Irish brothers against all odds. All my things.

The Devil All the Time -- Dark and sinister and a kind of underdog story. Robert Pattinson continues to successfully shake off his Twilightness.

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society -- Cute, but with some real depth. I cried.

All Quiet on the Western Front -- The brilliance of this movie (novel) is that it shows what cannon fodder individual lives were in World War I, and it humanized the poor bastards who came of age in Nazi Germany.

Munich: The Edge of War -- [SPOILER ALERT] I never understood von Hartmann’s political position – too anti-Hitler for Lena, who is also anti-Hitler? – and so it was hard for me to get his motivation at times.

War Machine -- Fantastic thesis, humorous at times, but from an overall entertainment perspective…mostly dry.

Licorice Pizza -- Man, what I wouldn’t give to see Phillip Seymour Hoffman in this movie.

Hustle -- I love Adam Sandler in dramatic roles. This one started out at a 4.5, ended up at a 1.5. Sports training montage situation.

The Master -- Phillip Seymour Hoffman and Joaquin Phoenix are always brilliant, but I felt like this one dragged a bit. I never felt like we were building toward anything, which was probably the point, but the entertainment value suffered because of it.

The Adam Project -- Playful in a Ryan Reynolds sort of way, has some heart.

I Came By -- I could probably watch George MacKay and Kelly MacDonald in anything. Without them, this is your standard thriller.

The Power of the Dog -- [SPOILER ALERT] The characters pulled complete 180s. Phil was a complete asshole who turned out to just be a closeted gay man? And chaste Rose became an instant alcoholic without her husband stepping in? Doubtful.

IO -- Dystopia fix. Full of improbabilities and character behavior that didn’t make sense. But I liked seeing the girl from Maid in something else.

Hail; Caesar! -- Only worth it for the subtle quirkiness.

Sorry to Bother You -- Interesting premise and I enjoyed the quirkiness, but ultimately the story grew tiresome.

Windfall -- Interesting to see Jason Segel in a role like this, but otherwise, there wasn’t much here for me.

The Colony -- Dystopia fix. Full of improbabilities and character behavior that didn’t make sense.

Sand Castle -- Cliched. And the military consultant or whatever should be fired. “Hoo-AAAAHHH.”

The Ballad of Buster Scruggs -- These vignettes felt like incomplete ideas.

World War Z -- It’s been so long that this movie was marketed to me that I forgot it was a zombie flick. By the time I realized it, I was too tired to keep searching for something else to watch.

Stillwater -- Had faith in Matt Damon to choose good movies. He did not do so here. Cliched out, and so many things that didn’t make sense. How did he afford to stay in a hotel in Europe for so long?

Blade Runner (1982) -- I have no doubt this movie had a major impact when it originally hit theaters, but forty years later, it did nothing for me. (Except maybe highlighting Ray Finkle’s early work.)

See previous years’ lists here: 2021, 2020, 2019, 2018, 2017.

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Merlin’s previously hidden horrific past comes to light;

The gang learn that everything they know about Merlin is a well-constructed façade when the truth about his “Military” history comes out.

TW: Child soldiers, abuse + torture, lots of blood and death and nightmares, potential PTSD?

When King Arthur had received the official looking letter requesting an audience about troubles with the border, he’d thought nothing much of it; the tone of the letter didn’t lead him to think there would be any serious conflict.

He replied to the Essetirian Lord, figuring it would end up being a simple issue of river boundaries or overstepping patrols, they could discuss it and fix the problem amicably, and then part ways without issue.

Arthur wasn’t a fan of the way Essetir worked; they were far too authoritarian for his liking, and they were known for their use of slave labour, terror tactics, and child soldiers, but peace had been harboured between the Kingdoms, so he could hardly complain.

The fact that Arthur didn’t see it as a big deal, means he didn’t mention it to Merlin until the day of the Lord’s arrival, and even then, he didn’t mention the Lord’s name, or where in Essetir he came from.

Merlin may have seemed a little tense at the mention of Essetirian Lords, but Arthur shrugged it off, figuring high taxes and village raids probably left him with a mistrust of authority from his home kingdom.

~

Arthur was sat in his throne, crown atop his head, when the Lord arrived. His roundtable knights and a few select members of his council sat in their own chairs at the side of the room, and Merlin stood dutifully beside him.

He preferred to have a small audience when first greeting foreign authority, hence only having nine people, including himself, in the room. 

Arthur trusted Leon, Lancelot, Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, Guinevere, Gaius, and Merlin, to subtly analyse and scrutinize the visitor for anything troubling, and report back to him truthfully later. Arthur trusted his wider council, of course he did, but experience with these particular people told him they were better equipped to handle any sort of conflict or worries.

Which means when Merlin quietly took in a sharp breath, tensed up, and stepped back to be behind him when The Lord walked in, he immediately noticed.

He makes no motion to question him though, assuming that perhaps this particular Lord had passed through Ealdor at some point, and made a mental note to question Merlin later.

The Lord bows deeply, and raises to meet Arthur’s gaze with a wide, friendly smile:

“I am Lord Severin of Essetir, I appreciate your quick response to my letter, and am grateful for the invitation to your beautiful kingdom, My Lord.”

At first, Arthur had been curious, and mildly concerned, but Gaius’s sharp intake of breath and stiffening back at the mention of the Lord’s name, tip him right over the line into being officially worried.

Did this particular Lord have some sort of reputation Arthur was unaware of? He, again, makes no moves to suggest that he had noticed Gaius’s reaction, and instead returns the Lord’s smile:

“Of course, you’re more than welcome. Guest chambers have been set up for you, if you would like to stay for a few days? I can imagine it was a long journey.”

The Lord nods, and keeping his smile, says:

“Thank you, I had planned on booking a room for a few nights, but if you’ll have me?”

Arthur nods in return, quickly speaking before the Lord can thank him again:

“Of course. Is the border discussion a lengthy issue, or something we can resolve quickly now? I have my most trusted advisors with us, should there be a political issue?”

Lord Severin shakes his head roughly, giving Arthur a sympathetic shrug:

“In all honestly, My Lord, as far as I’m concerned there isn’t an issue, but a few of my men were worried, and the only way I could see to resolve it was an official meeting to reassure them.-”

Arthur smiles, gesturing for him to continue:

“-Over the past several years, multiple Camelot Knights have been seen crossing the boundary, and spending a few days at a time in a small border-village on the Essetir side. I am under no impression that anything underhanded is happening, but a few of my inferiors were getting twitchy about it.”

Arthur once again hears Merlin take in a shaky breath, and furrows his eyebrow in curiosity:

“Which village?”

“It’s name is Ealdor, My Lord.”

Arthur smiles widely in understanding and nods his head, relaxing:

“Ah yes. A highly ranked member of the castle staff has family there, and depending on how dangerous the journey is predicted to be, I’ll often send him with a knight escort when he visits home.”

Lord Severin nods his head, before tilting it curiously and saying:

“Might I ask which member of staff? I spent some time in Ealdor a few years back, colour me... curious.”

The smile on his face is a little sharper now, but Arthur hardly sees the harm in telling him; he’ll only be here for a few days at most anyway. 

Arthur gestures a hand behind him:

“Merlin.”

He looks back and frowns, questioning his decision, when he sees Merlin staring blankly at the floor. He’s statue still, but Arthur can see the way his jaw tenses, and the paleness of his skin.

He turns back to see the Lord staring up at Merlin with an inquisitive expression. Just as Arthur resigns himself to say something, a look of wolfish realisation crosses the Lord’s face, and he speaks softly, as if to himself:

“Merlin from Ealdor, eh?-”

His grin turns even more wicked, and his volume rises:

“-I was under the impression that you had died, my dear boy.”

Arthur furrows his brows in confusion, and Merlin, without raising his gaze, quietly replies:

“No, My Lord.”

Severin chuckles, a hint of cruelty in the noise, but before he can say anything Arthur asks:

“You know each other?”

The Lord looks to him, as if only just remembering he was in the presence of a King, and smirks:

“Know each other? Why, Merlin was once one of my best. You’re astoundingly lucky to have a bodyguard with such incredible skill, My Lord. I was sad to lose him.”

Arthur glances at Merlin, who seems somehow even paler, before looking back to Severin in confusion, tilting his head:

“Merlin isn’t my bodyguard, he can barely carry a sword. He’s my personal manservant. Perhaps you have the wrong man?”

Severin shakes his head resolutely, before staring at Merlin:

“No, that’s him, I would recognise him anywhere. Like I said, I was sad to see him go.”

At Arthur’s continued confusion, Lord Severin gives him a patronising smile, quietly saying:

“Perhaps a demonstration is in order-”

He turns back to Merlin, speaking loudly this time, as Arthur and the others look on in bewilderment. Gaius however, looks increasingly worried, rather than confused.

“-Step forward, Merlin.”

Merlin, without hesitation, walks stiffly forward, standing to attention just in front of Arthur, hands straight by his side, and his gaze unwaveringly forward, focussed on the wall behind Severin. 

Arthur stands from his throne, moving to stand by the council chairs so he could see Merlin’s face. What he spies however, is a tense blankness that he’s only even seen in the brief moments when Merlin thinks no one is looking at him.

The Lord rolls his eyes condescendingly at Merlin:

“You know I hate it when you stand so stiffly Merlin, it’s bad form. Stand at ease.”

Again, without hesitation, Merlin kicks ones of his legs out slightly, and moves his hands to be tightly clutched behind his back, shaking almost imperceptibly. Still, he does not change his expression as the gang look on worriedly.

“Are you armed, Merlin?”

Merlin gives one firm nod, before saying in a monotonous voice:

“Always, My Lord.”

Severin gestures vaguely with his hand, muttering:

“Show me.”

With that, Merlin taps his right wrist to his hip before flicking his arm out to the side, and with the movement, a dagger slides from a hidden holster under his sleeve, and falls gracefully into Merlin’s hand.

Everyone in the gang, bar Gaius, was taken aback, They’d known Merlin for years, ten in the cases of Arthur, Leon, and Gwen. How had they never known that Merlin was always carrying a weapon?

The Lord looks only mildly impressed as he holds a hand out, crooking his fingers towards himself slightly. Merlin throws the knife gently, his aim perfect as the handle lands in the centre of Severin’s palm.

He passes the blade from hand to hand, humming thoughtfully, before saying:

“It’s not very well weighted, incredibly poor quality, but-”

With that, he looks back up at Merlin, the wolfish grin having returned to his face, but the gang only have a second to be confused before the Lord pulls his hand back, and hurls the knife directly at Merlin’s head.

The velocity at which the blade moves through the air... well, a slower man would have died. But Merlin is apparently not a slow man.

With his focus still on the wall somewhere behind the Lord, he whips his hand up, quicker than lightening, and catches the handle of knife with the blade just an inch away from his eye. Only then, does his gaze move across to the dagger, and he brings his hand down, slipping it back into it’s holster as if he was entirely unbothered by what had just happened. The Lord finishes his sentence:

“-anything can be a weapon in the hands of a killer. Back to your post, Merlin.”

Merlin bows slightly, and moves back, expression still blank as the gang stare at him with various expressions of shock and confusion.

Arthur moves back to his throne, careful to keep his face blank, though struggling not to stare at Merlin worriedly, before he says:

“Well, that was quite a display. Any other uh... stories to tell, Lord Severin?”

The man shakes his head, laughing, and replies:

“No, Your Majesty, that is all. I will reassure my employees that the visits to Ealdor are purely personal, and order them to leave it be.”

Arthur gulps and frowns slightly at the sudden change it topic, wanting desperately to look back and check on Merlin, but not daring to, as he replies:

“Of course. I’m afraid I will not be able to join you for dinner tonight, or breakfast in the morning, though I extend my invitation for you to visit the training grounds before noon. I have my best scheduled for tomorrow.”

As he says this, he gestures to the five roundtable knights, who all wipe the confusion off their faces as the Lord glances at them. In actual fact, none of them were scheduled to train tomorrow morning, but it had become habit over the years for Arthur to use them as a subtle display of strength whenever a visitor unnerved or worried him.

Severin looks back to the King, giving him a nod as he accepts:

“I would love nothing more, My Lord.”

Arthur smiles tightly and nods before dismissing him, his harsh gaze not leaving the Lord’s back until the door shuts behind him.

The moment he’s left the room, Arthur stands up, dizzyingly quickly, and steps around the throne to question Merlin, only to find that the manservant gone, slipped away through the servant’s door.

He speedily goes to follow him, wanting to get to the bottom of whatever the hell that was, but Gwen’s desperate voice halts him:

“Stop! He clearly doesn’t want to talk about it right now, we should leave him be-”

Arthur turns around and goes to retort, but Gwen cuts him off:

“-and besides, no one knows this castle better than Merlin, he’s long gone. If he doesn’t want to be found, then he won’t be found. Leave him be for a while.”

The King desperately wants to argue, but he begrudgingly nods, knowing that Gwen is right. He frowns at the desperate and questioning looks that Lancelot sends to Gaius, unaware that Arthur is looking at them.

Gaius shakes his head slightly, and Lancelot visibly relaxes, only to tense again when Arthur asks:

“Lancelot, Gaius? Do you know what just happened?”

The knights averts his gaze after giving a brief shake of the head, the Physician looks to Arthur, clearly mentally debating on the best way to answer the question. He gulps before speaking slowly:

“Other than Merlin’s mother, I am the only one to know the truth. However it is a very... personal, and frankly traumatising, topic for Merlin, and I don’t feel it’s my place to tell you. Might I request that you allow Merlin to keep his distance from Lord Severin?”

Arthur looks like he wants to argue, but the warning looks he receives from Leon and Gwen stop him, and he once again begrudgingly nods:

“I... fine. But I’ll want to know eventually. If I’m to have dealings with this Lord, I need to know if he’s involved in anything troubling."

Gaius sighs and nods:

“It is... nothing that Essetirian Lords aren’t already known for, My Lord.”

Arthur tilts his head in confusion, that doesn’t sound like it bodes particularly well but... he’d already agreed not to pry. Gaius was clearly trying not to let too much on and trying to hide how freaked out he was. Which also didn’t bode well.

Arthur copies Gaius’s sigh, nodding to himself as he gestures vaguely at the group and tiredly says:

“Alright, you’re all dismissed. Keep an eye out for Merlin, and I want to know where that Lord is at all times. There was a servant in the corridor waiting to take him to his rooms, so I would appreciate it if one of you could go check he made it. I want to know if anything happens. Rest well tonight, I want you at your best for tomorrow.”

Everyone gives a decisive nod, Leon stalking off to follow the Lord, and the others separating out to complete their normal tasks. Half-heartedly mind you, as all of them were more focussed on trying to wrap their heads around what had just happened.

~

None of them saw Merlin for the rest of the day, or the next morning. They would have been more worried, but nothing was missing from his room, a few of the castle staff had reported seeing him briefly, here and there, and the Lord had yet to try anything untoward.

When Arthur had gotten to his room that night, dinner was ready and waiting, the room had been tidied, his sleep clothes had been folded and laid on his pillow, and the hearth had been lit.

The next morning was the same. Arthur woke to to see that his empty dinner tray had been replaced with a full breakfast tray, his clothes for the day had been laid out, and his desk had been organised with a list of today’s duties left in the centre.

Arthur huffed at Merlin’s absence. He hadn’t gotten that much sleep last night, the more he thought about what had happened, the more restless he became.

There was a lot of things to worry about.

Gaius being openly shaken and worried was especially concerning. The man was usually unflappable, so whatever it was... it was bad.

And what had Lancelot been so scared about? He seemed genuinely confused but he still knows something.

And what Merlin had done with that knife...

Arthur could understand Merlin hiding a part of his life, just not mentioning it, especially if it was as traumatising as Gaius let on, but to actively lie?? To put up a clumsy, useless front with no prompting?? That was most certainly worrying. “Incredible skill” Severin had said. “One of my best”, what does that even mean??

He had called Merlin a Killer.

Still, Arthur didn’t call for his manservant to be summoned. The man was clearly after some privacy, and despite Arthur’s powerful curiosity, Gaius’s fear and Merlin’s disappearing act held him back, at least for the time being.

After finishing some paperwork, Arthur headed down to the armoury, to be met by a squire who had clearly been waiting for him. At Arthur’s confused expression, the boy tells him that he had been instructed by Merlin to help The King with his armour, and that he would be round later.

Arthur nodded, hiding his confusion. Merlin was usually incredibly protective of Arthur’s armour, BUT he said he’d be coming by later, so it wasn’t as if he were fully disposed for the whole day. Hmm.

Perhaps he was simply trying to avoid being in close quarters with Arthur, alone. Being stood at the side of a field whilst the Knights sparred was hardly the same as helping Arthur dress, one-on-one.

Still, Arthur didn’t call for his manservant to be summoned. If he weren’t so worried about Merlin, he’d be childishly proud of himself for being so selfless and caring.

He met the other five knights on the training field, satisfied to see them all in full armour, preparing for full-contact sparring. Apparently they all wanted to intimidate this Lord just as much as Arthur did. Now all they had to do was wait for the guy to show.

But Merlin appeared first. No one noticed him for a little while, but Gwaine getting distracted in the middle of a fight and allowing himself to be tripped by Elyan, certainly bought everyone’s attention to the raven-haired servant stood at the side of the field that had caught his eye.

Merlin’s expression was the same as it was yesterday. Meaning: expressionless, blank.

He doesn’t react at all as the knights stare at him, and only nods slightly when Arthur raises a hand in greeting, despite not looking directly at him. Leon’s quiet-

“Sire?”

-breaks Arthur out of his stupor, and he mutters back:

“Leave him be. He usually stands much closer than that, so he’s clearly still not in the mood to talk.”

Elyan furrows his brows as he finally helps Gwaine to his feet, before saying:

“He knows the Lord is meant to be here. If he wanted to avoid him, why come?”

Arthur shrugs but Lancelot looks surprised, and speaks as though the answer was the most obvious thing in the world:

“He’s protective of Arthur. No matter the history between Severin and himself, if he thinks the Lord is dangerous he wouldn’t allow Arthur to be in his presence without being there as well.”

Arthur frowns and huffs, but doesn’t say anything as the others nod their heads. He gestures for Leon to step into the ring with him, conscious of the fact that they had just been stood around talking.

Luckily, Severin showed up just as Arthur and Leon started to get into the swing of things, and the other knights could tell the exact moment the two of them noticed the Lord, stood about ten feet to Merlin’s left; the fight got much more... vicious.

A pro of having worked together practically their whole knighthoods (and before, for Arthur), was that Arthur and Leon could give their absolute all in matches against each other, and not have to worry about miss-stepping or accidentally hurting one another.

The sparring sessions between them often drew large crowds, but Arthur had ordered the training grounds cleared this morning, meaning that the four other knights, the Lord, and a much tenser-looking Merlin, is all their audience consisted of.

Finally, the fight came to an end, Arthur victorious as he knocks Leon to the floor. They shake hands, and Leon has to hide the swell of pride in him at the man he had trained for managing to beat him, before they make their way over to Lord Severin, closely followed by the others.

The Lord claps his hands, a wide smile on his face, and Arthur stops himself from looking at Merlin when he sees the man flinch slightly at the noise.

“Very impressive, My Lord. Your knights truly are something to behold!”

Arthur gives him a strained smile:

“Yes, I take a lot of pride in the strength of my best.”

Severin’s eyes widen, and his grin once again turns sharp. Arthur has a feeling he isn’t going to like what the man says next:

“Well, if we’re talking about the best, might I suggest that your... ah, manservant, shows off his skills? I imagine we would all find that mighty entertaining, especially considering you were previously unaware of his abilities?”

Arthur clenches his jaw, glancing at Merlin. The King was taken aback when Merlin held his gaze for the first time since before the Lord had arrived yesterday. 

Arthur answers, without looking away from Merlin, and regrets his words the moment they exit his mouth:

“I’m alright with it, but only if Merlin agrees.”

Merlin widens his eyes, only slightly, but it’s enough to show Arthur that that was the wrong thing to say. Whatever the history between Severin and Merlin was, the manservant was unable to say no to him. Arthur hadn’t given Merlin a choice, he’d allowed Severin to dictate Merlin’s answer.

The Lord claps his hands again, wolfish smile growing as he loudly proclaims:

“Brilliant! I will divert to your judgement, on who his opponent should be, My Lord.”

Merlin clenches his jaw, turning and walking towards the spare swords. He grabs one from the rack, and enters the ring, standing stiffly, waiting.

Arthur frowns at Merlin’s sudden, easy capability, before nodding at Lancelot. He was reluctant (NOT jealous) to admit it, but he and Merlin were very close, if anyone could pretend to fight Merlin convincingly without actually hurting him, it would be Lancelot.

Lancelot returns his nod, understanding his King’s thought process, before looking to Merlin with a concerned frown on his face:

“Do you not want any armour, Merlin?”

The Lord laughs as Merlin mutely shakes his head, answering for him:

“Oh, he won’t need it sir knight, like I keep saying, he’s quite skilled.”

Lancelot still looks reluctant, but at Arthur’s stiff nod and the questioning tilt of Merlin’s head, he walks into the ring and stands opposite his best friend.

He gives Merlin a nod, and hides his worry when Merlin just stares at him blankly, his stance turning loose, but sword held tightly in his hand.

Arthur signals for them to start, and Lancelot immediately has to take a rushed step back as Merlin moves quickly forward, swinging his sword up.

Lancelot just about manages to block the strike, but the strength of the hit has the bones in his arms vibrating, and his shock gives Merlin just enough time to twist his body, taking another swing before Lancelot even processes what’s happening.

The second wide arc of Merlin’s sword knocks the knight’s arm to the side violently, and he stumbles back, only just managing to keep hold of the blade. Merlin takes advantage of Lance’s newly exposed chest, and using the last of his momentum, brings a leg up and lands a harsh kick to the centre of his chest-plate.

The force throws him back and he lands sprawled on the floor several feet away.

The others knights gasp as the Lord jovially laughs and Lancelot stares at the sky in shock. All in all, that spar had lasted about five seconds, and consisted of Merlin swinging his sword only twice, and kicking him so hard he dented his armour.

Lancelot hadn’t even had time to think before it was over, and was still wide-eyed when Merlin wordlessly pulled him to his feet, frowning as he runs a hand over the damaged metal.

The other knights are still staring in shock as Lancelot lifts a hand to put it on Merlin’s shoulder. When the servant flinches backwards, he lowers his hand again, but still whispers:

“Gods, Merlin. Where the hell did you learn to fight like that?”

Merlin’s frown deepens and he clenches his jaw as he glances at the amused Lord, before stepping back, out of Lance’s reach.

Before anyone can say anything, Severin loudly exclaims:

“That’s my boy! I knew I could count on you to have not forgotten your training. How about you?”

He gestures to Elyan, and the knight looks to Arthur for confirmation. Merlin stays in the ring, waiting, back to being expressionless. He hadn’t even broken a sweat during his fight with Lancelot, didn’t even look out of breath, and Arthur’s morbid curiosity gets the better of him as he nods at Elyan.

The knight stepped into the ring, taking Lancelot’s place opposite Merlin.

Arthur gives the signal to start, and Elyan is the first one to strike this time, but Merlin moves easily out of the way, with speed and grace that no one had ever seen him express before.

Honestly, Arthur thinks the first fight might have been a fluke, because this time, Merlin spends the first twenty-five seconds blocking and dodging, making no offensive moves, and staying well out of Elyan’s way.

But Merlin makes the swap quicker than anyone can see, going from defence to offense in the blink of an eye, and within seconds of the change, Elyan is on the floor, Merlin’s sword at his throat, and his own sword lost somewhere to the side.

Merlin had moved so quickly, Elyan hadn’t really any clue how he’d ended up on the floor as he blinks up at the previously thought-to-be clumsy manservant.

After a moment, the knights once again shocked and the Lord once again cheerfully laughing, Merlin leans down and pulls the knight to his feet.

Elyan nods his thanks dumbly before picking up his sword, and heading over to the side lines, still looking confused as his brain tried to catch up with the last thirty seconds.

Merlin had, once again, not even broken a sweat, and Arthur gulps as he looks at his manservant. On the surface, he seemed... absent. Like he wasn’t really aware of what was going on, and was just waiting for it to be over. But upon closer inspection, Arthur could tell that wasn’t true.

Merlin’s stance may have been loose, but the position of his feet and the grip on his sword showed that he was fully prepared to jump into a fight without hesitation. That, the clench of his jaw, and the focus in his eyes as he stared back at Arthur, told The King that Merlin was fully aware of his surroundings.

Severin’s laugh petered out, and he points a finger at Gwaine, looking at Arthur as he questioned:

“My Lord?”

Arthur nods, and Gwaine huffs angrily. He gives The King an incredulous look but, perhaps a little selfishly, Arthur was curious about the extent of Merlin’s... abilities, so he ignores it, and Gwaine reluctantly walks to stand in front of his friend.

Merlin’s gaze drifts from Arthur to Gwaine, and he tilts his head slightly, adjusting his stance, his expression remaining in the same blank position it had been through all of the matches.

Once again, Arthur finds himself signalling the start of a fight between his best-friend (slash love of his life but like... shhh) and one of his most trusted knights.

Neither of them make a move at first, they just circle each other slowly, Gwaine’s sword raised, but Merlin’s pointed to the floor as he makes a point of keeping his stance fluid.

The Lord claps his hands together, just once, but the loud noise triggers an immediate reaction in Merlin and he pounces forward.

Gwaine takes the defensive as Merlin throws hit after hit, each one precise and specific. Gwaine is stronger than Merlin, but Merlin knows this, striking quickly and needling holes in Gwaine’s defence, moving back before he has time to launch a counter attack.

This fight goes on a lot longer than the last two, but Gwaine quickly begins to tire. At the first stumble in the knight’s step, Merlin takes a pace back, and presents his opponent with a miniscule opening.

Apparently it had been deliberate; the moment Gwaine follows him to take a swing at the gap, Merlin feints to the side, and lands a single blow that knocks Gwaine to the floor.

He chuckles darkly as his chest makes contact with the grass, realising immediately what his mistake had been. He rolls to his feet, holding his sword-less hands up in surrender. The man is breathing deeply, and even Merlin looks slightly more tired than he had before, but only slightly.

Leon lets out a deep breath, and all the knights seem to realise simultaneously that... at no point had Merlin not been in full control of each fight, setting the pace exactly how he wanted it, and taking advantage of each of their weaknesses perfectly.

Lancelot was reluctant to fight Merlin, so Merlin threw a few quick hits and had him on the floor before the knight realised he didn’t have to hold back.

Elyan had seen Merlin’s speed against Lance, and had therefore rushed to try and surprise him. Merlin took the defensive, biding his time until Elyan eventually made a mistake, and struck so quickly and harshly, he only needed one move to take him out.

With Gwaine he’d done the opposite. The man was much stronger than Merlin, so he couldn’t let him get a hit in, only allowing the knight time to defend and not attack. He waited for Gwaine to get tired and distracted, waited until he was moving automatically before presenting a tiny weakness that another knight might have missed. Gwaine fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

Gwaine resists the urge to clap Merlin on the back, proud smile quickly dropping to a frown when he sees the still blank look on his face.

The Lord doesn’t even have to request another fight before Arthur nods at Percival.

Percival looks a little less reluctant, everyone now clearly knowing that Merlin could more than hold his own; if anything, he looks a little nervous for himself, despite being six inches taller and much heavier.

This fight is a lot more quick-paced. At Arthur’s gesture, they both immediately jump into it, fighting for dominance with speed and strength. Once again, Merlin’s opponent is much stronger than he is, and Merlin tires more this round.

Percival lands a heavy to kick to Merlin’s chest, and he goes sprawling backwards, but he keeps a hold of his sword and uses the momentum to gracefully roll back onto his feet.

Before Percival has time to raise his sword again, Merlin takes advantage of the new distance between them and sprints towards him. He drops quickly, sliding between Percival’s legs, sword held close to his body as he reaches an arm out, grabbing the giant’s ankle on the way through.

His sudden grip forces Percival to take a step forward to correct his balance, but before he can turn around, Merlin quickly stands and shoves his whole body weight against his back.

The force of the shove paired with the instinctual step forward tips Percival’s centre of gravity, and he topples to the floor, rolling over to see Merlin already stood above him, panting, his sword aimed at Percival’s throat.

The other knights gasp slightly as Merlin steps away at Percival’s raised hands. They had been certain that Percival, with his size, would be the one to beat Merlin.

Apparently not.

Lord Severin is once again laughing, and Arthur (and the others) are becoming more and more confused. Merlin had beaten four of Camelot’s best in a row in about ten minutes, and was only slightly out of breath.

This was not just a bit of combat training, this was... more. This was harsh, ingrained, years upon years of practice.

Arthur and Leon remember when Merlin first arrived in Camelot, only sixteen, and dread grows in their stomachs as they realise the implications.

They’re quickly broken out of their stupors as Percival walks slowly over, still catching his breath, and The Lord loudly bellows:

“Well, that’s four out of six. We might as well go for the whole collection, what do you think, My Lord?”

Arthur takes a deep breath, he has to remember that there is politics involved here as well; he can hardly accuse the Lord of anything. But the arsehole was also clearly aware that this had been a power move on Arthur’s part, and it had completely backfired. Backing out now would... not look good.

The King gives another strained smile, gesturing Leon forward after glancing at a still blank Merlin. The manservant had already caught his breath. Damn.

Leon moves into the ring and settles into position in front of Merlin.

The dark haired servant furrows his brow, tilting his head the same way he had at Gwaine, as if he were assessing his opponent. After just a moment, he schools his face, and adjusts his feet slightly, his stance seeming a little stiffer than it had been previously.

If the others thought the last four fights were brutal... well... this was a whole new level. Camelot’s First Knight held nothing back, now confident in Merlin’s abilities (and his own, to stop at a moment’s notice if it looked like Merlin was about to get hurt), despite the fact that the man still wasn’t wearing any armour.

This match lasts a while, both of them swapping between defence and offence, the tide changing with almost every step. 

Both of them are tiring, Leon was still recovering from his spar with Arthur, and Merlin hadn’t exactly had much time to refresh between his other fights, even though he won them fairly easily.

But eventually, the match ended with a loud clang ringing out as Merlin’s sword flies from his grip.

At least... they thought it had ended, for about a split second, before they realise that Merlin looks completely unfazed.

Arthur glances to the Lord briefly, to see the man grinning with a mix of possessive pride and cruel hunger, before looking back at the ring, and widening his eyes in shock.

Merlin had quickly shaken out his hands, forming fists before darting in closer to Leon. The fact that Leon still has a strong grip on his sword doesn’t seem to bother Merlin at all, and he dodges the blade as he lands three quick hits to various weaknesses in the armour.

Leon takes a stumbled step back, surprised at the quick change in direction that the fight had gone, and that step is just enough to give Merlin space to swing a harsh elbow out to the side. The connection between his elbow, and Leon’s wrist, is sharp enough that the knight drops his sword automatically, and Merlin quickly turns his back on him, moving in close as he grabs his arm and throws him forward, over his shoulder.

Leon lands harshly on his back, winded slightly, and Merlin rolls to the side, coming up with the knight’s sword in his grip. He quickly spins around, and Leon finally catches a breath just to open his eyes and see Merlin stood above him, sword at his throat.

Leon stares up, completely shocked, hearing Gwaine mumble-

“Merlin just won a sword fight... without a fucking sword.”

-and Lancelot mutter:

“He beat Leon?”

The Lord is once again laughing, and the sound is beginning to grate on everyone’s sanity (everyone bar Merlin, who still looks blank and absent) as Merlin pulls Leon to his feet, wincing apologetically as the knight rubs his own back.

Leon puts on a strained, but fond smile, as Merlin hands him his sword, and mutters:

“Well done, Merlin, very impressive.”

Which had apparently been the wrong thing to say; Merlin flinches back, drops his expression once again into blankness, and steps away to pick up his own sword.

Leon frowns, walking towards the other knights and the Lord as Merlin deposits his sword back in the rack. His movements have lost the cat-like fluidity he had when fighting, and he’s back to being stiff and tense, eyes averted to the floor, jaw tightly clenched.

The knights look on in worry, still confused, but having mostly gotten over the novelty of Merlin being able to fight, and focussing more on how the hell he’d kept it a secret for so long. On top of trying to figure out how he’d learnt in the first place.

Lord Severin frowns sarcastically, tilting his head at Merlin as if he were a child, and saying:

“Aren’t you going to spar with your King, Merlin? I thought we were going for six out of six?”

Arthur frowns at him, looking between the Lord, who looks like a vicious beast hunting his prey, and Merlin, who’s looking a lot like that prey.

Merlin takes a deep, shaking breath at his questions, raising his head to meet the Lord’s gaze for the very first time. Arthur can see the fear in his eyes, and takes a subtle step towards him, to stand between Merlin and his hunter. Merlin glances at him quickly, almost fearfully, and gulps as he looks back at Severin, stuttering out:

“I... I won’t fight Arthur. Not for you, I... I don’t fight people for you anymore.”

The Lord tilts his head and smirks:

“My, how you’ve grown up. You never would have spoken to me like that as a child-”

Arthur can hear the other knights gasp, and is grateful when Leon holds Gwaine back as the man takes an aggressive step towards the Lord.

“-though I doubt King Arthur is as strict of a master as I was.”

Arthur’s frown deepens, but before he can say anything, Merlin snarls out:

“Arthur is nothing like you.”

His sudden change in demeanour takes Severin by surprise, but only for a second; his look of shock falling back into a condescending smirk once more:

“Hmm. Probably why you’ve gone so soft. Honestly Merlin, you were once the best, now you refuse to make your opponents bleed. Oh, how far you’ve fallen.”

Arthur has heard enough, and he steps in front of the Lord, between him and Merlin, and without breaking gazes with the vile man in front of him, loudly says:

“You’re dismissed for the afternoon, Merlin. Go grab some lunch, we’ll see you later.”

Arthur still doesn’t look back as he hears Merlin walk quickly towards the castle. The Lord gives Arthur an assessing gaze, smirk remaining on his face, before saying:

“It would seem that you’re quite... protective, of your staff, Your Majesty?”

Arthur gives him an incredibly strained smile, not even aware of how tightly he was gripping the hilt of the sword at his hip as he replies in a low voice:

“Hmm. Something like that. Well, we’ve solved our border issue, and you’ve seen my knights in action, so unless there’s anything else?”

Severin tilts his head, and raises an amused eyebrow, clearly understanding Arthur’s meaning:

“No, that’s all. Your city is wonderful, however I’ll be leaving very shortly I’m afraid, within the next few hours. I have men to reassure.”

With that, the Lord bows deeply, and stalks back towards the castle, thankfully taking a different route than Merlin. Normally Arthur would call him out on the rudeness and impropriety of turning one’s back on a King, and leaving without being dismissed, but at this point, Arthur just wants him gone.

The moment he disappears round a corner, the group lets out a collective sigh, all of them looking troubled. Elyan is the first to speak:

“I’ve travelled through Essetir, I’ve heard the rumours. Do you think that Merlin...?”

His question trails off, but it’s obvious what he was asking. Leon answers once he realises that Arthur isn’t going to say anything:

“He was sixteen when he came to Camelot. To have that sort of extensive, ingrained training... he would have to have been.”

All of them let out harsh breaths and Gwaine curses viciously under his breath, before grinding out:

“Permission to follow Severin back to Essetir and slaughter him somewhere in the woods, sire?”

All of them look expectantly at Arthur, but he still stares in the direction Merlin had walked as he sighs, and replies quietly:

“No. His men know he came here about some sort of issue. If he never makes it back, it doesn’t matter how well you set the scene, it’ll start a war-.”

Gwaine grumbles something about stupid rules under his breath, but relents. He definitely perks up slightly at Arthur’s next words:

“-However. If we ever come across him during any sort of conflict, feel free to use more force than technically necessary. For now... we need to find Merlin.-”

The others nod vigorously, and gather closer as Arthur continues, finally looking at them:

“-Leon, Elyan, go and find Gwen and Gaius, at this time they should be running medications around to the knights’ barracks, then meet back in the courtyard. We can’t split up to find Merlin, because we’d have no way to tell each other if someone found him, and I don’t want to risk leaving him alone because he might disappear again. We’ll have to search together, hopefully Gaius will have some sort of idea, because Gods know he won’t have gone to have lunch like I told him.”

Everyone murmurs their agreement, and without another word, they all head back up to the castle.

~

Leon and Elyan had found Gaius and Gwen exactly where Arthur said they would, and all eight of them are soon gathered in the courtyard.

The knights quickly explained what had happened. Gaius looked unsurprised, though increasingly worried with every word, and it was only the Physician’s genuine panic, and the dent in Lancelot’s armour that convinced Gwen this wasn’t some big prank.

Arthur looked at Gaius expectantly, and the older man thought for a moment. He sighed, before saying:

“When he first arrived in Camelot, Merlin had... a great many nightmares. The first time, I found him under his bed. The second and third times I found him curled up, hidden away in a cupboard that he had emptied out. After that, I reorganised so the cupboard was permanently empty. He hasn’t used it in years, but I never got round to refilling it. If... if I had to take a guess at where he is, I’d say there.”

Everyone nods and the group begins to make their way to the Physician’s chambers.

On the way, Gwaine expressed confusion at Merlin’s apparent love of tight spaces, but Leon quickly piped up:

“It’s a fairly common response to trauma, I’ve seen it in the occasional knight after particularly bloody battles. Some people become terrified of tight spaces-”

Gaius interrupted, informing the group that it was called “claustrophobia”.

“-but some people find it comforting. I guess Merlin likes feeling protected on all sides?”

The physician nodded grimly, and quietly informs the group that it might be best for only one or two people to approach Merlin, and for everyone else to stay back, so as to not overwhelm him. The knights reluctantly agreed, Percival announcing that Gaius and Lancelot were the obvious choices.

Lancelot protested:

“No, you should’ve seen his face when he saw the dent in my armour, it’ll just freak him out even more. Arthur should go, he’s the only one Merlin didn’t beat to a pulp.”

Gaius agreed, and Arthur nodded as well, though reluctantly.

They quickly found themselves outside the Physician’s chambers, the door left open slightly. With one last worried look to each other, Arthur pushes the door wider, and steps through, quietly calling Merlin’s name.

Gaius goes to point the cupboard out, but two quiet knocks from inside alert everyone to it first.

The knights and Gwen gather dutifully to one side of the room, still in sight of the cupboard should Merlin open the door, but far enough away so as to not crowd him.

Arthur sits himself down in front of the cupboard, and Gaius perches on a bench a few feet behind him.

The King whispers Merlin’s name again, and knocks gently on the wood. After a few seconds, the door opens, and Merlin slips out, sitting cross-legged on the floor, his knees just about brushing against Arthur’s.

He is once again blank-faced, and everyone’s eyes are drawn to his dagger being twirled and twisted skilfully between his fingers.

His eyes are focussed on the blade, and Arthur resists the urge to reach out and touch him, knowing that he was already on thin ice, being this close to him. He talks gently, his voice quiet, though still loud enough for the others to hear him:

“He’ll be gone by evening, and he won’t ever be coming back.”

Merlin nods, only slightly, but it’s enough to let Arthur know that he’s at least aware of his surroundings. The servant gulps before whispering:

“Don’t let him take me, please.”

Arthur bites his lip to stop himself from gasping, and slowly, ever so slowly, moves a hand to rest on Merlin’s knee. When Merlin doesn’t flinch away, Arthur squeezes his leg slightly before moving his hand away:

“Never. None of us would ever let him take you away, Merlin. You never have to see him again; you’re safe here, we’ll make sure of it.”

Merlin nods again, and Gaius hands him a goblet of water. He takes only a small sip before setting it aside, but it’s a good start; the Physician figured that Merlin almost certainly hadn’t eaten, slept, or drank enough in the last twenty-four hours.

After a minute or so of silence, Merlin replaces the dagger in its holster, and clasps his hands tightly in his lap, staring at his intertwined fingers.

He clears his throat slightly, and the gang wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or more worried, that he looked sad as opposed to blank, as he quietly speaks, still staring into his lap:

“Essetir has always been a fan of... of child soldiers. We thought we were safe in Ealdor because we were so far from the capital, but they came when I was seven. If I fought back or tried to escape, they threatened to burn the village down, so I just... did what I was told. The lessons were... we were trained against each other, except every match was to the death. Hundreds of children... killing other children, until only the best remained. Gods there was always so much blood.-”

Everyone bar Gaius had to make a concerted effort to hold in their tears and gasps of rage. Arthur took a deep breath and put his hand on the floor next to Merlin, not touching him, but an obvious offer of comfort if Merlin wanted to take it. Gwen grips her brother’s hand tightly, and Leon has to stop Gwaine from drawing blood from his palms with his own nails.

Merlin takes a deep, shaking breath, and puts his hand on the floor next to Arthur’s; not taking it, but just about brushing thumbs:

“-Children were... we were tactically useful. We were dressed in civilian clothing so we could slip in and out of places, killing people and stealing things and setting traps and fires, without being noticed. And if we were noticed, people would hesitate. They would hesitate just long enough for us to... to kill them.-”

Tears were falling freely from at least half the room’s occupants now, everyone else not far off.

Merlin moves his hand further towards Arthur’s, and he takes it without hesitation, running his thumb over Merlin’s knuckles softly.

The servant lifts his gaze falteringly, and Arthur gives him a weak smile, and nods as he prepares to continue:

“-I was good. I mean I was really good. I was given all the most difficult jobs; I had a higher body-count before I hit twelve summers than you do now. All the army generals, and the particularly rich Lords, and even... even Cenred when I got older, took an interest in me. They thought I was the best thing since the start of civilisation, because I was small and weak-looking, and I had a sad face and big blue eyes. My... targets, never wanted to defend themselves against me. They... they all died for their hesitation.-”

Tears overflow from Merlin and Arthur’s eyes at the same time, and The King can hear Gwen’s quiet crying behind him. He knew without a doubt that the knights would be crying too, he didn’t even need to look. All of them normally had such strong stomachs for violence but this... this was so much worse, and it was Merlin.

Merlin gulps, and his grip on Arthur’s hand tightens:

“-I escaped when I was fourteen. I don’t know why it took me that long, I guess I was just... lost. Lost in the orders and the missions and all the... all the death and blood. I was sent to burn a few buildings down and I just... set the flame and ran. There was nothing but ash left at the end and no one could find me so it was assumed I had gotten trapped inside and died. I wondered around in the wilderness for a while. I was pretty self sufficient by then but I didn’t want to go home, in case they went looking for me there. To be honest... I barely remembered where my home was,-”

His voice drops to almost a whisper, and the others have to strain to hear him:

“-I... I couldn’t even remember what my mum looked like.-”

His voice rose again as he glanced quickly at Gaius, and at the older man’s reassuring, though mournful, smile, he looked back at Arthur:

“-But I found my way home after about ten months. I figured out pretty quickly who my mum was, she barely let me go for weeks.-”

At this, Merlin thankfully lets out a weak chuckle, but the tears still fall, and he squeezes Arthur’s hand once more.

His faces falls back into despair as he continues, and everyone knows that there’s still bad to come:

“-It was... difficult. I didn’t trust anyone, I didn’t know how village life worked, how normal human interaction worked. I knew how to speak and read and write but... I had barely said a word in eight years so I stayed pretty much silent. It was... odd, to be allowed to speak freely, move freely. It was... terrifying. More so than what I had before, in some ways, because... I had nothing. There was nothing to me. Could you imagine how hard it was? To be fifteen and to have no personality? No likes or dislikes... no understanding of how the world outside of war works? Understanding nothing but how to be a good soldier?-”

Arthur shakes his head, lifting his other hand to rest gently on Merlin’s knee, and only dropping it there when the tearful man nodded slightly.

The crying from behind The King had slowed, but not stopped, and Merlin continued:

“-I suddenly had to find out who I was as a person, minus all the blood and death and missions. I had to figure out what was... socially acceptable. What to smile at and what to frown at. I was... a completely blank slate. I was barely even a person. Just killer’s hands with a body attached.-”

At that, Arthur gently took Merlin’s other hand as well, and made a point of stroking them softly.

“-Just after I turned sixteen, I was sent to Camelot. I’d just about figured out the basics of interacting with people, I could fake it pretty well at least, but being in Ealdor... I couldn’t relax. I just expected them to come for me again, that any day an Essetirian patrol would show up and drag me back and burn the village down. Officially, I was sent here to learn to be a Physician, to learn to heal instead of kill. Unofficially... no one said it, but everyone knew, I was sent away because I wasn’t coping. I needed a change of scenery, being in Ealdor was making things worse, and with Gaius here, I would at least have a little support.”

Arthur gives him a smile, but before he can say anything, Percival takes just a small step forward. He speaks in such a soft tone; strangers would think a man of his stature incapable of expressing:

“And now you have all of us, Merlin. No matter what.”

The others nod, and even Gwen wipes away her tears to give him the widest smile she’s currently capable of. Merlin looks at her and frowns slightly, tilting his head as if confused.

After a moment’s hesitation, Merlin gives her a weak smile in return. When he looks over to Gaius, the Physician nods approvingly, and his smile widens, just slightly.

With that, the whole group seems to come to the same conclusion, at the same time: that Merlin had essentially just asked if smiling was the right thing to do.

Gwen was crying, and clearly upset, and Merlin understood that. But then she smiled. He’s been away from his... military roots for long enough now that he knew the right response, genuinely felt the right response, but with everything being uprooted and old wounds being exposed, he needed the reassurance that his reaction had been socially correct.

Arthur clenches his jaw tightly, thinking back on the ten years worth of interactions he’d had with Merlin. How he’d always kept his cards close to his chest; was rarely outwardly angry, and got happy over the simplest things: flowers and books and fluffy animals. 

He thinks about how terrifying it must have been. To have to learn to be... well... human. To have to learn how to perfectly imitate human behaviour until he developed his behaviour.

Merlin takes another sip of his water before taking a deep breath. He looks to Gaius, determination in his face, and at the Physician’s hesitant smile, but firm nod, Merlin takes a deep breath and looks back to Arthur:

“There’s more.”

Arthur frowns, and tilts his head. What else could there possibly be? He hears one of the others take in a sharp breath, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Gaius look to the offending knight, and give another firm nod.

Arthur gulps, and nods at Merlin, encouraging the man to continue:

“I had to do all of that whilst... whilst hiding the magic I was born with,-”

A chorus of gasps go up around the room, and Arthur tenses slightly, sitting up straight, but not letting go of Merlin’s hand. The King sees the fear in Merlin’s eyes, and the way the goblet shakes in his hand, and gives him an uncertain smile. Arthur isn’t as surprised as he thinks he should be.

“-because if they found out, things would get worse. Cenred had enslaved sorcerers as well as children in his army. If he’d found out how... how powerful I was, even as a child, I never would’ve escaped.”

Arthur nods his head absent-mindedly, once again thinking on his ten years of friendship with Merlin. It... made sense. 

Gods how terrifying.... 

To have all of that happen as a child, to finally find your way home just to find that you aren’t safe there either. And THEN to be sent to Camelot of all places. How terrifying, to have the safest place for you to be, be the city where the violent persecution of your people originated.

Arthur clenched his jaw before looking back at Merlin. He still looks scared, and Arthur squeezes his hand, firmly saying:

“I swear to you Merlin, in the name of Camelot, that you will never have to be afraid again.”

Merlin’s eyes widen, and tears begin to fall again as he tilts his head. Arthur gives him a smile:

“Come on, Merls. How could I possibly believe magic to be evil when you were born with it? There’s not an evil bone in your body.”

Merlin’s face falls, and he looks as though he’s going to argue, but Arthur beats him to it, speaking before he can even open his mouth:

“And we all know it.”

Merlin looks up again, speechless and teary, as Leon steps forward:

“The laws will change, Merlin, and you’ll be safe and free. And if the council have a problem with that... well...-”

Leon looks back at the other knights, all looking as determined as he is. He grins, and wipes the remaining tears from his eyes as he looks back to the bewildered servant, grinning Physician, and fondly smiling King:

“-I’m sure we can persuade them.”

Merlin returns his grin, and Arthur is more than relieved to see that Merlin doesn’t have to double-check his reaction this time.

~

THE END!!

Wowie that was a ride. I honestly wasn’t even planning on writing a magic reveal in this but it just sorta... happened... oops

Same as always lads, you wanna write it all proper? Go for it, credit and tag me :)

[warsofasoiaf]

Does the current poor performance of the Russian army suggest the Red Army during the cold war was also overrated? If not exactly a paper tiger, but significantly weaker than its paper strength would suggest, and not actually capable of overrunning West Germany in a conventional war.

That's an answer that changes based on when you're talking about. V Corps often joked grimly that their mission was to give Europe 30 minutes.

Earlier in the Cold War, the Soviets decisive advantage in manpower and armor would have made V Corps's job very difficult without resorting to tactical nuclear weapons, such as the infamous "Davy Crockett" tactical nuclear smoothbore gun and deployment of ADM's (nuclear landmines) to deny the area around the Fulda Gap until Operation REFORGER could reinforce them with Western European troops. So in that sense, assuming the world isn't a nuclear firestorm, you have much of Germany turned into an irradiated mess, or the Soviets break through V Corps and take as much of Europe as possible. Typically they had around 72 hours of supplies and were hopefully to meet up with paratroops and supplies, but the Soviet Air Force was not very good, so I think the Soviet Union would have had significant difficulty, particularly as area denial operations would hamper their poor logistical capability. So I'm not a believer that the Russians could take the Channel ports in one week, simply due to the fact that a lot of Soviet military capability was a Potemkin village.

Later in the Cold War, after NATO started developing better anti-tank weaponry and air superiority was pretty much a given, the overwhelming strike power would have probably meant that the Soviet Union could not have had much luck. Hence why for both sides, most operational planning (even early in the Cold War) dealt with counter-strike plans, not actual aggressive attacks against each other in Europe.

Now of course, the Soviet Union and Warsaw Pact is not the Russia of today. The Soviet Union could count on more reliable and better-produced equipment from Czechoslovakia and Poland, which was typically built to a higher quality standard than those produced in Russian factories. For example, most of the high-quality T-34 models that the Soviets used to cover up the tank's many design faults were actually designed in Czechoslovakia and primarily distributed to the cream of Russia's crop, whereas second-tier units received old hand-me-down vehicles and domestically-produced tanks that didn't pass muster.

Thanks for the question, Bith.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

[ericleo108]

FarmingHumans.com

American Inequality 2022 - Song and Treatise

Lyrics

Americas an oligarchy :12 One labor exploitation party While They rest and pop Bacardi  We work full time and still are starving The American dream Is just a marketing scheme For the oligarchy So we don’t question their greed And that Money is speech You can buy elections for a fee Just lobby the seat And advertise to the sheep  We have socialism for the rich Capitalism for the poor If you don’t Acknowledge this Then your ignorant for shore

That’s a Martin Luther king quote  You really need to read more Use your mind, dissent, scold  Learn to debunk the lies told It was once the American dream To be able to afford the house and a property deed Healthcare and a scientific degree While today is hard to afford an apartment for three On minimum wage, you can’t make ends meet That’s used to make us great, but now the populations asleep It’s policy that stratified the nations books Gave tax to the wealthiest when 90% is what they took Now we have a nation of debtors that can’t make it, but work  You can thank the decisions of trump, Reagan, and bush As the pigs slowly change the rules the horse screams work harder Just another fascist tactic of the people in charge here Only those who think can understand what they are You should be alarmed because It’s animal farm and

Americas an oligarchy One labor exploitation party While They rest and pop Bacardi  We work full time and still are starving The American dream Is just a marketing scheme For the oligarchy So we don’t question their greed And that Money is speech You can buy elections for a fee Just lobby the seat And advertise to the sheep  We have socialism for the rich Capitalism for the poor If you don’t Acknowledge this Then your ignorant for shore

The Supreme Court let corporations over reach Into the coffers of democracy When citizens United gave unlimited head  To how they equated money to speech I get paid $12 an hour and have a college degree It’s really interesting Americas like you ignorantly Not question the society that seemingly free And Is silent to the oppression economic Alli  The government exploits my labor power for healthcare The systems of poverty trap for the disabled on welfare I worked for a year to make ten grand So I could start my music business and Make two albums You can make enough money to not be considered disabled  And still not have enough money to afford your medication I expect at the very least you support this with a click. And make sure everyone knows Eric Leo taught you this

(Americas an oligarchy One labor exploitation party While They rest and pop Bacardi  We work full time and still are starving The American dream Is just a marketing scheme For the oligarchy So we don’t question their greed And that Money is speech You can buy elections for a fee Just lobby the seat And advertise to the sheep  We have socialism for the rich Capitalism for the poor If you don’t Acknowledge this Then your ignorant for shore) x2

Treatise

Outline

Qualifications

Intro

Corporation rule

Healthcare

Military complex

Money is Speech

What is socialism?

The American dream

Politics

Common wealth

Solutions 

Personal

Qualifications

First off, What are my qualifications to talk about this? I have a degree in sociology, I live on the disability system, and I keep up with current events. I’m a sociologist, philosopher, and hip-hop artist with schizoaffective disorder. Most of my other recent posts are about exploring thought about the planets and stars being conscious and communicating. Check out the cosmic love 2022 post, it’s much more fun and entertainingly oriented. This is academic like my Psycho Consumption Cage or Dark Racism posts. I should be in graduate school for sociology at Western Michigan University by fall of 2023. I welcome your questions and comments as I will use them to guide study and write next year‘s edition.

Intro

You can get a sample of what is presented and discussed here by watching this series of shorts from independent creators I arranged on my YouTube channel that enunciate my argument and points here at FarmingHumans.com

In this treatise I’m mainly going to talk about the economic and political system of the United States. I want everyone to know that America is an oligarchy, what socialism is, how corporations rule, that money is speech, and the average citizen doesn't have a real voice in our government. Those topics will be explored along with the policies that have brought us to this point. 

What you are about to learn is why corporations are in control of America’s government. You will learn and understand some of the mechanism, although limited and brief, that corporations use to win influence and take control over government. Hopefully you will have a better understanding of why this country functions the way it does. This is just the first edition. I plan on rewriting this annual and in future editions I hope to better and further identify the problem and solutions on how to resolve them.  

If you want to know why we spend nearly half our national budget on the military, or why healthcare costs are so high, you have to follow the money. As you will learn, the fact is the reason you can’t afford your medication is because it’s not your country, or rather, you’re not in control. You’re more of a customer in the corporations territory then a citizen of a sovereign nation. Whether you like it or not the reality is America belongs to corporations. Although they’re not citizens, those are the legal persons your politicians are largely beholden to. 

Corporate Rule

There is a way more indepth understand of this in the resources I can point you too. William G. Domhoff is a leading sociological researcher and updates his book called “Who Rules America” which is probably the best source for understanding this. His newest edition is called “The Corporate Rich, White Nationalist Republicans, and Inclusionary Democrats.” I haven’t read his newest edition but I will touch on most of the title and summarize his finding that I read in previous editions. 

Basically as I understand it, Corporations sponsor candidates, write laws and sponsore them, and pick and propagate an electoral system that is based on money that the average citizen can’t afford to pay. If you want a brief summary of the American oligarchy I have linked a 2014 BBC Article about a Princeton University study which found America is an oligarchy. We don’t live in a democracy or republic. The mechanics are still there but it functions as a plutocratic oligarchy. 

Healthcare Example

So How does corporate rule specifically affect each industry? Basically businesses are looking for ways to cut costs through materials or labor and raise their prices to make more money. Healthcare is an example, It’s in corporate America’s best interest to keep healthcare privatized because they make money from a necessity and can control the laws and prices so they can price gouge and make record profits. When you take a step back and look at it the pharmaceutical companies are holding the American people for ransom by their health. They have more control then the American people and that’s why your medication is unaffordable.

If you want to get a picture of America’s healthcare system answer these questions. What does America rank in healthcare? Which country pays the most for healthcare out of any country? Who has the biggest lobby in the US Congress? What other major western countries have privatized healthcare? When you answer these questions you’ll answer wealth corporate rule benefits the healthcare industry.

The Military Industrial Complex 

The Military industirial complex is another example of corporate rule. The fact is the simple result is war makes money. Against the wishes of the founding fathers we have a astanding army that is an imperial empire with more than 800 bases around the world, accounts for at least half our budget, and is larger then the next ten militaries combined. When you really look at it, the war industry thrives because it makes our corporations a lot of money which means those corporation will lobby for more contracts. This is what george bush did with the Iraq War. 

In America, it’s all about priorities. The fact is we prioritize the military and our unspoken empire over domestic programs. Republicans always claim we don’t have the money to make (college) education (free or) affordable, but will then approve half the fiscal budge to the military. Take it from a Republican, Dwight D. Eisenhower who warned of the dangers of an unchecked military industrial complex. As Dan Rather put it in a tweet once, what could we have afforded if we spent the money the republicans claimed we didn’t have on education and housing and healthcare instead of (the Iraq) war?

There’s a great documentary (and book) called “The Corporation” I suggest you watch to understand how powerful corporations have become. In America corporation are legal persons and these are the persons who make the rules. Those with the most money have the most power. This is because the supreme court has consistently ruled that money is speech which is protected by the first amendment. 

Money is Speech

So we have learned that citizens don’t make the rules because they largely can’t afford to write and sponsor bills. Corporation and special interest groups are the ones who make laws. There is a direct relationship between how much money a candidate sppends on marketing and their likelihood of getting elected. The US supreme court’s decision on Buckley v. Valeo and further rulings is why money is speech. 

“Buckley v. Valeo was a landmark decision of the US Supreme Court on campaign finance. A majority of justices held that, as provided by section 608 of the Federal Election Campaign Act of 1971, limits on election expenditures are unconstitutional. In a per curiam (by the Court) opinion, they ruled that expenditure limits contravene the First Amendment provision on freedom of speech because a restriction on spending for political communication necessarily reduces the quantity of expression. It limited disclosure provisions and limited the Federal Election Commission's power. Justice Byron White dissented in part and wrote that Congress had legitimately recognized unlimited election spending "as a mortal danger against which effective preventive and curative steps must be taken.”

Buckley v. Valeo was extended by the U.S. Supreme Court in further cases, including in the five to four decision of First National Bank of Boston v. Bellotti in 1978 and Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission in 2010 The latter held that corporations may spend from their general treasuries during elections. In 2014, McCutcheon v. Federal Election Commission held that aggregate limits on political giving by an individual are unconstitutional.

In effect, this let’s you buy elections because money is speech. The effect of this ruling is that citizens have been affected negatively both economically and politially. They have made less in wages and had less of influence in politics. I have left up four graphs. 

The first graph is the productivity growth and hourly compensation growth graph. The dark blue is the productivity, and the light blue is the compensation (wage). As you can see wages were keeping up with productiving until that split, and that split happened right after Buckley v. Valeo. 

The next three graphs show the political influence of the average citizen, economic elites, and interest groups (respectively). With the first one you can see no matter how many percent favored the proposed policy there was no effect on the probability for adoption. Then the next graph is an almost linear representation where the more likely you favor the policy, the more likely it is to be adopted. Then the last graph has the effect of special interest groups which you can see is effective. The only group that isn’t effective are the average citizen.

Socialism

"This country has socialism for the rich, and rugged individualism for the poor" - Martin Luther King Jr.

So we have learned that the average citizen doesn’t have any political power to change laws. Now I will explain how the oligarchy has changed public opinion in their favor and managed to cut their taxes while dismantling social programs, all while blaming it on the poor. It’s all done with the word socialism.

I can tell you as a sociologist that America has no real idea what socialism is, and if they do have an idea it means the opposite of what it was originally conceived as. Because of fox news, many people believe that socialism is giving poor people money, but that couldnt’ be further from the truth. When you know, it seems like an obvious tool by those in power to distract from its real intent which was “workers rights over production.” 

Yep, that’s fundamentally what socialism means, that we believe workers should have rights and control over the means of production. Any Laissez-faire capitalist would snear at that idea, that takes aways from their importance, control, and money so it’s in their best interest to propogandize and distract front he real meaning. You do that by co-opting the word, making it yours, and playing to the ignorance of your audience.

Socialism does not mean Giving poor people money, although that helps stimulate the economy. Demonizing the poor is something the wealthy would do to preserve and maintain order. In a very real way it has to be the poor’s fault because otherwise that means it’s the system.

Rich Dad Poor Dad

You don’t get wealthy from working. You get wealthy from investing. Literally the biggest purveyor of wealth in America is business. You basically get wealthy selling a product that you can scale raising your dollars per hour exponentially, or you can fail by trying to become skilled and sell your labor. Read Robert Kiyosaki’s book about “cash flow quadrants.” You literally become a “rich dad” from (what the government considers) unearned income (like profits, royalties, dividends, etc.). I know about this because I’m limited on how much I can make and keep my healthcare (which is complete bullshit). 

Although it’s opposite of what fox news claims, you can’t be poor and be lazy, wealthy people are the ones that don’t do work. They will litterally tell you all the time, they make their money work for them. How can you have hundreds of business and still believe you got wealthy from your labor at those businesses. As Trump would say, it’s the “art of the deal.”

Surplus Value

You can understand the conditions to become a capitalist and how it doesn’t take any work on their end through Marx’s theory of surplus value. Basically you need capital (for the machines and buildings) and labor and to sell your product at a profit. Whatever The owner (capitalist) makes in sales minus capital and labor is their “surplus value” and goes to the shareholders. As long as you have money you can pay for the capital and labor. I’m not saying wealth people don’t work, they do; they just didn’t get wealthy from working. Jeff Bezos recently revived the theory of surplus labor when he thanked his employees for his space travels because they were the ones that paid for it. 

Elon Musk Example

Let’s take Elon Musk for example. Elon works 80 hours, so does susan at the diner, but she did everything right so why isn’t she a billionair? Clearly it’s not hard work. And I’ll tell you what it is, it leverage (i.e. money), a mind set, and a system. In reality it is the wealthy that do nothing. The truth is, it’s not that people don’t want to work (like the conservative’s exclaim) it’s that people are tired of working for minimum wage, which is a starvation wage, giving all that time and effort, and still not be able to pay their bills. As we will discuss, the system is broken. 

Elon musk did not become wealthy from working hard, he became wealthy from investing and businesses. Farmers, construction workers, and cops work harder but they’re paid less and they don’t know how to invest. You don’t become wealthy by working you become wealthy by investing. Calculate paying Elon $5000 an hour for 80 years (no breaks), then compare his net worth. Before you go on, calculate that and ask yourself, how is it that he claims his labor produced him his wealth?

Corporate Welfare

This brings me to what socialism has become by Fox New’s and the right’s definition. The right is basically complaining that were giving people who abuse the system and don’t do anything productive money. By their definition this “socialism,” giving people money who abuse the system, would be what we have today, but with corporate welfare. 

You pay way more to corporate subsidies to corporation every year in taxes than you do any welfare program. And It doesn’t matter if it cables, satellites, or radio the government makes the utilities from tax payer dollars and business build their whole model off it and then pay no taxes. Big Corporations then dodge their taxes and the biggest winners are the corporate shareholders. In future editions I hope to do a breakdown of where your tax dollars go. What you pay for in social security, and federal income tax, coporate welfare and the military.  

It’s Business Over People

If we are not entitled to someone else's hard-earned money then why is there no outrage about corporate welfare? It's only socialism (and therefor bad) when it's tax breaks and subsidies for the poor and middle class. By their standards the stimulus checks would be socialism but the PPP loan program wouldn’t be. This is a larger theme that the oligarchy and their affiliates propagate silently is that in America it’s business over people. If someone doesn’t make enough money to pay for their healthcare or medication should they die? In America, the answer is yes, because it happens all the time.

This is no where more evident then how political recipiants of NRA money blame everything but guns for the mass gun violence in America that is unique to the United States. In 2020 the NRA spent $250 million dollars lobbying Congress against gun safety laws. That’s almost twice the annual salary of all of congress. As an update from my last socio-political post “The Result of Corporate Rule in America - Abortion and Gun Control.” In it I talk about how we have an attack on abortion rights and gun laws because of corporate rule. The NRA represents the corporate gun makers and they have a huge lobby in congress. As an update, DemocracyNow! Has corroborated with my findings. 

So we have the gun laws we do and therefore the school shootings we do because corporations rule. To keep those laws, the republicans are using fear politics. Everything but gun control is causing school shootings from doors to marijuana according to Ted Cruz and the republicans. Meanwhile all across America, during this year’s Fourth of July celebration people ran in fear for what they thought was gunshots when it was really just fireworks.

White Nationalism

The truth is ever since the wealthy have learned they can maintain control, profits, and the system by controlling the government through a system based on money to get things done, they have been thinking of ways to maintain power. This is where the white nationalist movement comes in. I haven’t read Domhoff’s new 2021 edition but I noticed the same thing and will talk about it here.

I want you to think large, like a sociologist, like a nation builder, a president, and how you are going to mold the masses. Now imagine for a minute you had vast power and resources and time to implement your plans and change government to be sympathetic to your needs and wants. This is the story of the power elite.

Farming Humans

And we are going to talk about the conscervative power elite which have basically been trying to implement their strategy to farm humans. You can basically look at it this way, Corporations are farming humans for money and labor and their using rules like money is speech and a corporation is a person to change the rules in their favor. My argument is their using christianity which is always been an oppressive and conforming scripture for the masses to manipulate morality, desire, and control the public sphere. 

It’s George Orwell’s “Animal Farm.” We have books like Carol Quigley‘s “Hope and Tragedy,” and the conservative redactive human rights manual “The Birth Dearth.” Books like these proves there has been a nationalist agenda to grow the populous, economically, and with control through socio-economic and political methods.

You know, this would be great, and I’m all for it, but they have made a great mess of things and I’m here to tell you it’s not for the better. “The Birth Dearth” is basically about finding a way to have more white babies and instead of paying women to have children (like they do in European nations), because that would mean we would have to pay black mother too, they would take away abortion rights. 

When you look at it, it’s almost like (especially the republican) power elite are trying to simulate the forces of despotism while just making the cheap labor and over consumption due to ignorance. Mind control is basically situational forces, or changing the environment to affect behavior (maybe I’ll talk about that more in next year’s edition with encouragement), and it seems like there is a focus on changing the conditions for American citizens to maximize their yield, if you will. 

The price of housing, health care, & education have all quadrupled while wages have remained stagnant and there has been a wealth transfer of trillions to the wealthy during the pandemic. The plutocratic government has slowly fleeced the people of their wealth and consolidated power through policy in the hands of fewer and fewers. 

The American Dream

As we saw with the Valeo graph, the elite have been squeezing labor. Basically paying less in wages while they produce more (and remember all the while telling them it’s because their lazy). There has been a systematic effort to take economic power away from the (proletariate) workers. Between the dismatling of social programs, rewriting the tax code, inflation, the outlandish costs for housing, healthcare, and education, and a stagnant minimum wage the average citizen has experience a decrease in earning potential and living standard. This is all possible (largely) through the exploitation of labor.

This needs a lot more research on my part because I’m interested in hashing out the detail but the following is accurate. Back in the 1950s The American dream was a house with a white picket fence and family off one income working minimum wage. The problem is that just a pipe dream now because it’s no longer attainable. Now, no where in America can you afford a two bedroom apartment on minimum wage. 

I keep hearing millionaire celebrities from Kim Kardashian to Bill Maher (who I respect) talk about how people don’t want to work. The truth is, we are tired of working and still not being able to make it. It’s called “the working poor” and they’re over worked, underpaid, manipulated by the news, lied to by politicians and fleeced by the tax code with no social programs to support them. Housing, child care, education, gasoline, food, inflation itself, has all gone up while wages have remained stagnant. The middle class is shrinking and it’s become harder and harder to sustain yourself. So when the day comes and you find yourself broke and homeless, know that it was designed that way by the oligarchy. And as your struggling I want you to remember that the economy doesn’t work for you unless your rich where there’s socialism through lobbying and the tax code. 

Our economy is more reminiscent of what Noam Chomsky would call industrial fuedalism. We’re basically still serfs that pay our labor to live in the housing, on their land, in their country. It’s not fair to work a full time job and still not be able to make ends meet! Especially when your boss makes millions in profits. If you can’t afford to live, what’s even the point of working? You only work so you can live, that’s why it’s called “making a living.”

Research questions: How much people make on minimum wage today compared to back in the 70s? How was our graduated tax income bracket distributed in the 1950s? Now the richest Americans pay a lower tax rate in the average American worker.

Wealth Transfer

Capitalism naturally creates unfair competition such as monopolies and oligopalies that need to be regulated. But, as we will discuss, in a political system that functions and benefits from money as speech and in the form of lobbyist and the revolving door of big business and politics the wealth is ever more consolidated in to smaller hand which creates corruption and straification. 

This stratification has very real effects on access to resources like helath care, education, and housing which have all gone up like crazy while wages have remained stagnant. Meanwhile one of the biggest transfers of wealth from the 99% to the 1% happened in the 2008 housing crisis, and then again during the pandemic. 

Bush, Reagan, & Trump

So how did we get here? Well the squeezing of economic and political power from citizens is a direct result of policies enacted by Reagan, bush, & trump. Regan created trickle down economics which was a lie and a failure just like the war on drugs and his stance against “socialized medicine.” Regan also gutted the department of housing which has created the homeless crisis. 

In the mid 1900s the tax rate was 90% for the top tier. Tax cuts were furthered by Bush and Trump until today when the average citizens pays more of a percentage of their income to uncle sam than billionaires. If you follow the money, there is no greater exempfication of who is in control than the tax code which creates socialism for the wealthy. 

Politics

For the most part both sides of the political dicotomy in America are corporatist. However Republicans more wholistically represent the oligarchy’s agenda. Conservatives have aligned their ideals with the plutocrats. It’s also worth mentioning their not conservatives anymore, they’re regressive.

This wouldn’t be so threatening if the elites haven’t been changing the rules to favor the republicans. An example of this is how the Senate is currently split 50/50 but the democrats represent about 50 million more people. This is because the red states gerrymander while the blue states have laws against it. This creates a system that has more democrats but represents the republicans. Like with the supreme court where the rejected Merit Garlin months before and then rushed Amy Barrette through days before, the republicans have been making power grabs. 

Look how republicans have voted on gun control, climate change, healthcare, energy independence, housing, education, etc. The only thing the republicans and democrats seem to agree on is to be more hard on crime (unless it’s insurrectionist or antifa, respectively) and more money for the military. This is the growing example of how America is a culture of punishment and not a culture of care like it should be.

The goal seems to make America a christian facist nation. The right is definitely using religion to pass moral judgements, pander to voters, and garner support. I can’t think of a president that more aptly represents the oligarchy then Donald Trump. You should look at the Trump supporting MAGA crowd as the arrogant fools. They aren’t educated enough to recognize their oppression and oppressor and it reminds me of the Voltair quote. 

“It’s difficult to free fools from the chains they Revere.” -Voltaire

Manufacturing Consent

It seems political influence does not come without consequence. For the most part corporate america supported the vaccine, but trump denied it’s effectiveness and the enormity of the pandemic for months. Even after Trump finally said the vaccine is safe and effective the damage had been done. Coronavirus deaths are highest in counties with the largest share of Trump voters. 

This is just one example about how political misinformation (by the Republicans) was intentional created and disseminated. This kind of thing happens all the time in the public sphere. Not only do these elites want to control the political and economic system but they want to control the narrative. I recommend reading Noam Chomsky’s “Manufacturing Consent” and Edward Bernays’s “Propoganda” for a better understanding. Laws must be morally just otherwise they don’t seem legitimate and invite change by vote or protest. 

For the most part, the old adage stil holds true, laws are made by the rich to control the poor. Weather it’s the pharmaceutical, gun, or oil industry things don’t change because corporations rule. America doesn’t have a government that represents the people. When it comes to mass manipulation The goal is to make them BELIEVE the dream is real because if they actually analyze it, they’ll realize it’s a falsehood. That’s why you don’t want a population of critical thinkers. And that’s why you don’t want accountability. 

Common Wealth

This brings me to solutions and the common wealth. What is the common wealth? Why have you never heard of the common wealth? You get something for those tax dollars. What is the point of society if not to help each other? What common wealth programs and projects are we forgoing by making the tax rate on billionaires less than the average american?

Wealth should be built for the common good. Those that make billions should expect their earnings will go toward the public interest. This is because if the wealth is kept it creates serious issues on stratification, which have real-world effects on fairness. 

The point is the wealthiest have an unimaginably large amount of wealth which creates stratification and reduces access to resources like healthcare because people can't afford them. When 50% of the population lives paycheck to paycheck and the richest 1,000 people have 70% of all wealth the economic system should be considered inherently flawed if people that work full-time can't afford to take care of themselves. 

Solutions

The fact is non-generational wealth gets their money by exploiting labor. If they redistributed their wealth through their company their wouldn't be a need to tax them. You pay for healthcare for Walmart employees because they don't provide adequate benefits to their employees. In a very real way that money never belonged to them in the first place because they didn't pay the real costs to society, government laws and taxation fixes that. But the current model takes from the taxpayer and gives it to the corporation.

What we need to do is get money out of politics and have a more direct democracy. We need to open debates up to more political parties so there’s not just a two party system. Many western nations have a labor party, it’s no wonder America doesn’t with who is in control. We need to give bigger representation to the people through policy making and labor wages. You can support labor unions, there is a direct relationship between labor union membership and the median wage in america. Unions provide better wages, conditions, and prosperity for workers

Personal

I would like the know how these policies have affected regular citizens like my friends and family. I I need to learn more about feudalism and oligarchy. Where would we be if America got it’s priorities and policies straight? Personally, how has this affected me? Well I live on disability. 

I work a job but I’m limited in the amount of earned income I can make and keep my healthcare. It’s a poverty trap. You can make enough money to not be considered disabled and still not be able to afford your medication. America’s disability system sets up individuals for conditions of labor exploitation. That’s the direct result of price gouging, which is not allowed in other western countries, and the exploitation of labor, which is also better.You are literally limited on the value you can create from your labor to keep healthcare which is the highest cost out of any country because the pharmaceutical industry has the largest lobby in Congress. 

I live in subsidized housing. I have been waiting for at least a year to get into subsidized apartment in Kalamzoo and I’m a few months on a waiting list for section 8 up there. I’m just as affected if not more then the average person by the government’s policies. I’m going to research this in graduate school, if I ever get there. I was accepted but I’m still trying to find housing. Thanks Reagan. 

If you like what you read and wanna let me know please leave a tip at Paypal.me/EricLeo108

[spilledreality]

Trenches, hand grenades, and the Civil War as the first "modern" conflict

A common belief is that trenches were invented in the Civil War, an innovation ushering in—alongside the hand grenade and machine gun, both deployed in that same war—the beginning of the modern warfare era. This is sort of true and sort of untrue. Implicit in its narrative is the idea that in-retrospect-obvious strategies like, say, digging fortifications to secure your military position, can take centuries to catch on. This is a bit like the Scurvy theory of progress. Spanish sailors discover oranges as a scurvy cure in the late 1400s, but knowledge isn't widespread or institutionalized across Europe until the 1800s.

The history of trenches is a bit like the history of citrus as a scurvy cure—but more in the sense that shifting contextual details made the same cures more or less effective for different expeditions or eras. Trenches go back to Roman times, and were popular in medieval siege warfare, but the value and purpose of trenches has wildly oscillated since then, such that, for much of pre-modernity, they served as a poor choice of tactic. (And such that, now in the present era, they are again an unfavorable strategy.) The changing situation which is brought about by technology—technology both in the literal sense and in the cultural sense, the evolution of ideas—constantly alters the "problem state" of a military conflict, and thus the fitness of any one solution strategy. And in this constant turnover, which we call history (or ecology), inefficiences flounder, as outdated strategies are inappropriately perpetuated in the name of tradition—some merely vestigial (best case), others actively counter-productive. As the cliche goes, a lack of flexibility, or adaptability, is damning in such a time of transition. When a top-down belief cannot be altered by repeated, contradictory, bottom-up data, the belief can be called ideology.

That is, such decision-makers suffer from a lack of (either/both) empiricism and pragmatism. The former is manifests as rigidity, the latter as context-insensitive proceduralism (or "deontology"). And there is always a minefield of such inappropriate, aged-out heuristics, or deontologies, which increase in number as the pace of world-change increases. For each Chesterton's fence—a traditional structure whose purpose we do not understand, but which is loadbearing for our way of life—there is also, I think, a "Pickett's charge." The term is chosen after Robert E. Lee's catastrophic, Napoleonic-style frontal assault in the Battle of Gettysburg. The weapons had changed since Napoleon—the new rifled barrels could shoot further and more accurately, with shorter loading—which changed the calculus of an open charge—charging troops would have to face dozens of successive volleys, instead of one or two. Too many men would be killed, cross miles of open ground against a fortified position, before reaching the Union breastworks in a hope to overcome them. Some view the charge as the high-water mark of the Confederacy—the day their prospects were sunniest, and they decision which lost it all.

Even Grant and Sherman, widely considered the war's best strategists—a distinction earned primarily for their pragmatism, their rejection of traditional ideas as to what kinds of warfare were "proper," manly, or chivalrous—did not think to use trenches in the early years of the conflict. James Rhodes, in his History of the Civil War 1861-1865, writes that "it is remarkable that with an enemy estimated at from 60,000 to 80,000 and, located according to their own guess, not farther than twenty-three miles away, generals as resourceful as Grant and Sherman did not put their soldiers to work with the pick and spade." As a result, their positions were overrun by Johnston's troops, beginning the deadly Battle of Shiloh.

And yet as Sherman would later recount: "At a later period of the war, we could have rendered [the Shiloh] position impregnable in one night." As the conflict continued, and officer decisions—as well as troop behavior—evolved to better fit the territory (that is, to better fit the tested reality of the problem space), the war became more guerilla-like. Sieges lasted months, trench warfare was bitter—and both led to the widespread use, for the first time in American military history, of hand grenades.

It is probably worth pointing out that Robert E. Lee, before he became the darling of the Confederacy, was ridiculed by Richmond newspapers as the "King of Spades" because he'd tasked otherwise unoccupied defensive troops to dig breastworks around Richmond.

[stozkpile]

i accidentally lost my entire essay that i was writing abt biden and bernie but nothing can stop me so im doing it again.

the only reason biden got this far was due to a bunch of "coincidental" drops from the race RIGHT before super tuesday, and because the red scare tactic american politicians still hold onto make bernie (who is, for most of the world, a center left candidate at most, as american politics is skewed to the upper right) seem unreasonable. let's go over some of the common arguments against him:

1. BERNIE IS A COMMIE: bernie is a self proclaimed socialist. ok. do you really think he, as president (not as king of america. or as dictator. did we all forget what the president does?), will seize the means of production and sentence everyone to work in the gulags? what the hell is wrong with people? he wants to give people free healthcare and free education. and he wants to tax the ULTRA rich into helping/cut military funding.

1. why cant we create more tax brackets? people who make $520,000 a year, $100,000 an HOUR, and $60,000 a MINUTE, are all supposed to pay 37% of that money in taxes. make more tax brackets. tax capital gains more. close tax loopholes. ANYTHING. so much money is being spent on nothing.

2. military funding gets around 685 BILLION dollars a year. if we HALVE that, it'll still be hundreds of billions more than what China (which has over a BILLION people and is the second largest economy in the WORLD) spends on military, which is around 181 billion. that, simply put, is a fuckload of money. we could easily still have the biggest fucking military in the world and provide more help to the people, which i still don't agree with (america feels like a warmongering state to me), but compromises have to be made, right?

BERNIE HAS NO PLAN: and biden does? do you think every american president had a dissertation written about what they would enact if the got the office? bernie, if he wins, will hire cabinet members and staff, who will be better at certain things than he is. bernie is also an experienced politician who has worked multiple blue-collar jobs and was politically active as a youth.

1. bernie is campaigning and trying to win votes. being a president is about representing your country as much as it is having a working brain on your shoulders, which means you have to have a semblance of charisma and marketability. bernie isn't throwing facts and plans at people because thats not what most people want to hear. in fact, that was a weakness of warren's campaign. and any good plan wont be easy to explain during a short speech where youre supposed to rally people, or on a podcast, or on tv. he's passionate and empathetic, which is refreshing, considering how sociopathic politics are in general.

which leads to part 2. bernie probably has a better idea of his plans than people think. hes been doing politics for a long time. he was able to pass a lot of favorable policies as mayor, and has consistently been on the right side of history, even when it wasnt popular. and honestly, even if he's not able to pass as much as he would like as president (because i know american politicians/people who keep american politicians in their pocket are determined to stop him), it will at least represent a change in the american pathos, and itll show them that the disenfranchised finally have power. this scares dems as much as republicans.

BERNIE/HIS SUPPORTERS ARE TOO ANGRY: do you think they're mad for no reason? it's easy to think everyone is too emotional when you don't have to care about politics to survive.

are you five? do you think everyone has to be nice all the time? do you think that if someone has feelings about their argument, that renders their argument invalid? being nice doesn't change things and recent events prove that. trump bullied everyone and became the sole republican candidate.

just because something is legal or illegal doesn't mean it's right or wrong. do you think the civil rights movement was everyone being nice and putting together nicely-worded arguments? do you think stonewall was a fun little party? do you think the civil fucking war was a bunch of people talking to each other very politely about whether black people deserved freedom or not? people died. people were beaten. people were furious. and because of their fury, and their actions, we live in a better time. it can still get better. progress doesn't end. it doesnt have to come to blows anymore, but it wont be nice.

BERNIE HAS NO CHANCE AGAINST TRUMP: "vote blue no matter who." bernie is the only candidate that has a real chance against trump, and we know this because a sizable group of voters who would've voted for him voted for trump instead/didn't vote at all because hillary is so violently unlikable. and hillary still eeked out the popular vote, although she lost the electoral college. we can complain about the electoral college being a thing at all but if hillary still almost won, bernie would do better than she did. if people would vote for ANYONE over trump, then be willing to vote for bernie, because even republicans like him. bernie has working class clout. and nothing infuriates a poor white more than the intellectual elite flaunting their money at them all the time.

trump doesnt have a lot to say about bernie either. trump might think theres no way that bernie would make it to november, or maybe he's "supporting" him in an attempt to drive a wedge between him and the democratic party, or maybe he actually likes him (which would be fucked up lol), but one thing's for sure: bernie will not choke. trump would try to stir him up or attempt to make fun of him, as he does (and let's be honest...trump is very good at bullying people), and bernie would just take it and throw it all back at him. bernie has hutzpah, which is what none of the other candidates have, and what trump's whole campaign is. bernie is also cool, which biden isn't.

biden is:

a well-documented creep

a faux-progressive with a history of repugnant political decisions, including the 1994 crime bill (he changed his reasoning for it later to seem less racist), gutting welfare, opposing school integration in the 70s, and voting for the iraq war

a plagiarist

the kind of guy who lies about his son's death to get an inch (multiple counts, but the most egregious is when he implied his son was killed because of the iraq war in an effort to defend the vote. although he was there, beau biden died of a brain tumor and complications.)

losing his brain faculties, which is very easy to see. he's old. bernie is too, but at least he can string together a sentence.

is winning in states that will ultimately vote red. and republicans hate him.

tl;dr if you dont give a shit, vote bernie. if you give a shit, think critically, and then vote bernie. it isn't over yet.

[cincinnatusvirtue]

Anglo-Zulu War of 1879: British imperialism in South Africa and Zulu resistance.

In the midst of the Victorian Era in January 1879, British imperialism was literally on the march in South Africa, its goal to conquer the native African Zulu Kingdom and continue fitting together the many jigsaw pieces of the continent of Africa into yet another of Britain’s domains.  What followed in January 1879 was anticipated to be a relatively easy conquest for the British, what followed in the opening engagements of the war was a surprise defeat that would be the worst the British Empire would face at the hands of a native force and within 24 hours of that defeat, a harrowing tale of survival and victory against great odds, enough to both stir the British public and the world at large.

British interest in the Southern tip of Africa stemmed out of its rivalry with France in the late 18th and early 19th centuries.  Since the mid 1600′s the Dutch East India Company had made the South African coast a colony of its own, initially as a way station to its more lucrative colonial markets in India and the Dutch East Indies (Indonesia).  During the ensuring 150 years, a number of Dutch, German, Scandinavian and French Huguenot settlers migrated here, working for the colony, farming, importing slaves from Indonesia and interacting with the native San and Khoikhoi peoples, interactions ranged from violent wars, employment and intermarriage.  Out of this community developed the daughter language of the Dutch authorities, known today as Afrikaans and still spoken among the Dutch descended community of South African Europeans, known as Afrikaners. 

In 1795, amidst the French Revolutionary Wars, the Dutch Republic, ally of France was subject to British attacks.  The Dutch Cape Colony, built at the Cape of Good Hope was attacked in 1795 and taken over by the British and occupied until 1803 as part of the Treaty of Amiens which made peace with Napoleonic France.  However, war struck again by 1806 and the British won the Battle of Blaauwberg near Cape Town.  Thereafter the British established Cape Colony and ruled this corner of South Africa.  The Dutch settlers came to resent British rule and rules.  In the early 19th century many ventured out into the wilds of the South African interior, on the so called Great Trek.  The community that undertook this pioneer movement were known as the Trekboer or Boer for short, meaning “farmer” in Dutch which was their primary occupation.  Their goal was to establish communities for themselves where they could farm under their own laws, practice their strict Dutch Reformed brand of Calvinism and engage in slavery as they had under Dutch colonial rule and practice their brand of rugged individualism.  The Boer came into contact and eventual conflict with many native African peoples in the interior they had not previously encountered.  Namely, the Bantu speaking peoples, one tribe of which had coalesced into the Zulus.

The Bantu speaking peoples has migrated western and central Africa to South Africa and displaced or assimilated many of the original native Khoisan natives that had inhabited all of South Africa previously.  Out of these displacements the Bantu speaking peoples became the predominant native tribes, which formed into distinct kingdoms, one of which was the Zulu Kingdom with origins in the 18th century that completely forged into a unified kingdom in around 1818 under Shaka.  Under his rule the Zulu expanded their power and territory through a series of military reforms and war pushing some tribes further east into contact with the fellow Bantus, the Xhosa and the Europeans pushing west.

The Boers encountered the Zulus by the late 1830′s having crossed the Orange river.  A massacre of Boer pioneers  and their Khoikhoi servants by the Zulu which killed roughly Boer 250 men, women and children and 250 of their servants and known as the Weenen Massacre, solidified the tensions between the Boers and the Zulu.  The Boers thought God had entitled them to their own land and the Zulu saw themselves as defending against potential encroachment.  This was followed up with the Battle of Blood River in December 1838 in which the Boers numbering 464 plus a couple hundred servants were attacked by 10,000-15,000 Zulu warriors.  What followed was a very one sided victory for the Boers, they found an effective way to defend themselves against the Zulu charge armed mostly with spears, form their pioneer wagon trains into a protective interlocked circle called a laager.  The Boers were expert shots with rifles and muskets, spending their whole life hunting for food in the South African veldt or prairie, they developed a deep gun culture of necessity and made every shot count.  As the Zulus rushed in armed with their short stabbing spears they were gunned down by the Boer’s muskets and improvised cannons.  3,000 Zulu were dead and only 3 Boers wounded.  The lopsided victory was hailed as a miracle by the religious Boers and in time their developed their own republics known as the Boer Republics of Natalia, Orange Free State and the Transvaal (South African Republic).  These lands were developed in part on lands that removed the Zulu threat for now, though tensions persisted off and on for decades.

Meanwhile, the British were not content to stay on the coast and also saw the establishment of the Boer Republics as geopolitical obstacles to the overall European colonization of the African continent, of which Britain sought to be the leader.  So by the mid 19th century, modern South Africa was a hodgepodge of European colonies officially under British rule and the semi-independent Boer Republics as well as African kingdoms such as the Zulu.  The British claimed leadership over the Boer Republics even though they were beyond official British territory, their justification was that Boers originated in the British Cape Colony and were therefore still British nationals despite their Dutch origins, distinct culture language and religion.  Natalia was officially annexed in 1843 and the Boers pushed even further west giving rise to the still nominally British but more or less independent Orange Free State and Transvaal Republics.  Furthermore, the British made treaties with a number of African tribes on land the Boers settled which recognized tribal sovereignty, the Boers resented this as they sought either independence or at the very least more sovereignty than the African natives whom they regarded as inferior in terms of racial views prevalent at the time.

In 1854, the British government recognized the sovereignty of the Orange Free State though not the Transvaal and these tensions along with discoveries of gold and diamonds and the establishment of mines making the Boers rich would lead to increasing tensions between the British and the Boer Republics.  However, the British post 1867 sought to confederate South Africa into a unified set of colonies under British dominion as they had in Canada.  Sir Bartle Frere was named High Commissioner of South Africa for Britain and he was to oversee the confederation, one obstacle to this was the Zulu Kingdom.  The British saw the Zulu as a potentially dangerous threat that would resist confederation and their goal, at least Frere’s was to initiate a war that would justify its conquest and pacification.

1877 saw the British annex the Boer Republic of Transvaal which the Boers objected to but lingering tension with the Zulus was seen as the more immediate threat and for the time being tolerated the British annexation.  The British justification was in part to oversee the decrease of tensions between the Boers and Zulu and they felt they were empowered to do so.  The Zulu King at this time was named Cetshwayo.  He upheld the traditions of military doctrine established under Shaka, including the use of the short stabbing spear known as the assegai.  Zulu warriors also used cowhide shields and had a few old muskets but their marksmanship was considered overall quite poor.  Their regiments were known as impi.  Their preferred tactic was the “buffalo horn” tactic, a variation of a pincer movement.  The idea was to overwhelm the enemy with massive numbers and charge them from two sides, the “horns” which pinned the enemy while the center or “chest” of the buffalo finished the enemy off supported by reserve or “loins” of the buffalo.

Frere gave an ultimatum in late 1878 to the Zulu Kingdom following incidents on the border between the Natal Colony and Zululand.  Effectively Cetshwayo was ordered to make certain payments to the British, disband the Zulu military system and most importantly allow a British agent or “resident” serve as de facto governor approving all decisions of Cetshwayo’s and ensuring compliance with terms of the treating.  Cetshwayo would essentially be giving up his right to rule in all but name, some terms he could agree to but giving up Zulu independence was not one, he did not reply in time as Frere had expected.  This gave him the opportunity to launch an invasion of Zululand, without actual authorization from London which had other international commitments namely in India and in Europe’s Balkans which distracted it’s attention away from South Africa.  Nevertheless, January 1879 saw the start of the Anglo-Zulu War.

The war commenced on January 11th with three British columns attacking Zululand at once.  The goal was to meet the Zulu, defeat them and take their capital, Ulundi.  Command was given to Lord Chelmsford who marched his troops past the Buffalo River at an old trading station called Rorke’ Drift.  The British would leave some troops here to control as a supply depot and hospital.  While the rest of the columns (Numbers 2 and.3 Column) marched into the open veldt country of Zululand, a mix of European troops and native African auxiliaries.  The British regulars still wore their signature red wool coats which stood out against the yellow and khaki countryside of the open grasslands of South Africa.  The British used modern Matini-Henry rifles, some field gun cannons and a rocket brigade for support along with wagon trains for supplies.  On January 20th, the British pitched camp at Isandlwana, a rocky formation that rose out of the otherwise grassy veldt.  On the 21st and 22nd Chelmsford got reports of Zulu in the area and went off to pursue, thinking the main body of the Zulu army was nearby.  Chelmsford was lead on a wild goose chase.  The British had vastly underestimated the Zulu’s strategy, divide the British, isolate and attack them out in the open.  Despite, Boer warnings not to underestimate the Zulu for their tactics the British were far too convinced victory was a given after demonstration of modern firepower.  On the 22nd as Chelmsfords’s main force was a away roughly 1,800 British and native allied troops were still encamped at Isandlwana, a few scouts ventured to nearby hills only to see 20,000 Zulu on the opposite side lying in silent wait.  The scouts retreated but it was too late.  The British hadn’t circled their wagons in a laager formation as the Boers had suggested, leaving them open and exposed and scattered.  The Zulu began forming the horns of their pincer movement on the crest of hills nearby.  The British tried to form up lines and fire on the advancing Zulu, indeed they inflicted many casualties but the Zulu were far too numerous and a sort of fighting retreat ensued by the British trying to rally north and west back to Rorke’s Drift and anywhere else.  The British were simply overwhelmed and killed in grouped or individual last stands.  The Zulu’s assegai had an advantage up close they disemboweled the British regulars with their spears, according to ritual this was to release the spirit of their enemy.  The British were defeated at Isandlwana with  1,300 dead.  The Zulu lost roughly 2,000 of their own. Chelmsford would arrive to a horrid disaster of great shock.

Meanwhile, at nearby Rorke’s Drift on the 22nd and into the 23rd 140 British troops were surrounded by 3,000-4,000 Zulu who marched from their earlier victory at Isandlwana in pursuit of British stragglers.  What ensued was effectively a siege to overrun the hospital and supply depot.  However, despite repeated Zulu attempts to overwhelm the British, the massed volleys of rifle fire and improvised defenses of corn bags stacked up along with a stone wall at the premises gave the British some measure of defense they lacked at Isandlwana.  The British would survive and emerge victorious at Rorke’s Drift.  The British would suffer 17 killed and roughly equal numbers wounded while the Zulu’s suffered around 350 killed and 500 wounded.  The British were low on ammo and could have been overwhelmed had the casualties for the Zulu not been high and their exhaustion due to fighting all day at Isandlwana and then marching further without rest and no food only to fight further sap them of their strength.  The Zulu retreated and the British angry over the attack and news from Isandlwana’s earlier disaster lead to patrols to march out among the wounded Zulu and kill them without mercy shooting, bayoneting and beating the wounded to death.

In 24 hours disaster had shocked the British with news of the defeat and scale of the massacre at Isandlwana, meanwhile the propaganda machine also played up the heroic defense of Rorke’s Drift from which some survivors were awarded the Victoria’s Cross, Britain highest military decoration.  Chelmsford would return home somewhat in disgrace.

Isandlwana and the reaction to it was somewhat akin to American defeat in June,1876 at the Battle of Little Bighorn, where a smaller force armed with modern weapons underestimated their native enemy which outnumbered them and overwhelmed them.  Though in both cases the initial defeat only prompted public outcry for revenge and jingoistic war fever increased.  The Americans would come to defeat the Sioux in the Great Sioux War of 1876 and likewise in six months time the British re-invaded Zululand and despite a spirited resistance, a change in tactics along with overwhelming force and the destruction of their capital Ulundi by July 1879, victory was achieved and the Zulu were conquered.  Cetshwayo was imprisoned for sometime, became a celebrity and eventually died once returned to the Zulu.  The Zulu threat was no more, though Isandlwana resonates among their descendants as a great victory.  While for the British it was a cautionary tale of not underestimating your enemy, no matter the superiority of your technology. 

By 1880-1881 however, a renewed tension with the Boers was the pressing issue in South Africa.  With the Zulu threat neutralized, the Boers of the Transvaal planned to assert their independence.  Again the British underestimated their opponent, seeing the Boer as backwards Dutch speaking farmers, only forgetting these farmers like the Zulu knew the land they grew up in and unlike the Zulu were armed with the same modern guns the British were and were in many cases better individual shots than the British.  A brief war (First Boer War 1880-1881) would see the Transvaal gain its independence giving the British their first unfavorable treaty since the American Revolution a century before.  Boer independence would last a further two decades where an economic boom of gold and diamond mines on their territory would lead to further tensions and the bigger scale Second Boer War (1899-1902) which saw early heavy British defeats until a policy of scorched earth tactics and concentration camps against the Boer populace would lead to final British victory though at great economic and material cost.  This would eventually unite all of South Africa into the South African Union, completing Frere’s long sought after project of British confederation in the South of Africa.

[iinexorabile]

GUO JIA: FATE VERSE INFO (Caster)

Parameters

Strength: D Endurance: D- Agility: B Magical Power: A+ Luck: D Noble Phantasm: A

Personal Skills

King of Strategic Decisions: A+ High-Speed Divine Words: B Magic Resistance (Queen Mother’s Blessing): A Hero Creation: B Divine Illness: B Divinity: E

Class Skills

Territory Creation: B Item Construction: EX

NOBLE PHANTASMS

Lordly Decorum |  Anti-Unit - Self (D) A blue and golden scepter that belonged to Jia in life. There is no phrase that must be uttered for the scepter to appear, as Jia can summon it whenever he wants. The scepter itself is not very useful against opponents, making for a poor melee weapon and afflicting no curses on it’s targets. The scepter mainly boosts Jia’s spellcasting depth , and when he runs low on magical energy, it acts as a final buffer of sorts, allowing him to cast more spells before he over exerts himself (which could lead to a nasty situation for him) or his master. The Ten Points Speech |  Anti-Army (A) This is the famous speech that Jia gave Cao Cao prior to his conflict with Yuan Shao (which detailed the ten advantages Cao Cao had over the latter despite Cao’s inferior numbers) compressed into a noble phantasm. Activated by chanting ‘Master, friends, allow me to show you the path to victory; Ten Points Speech!’, it is an anti-army noble phantasm that effects both allies and enemies (it does not, however, effect Jia).

’Allies’ caught within the area of effect will have a set of advantages (increased strength, endurance, agility, speed, magical resistance, magical power, perception, and luck) bestowed upon them for a time. Allied servants will receive a rank up to each of their parameters and skills,their noble phantasms included, and if an allied servants original skills, parameters, or Noble Phantasms are low enough (E ranking) they will receive a ++ modifier   ontop of their rank ups for those respective areas. If an allied servant  does not possess any perception related skills or magical resistance, they will also temporarily gain Eye of the Mind (False) and Magical Resistance at C rankings.

Allied humans will simply have their abilities increased to superhuman levels, and while they could theoretically stand against a servant in this state defensively, they will not be capable of killing one, not alone. In larger numbers, however, this could change.

’Enemies’ who are caught in The Ten Point Speech’s area of effect will have a set of disadvantages (decreased strength, endurance, agility, speed, magical resistance, magical power, perception, luck, etc) temporarily placed upon them. Mortal enemies will become quite frail as a result, and just as allied servants have each of their parameters and skills increased by one ranking, enemy servants will have each of them decreased by one, with their noble phantasm included. Enemy servants with +’s to any of their skills, parameters, or Noble Phantasms, will have those modifiers stripped as well. Only servants with a Military Tactics or Tactician’s Advice skill of B and beyond can resist the disadvantages placed upon them by this noble phantasm, though there is still a chance of failure that hinges on a luck check for the targets involved. The Divine Mirror (神鏡, Shinkyō -神鏡 Shénjìng) |  Anti-Unit (C+) An ancient relic created by the gods, The Divine Mirror’s soul purpose was to seal and imprison demons. When the demon Kyubi broke free of their bonds and caused discord in the mortal world, Jia was tasked with stopping them, and to do so, he was given the mirror by one of the Three Divine Sovereigns.

Upon defeating and sealing the demon, Jia returned this mirror to the Divine Sovereigns, but his use of it in the first place has allowed him to manifest the mirror as a noble phantasm. Activated by uttering ‘Your fate has been sealed; it is time for you to take your place within The Divine Mirror. ’, its targets are pulled into a reality marble, where they are trapped indefinitely until said reality marble or the mirror itself are somehow shattered. However, servants that are trapped within the mirror do not usually dwell there forever, as the link to their master is cut off, leaving them without a source of mana keep themselves materialized. The mirror can seal up to three targets at a time (assuming they are close enough), but despite its average ranking, it uses a massive amount of magical energy to function. Even Jia, who possesses a mana parameter of A+, cannot activate this noble phantasm without completely draining himself– which in his case, could be fatal. Being linked to a master is the only way Jia can truly use this noble phantasm, and even then, it could not be used often. Those with high enough magical resistance (A and onward) or divinity (B and onward) can break free of the mirror’s pull with enough determination and a low ceiling luck check, but those of demonic nature or origin will find it nearly impossible to escape from the mirror’s pull, as it was created to seal their kind.

Stratagem, The Flooding of Xiapi | Anti-City (D ~ B) The strategy that Jia devised and implemented during his lord Cao Cao’s attack on Lu Bu at Xiapi. This stratagem was carried out by diverting the Yi and Si River’s flow toward Xiapi, and despite the city’s formidable walls and gates, they were no match for the raging torrents of water that crashed against them, resulting in catastrophic flooding and destruction for the city, along with decimation of the armies stationed within, sealing Lu Bu’s defeat there.

As a Noble Phantasm, The Flooding of Xiapi manifests as a massive, unstoppable wave of magically charged water that is capable of destroying whole city’s with its power,  hence it’s rare Anti-City classification. Individuals caught within the raging flood will take great damage  from the water’s mere force and it’s magical nature, and if they are not outright killed by that initial damage (those with high levels of magic resistance and/or very high END parameters will fair better than others), they will most likely drown (unless they can breathe underwater) as the water’s inescapable currents continually pull them underwater against their will.

However, The Flooding of Xiapi’s overall usage and strength varies depending on how close Jia is to actual rivers in real time, meaning it’s power can range anywhere from D ranking to B, and if he is not at least within a 60 mile radius of a river, the Noble Phantasm cannot be activated. Likewise, the cost for using The Flooding of Xiapi in terms of magical energy increases the stronger it gets, and without a master, Jia will not have enough magical energy to use it above D ranking. Additionally, if The Flooding of Xiapi is used against servants who were within the actual city of Xiapi at the time Jia flooded it, like Lu Bu, Red Hare, or Chen Gong, they will take extra damage regardless of the situation.

Historically, Xun You was said to have helped with devising the strategy to flood Xiapi as well, and if they were ever summoned as a servant, they too would possess this Noble Phantasm. Cao Cao is another who would also possess it.

Notes:

- King of Strategic Decisions is the representation of Jia’s abilities in life to “account for virtually every scenario possible when devising his plans” and “keep a plethora of different schemes and countermeasures ready at a moments notice” , abilities that at times had him labeled a prophet for the inhuman accuracy of his predictions regarding future events and enemy movements, and the effectiveness of his decisions in response to them.

At any given moment,  Jia had a detailed and effective plan or countermeasure to deal with whatever issues were thrown his or his lords way, and it was with these “strategic decisions” that he was able to ensure Cao Cao’s unification of northern China.

It can be likened to a composite skill, consisting of effects similar to those found in the “Tactician’s Advice” & “Tactician’s Command” skills, along with the effects of the “Instinct” and “Clairvoyance” skills, but is ultimately a unique skill possessed only by Jia himself. At times, this skill can make Jia appear to possess actual precognition, since, in practice, King of Strategic Decisions functions identically to it 99% of the time.

When facing opponents who are of the “strategist” variety like him (ex: Zhuge Liang, Sima Yi, or Chen Gong) this skill can be somewhat less effective, but this is entirely situational.

__________________________________________________________

- Divine Illness is the representation of the condition Jia dealt with in life. At random times,  or after taking sufficient damage/tapping too deeply into his own magical reserves, it causes him to fall ill, which will temporarily reduce his parameters by one ranking. While the chance is small, this skill also makes it to where Jia can, suddenly, without warning, simply drop dead from his “illness”, and the chance for this gets greater (by a tiny amount) every day forward from his summoning.

__________________________________________________________

- Jia possesses Divinity at E ranking because while he wasn’t aware of his divine parentage in life, his divinity was still recognized by the grail, but only just barely.

__________________________________________________________

- Jia possesses the skill “High-Speed Divine Words” (also known as Rapid Words of Divine) as a result of tutoring he received in life from a deity known as the “South Star”. Jia, who already possessed a degree of Divinity (even if he wasn’t aware of it in life), technically possessed the means to use Divine Words from birth, but the South Star taught him to properly use them.

__________________________________________________________

- The Jia summoned as a Heroic Spirit is indeed Jia, but he is based off of both his exploits during his canon history and events that branched off into a pruned timeline.

__________________________________________________________

- Jia possesses the Hero Creation skill for his role in shaping Cao Cao’s future after entering into their service, being instrumental to their conquering of Northern China and the creation of their image as a ‘Hero of Chaos’.

__________________________________________________________

- Jia did not live during the Age of the Gods, and some of his magecraft is not on par with magecraft from that area, but his transfiguration magecraft, his affinity for which stems from his divine parentage/divinity, is on par with magecraft from the age of the gods, and is therefore quite dangerous, depending on what he does with it. All of Jia’s magecraft, however, is relatively powerful compared to the magecraft of magus’ from era’s later than his.

__________________________________________________________

-  The “Magic Resistance (Queen Mother’s Blessing)” skill is a unique form of magic resistance possessed by Jia, being a representation of the near immunity he had in life against hostile magical forces. In practice, this skill gives Jia EX ranked magic resistance against  hostile  magical attacks or effects, with the exception of fire or heat based magic/magecraft, which he suffers great weakness to. Healing magecraft/magic directed upon Jia from an outside source is also less effective as a result.

[four-loose-screws]

FE4 Suzuki Novelization Translation - Chapter 6 Part 4

If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!

FE Game Script Translations - FE Novel Translations - Original FE Support Conversations - Ko-fi

———————————

Chapter 6 - The Bard’s Introduction

Part 4

As Oifey feared, once Sigurd’s army captured Anphony Castle, Augusty Castle deployed their knights to attack Nordion.

The Kingdom of Augusty was famous for its powerful cavalry unit. If the entire unit attacked at once, they would probably capture Nordion. However, Chagall lacked confidence and decisiveness as a military leader. The moment he made up his mind to attack, all the potential ways he could lose came flooding into his mind. In the end, he decided to play it safe and keep the main unit behind, so he could keep a solid defense over Augusty even if he lost to Nordion.

As a result, they were driven away by Sigurd’s infantry unit, which had just returned to Nordion.

-

The moment the battle was over, Beowulf went to Nordion Castle.

He passed through the castle gate, and saw a beautiful young woman with blonde hair dressed as a soldier. She was giving out orders to the Nordionian Army.

‘Seems awful stuck up.’ He thought in response to her behavior and expressions, then asked one of the soldiers, “Who’s she?”

“Princess Lachesis, King Eldigan’s younger sister.”

‘So that’s his little sister, eh?’

He’d gotten a bad impression of Eldigan when he once traveled to Nordion looking for work.

-

While resting alongside the road, he met a group of cavaliers that would occasionally go hunting. The leader was well dressed, rode a white horse, and had perfect posture.

‘He looks like a pretty high-ranking cavalier.’ Beowulf thought.

He asked the knight at the end of the line who they were, and the man said with pride, “That man is our king, His Majesty Eldigan!”

Beowulf mounted his horse, and rode up alongside Eldigan.

“Your Majesty!”

Eldigan stopped his horse and looked at him.

“I am Beowulf, a mercenary. I would like to serve you, if you would please consider hiring me…”

“Sorry, but Nordion has no need for mercenaries. Excuse me.” Eldigan said, and continued on as if nothing had happened.

Beowulf simply watched Eldigan and his men walk away, unable to say anything.

‘That man has everything, and I have nothing.’

But that stark difference between them did not make him jealous, rather, he was relieved to be nothing like Eldigan.

-

After that, Beowulf asked the villagers about Eldigan every chance he had. They were always happy to boast about their king, and also told him about his half-sister, Lachesis, from a different mother. She was a beautiful, refined girl. But the envious villagers also told him that she was a little too close to her brother.

‘And those villagers were right.’ He thought, looking at her from the side.

‘She’s completely different from any girl I’ve ever met before. The difference between them and her is as great as the difference between Eldigan and I.’

Beowulf had very rugged face, which was attractive to women who liked such features. However, next to the princess, he felt ugly by comparison.

Suddenly, he was overcome by an impulse unlike anything he’d ever felt before.

Before he realized what he was doing, he was next to Lachesis.

She stared at him, and seemed to be on edge.

“So this is the princess of Nordion!”

“How rude! And who might you be?”

“Oh, sorry to bother you. I’m a mercenary. Name’s Beowulf.”

“Do you have business with me?”

“Yeah, I just wanna say one thing to you. War is no game. A chick like you would just get in our way! You should behave more like a princess, and stay in the castle.”

“Why you…! You have no right to say such a thing to me! I’ve done a lot for this army!”

“Ha ha ha! You really are Eldigan’s sister. You have a really strong spirit.”

“Huh? ...You know my brother?”

“Yeah, we were acquaintances a long time ago. He asked me to look after you, so that’s why imposed myself on you like that.”

“Oh, I understand now. I’m sorry.” There was nothing arrogant about the way she spoke her words. They were a genuine apology.

“Yeah, me too.” He panicked and thought, ‘What did I say that for!?’ However, he found his next sentence coming out as smooth as ever. “If you want, I can teach you how to fight in your free time. Eldigan would want me to.”

“Yes, Please. If you have something in mind already, we can start right now.”

“Really? Try holding your sword, then.”

If he didn’t know any better, he would have said she wasn’t in a battle stance at all.

“Alright, think of me as an enemy. Attack me.”

“But…”

“But what?”

“You don’t have a sword.”

“That’s fine. Just come at me!”

“Ha!” She put a fair amount of power into her swing, but he was easily able to dodge it.

“Good. Once more!”

“Hii-yah!”

Not even three minutes later, Lachesis was already out of breath.

“Alright, that’s enough for today.”

Lachesis sheathed her sword, then looked at Beowulf with a worried expression.

“That was an amazing first training session.”

Her face lit up at his words.

“But you still lack power. You look like a princess playing a game of fencing. From now on, we’re going to train every day.”

She’d never heard such harsh words before, not even from her brother. But she agreed with him. “Please.”

He could tell by the light in her eyes that she already trusted him.

‘No woman’s ever looked at me like that before. I’d never be able to betray her.’ He thought. ‘I’ll protect your sister while you’re gone, King Eldigan.’

ー

Sigurd gathered together the leaders of his army for a tactics meeting.

To reach Augusty and save Eldigan, they needed to pass through Mackily. And to do that, they would have to capture the castle. The only road to Mackily was a thin one between two plateaus.

However, on the right-side plateau were five ballistae, ready to shoot down anyone who tried to travel down the road. To make matters worse, the villagers told them that King Clement of Mackily was a mage with the ability to wield a Sleep Staff.

Deirdre offered to use her Silence Staff once more, but for her to do that, she had to enter the ballistae’s range.

“The ballistae are dangerous, but their accuracy is poor. If our calvary ambush them, we can minimize the damage done to our army. Several of them might be put to sleep, but I think it’s worth the risk if we can defeat Clement.” Eve, one of the Cross Knights, suggested.

“No, that plan is too risky for me.” Sigurd dissented. “Is there any way we can come close to Mackily Castle without entering the ballistae’s range?”

“It is possible. There’s a mountain path north of Evans. If we climb that, we can pass behind the ballistae. But that would take a week.”

“Yes! Then, we can avoid being seen by them at all! The problem though is the week of travel. Oifey, do you think anything might happen to Eldigan during that time?”

“I asked for information from the Cross Knights, and they said Augusty’s cavalier unit is extremely powerful. The group that attacked Nordion was only a fraction of their full army. However, it also seems that what I’ve heard about Chagall is correct. He is very indecisive. Therefore, I can say with confidence that King Eldigan is safe."

"What makes you say that?"

"If Augusty loses, then he can use Eldigan as leverage to convince us to agree to a cease-fire. He won’t risk losing that option.”

“Of course. Then let’s go with the mountain strategy. It will also allow everyone some time to relax.”

Sigurd put together the small unit that would go with him, entrusted Nordion to Quan, then left for Evans Castle.

-

When they arrived at Evans Castle, they saw a group of pegasi flying towards them from the north.

“What are Silessian pegasus knights doing here?” Sigurd wondered aloud.

Meanwhile, Lewyn rushed up to the top of the castle wall.

The pegasus knights shifted into a battle formation, but Lewyn took off his striped bard’s turban, and waved his arms, signaling to the pegasus knights. His bright green hair flowed in the wind.

He recognized their leader. It was Erinys.

When she saw Lewyn’s green hair, she gasped, and ordered her knights to halt the attack. She realized there was a chance the man might be Prince Lewyn, who they’d been sent out to search for.

They approached the castle wall, still cautious, and immediately knew for sure that the man was indeed Lewyn.

Erinys sped up her pegasus and quickly landed on the castle wall.

“Prince Lewyn, you’re safe!”

“Yes, I am. But more importantly, Erinys, why are you here? You even tried to kill me!”

“I apologize. But, you're wearing such strange clothing, that I didn’t think it was you…”

“This? Oh, it’s what a bard wears. What do you think? Looks good on me, huh?”

“U-Um, yes, it does.”

“Hmph! The look on your face says otherwise! Well, whatever. You still haven’t answered my question.”

“N-No, I haven’t. I apologize. Queen Rahna ordered us to go look for you. We went to Augusty Castle, looking for information about you, and King Chagall told us that you’d been captured by the Grannvalian Army, and were being held at Evans Castle…”

“You’re too trusting.”

“Huh?”

“Did you get a good look at his face? Didn’t you notice that he has the face of a liar?”

“Um…”

“It’s great that you’re so honest, but you’d never make it as a commoner. Someone would take advantage of you, and you’d end up like Sylvia…”

“Prince, Lewyn, who is… Sylvia…?”

“Oh, um… nevermind. So what are you going to do now that you’ve found me?”

“We’re going to take you back to Silesse, of course! Please come home with us! Queen Rahna is worried about you!”

“If I go home, then it will only incite civil war! It would do nothing more than make the people suffer. Are you okay with that?”

“But you are Wind God Forseti’s successor...”

“But I don’t have the Holy Mark!”

“You’re lying.”

“How would you know?”

“Because Queen Rahna told me that it might not have appeared when you left the country, but surely it would have by now…”

“So, are you going to undress me and look to see if I have it?”

“Uh… um…”

“I’m joking, I’m joking. I’ll do it. I’ll go home soon. But there’s things I must do here first.”

“Then please let me stay with you. I’ll go tell my knights that you’re safe.”

“I’d tell you not to, but I know you wouldn’t listen. I get it. I’m going to stay with Prince Sigurd for the time being. He’s an interesting man. Plus, his army is full of beautiful women. You should become friends with them! You could teach them a thing or two about how to be a proper lady.”

“Y-Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Hey, I’m still joking. Isn’t it obvious? Don’t look so scared. Jeez, you’re too serious. ...But, you’re also the cutest woman in the world. So don’t change. You’re perfect the way you are.”

“Y-Yes, You’re Majesty. ...I-I mean, no, I’m not…”

‘She hasn’t changed a bit.’ Lewyn thought at the sight of her blushing face. ‘But she’s grown into a fine woman since I last saw her, physically speaking.’

[ladyrevanhalin]

ONLY LIGHT CAN CAST SHADOW: CHAPTER TWELVE - THE SECRETS OF FLASHPOINT STATION

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15753210/chapters/37742543#workskin

           The vision of Onderon and of its moon, Dxun, had shaken the Revanchist’s original plans. She trusted her apprentice to be able to handle things for the front-line company. Although the ending had been inconclusive, the fighting had finally stopped on Suurja. It was here that the Revanchist had left the majority of the Jedi Crusaders so that an investigation on how the most recent events of the war could be made from a close-up standpoint. After all, what was seen through the Republic news channels had likely been filtered for the general public. The Revanchists needed to know the situation first-hand if they were to act and to be able to convince the Jedi Order to also act.

           What to do with the company that she had initially been supposed to lead was where the complication arose. She knew that she would have to investigate Onderon and Dxun alone. She couldn’t just abandon the rest of them though without a plan, despite the fact that only two others of the Revanchists were in the company. Her company was not made of warriors. Fiolli was skilled as a healer and had training as a pilot and Opela was… well… Opela. She had a great connection to the Force and would be useful for assessing the effects the Mandalorians had had on a system’s native species as a result. She considered that perhaps her best option would be to send them to Deralia in her stead to meet with Talon. Surely he would be able to arrange a ship for them to be able to continue from there in the reconnaissance of war-battered worlds. She would be able to regroup with them at a later time, granted that everything checked out on Onderon.

           “Opela?” she called to her friend from the academy. “I have a favor to ask of you…”

           Opela looked to her friend and leader with some confusion. She’d not expected to be asked any favors during their quest. “Yes? What is it?”

           “I’m going to have to leave you and Fiolli…. Just for a time, until I can figure out what this vision means on Onderon… But this is something that I must do alone. I want to leave you in charge of this portion of the company while I am away… During this war, there may be times where the Revanchists may be split into smaller groups. Jedi leadership will be crucial, particularly once we are able to appeal to the Republic Military directly in order to officially join them in battle. When that time comes, we are likely to be divided among different companies of troops, and I would like to know that I will be able to depend upon you to do so when such an event comes.”

           “I am honored, but… don’t you think it would be best to place combat specialists in charge of such?”

           “I’ve seen your approach to battle tactics, Opela Moraf. Don’t think that I’ve forgotten about our game of Dejarik…”

           Opela shook her head. “That was a fluke. I simply got lucky with good pieces….”

           “I was humiliated, Opela. You beat me, rightfully so, and not by accident, or by any close call. Your foresight was to be admired. You need not be modest about it. War is not a game comprised of pieces on a board. This is a different sort of game that we are playing… but I want to ensure that the best players are the ones left in charge of determining the placement of our troops when the time comes.”

           “This is too great a responsibility….”

           “No. No, it’s not. Opela Moraf, there is no one I can think of more suited for the task. Please… Please accept this responsibility. I will not be gone to Onderon for long. My brother is assistant to the head of military operations on Deralia. He can ensure a vessel and safety on-planet while you investigate. From there, I would like you to continue without me along the planned course. Contact me should there be any complications. I will regroup with you as soon as I am able after Onderon… Do you have any questions?”

           “Not about the mission, but I have one other…”

           “You may ask.”

           “Why the Revanchist?

           Where to start…

           There was so much to explain. It was a fair question. After all, if their group was named ‘the Revanchists.’ It was only fair to know the meaning…

           “Well…” she began, “I attempted to explain to Alex—Malak—when I took the name…. However, perhaps I did a poor job of doing so. It’s from Old Deralian…we have a word Revanchisme… I had initially explained it as ‘evil deeds for the sake of justice to the innocent’… but it’s a little more complicated than that. It could be considered, in a way, as an act of revenge… hence my previous explanation. But it is not really an ‘evil’ revenge… It’s reclaiming what was lost by war… usually territories. It’s really more an idea of patriotism and often seen as a noble cause… I’m afraid I’m not very good at explaining these things.”

           “No, I understand… You chose the words you did because we are taught revenge is a path to the dark side…. But what you are describing… it seems more like seeking justice rather than true revenge.” Opela tried to smile at the other woman. Halin had always been so confident. But the Revanchist… The Revanchist seemed different from Halin. Sure, she retained the same bold confidence in the justification of her decisions, but she seemed to have gained a twisted sort of wisdom that bred paranoia. Even in the short period since they had left, the Revanchist had received more than one ‘vision’ of seemingly impending doom. A sort of darkness was hovering about, and it seemed that the Revanchist was all too painfully aware of this.

><><><><><

Ambushed!

           It had all happened so very suddenly that the Revanchists hadn’t had any time to react. They were on Suurja when it had happened. Their leader had left with the Stalwart Nightingale and the group had just begun their investigations on the recent battles that had taken place. Including Malak, there were seven Revanchists total captured. Even though they were all Guardians by training, they were no match for a small company of Mandalorian Neo-Crusaders who had been waiting there on the surface.

           Word of the Revanchist’s movement against the Council’s orders had begun to spread. Not only the Republic was aware of the ‘rogue’ faction of the Jedi, but the Mandalorians too had heard. One particularly twisted mind among the Mandalorians—a scientist by the name of ‘Doctor’ Demagol—had taken particular interest in this news.

           It was to Demagol’s research laboratory, which the Mandalorians had set up on Flashpoint Station after its capture, that the Revanchists were taken to. They were stripped of their lightsabers, prodded like cattle, tortured into submission, held in a sort of make-shift prison room that the Mandalorians morbidly referred to as ‘Doctor Demagol’s waiting room.’ One wrong move and the guards would come with their shock staves. Demagol was in need of research subjects. Live Jedi research subjects.

           Malak was strapped and chained down to a cold metal lab table in a macabre-looking lab room. The walls were hung with seemingly recent skeletal remains of a number of sentient species. Many shelves of equipment for surgeries, dissections, amputations, and the like stood tall, interspersed with beakers and test tubes of various unknown chemical compounds. Overall, it was something between a laboratory and a torture chamber.

However, the most menacing thing there was not any of this, but the Doctor himself. His yellow-accented steel-gray armor was splattered and stained with the blood of a recent victim. His is helmet was outfitted with some sort of a magnifying scope for study. In his hand, he held a long syringe filled with some sort of bright green substance. Yet the face of Doctor Demagol remained hidden beneath his Mandalorian mask, the visor reflecting back each helpless victim their own tortured self rather than allowing for the slightest glimpse into the devil’s eyes.

           Malak struggled in vain to free himself from the bondage. It seemed that the demented scientist took pleasure in these efforts though, for he broke out into a small burst of sinister laughter.

           “My, my… it would seem anesthesia is wearing off,” Demagol said. “You will be happy to know, Jedi, that the Doctor will be seeing you now. Please, excuse my appearance. One of the other patients caused a bit of a mess during the vivisection…”

           The doctor approached. Malak inhaled deeply. Perhaps, if he were able to concentrate…

           “You will free me and my companions and allow us on our way,” Malak spoke, reaching out with the Force and focusing on finding the mind within the suit of armor.

           “I will free you and your companions and allow you on your way?” The doctor laughed again. “Your Jedi mind tricks won’t work on me…”

           Malak was having difficulty remaining calm. The Mandalorian before him was difficult to read. It was almost as if his ability to sense the man’s intentions through the Force had been completely blinded. What was this monster?...

           The Jedi did the next thing he could think of and tried to use the Force to call to him a lightsaber which he had spotted hanging among the remains that decorated the walls. The saber began to shake as he concentrated. However, before he could get it to him, the mad doctor injected him with the syringe. All began to spin. All became a blur. All went dark….

><><><><><

           The Revanchist had left Opela and Fiolli on Deralia under Talon’s watch and had continued to the location foreseen in her vision. Onderon was a very green planet, full of a wide variety of wildlife. There was only one large city on its surface, and that was Iziz. While it was not a part of the Republic. Onderon was important in trade and commerce, much like Taris had been even before joining the Republic and gaining a seat in the senate.

           Over a hundred years before, the Dark Lord of the Sith, Freedon Nadd, had subjugated the planet and ruled from Iziz as its king for more than one hundred years. He was buried there, below the palace, and for this reason, the dark side had a very powerful presence on Onderon and its moon, Dxun. The current planetary royals were his direct descendants, though the bloodline was mixed now and the family name far less sinister after a marriage alliance with the beastriders, who had been previously cast out of the city of Iziz for their refusal of allegiance to the Sith.

           The Revanchist stepped from the Stalwart Nightingale onto the landing dock at the Iziz spaceport. The city was an ancient one, founded by the Sith Lord Freedon Nadd during his reign. A residual Dark Side energy radiated from the planet itself and from the moon Dxun, surely leftover from the time of the Dark Lord. It sent shivers down the Revanchist’s spine, making the jungle seem unusually cold.

           The moon was so close to the planet that it could be seen clearly in the sky, even midday. There was a strong and proud military presence on Onderon. Customs officers stood at attention throughout the landing pads of the spaceport. Many of them eyed the Revanchist with suspicion. She supposed she should have expected so much, considering the planet’s past experience with Force wielders…

           “Halt!” one officer said, stopping her at a checkpoint. “What business does a Jedi have on Onderon?”

           “My business here is personal and is not sanctioned by the Jedi Order…”

           “You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that. Everyone has heard of the rogue Jedi defying the Council and entering the war. We’ve already dealt with the Mandalorians once, and we will not tolerate your kind bringing the war back to Onderon… Or perhaps you're here because of the Dark Jedi that used to reside here. Are you looking for artifacts of our royals?”

           The Revanchist blinked in a moment of brief confusion. ‘So the Mandalorians have been here already…’

           “No, no… I assure you that this is merely a pleasure visit. I’ve come to see the wildlife… Tell me though, was this attack recent?”

           “Recent enough. We dealt with the Mandalorians during the Great Sith War, and we would rather not be involved in the current…”

           The Revanchist shook her head. “No, I cannot imagine that you would… I assure you though, my intentions are not to bring the war here in any way. It is the duty of the Jedi to promote peace… to end wars….”

           “Sure,” the officer said, seemingly unconvinced. “All right Jedi, I suppose you check out enough. Try any funny business though, and General Vaklu will be all over you.”

           The Revanchist bowed fervently. “Thank you. I assure you, I will cause no trouble for Onderon…”

           While the Mandalorian presence on the planet had not been recent according to the officer’s reports, the information did not serve to put her at ease. She was certain that something was here. If not on Onderon itself, then perhaps on the moon Dxun. The moon had been held by Mandalorians in the past. It was quite possible that some remnant would be there which could give her more information about the Mandalorians’ current plans.

           Iziz was a grand city. Its ancient walls stood tall and proud, with a sort of old air turret seen every now and then, historically for repelling Drexyl-Mounted beast riders. The white stone buildings of the city matched the tall white marble palace where the Onderonian royals lived.

           As beautiful as Iziz was, the Revanchist had a feeling that what she sought would not be located within its walls. After all, in her vision, it was the moon, Dxun, which had cast a shadow of darkness over the planet. Whatever dark presence it was that the vision had warned her about, it was surely on Dxun…

           Having just come through customs, it would be suspicious if she were to leave in her own ship, headed for the moon. She would need to board a shuttle headed for the place… Perhaps she could find a private pilot to take her there. After all, she didn’t want to attract any unnecessary attention which might interfere with her investigations. For now, at least, the movements of the Revanchists were to remain as covert as possible.

           It was a few blocks of roaming through Iziz before the Revanchist came across one of the local cantinas. She figured it would be a good place to lay low for the moment, to gather information, and to possibly find a pilot who could take her to Dxun. She removed the hood of her cloak as she entered and let down her hair. She had found that, in places like this, the best way for a Jedi to blend in was to appear as casual as possible. As far as anyone was concerned, she was there to relax, have a drink, and maybe watch the swoop races, just like any other patron. For now, she was ‘Halin’ again.

           The Revanchist took a seat at the bar, accepting the menu from a waiting droid when it came and glancing over what the place’s specialties were. All of the space travel hadn’t allowed much time for a proper meal recently, so it would be a nice shift to try some of the local cuisine. Food capsules and ship rations did the job, but they got boring after a while

           No sooner had she placed her order than a man in civilian dress came and sat beside her. She could tell from his clothing and from his features that he must have been an Onderonian local. She did her best to continue a cool and casual appearance.

           “Haven’t seen you around here before,” the man said. “The name’s Wezz Dole. And who might you be, pretty lady?”

           “Halin,” she replied. The man seemed to find her attractive. The situation could work to her advantage. She needed information, and this Wezz Dole might be able and willing to give it to her. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Wezz Dole.”

           “The pleasure is all mine,” he said, gently taking her gloved hand and pressing a kiss to it. “Tell me, what brings a lady such as yourself out to Onderon. You don’t look like you’re from around here. I’d have noticed you sooner if you were…”

           “Safari, mostly,” said the Revanchist. “I’m here on holiday and wanted to observe the wildlife… though I hear the most interesting of it is on Dxun…”

           The man scoffed. “Wildlife? Surely there are more… relaxing activities to do while on holiday than watching cannoks, if you get what I’m saying…”

           He looked her up and down with a pang of obvious lusty hunger. It took everything in the woman not to roll her eyes and walk away. There is no emotion, there is peace… “What can I say?” she shrugged. “I like to live dangerously—it’s more fun that way. I’ve heard that the most interesting of the wildlife in on Dxun though, not Onderon…”

           “You want to go to Dxun? Too bad you’re not as smart as you are good looking. Dxun is a death wish.”

           “And what makes you say that?”

           “Place used to be a Mandalorian base during the Great Sith War. Besides that, there are no civilizations and it’s overrun with the more dangerous wildlife, like those Boma beasts and Drexyls. The turrets you’ve no doubt seen in the city are from during the beast wars when those beast rider scum would use Drexyl to attack Iziz.”

           “I’ll take my chances,” she said simply. “Any idea where I could find a shuttle to head there?”

           “Only ones crazy enough to go to Dxun might be the beast riders. Even then your luck in finding someone to take you would be slim…”

           “I see… and where might I find these beast riders?”

           “You’re asking an awful lot of questions, little lady…”

           “What can I say? I’m a curious woman.”

           “Well, that kind of info’s going to cost you a little something extra…”

           “Oh? And what might your price be?”

           “You let me buy you a drink and we’ll talk from there.”

           “Seems reasonable.”

           Wezz smirked and called the serving droid over. “A drink for my lady friend here”

           “What’ll it be, hon?” the droid asked.

           “One Wookie-Wango,” the Revanchist replied, shooting Wezz Dole a challenging glance.

           The man’s smirk turned to a grin. “You weren’t kidding when you said you like to live dangerously… Know what? Make it two.”

           “Comin’ right up,” the droid replied. And it hurried off.

           “I must say, Halin, you’re just full of surprises… So, uh…. Any men in your life?”

           “Just colleagues. I honestly can’t say I’ve been on the lookout for anything more…”

           “Really? That’s a real shame…”

           “Two Wookie-Wango’s,” the serving droid said, setting glasses on the table. “And for the lady, your special from the kitchen is ready.”

           “Thank you very much,” the woman said, inhaling the dish in front of her. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to close out my tab when you have a chance.”

           “Sure thing, hon,” the droid said. “I’ll bring your check right away.”

           “Thank you…. Now,” she said to Wezz, “about the beast riders…”

           “You’re not actually serious, are you?”

           “I’m always serious. A deal is a deal. I let you buy me a drink, now you let me know where the beast riders are so I can get to Dxun…”

           “You’re bill ma’am,” the droid said, returning with a booklet that it set on the table. The Revanchist turned away from Wezz to settle her bill. However, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed him slip something into one of the drinks.

           ‘So you want to play games, huh? All right, Wezz Dole, I’ll call your bluff…’

           She handed the bill back to the droid with the credits inside and returned her attention to the man sitting next to her. “I hate to be a bother,” she said to him, “but would you mind passing me a few napkins from the dispenser over there? This looks a bit more oily than I had anticipated.”

           “Not a bother,” he said, turning to grab the napkins, at which point the woman rolled her eyes and switched the drink’s positions with one another. ‘Child’s play…’

           “Thank you,” she said, and she took the napkins.

           “Here,” he said, handing her a glass also. “If you’re so serious about my side of the deal, I insist it be serious both ways. A toast!” and he took the other drink. “To living dangerously.”

           “To living dangerously.” And, looking him in the eye, the two touched glasses and drank. “So, the beast riders,” she continued.

           “Ah, yes. The beast riders…”

           “Oh come now! Look, I’ll even finish it for you,” and the woman downed the rest of her drink. “Now will you tell me?”

           Wezz Dole smirked. “The beast riders… Most of them you’ll find just outside of Iziz. Their kind still isn’t fully welcome here…”

           “Aren’t they? I thought that the marriage between the Queen and the Beast Prince changed all of that…”

           “We’re not in any civil war since… but that doesn’t mean that the people of Iziz have forgiven them. They were cast out to begin with for their crimes, and then they surprised us by taming the wild beasts and using them to attack our city… History doesn’t just forget itself you know…”

           “I know…”

           “But new histories,” he said, touching a hand to her knee, “new histories are being written all of the time…”

           “New histories?”

           “Like between you and I,” he said, slipping his hand slowly along her thigh. “What do you say we ditch this place and find somewhere quiet…”

           “Oh, I’d like nothing more than to get out of this cantina,” she said, resting her hand atop his.

           “I can show you all of the wildlife you could ever dream of seeing, if you catch my drift…”

           The woman guided his hand, encouraging it higher. “I’m sure you could…”

           Wezz Dole leaned in closer to her. However, as he did so, his face began to pale and become clammy. His addition to the drink must have been starting to take effect… Calmly, the Jedi guided his hand to her side, just enough for him to distinctly feel where her lightsaber hung at her belt.

           “A word of advice, Wezz Dole… Never try to drug a Jedi. You just might end up regretting it.”

           And with this, she stood, leaving him leaning against the bar for support as he began to fall under the influence.

           “Waiter?” The Revanchist called to the droid, “Can you bag this to go for me?... Oh! And this man might need some help getting home later. I don’t think he’s feeling quite well.”

           The man looked at the woman with a sickly and startled expression as she waited for the serving droid to finish boxing her meal. The Revanchist gave one last look at him and patted his hand chidingly. “Goodbye, Wezz Dole. Unfortunately, I won’t be needing your assistance in my wildlife viewings… Thank you for the drink.”

           With this, she re-bound her hair, replaced the hood of her cloak, took up the to-go box in her hand, and left the cantina.

><><><><><

           With the information that she had received in the cantina, it didn’t take long for the Revanchist to locate the beast rider camp. It was quite different than Iziz. For the most part, the beast riders lived very simply, and their settlement reminded her somewhat of Dantooine. But here, the beasts lived alongside rider. The Boma, the Cannocks…. The Revanchist had heard of techniques in the Force that could be used to calm the minds of beasts, and she couldn’t help but to wonder if the beast riders were somehow attuned with the Force and used such techniques in a very primitive form.

           “Excuse me,” the Jedi said to a passing beast rider, “but I was wondering if you might be able to help me? You see, I’m looking to get to Dxun.”

           “Dxun? What does an off-worlder want in going to Dxun?”

           “Research mostly…”

           “That research doesn’t include poaching, I hope?”

           “No, no… my research involves more the moon itself rather than the beasts there… Trouble is that I’m in need of transportation, and I would prefer a… subtle landing if at all possible. I don’t want to attract any unnecessary attention…”

           The beast rider looked at her attire.

           “You’re a Jedi, aren’t you?”

           “I will not deny this…”

           “Your kind ought to be extra careful going to Dxun…”

           “And what makes you say that?”

           “There’s a rumor that the Dark Lord who used to rule here wasn’t buried under the palace at all, but in a tomb somewhere on Dxun. I hear those Sith tombs are supposed to be rife with the Dark Side of your Force.”

           If there was a Sith tomb there, that could account for the darkness descending in her vision. But the timing of all of it… the timing had caused the Revanchist to believe that there was more to it… That this was all somehow directly tied to the Mandalorians and to this war.

           “About thirty years ago or so—just before the Great Sith War—a Jedi went to Dxun and found the tomb there. They say the spirit there drove him mad, led him to the dark side… Kun, I think was his name.”

           “Exar Kun?” the Revanchist said in disbelief.

           “That sounds right. Exar Kun, his name was.”

           The Jedi reveled at the thought. Before her, on the moon Dxun, lay not only the answer to what she had seen in her vision, but possibly the information that the Council had barred her from viewing one year prior. She needed to get to Dxun.

           “I’ll take my chances,” the Revanchist said to the beast rider. “My investigation is too important to allow such a thing to become a deterrent… Please, I must get to Dxun.”

           The woman’s persistence puzzled the beast rider, but it did convince him that she was quite serious about the matter. “Whether my people help you or not is not my decision, unfortunately. I’ll take you to the leader of our clan, but I warn you now, the method of arrival if he agrees may be a bit… unorthodox.”

           The Revanchist shook her head. “The means of transportation is non-important, given that I am able to arrive and depart hastily.”

           The beast rider shrugged. “It’s your funeral. Don’t say I didn’t warn you…”

           “Take me to your clan leader. With all due respect, it would be best if I discussed the matter directly…”

><><><><><

Talon watched the two Jedi that Halin had brought to the planet, as they moved from patient to patient in the Capital Hospital. While most of those who would survive had already recovered from the Mandalorians attack, there were a few in more critical condition who remained under intensive care. The two Jedi had skill as healers, and so he had asked them to take a look at the patients in question.

The Jedi healing techniques were quite astounding. From what Talon could understand, it required intense focus and meditation, but among the most skilled of the Force Healers, it could be used to treat the most severe of injuries—even coming close to halting death… Or so the rumor went. But while the greatest of Masters could come close to halting it, no Jedi had been able to reverse it.

This thought made Talon slightly bitter. For his own family, the help had come too late. He couldn’t help but to think that if the Jedi had responded more actively to his request a year prior, then perhaps the attack could have been avoided entirely. Perhaps there would be none of the current pain on Deralia. All would be peaceful, as it had been before…

While he did appreciate the current help, he remained bitter. For now his own sister, who had promised her aid should the time come, had vanished also. While she had left the two in her stead, it would not substitute for her being there in person. It was only right, after all, for the Deralian Jedi to help the Deralian people.

But now… Now she claimed to no longer be Halin Chan, the little sister whom his mother and father had sent so many years before in order to be trained in the ways of the Jedi. Now, the Revanchist was what she called herself. He shook his head at the thought. The name had come from Deralian, yes, but somehow, his little Halin seemed even more distant than before. She should have been the one there helping her people—not these others. The Republic had many Jedi from many places and walks of life. Why should she specifically be responsible for protecting them from the threats of this war?

While he did not approve of his sister’s choice to leave her people again in their time of need, he did agree to help her. He’d prepared a small freighter for her Jedi colleagues for when they had finished their work and investigations on Deralia. While Halin had told him that she would try to visit once the war settled down, he was not hopeful. It was a bit ironic really. Jedi were renowned for their compassion and love for all life… and yet what he had seen in his sister was… different than how she had been before she left so many years ago.

Her demeanor, which had been so loving and curious and full of eagerness to please her elders, had changed to something far more detached, even somber. He had noticed it previously when they had met on Coruscant. It was almost like a sort of forced detachment. She seemed to purposely distance herself from him. It wasn’t just him though. Even now, she had refused to allow any of her Jedi companions to accompany her. It was a sort of odd and unnatural solidarity, and he wasn’t entirely convinced it was by choice, but rather by fear.

Yes, Halin seemed oddly… afraid. Paranoid, even. And the more he thought about her previous comment about wondering how life might have been had she not joined the Order, the more he wondered whether being a Jedi was healthy for her mental state. It seemed that with each time he had seen her again, she had grown progressively more unstable. What she needed was to take her mind away from the conflict, not head deeper into it. He only hoped that, even though she was doing the right thing in trying to find a way to end the war herself, she would not lose herself in the process.

><><><><><

           Malak was breathing heavily, his teeth clenched in an attempt to endure the pain as he was tossed roughly back into the waiting room by the two Mandalorian guards with their electroshock pikes. His entire body reeled with pain. He felt as though acid were pulsing through his veins. The pain, however, was the only way he knew for certain that he wasn’t dead after the trauma.

           When the guards left, the Cathar Jedi, Ferroh, came to him, helping him to sit up. “You’re alive,” Ferroh said in half-disbelief. The others and I weren’t sure what to expect when they took you… Here. Sit still. I’m no healer, but I’ll do what I can for you…”

           Cautiously, Ferroh called upon the Force in an attempt to heal some of Malak’s pain. Malak gritted his teeth. “The others… are they all right? Has anyone else gone into the laboratory?”

           “Only one other,” the Cathar replied somberly. “The Padawan Hazar Kasra was taken in… but we’ve not seen or heard anything from him since.”

           Malak reflected on the words that the Doctor had said before he had initially lost consciousness… One of the other patients caused a bit of a mess during the vivisection… He grimaced at the thought. It seemed that the young Padawan had not been so lucky as he had been during his operation… Solemnly, Malak bowed his head in reverence. “She warned all of us that many may not come back… but I never thought that it would be so soon before one of us was lost…”

           The others grew pale at Malak’s words. They all understood… Hazar Kasra was dead.

           “I swore to her that I would protect you… Protect all of you…”

           “There was nothing you could have done…” one began to say.

           “No!” Malak said with a surprising amount of forcefulness given his current state. “No…. No, I should have… I could have!... I promised!”

           The noise, however, attracted the attention of the guards, for they returned, breaking up Malak and Ferroh with their shock pikes. “The Doctor is ready for his next patent,” one of the guards said. “Time for a visit to the vet, kitty….”

           “No!” Malak protested, throwing himself over Ferroh and blocking the Mandalorians. “Take me instead! Tell the Doctor that I have more left to show him.” And with this, he managed a painfully ironic grin. “He wants to study Force abilities… yet he’s still not discovered my secret ability. These are just younglings here. Surely the Doctor would rather study something a bit more… interesting.”

           “What are you doing?” Ferroh whispered to Malak.

           “Just play along,” Malak insisted.

           Ferroh hoped that the human male knew what he was doing. Malak allowed the guards to take him again. He couldn’t bring back Hazar, but at least he could buy time for the others. Surely his Master would sense that something was wrong and arrange a rescue for them soon enough. He only needed to make sure he could stall the situation long enough.

><><><><><

           The High Council had not expected to see the former Jedi who had taken the name of the ‘Revanchist’ again after the nature her previous departure. She had made it very clear to them before that she would not answer to them, and had lead many others astray with her after her departure. Yet here she stood, before them once more, much to their surprise.

           There were mixed reactions from the Masters on the Council. Some regarded her with curiosity, others with contempt. While it was not expected for her to come to them, her timing had been good, for there was something the Council had wished to discuss with her in person….

           “Halin Chan,” Master Vrook said addressing her. “Or should I say, Revanchist… Your presence in our chamber could not have come at any better a time. We have sensed something… disturbing that we wish to address you about.”

           The Revanchist was somewhat confused by these words. Could it be that they had shared the same vision as she had and already knew of the reason why she had come? “And what, might I ask, has the Council sensed?”

           At this point, one among them—Master Zez-Kai Ell—rose. The Revanchist looked to him, waiting to be addressed. “We see that you’ve come here alone… though it comes as no shock to us… Perhaps you yourself are unaware… Where are the others that have followed you into war?”

           The Revanchist was somewhat confused by this question. She sensed all was fine with Opela who was with Fiolli, and while there was a disturbance in Malak, it was only to be expected on the front lines. “We’ve divided our ranks in order to carry out separate investigations. Most are investigating the front lines on Suurja, while a smaller group is scouting other worlds on the Outer Rim…”

           “Not on Suurja, but on Flashpoint,” the Master continued. “My Padawan is among them… or he was.”

           The Revanchist did not understand his words. Had something happened on Suurja? If so, why had Malak not contacted her? He was to make immediate contact if something went wrong and there was need for return and regrouping. “I assure you that your Padawan is in good hands with my apprentice…”

           “My Padawan is dead, Revanchist. I sensed his death several hours ago. It was not a natural death, however. He was brutally tortured to death. My only comfort in knowing his end is that he suffers no longer.”

           The young woman paled. Something had clearly gone very wrong on Suurja… Flashpoint they had said… But Flashpoint had been taken by the Mandalorians at the Republics entry into the war. If they were on Flashpoint now…. But this was not why the Revanchist had come. She would need to go to them afterward, but the reason why she had originally come was still of the utmost importance. She would have to trust Malak to be able to handle things in the meantime.

           “I regret to hear of your loss,” the woman said. “However, your Padwan understood the risks of war before joining us. His death will not be in vain…”

           “He should not have had to die at all!”

           The Revanchist, and even some of the Council members were surprised by Master Zez-Kai Ell’s outburst. While it was obvious that the death of his Padawan had pained him greatly, such forward displays of emotion were unbecoming of a Jedi—particularly of a Master who sat on the Council. Master Vrook Lamar looked at his colleague and raised a hand, as if in an attempt to calm him. Master Zez-Kai Ell seemed to understand, for he took his seat again and allowed the other Council Members to continue the discussion on his behalf.

           “It is the duty,” Master Vrook continued, “of a teacher to not only train their student, but also to protect them. Because of your influence, Master Zez-Kai Ell has failed in protecting his Padawan. Forgive him if his emotions betray him after so great a loss… But you… You who have been so rife with emotions in the past… you show none now? Have you no compassion for the loss of your comrade?”

           The Revanchist could not help but to be offended by the suggestion. In all of their twisted wisdom…. Either she was condemned for feeling too much emotion, or she was condemned for showing none. It seemed that her decisions had set the Council against her permanently, regardless of what she might try to tell them. Still, she had to try. She had to warn them of what she had seen on Onderon.

           “I am upset by this knowledge as much as any other Jedi would be,” the Revanchist said in her defense. “However, grieving his loss will not help any of the others…”

           “It is your responsibility as their leader to remove them from this threat…”

           “And that is precisely what I intend to do! But before I can help them, I have come because I need to warn you.”

           “Warn us? Warn us of what?”

           “Of what I have seen. I left the company on Suurjah because of a vision that I had—a vision of Onderon and its moon Dxun. I’ve come to warn you of what I found there while investigating that vision.”

           The Council was silent, a moment of concern hanging in the air. They all knew well much of what lay on Dxun… A Sith tomb was there—the tomb of Freedon Nadd, who had ruled over the Onderonian people for many years. It was while investigating the existance of Sith artifacts on Dxun that Exar Kun, one of the last of the Jedi Watchmen since the time of the Great Sith War, had been seduced to the Dark Side and lured to Korriban. If there was something there, then perhaps the return of the Sith was sooner than the Council had initially anticipated. They looked forward to this warning of the Revanchist with dread. After all, much of the information that she had previously tried to access from the archives was related to Dxun…

           “And what did this vision of yours show you?” one of them finally asked.

           “What I saw was darkness, descending from Dxun and engulfing Onderon. When I went to investigate the situation, the locals warned me about the strong hold that the Dark Side has on that place. They said that the tomb of Freedon Nadd, who once ruled Onderon, is located on Dxun.”

           She knew from their previous reactions that they were already aware of Exar Kun’s experience on the planet. From what she could figure, it must have been a portion of the information from the records that they had been keeping hidden. She chose, however, to indulge them in the illusion of secrecy. There was no need for her to tell them of Exar Kun’s fate. It was the other things which she had seen on Dxun that were her reasoning for appearing before them now.

“When I went to the moon,” she continued, “What I found there was more than just remnants from the Great Sith War… As all of you know, the Mandalorians took the side of the Sith and aided them during that war. One of their bases was located on Dxun, presumably because of the Dark Side presence there… Regretfully, I have found that this base does not seem to have been abandoned after the previous war as it has long thought to have been. Not only was it active, bit it seemed to have been some sort of command center… Had it not been for the Force cloak ability, I doubt I would be standing here right now at all. If the Mandalorian base on Dxun remains, then it is entirely possible that they still have some sort of involvement with the Sith. When I left, they were in the process of planning something, presumably against Onderon itself, but I could not stay to find out for certain if I hoped to make it back here to warn all of you.”

There was a moment of silent glances between Council Members after the Revanchist’s story. It was Master Atris who finally broke the silence.

“The Council does not deny the possibility that the Dark Side may be involved in the current corruption of the Mandalorians. However, our decision to without the Jedi from entering war remains, and while what you saw on Onderon and Dxun is disturbing, you had no business investigating on your own. We can’t afford this sort of… adventurism right now, even if we were supporting it!”

“And involving other Knights and Padawans in your ‘scouting missions’ is simply beyond reproach! You will find them and return them to Coruscant without any further delay,” stated Master Vrook. “As we’ve previously stated, there is no place for the Jedi Order in the Mandalorian War”

The Revanchist regarded the Council in disbelief. She understood their concern for the rest of the Revanchists, but what she couldn’t understand was their continued denial of the magnitude of the Mandalorian threat. She didn’t know what more to say. What could she say when it was all directed toward deaf ears? There was no point in arguing any further. Malak and the others were counting on her now….

Silently, she bowed and took her leave, but was stopped just after leaving by the five Masters whom she had met on Taris prior to heading out for Suurja and who were now entering to see the High Council. She could only assume that the Council had recalled them for their own safety, since Taris was so close to the front lines of the war.

“Well, we meet again!” spoke Master Lucian Draay, the only guardian among them. The Revanchist hadn’t forgiven them for their mocking of her cause. Even the high Council were not so cruel as to laugh to her face regarding the matter.  “I’m sorry that we weren’t able to oblige you on Taris, but I trust that your investigations were enlightening?”

The Revanchist swallowed, keeping as cool as she was able to given the circumstances. “You see now that I right, do you not? The truth is written in blood.” Yes, it was written in the blood of the Padawan she had been unable to protect from the horrors of war. The Mandalorians were not out for negotiations or for mercy… They would stop at nothing in their efforts for galactic conquest.

“I’m sorry,” Master Draay continued, “but I’m not sure I know which truth you mean…”

She could feel her body beginning to tremble all over. The level of ignorance which she continued to face was becoming more and more difficult to bear. But now was not the time…

“Goodbye Lucien Draay,” she managed to say. “I have learners to save. The Council will see you now.” And with this, she left.

><><><><><

           “Is that all you’ve got?” Malak managed through his teeth as the Doctor Demagol ripped away the wire which had been stuck through an incision into his head in order to monitor brain waves. It was all he could do to prevent himself from succumbing to the pain and having his vital functions shut down. He had to buy them time—time enough for their leader to realize that something was wrong and to come up with a plan for their rescue. He knew her well enough to have faith that it would be soon.

           “I will admit,” the Doctor began, “you’ve proven to be a most resilient test subject. My results are still somewhat inconclusive… but I’m sure we can fix that…. Guards?”

           Two of the Mandalorian sock troupers appeared from the doorway and stood ready at attention. It was very clear that, while it wasn’t a military post per-se that the Doctor held, he was very much in charge of the goings-on within the station.

           “Take this patient away,” the Doctor continued. “I require time to analyze my most recent findings…”

           “Yes Doctor!” they replied, and they unstrapped Malak, taking him away,

           The guards tossed Malak roughly back into the waiting room. There was a gasp from the other Jedi in the room as they saw their companion return to them in such a state. His robes were tattered, his head was bleeding, and he was scratched and cut all over. Malak groaned, attempting to push himself up and roll over to his side. An arm came to help him, but, to his surprise, it didn’t belong to anyone whom he knew.

           It was a female Arkanian Offshoot who, while clearly as terrified as the rest of them, seemed to have a sort of spirit still about her. She hadn’t been broken yet…

           “You’re new,” he commented as he managed to sit up with the woman’s help.

           “I’m Jarael,” she replied to him. “But I’m not supposed to be here….”

           “None of us are,” he replied simply. He wanted to tell her about his anticipation of his Master’s rescue for them, but to speak it might cause complications. After all, if the Mandalorians knew that she were coming, they would have time to set up another ambush…

           Something was odd about this girl though. She didn’t have the same presence as the others there. Her presence was…. clouded at best. He wasn’t sure what to make of it really, but one thing was for certain—this girl was no Jedi. She really wasn’t supposed to be here…

           Suddenly, a voice came from behind. It was the Doctor! “A fresh arrival! Oh, welcome, my dear woman! Perhaps you can help me with a little problem I’ve been having. You see, I have an endless supply of theories about Jedi abilities, yet I keep running out of Jedi. Won’t you join me?”

           “Demagol, wait,” Malak interrupted. He knew that if she were to undergo the same tests that he had, she would not make it out alive. Even some Jedi couldn’t handle the tests—someone who wasn’t a Jedi at all stood no chance. “Leave her—I’ll go.”

           The Doctor shook his head, making a tsk tsk sound. “Now now, you know that you’re my favorite, but this is rude to our new guest.”

           “Take me, I insist,” Malak continued. He managed a bit of a cocky smile as if to challenge the Doctor. “Surely I must have some ability that you haven’t discovered yet…”

           “What are you doing!?” The woman said in protest.

“These are trials that only a Jedi can survive, Jarael. And I think that we both know That I’m the only Jedi in this conversation…”

           The shock troopers came and seized Malak again. He wasn’t certain how he would be able to handle this, especially so soon after his last appointment, but he needed to stall for time. And he couldn’t allow anyone else to suffer the same fate as Hazar Kasra… He had to try…

><><><><><

           Again, Malak was tossed back into the waiting room with the other Jedi and with the Arkanian. He could barely feel his limbs this time. There was no way that he would be able to handle another session for some time. Dammit, Halin, where are you?….

           He winced, groaning in pain against the floor without the strength to get up again when the Arkankian woman came and rolled him over onto his back. “Hello Jarael,” he said, trying to manage a smile at her. “We have to stop meeting like this, you know?”

           “You can’t let them keep torturing you like this,” she scolded him. “You’re going to get yourself killed!”

           It wasn’t long after that the doctor himself entered the waiting room. “Guards, I want the Arkanian woman next. A race so loving of science… it seems fitting, don’t you think? Yes, I believe that she will particularly appreciate my work.”

           Doctor Demagol motioned for the guards to seize the Arkanian woman. The shock troopers moved into position. Malak closed his eyes. There was nothing more that he could do for her without letting his Master—his Halin—down. He had promised her that he would protect the other Revanchists. If he died for this woman, who was to stop Demagol the Flesh Carver from carving away the others? It would be a miracle if she survived the operation…

           However, it seemed like it was a day for miracles. Just as the guards were seizing Jarael, a fourth Mandalorian entered the room. He was escorting with him a young man.

“I have your next patient, Demagol,” the Mandalorian said.

“Don’t bother me with younglings, warrior. I need real Jedi for my research…” the Doctor scoffed.

“He’s definitely no youngling. Nearly broke my neck stopping him. Set him up for an appointment, Doc. I want to see him hurt—bad!”

“I will see him soon enough. Right now, I have plans for this young lady…”

“And I’ve got a war to get back to, Demagol. We do this now!”

The Doctor scoffed at the remark. “Very well then, to the laboratory…”

And the Mandalorians left the room with the new captive in tow.

“That was Zayne!” the Arkanian woman gasped.

“Zayne?” Malak managed. The name sounded familiar… Jedi named Zayne… Jedi named Zayne… “You mean Zayne Carrick?” The only Zayne he could think of was the bumbling Padawan he’d met briefly on Taris before the Revanchists had left for the front lines.

“You know him too?” asked the woman.

“We met briefly on Taris just before my group set out for Suurja… How do you know him?”

“It’s a long story… But it’s strange. He was acting like he didn’t even notice us…”

“Oh, I’m sure he did. I have a feeling something’s up here. Let’s just hope that the situation turns out in our favor…”

The agony of waiting is what followed. In that time, Malak slowly managed to regain enough strength to sit up… not that it would matter if they didn’t find a way out of this mess soon. The guards were gone long enough with the situation that Ferroh was able to do a little more to heal him. However, the Cathar didn’t have enough strength left to do very much.

After a few brief minutes, the Doctor, the Mandalorian guards, and the Mandalorian warrior returned. However, Zayne Carrick did not appear to be with them.

“Well that was mildly disappointing,” the warrior said. I’d assumed he would have lasted longer. Must’ve beaten most of the life out of him back on the ship…”

“No! You animal!” The Arkanian woman was beyond herself with this comment. From her reactions to the situation, Malak could only assume that she harbored some sort of feelings for the boy…. She sprung forward, tackling the Doctor before the shock troopers could stop her. The situation wasn’t looking good…

The guards made a move to seize her but, surprisingly, the warrior stopped them. “Stay back! I’ll handle this,” he said. “Demagoll wants us to preserve the specimens…”

The woman, who was on top of Demagol and holding him by the throat, suddenly froze, and the Mandalorian warrior tossed her aside, helping the doctor up. What’s going on here…

“I’d like to watch you deal with her later,” the Warrior told the Doctor. “Now how about that tour of the station you promised me?” With this, the Mandalorians departed once more.

“What happened?” Malak asked the Arkanian woman. “You had him…”

“I… I heard a voice… It was… strange,” she said, attempting to explain to him. “It was Zayne’s voice…”

><><><><><

           An hour passed since the Mandalorians had last been seen. As strange as it was, no one dared to try to move. After all, it was likely to be another trap. They couldn’t have possibly left so many Jedi completely unattended for so long. No, someone had to be watching them…

           Explosions could be head in the distance outside. Was the station under attack? Were they finally being rescued? Something was clearly going on here…

           Eventually, the Doctor Demagol and the Mandalorian warrior re-entered the room. This time, however, the Doctor removed his helmet. Inside was not the monster that all had expected, but the Jedi Padawan Zayne Carrick.

           “Sorry about the noise,” the boy said. “Just trying out a few mining charges we found. I don’t know for sure, but I think they worked…” He then spoke into a commlink. “All right, Gromkettle, you can lay off the fireworks now. Wait until the next night cycle and the come on over to pick us up.”

           “Zayne!” The Arkanian exclaimed, and she ran over, throwing her arms around him, causing the boy to laugh and to stagger. Ferroh and one of the other Revanchists went to Malak and helped him to stand. Malak watched the two. There was a divide in the Jedi about the issue of relationships among the order. It didn’t take much to see that there was something clearly very special between these two. Malak only hoped that they would be able to pursue together what he had not, though whether his inability to do so was by choice to adhere to the Council’s rules, or by fear of rejection was debatable.

           “Help me get to somewhere I can patch through a communication,” Malak told the others. “The Revanchist should know of our location…”

           After some looking, they were able to find a com center in the station. Malak patched through the codes to transmit directly to the Stalwart Nightingale.

           “Can anyone hear me? This is Malak of the Revanchists, over.”

           “Malak? Malak, is that really you?” It was the Revanchist herself who’s voice came through. “Malak, where are you?”

           “Flashpoint Station,” he replied. “We were ambushed on Suurja… Hey, listen, there’s something I need to tell you…”

           “About Hazar? I already know. The Council told me. They sent me to come find you…”

           “The Council? As in the Jedi High Council? I thought that you and the Council weren’t exactly on speaking terms…”

           “We’re not,” she admitted. “And now, perhaps even less so than before… But that’s not important right now. Do you have transportation?”

           “I think so, but there’s something here we’d like to bring back to the Republic—a demented scientist who calls himself a Doctor. Studies Jedi using live specimens for his experiments.”

           There was a moment of silence over the radio.

           “You still with me here?” Malak asked.

           “Oh?... Yes, sorry... I was just… thinking…”

           “Well, you can think more while you’re waiting for us to meet up. We’re heading back to Coruscant.”

           “Can you meet me halfway, on Katarr? We can regroup there and discuss the next course of action.”

           “Sounds like a plan. To Katarr then. We’ll see you in a few days. Malak out.”

           It would be a few days journey before the two parties would be able to meet one another. Malak was curious as to what the Republic would say and do about their new prisoner of war. Perhaps this would be the key to having the Revanchists recognized as an official group within the war effort instead of just as some renegade band of Jedi who left the Order on their own crusade against the Mandalorians. Only time would tell. They would just have to hope for the best.

[qm-vox]

So You Want To Run A Summer Court

Previous articles: So You Want To Run A Winter Court & So You Want To Run An Autumn Court

My endless thanks to SSG Jacob Karpel, US Army, for his advice and perspective on this article as a member of the Armed Forces. He helped enhance quite a few sections and clean up quite a few more; any errors are mine, not his.

The Court of Wrath. The Crimson Court. The Iron Spear. Summer is the second of the Seasonal Courts, the second of the Rising Seasons, and the Court with what is perhaps the greatest clarity of purpose, both as an individual political body and as a part of the wider Freehold. Summer prides itself on its utilitarian vision, its apolitical culture, service to its fellow Lost, and commitment to discipline, honor, and courage.

All of which is, to greater and lesser extents, bullshit.

The following article provides advice on designing and running your own Summer Court and Summer Courtiers, as either a player or storyteller, and draws primarily on Changeling: the Lost, Lords of Summer, and Swords at Dawn. Other books, if referenced, will be cited.

Disclaimer: I’m gonna be real, Summer is a Court near and dear to my heart, and may be my favorite of the Seasonal Courts. Obviously any source of information is going to have biases and even as a reader of something for enjoyment like Changeling it pays to be aware of those biases, but ah. I may be more biased than usual when it comes to my angrah children and how they screm. You have been advised; do as thou wilt.

Knights of Wrath - An Overview

Summer is associated with Wrath in all of its forms: anger, fury, hatred, frustration, malice, and more. The Iron Spear rarely lacks for recruits; the Lost are often angry, and forming a Summer Mantle is relatively easy as a result. To advance one though, to grow in one’s mystic bond to the Crimson Court, is not just to nurture blind rage but to relate to your Wrath, the Wrath of others, and to utilize it in your life.

Broadly, Summer serves as the soldiers of its Freehold (more on this later though). Like most military forces, that role is wider than one might expect. Unlike most military forces, your average Summer Court may be as little as a dozen guys and a truck. Compromises get made; rare is the knight of Summer that is not pulling double or triple duty in some way. Still, Summer takes on these duties both out of a sense of duty or obligation to the wider Freehold, and because as a Court it values strength in all of its forms: strength of body, strength of mind, strength of purpose, character, and will. Summer utilizes that strength in place of the social manipulations and magical trickery of the other Courts; in directly confronting the often labyrinthine machinations of the True Fae and other enemies of the Lost, the Summer Court represents an out-of-context problem that many fae and Fae are simply unused to dealing with.

The Chain of Command

All but the absolutely most self-aware Summer Courts tend to sell themselves as apolitical meritocracies. It isn’t a lie exactly - they certainly see themselves that way - but it is still bullshit. Any society has politics, and Summer is no different. Where Summer differs from the maneuverings of its sibling Courts is in how those politics manifest, starting with the Crown.

The one universal constant of how all Summer Courts from Tokyo to New York City govern themselves is the manner in which the Crown settles on the head of a ruler, which is built into the pacts that define the Court; that is, Summer doesn’t have the option to not rule themselves in this way. When the Court of Wrath takes power (typically on the day of the Summer Solstice until the Autumnal Equinox, though local customs may vary), the Crown manifests on the brow of whichever Summer Courtier is most seen by the others as their leader.

The candidate in question does not have any say in the matter.

This enforced democracy lasts for at least the reign of Summer, and it means that in theory Summer could change monarchs every year. In practice this is a lot less likely to happen; the Lost offer their trust with their whole hearts, so someone they pick with their hearts and minds to lead them is going to have to fuck up pretty mightily to not have the job again next year. While this is prone to the usual issues of democratic election (the Lost people want is not necessarily the best one for the job), it does help ensure unity in the Court, and Summer’s utilitarian culture does help offset the possibility of an incompetent monarch. Option two for becoming King is to murder the reigning monarch and take the Crown from their brow. Assuming you can get away with this (after all, this is the guy everyone else chose, and they’re likely to be ever-so-slightly annoyed that you murdered him), it makes you the monarch for the remainder of that Summer - at which point you’ve got the rest of the year to earn the Court’s hearts and minds, or you’re right back at this ‘regicide or no regicide’ decision point.

Those with doubts about Summer’s abiding friendship with the Spring Court are usually cured of them when they examine the remainder of Summer’s titles that serve beneath or alongside the Crown. The following titles and their functions are sourced from Lords of Summer and expanded on.

Wroth General Calescent  - Summer’s greatest strategist and military leader is given the title of Wroth General. In Courts that maintain a General (which is not necessarily all of them; many Summer monarchs are expected to fill this role, and may be saddled with the Crown specifically because of their strategic and tactical prowess), the individual in question may be equal to or greater in power than the Crown. Generals are more likely to flourish if Summer is politically powerful in its Freehold, if the Freehold is unusually populous, or ideally both; their broader strategic focus makes them an excellent candidate for creating and executing policies that involve the cooperation of the Freehold as a whole. In a Court with a politically powerful General, the Crown is likely to fill the role of embodying Summer’s ideals, setting grand strategy, and ensuring internal discipline and morale. A politically weaker General (either in comparison to a strong Crown or because the General is legitimately uninterested in politics) will serve in a more advisory capacity to the Crown’s overall command.

Iron Adjutant - In some ways the opposite of the Wroth General, the adjutant serves as the Crown’s majordomo; they handle the day-to-day running of the Court and attend to its logistics. While some monarchs offload this entire job to the Adjutant, it’s rarer than you might think, both because Freeholds are small societies and because, again, the Crown generally gets selected to do some actual leading. Still, a talented Iron Adjutant is vital for the smooth running of the Freehold during the Season itself, and for keeping Summer’s swords sharpened, its guns reloaded, and its armor in good repair. A wise monarch values those services quite highly.

Red Victor - The other title given to someone whether they like it or not, the Red Victor is the Crimson Court’s greatest champion, a Lost whose list of heroic deeds are both numerous and insane - Keepers struck down to the dirt of the mortal realm, slaves rescued from durance vile, horrors from the Hedge leashed and made to serve the Freehold, and more besides. She is the living embodiment of the triumph of Summer’s ideals, likely a beloved figure through the entire Freehold, and quite possibly one of the single-most personally powerful Lost within it. It’s not an easy job. Getting here can take a toll on your Clarity, and the duties expected of you are extremely public, to say nothing of continuing to serve as the Court’s champion. The death of the Red Victor sends her Court into magically-enforced mourning that can core the strength of Summer for weeks, creating a vulnerability in her Freehold. A good Victor recognizes this and acts accordingly, as the leader she may not have wanted to be but definitely is; a poor one is likely too busy with hookers and blow to care.

Hunter of the Longest Day (Jaeger) - The Jaeger is the Court of Wrath’s premier bounty hunter, tracker, and sometimes assassin. While Summer’s MO is to directly confront deception and labyrinthine plots, every now and again you need a single target taken out or dragged back in alive, or the Court requires a personal touch to move in alongside Autumn or Winter intelligence operatives. The Jaeger is valued for these talents more than their potential to contribute in a stand-up fight, and while the position is one of the most apolitical of the Court (and the most apolitical at its level of resplendent Mantle) it does net the bearer quite a bit of glory and pay if they can keep up the good work. More broadly, the Jaeger represents a living reminder to Summer that every now and again it’s better to hold back so that your devastating charge can hit the enemy from the side instead of right in the teeth of their defenses.

Sun’s Tongue - The full version of this title is, I shit you the fuck not, The Song Sung by the Sun’s Told Tongue, and if you don’t think Spring trots that out at the tiniest excuse to say the whole thing out loud you’d better think again. The Sun’s Tongue is Summer’s formal diplomat, tasked with interfacing directly with the other Courts, representing Summer’s interests to them, and bringing their interests back to the Crown. As the Court’s strongest primary social role, the Sun’s Tongue tends to be an odd duck in comparison to their fellow Summer Courtiers, but they still embrace the Court’s ideals of direct action and strength, often with a strong grounding in the philosophies of realpolitik and mutually beneficial arrangements. Unlike the Legate of Mists in Autumn, the Sun’s Tongue is only rarely a buffer between horrifying Courtiers and people justifiably worried about said Courtiers; instead they serve to facilitate the negotiations of the Crown and the Wroth General, and to keep a finger on the wider pulse of the Freehold.

Arrayer of Distant Thunder - The hidden hard mode of Summer’s social roles, the Arrayer of Distant Thunder has the “commission of array”, the right and responsibility to speak to any member of the Freehold from Queen to pauper and draft them for war. If that was all they did, the Arrayer position would be quite empty except in the largest of Freeholds (where their person-to-person interaction with Lost outside of Summer itself makes them an absolutely invaluable resource to the Wroth General and the Crown); the Arrayer of Distant Thunder is also responsible for ensuring that these other Lost are ready for war. Though it falls out of the formal scope of the title, that means that a good or even middling Arrayer either trains Lost in combat or arranges for them to be trained, negotiates with the other Courts to ensure they maintain armories in the event of an emergency, and is tasked with reaching out to even the most isolated and short-tempered of their fellows to bring them into the fold for battle. Where the Wroth General dictates grand strategy and the overall expense of resources, the Arrayer is expected to know the individuals involved and to advise their superiors on where best to place their talents in war or in preparation for the same. Rare is the Arrayer of Distant Thunder without a scattering of Court Goodwill across the entire Freehold.

Constable of Calefaction - The sheriff of the Summer Court, who for some godforsaken reason is called “the Calefactor” instead of Sheriff in your usual case (Summer: “We are serious adults.” Also Summer: This, constantly, in every fucking title). The Calefactor’s primary responsibility is maintaining internal discipline and keeping the peace in the Summer Court; as a society of people who encourage each other to get mad and kill things, they are somewhat prone to, you know, getting mad and killing things. Most Summer Courts are small enough that the Calefactor is the only formal member of any kind of law enforcement, which means that they often share skills in common with the local Jaeger, including tracking, investigation, and a certain distressing insight into the psychology of their prey. However, in an unusually populous Freehold, or one with strong intimate relationships between the Courts, the Calefactor may fill a more general role of law enforcement and informal counseling, working closely with figures such as the Verdant Advocate (Spring), the Ashen Notary (Autumn), and Winter’s Iceclad Armigers.

Man-At-Arms - A cut above the standard grunts, Men-At-Arms (local titles vary, inevitably into something more dramatic like ‘Crimson Knight’) are the minimum tier at which the Court pays for your upkeep. Expected to fill the role of primary combatants, Men-At-Arms have their mundane equipment seen to by the Court, and depending on the situation in their Freehold may also have concerns such as rent and food taken care of so that they can focus their attention on the full-time needs of soldiering. Of course, no Freehold is on a war footing all the time, so without the attendant responsibilities of higher ranks one will find the Men-At-Arms hiring themselves out to their peers in other Courts and supporting their Motleys in personal projects, as the desire and need strikes them.

Dust Grunt/Mud Grunt - The bottom of the barrel; Summer’s youngbloods are trained in battle and small-unit tactics and then put on the front lines to soften up the enemy. Chances are you start here when you sign onto the Court (but see below), and these irregulars can more often resemble a militia rather than the greater standardization of the warriors above them, with equipment ranging from nickel-plated revolvers to sharpened shovels. These decisions are more pragmatic on the part of the Court than they are malicious, though even the most hellbent fuck-up of a Grunt is part of Summer’s brotherhood, to be defended by their fellows.

Lords of Summer presents two more bottom-tier titles, the Sentry of Summer’s Vigil and the Mule Squire. Both of these are redundant to the Grunts; the Sentry’s work of guarding locations or people, and the Squire’s work of essentially doing the Court’s cleaning and make-work are both great uses of spare Grunts that need something to do, and a way of teaching or forcing discipline on them. Even in a modern military apparatus like the United States military, full-time guards are an incredible rarity and are mainly a position of honor rather than an immediate and intense need that craves filling. I encourage you to ignore both of these titles entirely.

So, how does one advance in Summer? Not dying is a good early step, as is putting in the work. Summer joins Winter in being one of the more utilitarian and pragmatic Courts, and that means demonstrating that you can fill the position you’re seeking. Its internal culture of cultivating strength and training means that someone who aspires to climb the ranks can often find someone else willing to teach them, provided they haven’t lost the respect of their own Court somehow. Given the reality of Summer’s limited numbers, it can pay to build a relationship with the current holder of the title you’re seeking so that they can teach you directly. Unlike Autumn, which often has the practical problem of its apprentices going full Sith Lord on their masters, Summer’s often quite happy to teach you what it knows; after all, they have a much higher than average chance of leaving a vacancy through no fault of your own.

But there is also the matter of the Tribulum.

By virtue of ancient tradition, a certain repressed sense of drama, and a not-insignificant amount of malice, those who seek title and authority in Summer must petition to be tested. Collectively, these tests and the process of them are the Tribulum, which in theory threshes the wheat from the chaff. They can be fantastically cruel; an aspiring officer might be forced to win back-to-back chess games for days on end with no opportunity to eat or sleep, or an aspirant to become the Arrayer of Distant Thunder timed on runs through the Freehold that demand death-defying feats of parkour. In a healthy Summer Court, these tests have more benefit than the cruel amusement of the higher-ups (though they definitely provide that benefit); they help those in power gauge how the aspirant performs their duties under pressure, and see how they relate to their own Wrath and how that Wrath is expressed in the job they seek. Someone seeking a social role such as the Sun’s Tongue may be expected to navigate a party or conference while the Court embarrasses, undermines, or demeans her; a potential Jaeger may be kidnapped and thrown naked into the Hedge with a command to bring back the head of a dread beast. Those who survive these trials emerge with the respect of their peers and the confidence of their superiors, with the obvious downside being that sometimes, people don’t survive them and the Court is then deprived of their talents.

Once the chain of command is established, Summer organizes itself and the Freehold (during its reign) along militaristic lines, with clearly established authority and duties. Lawful orders are to be obeyed for the greater good of the Lost around you and the things you, and they, care about. The Crimson Court can be somewhat clannish, though not nearly to the extent of Winter. Aside from its essentially selfless mission statement, Summer tends to frame the Freehold as a whole as an army in which everyone helps everyone else, with Summer and a select few members of other Courts as that army’s core combatants. They take pride in the dangerous work they do, and offer their respect to others willing to take it on. This does mean that Summer, like Autumn, only rarely has its internal logistics established; they rely on Spring and Winter for income and political interfacing with much of the mortal realm, and on Autumn to help provide magical backup and Goblin Fruits, to say nothing of capabilities like Spring’s powers of healing, Winter’s intelligence work, or Autumn’s mind-shattering powers over Fear that Summer simply cannot match on its own even if it has internal specialists that can support those roles.

The Promise of Summer

Summer tends to be loud and proud about its high ideals, and those ideals can be very attractive to potential recruits. On the practical level, Summer offers skills such as combat training and self-defense, and the self-confidence to use them. Lost who have strength can often flock to Summer, but so do those that crave strength, who want the power to change the narrative if their Keeper comes back for them again. Ogres, social Beasts (especially those that run in packs and herds), and Elementals are often natural adopters of Summer for these reasons, though you’ll find people in every Seeming who look at the circumstances of their Durance and conclude that if they’d been stronger, faster, or more decisive, they might have been able to make a difference.

Beyond practicality though, Summer offers the Lost that join it something to fight for beyond just survival. Ideals like justice, honor, and duty are near and dear to Summer’s heart. The most compelling promise of Summer to many of its recruits is the idea that they can take the evil done to them and make something good out of it. Summer is well aware that the world is unjust, that the honorable are taken advantage of by the deceitful, that people shirk their duties. That knowledge can turn toxic in some Summers, resulting in elitist braggarts or callous killers jaded by the dark world around them, but many other Summer Courts accept the reality and work on changing it. Maybe you can’t fix the world, but you can fix your part of it, and in a world of darkness holding forth a light to guide others becomes all the more important.

Most Summer Courts romanticize a knightly ideal of some kind, or another militaristic one, which enshrines the values to which they aspire. A certain amount of self-awareness goes into this even if Summer doesn’t talk a lot about it. Violence is not an easy thing to practice, and it can do things to you if you don’t have people to help you through it, don’t have rocks to hold onto, don’t have values to guide you. Though published material is rife with Summer Courts in a hard failure spiral (arguably, White Wolf has never published a Summer in a success state, not that I’m FUCKING BITTER), a successful Summer Court is as much a support group for its members as its peers are. Even beyond valuing a code of honor in itself, questions like “is this what a true knight would do?” can help ground a soldier of Summer before they make an angry choice that leads to regrets.

Ultimately, the core of Summer’s promise for your healing and recovery is bringing good out of evil. The Lost who join Summer were hurt and abused; Summer can help them ensure that others are not. They may struggle with self-discipline, self-control, or self-confidence; Summer can offer them the training they need to have these things. The weak and fearful can be raised into strength and courage. The Court of Wrath may tempt new recruits with vengeance against the Fae who wronged them, but those that stay do so because they want, or need, what Summer has to offer them.

Fury Oh Fury

Like Fear, Wrath is a passion that can very easily turn toxic. Summer knows this. Whether Summer does anything about that is another question, but for the most part even a Summer Court in a tight failure spiral isn’t stupid enough to simply let loose their brimming Wrath at-will. No one can be angry all day, every day, but you can cultivate anger, both in yourself and others. How Summer relates to its Wrath and what it uses that Wrath for defines it as a local Court.

Not all Lost are cut out for Wrath; as a passion, it is often one that grows out of another. Wrath at the loss (and thus Sorrow) one has endured, Wrath at the object of one’s Fear, Wrath that stems from frustrated Desire. While Summer is willing to help recruits find their anger, it can’t make the decision to seek and build a relationship with Wrath for a Changeling. For those who are angry, and seek validation or explanation for their anger, joining Summer provides them with the support and context needed to ask the foundational question, “Why am I angry? What am I angry about?”. From there, they can start on their journey towards relating to their own anger, and that of others.

While Summer values Wrath in and of itself, it tends to be more practical about that than its companion Courts do. Wrath is the tool with which Summer does its job; it sparks the protests that Summer uses to correct injustice, drives home the blades they use to put down True Fae, spurs on the athletes they take to competitions. It can provide the foundation of Summer’s camaraderie and brotherhood, and encourages Summer to defend those who cannot defend themselves. While some Summer Courts can be clannish and dismissive of the other Courts, most recognize that they choose violence in the hopes that others can have the opportunity to not make that choice. When mortals or Lost trying to live peaceful lives become the prey of the wicked, Summer’s Wrath is there to intercede.

Summer takes care to keep the fires of its Wrath ready. It’s not about constantly blazing with Wrath, which no one can do, but in recognizing the causes of their own anger and bringing it out. It can be bitter and hurtful work, remembering the pains you’ve been caused, deliberately nursing grudges, but it also provides Summer with a boundless source of energy and motivation. In a healthy Summer, this also means that the Court, so famed for its heights of berserk fury and unending rage, is also a paragon of proportionate response. “You wanna fight about it?” is less of a threat from Summer than it is an offer; two members of the Crimson Court knock each other around for a bit to vent their Wrath, to gain the satisfaction of taking action, and then sit down to shake hands or to negotiate a formal peace. It can look needlessly macho from the outside (and, in fairness, it kinda is), but it’s also an acknowledgement of each other’s Wrath; in resolving personal conflicts directly, Summer accepts the grievances that cause them as valid.

When it comes to the Wrath of others, Summer can have a dividing line between causing Wrath (which they must do to sustain their magical reserves) and relating to that Wrath. Malice is a kind of Wrath, and it’s a useful one for a Summer Courtier who needs Glamour because ultimately it means pissing people off. The ability to be a dick about just about anything on demand is a handy one for Summer, whether it’s by holding up a busy line during the lunch rush, insulting someone in front of their friends, or deadass eating someone’s burrito while they’re walking by and legging it for the hills like a hungry, burrito-deprived person is about to kill your bitch ass. The Fleeting Summer Contract also helps Summer seek out large sources of anger they themselves did not cause, at which point Summer has a choice to make about what they find. Joining a protest or demonstration for a just cause can both feed Summer the Glamour it needs and advance its ideals, but Summer also sometimes finds people rioting, attacking abortion clinics, or forming lynch mobs. Summer’s remit is to defend the innocent, and a healthy Summer will value that remit over the potential power they could gain, but not all Summers are healthy, and horrible things are done in the name of strength. For those that do choose to stand by their principles, becoming the target of the ambient Wrath - say, by standing up for those in danger - is a great way to gain the Glamour they’re about to need to defuse the situation.

In relating to the Wrath of others, Summer often practices solidarity. Only rarely will you hear a knight of Summer saying you’re angry for a stupid reason (and if they do, chances are your reason is stupid indeed); they can make fantastic listeners about the woes of your life that have made you angry, and excellent counselors on how to handle that anger. Making Wrath and war their business also means that Summer excels at practical self-care. A Summer Courtier is often going to be the first person to tell their friends and Motley that they’re mad because they’re hungry, overstimulated, exhausted, or other sources of non-productive Wrath, and to encourage those same people to, y’know, grab a Snickers. It can take a bit for Summer to catch up to the things that make mortals angry (the Lost can have awkward relationships with labor protests, for instance, because for many freshly escaped Lost the idea of safe work practices is alien), but once they do you’ll find Summer soldiers supporting all manner of causes. “What do you want to do about it?” is the common follow-up question when Summer hears that one of its friends is angry, and the Court can be both a great enabler of direct action and a sort of safety valve to help keep responses proportionate, or the situation safe for those who seek to take that action. Many of the Lost struggle with feelings of guilt or doubt about their own woes and their own Wrath, and Summer stands to validate that Wrath for them, to remind them that they have a right to be angry about what they went through and a right to seek resolution to their anger. For many, being asked the simple question of if they’re willing to be the sort of person who takes the revenge or retribution they claim to desire can defuse a lifetime of regrets before they happen.

Shit’s On Fire Yo - Hedgefire Wars and Summer’s Day-to-Day.

The majority of this section is drawn from Swords at Dawn.

No society can stay on a true war footing for long. Even modern giants like the United States of America can only really, emotionally, rev up for armed conflict for about five years before the fight is just gone from the general populace, even if the actual state of war persists. While Freeholds live in a world of constant danger from the Fae, from the Hedge, and sometimes from each other, they are also much smaller than the communities they live in, and much less able to maintain a state of armed conflict for an extended period of time. The Lost can have trouble coping with stress on the best of days, but even if everyone is ready and willing to fight, there are logistical issues. Soldiers need feeding and if they’re constantly combat-ready they’re not actively contributing to the wealth of the Freehold that is used to feed them. Shields need forging, armor needs repairing, guns need ammo, rent needs to get paid, Glamour needs harvesting, Goblin Fruits need collecting, and the longer a conflict drags on the harder all of those get.

Thankfully, these logistical issues seem to exist on both sides. The Gentry do not gather grand armies, and neither do hobgoblins. The Lost, of course, can’t; a Freehold might be as small as 19 people total, and the world’s largest is barely 200 soaking wet. As a result, so-called Hedgefire Wars tend to be brief, excessively violent conflicts with strong similarities to conflicts between gangs or criminal organizations, often decided in a single battle or a series of ambushes and traps. Summer makes a point of excelling at these conflicts, which can tip the balance when they occur. The True Fae, masters of deception and indirect action, are often simply not prepared to even imagine a troop of Iron Spear soldiers kicking their door in and starting to shoot.

So what does Summer do with all of the time it’s not conducting Hedgefire Wars? Train, for one; being able to conduct a military action at the drop of a hat like that means personal and collective training, drills, and putting in the work. Summer’s soldiers assist their Motleys or hire out to other Courts for dangerous work such as escorting messengers through the Hedge, clearing the site of a proposed Hollow, or body-guarding nobles during tense negotiations in order to keep their edge sharp. Summer supports causes in the mortal world with varying levels of legal-to-vigilante activity; it’s not unheard of for a local Summer Court to take on an organized crime family out of sheer moral outrage, personal vendetta, or literally just to keep their hand in the game. A Summer with a strong Arrayer of Distant Thunder, or in an especially imperiled Freehold, may fill some of their time training reserves from the other Courts in this manner as well. Summer soldiers volunteer or are assigned to guard Hedge Gates or care for vital, communal Freehold assets that might otherwise be vulnerable to theft or destruction.

Beyond that, Summer creates and participates in competitions of all kinds. Wrath dwells in the heart of the competitive spirit, and athletic events, esports, and other contests can be a fantastic magical investment for Summer, but they also host competitions inside of their Freehold to build camaraderie and encourage themselves and others to diversify their strengths. Yeah, Autumn is probably going to win a contest of sorcerous innovation hosted by the Court of Wrath, but by throwing the contest to begin with Summer not only gives Autumn the chance to show off its might and feel good about its choices, but encourages all who participate in the contest to improve their witchcraft and thus become stronger, more capable Lost. The soldiers of the Iron Spear are often the first to sign up for competitions thrown by the other Courts, and some of the first to offer or accept formal duels, especially those that do not end in death.

Brothers in Arms - Organizing Summer

Alone in Lost society, the basic unit of Summer is the Court; Summer’s internal culture of brotherhood and solidarity can make it difficult to divide into discrete chunks or turn against itself, because quite often, unless the matter is wholly personal, to deal with one knight of the Iron Spear is to deal with all of them. While internal titles (both the near-universal ones listed above and local ones created to serve the needs of a particular Freehold) denote a place in the chain of command and specific responsibilities over which a particular Lost can claim authority, in general Summer Courtiers help each other out for the asking, safe in the knowledge that they will be helped in turn. Summer’s claims of being apolotical might be bullshit (no society is free of politics), but its offer of mutual support is as genuine as they come.

The small nature of Lost society and in particular being one Court out of four in such a society means that Summer Courtiers live in each other’s metaphorical pants. While they’re expected to obey the chain of command, the upshot of this is that even the lowliest Mud Grunt can reasonably expect to voice an opinion about a proposed plan of action, or reveal their specific expertise that might assist in an operation or proposal, and have that voice heard by the Crown and luminaries such as the Wroth General. They may not be heeded, but they will be heard. The bickering and backstabbing that can attend to small-town politics exists here, of course, but Summer strives to keep that to a minimum and to respect the contributions of its soldiers. Even if it didn’t value solidarity as a virtue, any given Summer Court often doesn’t have a choice; there’s only so many bodies to go around, and the Court can’t afford to hemorrhage men to disrespect.

Still, loose groups do form, generally composed of the holder of a particular title (say, the Jaeger) and those Courtiers they trust to assist them and/or are being trained to take that position in the event of a vacancy. These informal cliques are more about the specialized work done by those in them than they are about politics, with the collective identity of the Iron Spear taking precedence, but they can and do often represent divisions of ideology within the Court. The Jaeger and her apprentice are naturally going to be among those who prefer indirect attack and ambush; in contrast, a friendship between the Sun’s Tongue and the Arrayer of Distant Thunder can form on the basis of being the only social roles in a Court that largely does not value such roles. In cases where the Court divides against itself, such as revolution, one likely finds these cliques collectively on either side of the line.

A Girl Worth Fighting For

I went there and I regret nothing!

There can be a disconnect between Summer and its companion Courts, mainly because Summer by its nature is composed of people who respond to some, many, or all negative situations by getting angry, and this is not necessarily or even often the case for their peers. Still, Summer - like Winter - has an appreciation for how friendships with members of other Courts can help balance out their own life, and the lives of the Lost around them. Winter doesn’t just keep Summer stocked with bullets, it reminds Summer of what has been lost and what remains left to lose. Autumn provides a whisper of caution that tempers Summer’s valor, and counsel away from the pit of darkness that violence can lead them to. The deep and famous friendship between Summer and Spring exists because quite often, while Summer fights, it is Spring that builds something worth fighting for. Summer, in turn, offers not just their own services to these other Courts but a reminder of the courage, honor, and valor of which they are capable. A knight of Summer defends their friends, and a good one inspires those friends to stand up for themselves too.

Summer’s straightforward approach and generally honest culture makes them seem easy to be friends with, though that same straightforward honesty can also be a frustration in their friendships and romances. A knight of Summer who’s still struggling with their Wrath and with self-control & self-discipline soon finds themselves without friends outside of their own Court, and for good reason. Anger is the tool with which you are supposed to do your job, not a curse to visit upon those you love. The Court exists to try and help those unfortunates, but they need to accept that help or it won’t do them any good.

Summer’s romances can be internal for a lot of the reasons that Winter Courtiers tend to date other Winter Courtiers; both people understand the shared struggles of those who practice violence, as well as the day-to-day things such as bruises from training that can be awkward to explain to outsiders. Summer also often falls in with Spring when they become attracted to the joy, verve, and glad-hearted acceptance that Spring has to offer (Spring, for its own part, is often fascinated by the sheer passion of Summer’s Wrath, and many Spring Courtiers can find something romantic in loving someone protective and nurturing). Courtships with Autumn happen at times as well, which go better than it sounds on its face; Autumn’s self-awareness is often good for a Summer lover, and they have a lot of the understanding that Summer/Summer romances bring to the table. The opportunity to let their hair down, stop being spooky, and be honest with someone can be a great relief to an Autumn Courtier who otherwise struggles with self-doubt and Clarity.

The Ranks of the Raging - Making Summer Courtiers

When making your own Summer Courtier, think about why they chose to make the honestly-unusual decision to become a knight of Summer. Most Lost lean away from direct confrontation and direct action, favoring tools such as theft, conspiracy, and avoidance; even an Ogre who joins Summer has made a somewhat unusual choice in the grander context of the Wyrd. Does your character already have great strength of some variety, or have they joined the Iron Spear seeking such strength? Is Summer their first Court, or have they come here from another? How do they feel about the high ideals at the heart of Summer? Some other considerations include:

What Is Worth Fighting For? - In a society with a pretty high mortality rate, Summer’s is higher than average. What does your character seek, or want to protect, that encourages them to put their life on the line? How do they relate to violence and what do they think of those whose relationship to it is different? Has there ever been a moment of great courage or cowardice in their past that still motivates them?

What Are You Angry About? - Everyone’s traumas and tragedies are different. What is the burning heart of your character’s Wrath? Do they take a genuine interest in the Wrath of others, or are they consumed with their own pain and resolution? Will they accept Lost society’s vision of justice for the wrongs done upon them, or will only revenge soothe their fury? Could their Wrath ever burn out?

What Do You Offer The Court? - Summer could use all kinds of specialized roles, especially if you’re willing to teach them to others. Are you a hunter and tracker, able to bring down dangerous foes by yourself? A classic Grunt or Man-At-Arms, ready to throw down? A teacher and motivator, being groomed by your local Arrayer? Do you have unusual skills such as stunt driving or engineering that the local Court might have recruited you explicitly for?

How Do You Relate To Others? - Summer’s brotherhood is a place where the Courtiers can let their hair down and relax. That solidarity does not necessarily automatically exist outside of Summer; how do you relate to members of other Courts and their differing ideals? Do you take pride in fighting to defend their diverse viewpoints? What friendships and connections do you have outside of your Court and why are they important to you? Are any of them mortal?

Stand Together - Summer In Your Freehold

Unlike Autumn, Summer has a pretty clearly defined role in the Freehold, which helps to keep its direct political relationships with the other Courts relatively simple. Summer has needs (guns, ammo, blades, armor, food, space for their armories, medical care, emotional support, etc) that the other Courts can provide, and in exchange for those needs they provide military service, advice, and support, as well as services for which physical strength and speed can be invaluable such as labor for construction projects or hauling in big-ass boxes of decorations for Spring’s parties. The cold fact of the matter is that Summer is good at spending money and bad at making it (almost like they’re combat-ready soldiers or something, who would have fucking guessed), so the Court of Wrath needs some kind of positive relationship with at least Spring or Winter, and ideally with both. Some Summers try to resolve this with a military coup, but that’s how you get Miami and no one wants Miami.

Summer tends towards extremes, either being very healthy or very toxic, and can be sensitive to the attitudes of its leadership about where it falls in that divide, though not for the reasons people think. It’s not that a toxic Crown creates a toxic Court, it’s that toxic Courts end up electing toxic Crowns, and then the cycle reinforces itself quite a bit. Often the only way to resolve this problem is for the Crown to die for some reason and for a better leader to change things while Summer is temporarily without a king. Unfortunately as trained warriors and hateful bastards, Summer leaders can be somewhat difficult to kill.

The situation the Lost find themselves in can make authoritarian leaders appealing, which means that regardless of season, Summer’s relative political power goes up during times of strife and chaos. At the same time, the Lost are sensitive to oppression and enslavement, and have a strong tradition of taking dictators and nailing their skin to a door in case some other asshole gets Ideas. During its own season, Summer extends its chain of command to include the other Courts, in part because that’s how Summer thinks and moves, and in part as a sort of yearly drill for wartime that lasts the entire Summer. When battle comes calling, the Lost of your Freehold should already know what’s expected of them.

As always, I welcome feedback, discussion, and criticisms on this article. Thank you for your time in reading!

Next up: Spring.

[thebuckblogimo]

A vote for 1968 as the most horrible year of the '60s.

March 14, 2021

In some ways it was the best of times. During the summer of '68 the Detroit Tigers won close game after close game en route to their first world championship since 1945. It was the year that pitcher Denny McClain went 31-6. Tiger Stadium rocked, and so did I and all the pals I grew up with playing baseball, at least the ones who weren't fighting in the jungles of South Vietnam.

Also, 1968 spanned my junior and senior years in college. I was 21 years old, and no, George Bernard Shaw, youth was not wasted on me.

But there were a lot terrible things going on in the grown-up world of that time, and while I was rockin' the nights away with a Stroh's "stubby" in one hand, I was giving much thought to the calamities of the day that were being covered by the press on the other. Today, I'd like to take you on a tour of the real world as I saw it back then.

To illustrate how much things changed during the '60s, consider how the music--which was everything to us baby boomers--transformed from January 1, 1960, to December 31, 1969.

During the first month of the decade (I was in the seventh grade), some artists represented in the "top ten" charts included Marty Robbins, Paul Anka, Connie Francis, Bobby Darin and Freddy "Boom Boom" Cannon.

During the last month of the decade (the same month I graduated from college), the top ten of what I'll call the rock 'n' soul record charts included tunes by Creedence Clearwater Revival, the Supremes, the Beatles, the Jackson 5 and Led Zeppelin.

Hoo boy, talk about a metamorphosis in "the sound." And that's not even taking into consideration the alternative, underground, album-oriented rock that started to emerge toward the end of the decade.

There were radical changes to practically everything going on at the time: the look of our clothes and the length our hair, attitudes toward sex and drugs, nonviolence versus violence in the streets, and, of course, the ever-present, divisive clash over whether my generation should risk dying to fight communism in Southeast Asia.

Here's my take on events that bewildered a 21-year-old's mind back in '68:

The Tet Offensive--I was a junior in college during the early months of the year, living with three pals at Burcham Woods in East Lansing, a student apartment complex that looked like a collection of cheesy two-story motels. Every night we'd watch the CBS News with Walter Cronkite, "the most trusted man in America," on our black and white TV in an attempt to improve our understanding of what was going down with the Vietnam War. I don't think I fully comprehended the magnitude of "Tet" at the time. I knew it was a massive, coordinated, country-wide military assault by the North Vietnamese and Viet Cong against hundreds of South Vietnamese cities, but I was most concerned about the safety of my high school pals over there who had gone off to combat as helicopter pilots, door gunners, tunnel rats, etc. I only knew that they were fighting for some amorphous cause that didn't seem to equate to the ones our fathers fought for in both Europe and the Pacific during World War II. Shortly after Tet, Cronkite traveled to Southeast Asia to report on the conflict and sit down with the generals there. Then one late February night, upon his return to New York, I heard a TV anchor "editorialize" for the first time when Cronkite concluded that the enemy would never give up on its jungle warfare tactics, that America couldn't beat the North Vietnamese and Viet Cong at their game, and that the best we could hope for in Vietnam was a negotiated settlement. That was the moment President Lyndon B. Johnson is said to have concluded that he had lost the popular support of middle America for the war effort. At the end of March, I was watching that same black and white TV when during a news special, Johnson announced he would not run for a second term. I was shocked. Everyone was. Due to the ramifications of his decision, I started to think that just maybe fewer of my buds would be risking their lives in the jungle in the years ahead...and just maybe I wouldn't eventually have to risk mine, either.

The Assassination of Martin Luther King--I don't remember how I heard about it. What I recall is riding a bike on a cloudy April 4 afternoon into the Burcham Woods complex and thinking incessantly about King's death: This can't be happening...The assassination of John Kennedy has already let the air out of the American spirit...We've lost the two greatest leaders I've known in my life...Now what?...Riots in the streets like the ones last summer?...It can't get any worse, can it? Well, it got worse. There were indeed riots in about 100 major cities across the country. I'd been a huge fan of King. I thought it was brilliant the way he had led the effort to accomplish the things that were accomplished for black people through his adherence to civil disobedience. He was the one most responsible for waking up white America to the plight of poor black people; he led numerous nonviolent marches for civil rights, including the March on Washington; he was the force behind LBJ's efforts to pass the Voting Rights Act of 1964; and on and on and on. King's pacifistic approach was being challenged at the time by some fire-breathing black radicals--Malcom X, Stokely Carmichael, Huey P. Newton, Bobby Seale, the Black Panthers. I was wary of them because I feared their violent ways would win out. And, in large measure, they did. Admittedly, black radicals were involved with some good things for poverty-stricken blacks--food distribution, better health care, emphasis on education--but their advocacy of "open carry" of loaded fire arms, black separatist rhetoric, etc., alienated most of white America. When King died his Gandhi-like approach to nonviolent resistance to achieve civil rights died, too. Like the assassination of John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King's assassination was a blow from which the American psyche never seemed to fully recover.

The Assassination of Robert F. Kennedy--June 5, 1968. I think it was finals week at MSU. I know I was anxious to get home to begin my summer job at Rinshed-Mason paint company. The weather was great. But we were inside, glued to that old black and white TV--with aluminum foil attached to the antenna for better reception--to watch the ongoing coverage of the assassination attempt on RFK. He'd just been declared the winner of the California Democratic presidential primary when he was shot, shortly after midnight, by a young Palestinian militant, Sirhan Sirhan, while taking a shortcut to the press room through the kitchen at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles. Among Kennedy's entourage were famed journalist and author George Plimpton, former all-pro football defensive lineman Rosey Grier and former gold-medal-winning U.S. Olympics decathlete Rafer Johnson. There were shouts of "Get the gun...break his thumb if you have to..." as the athletes wrestled Sirhan to the floor. However, little more than 24 hours later, Bobby Kennedy was dead. If you think the world feels crazy today, it felt like "One Flew Over the Cuckcoo's Nest" after the assassinations of King and Kennedy, just two months apart. And, of course, there was the constant barrage of vitriol between pro-war and anti-war types underpinning it all in those days. I recall reading practically every editorial by every nationally syndicated columnist I could find in the newspapers and Newsweek magazine for clues to understanding what the hell was really happening in the country. When I returned home for the summer, my Dad, in his typically earthy way, commented on the mental state of America in '68: "The morale of the country has turned to shit," he growled.

Chicago Police Riot at the 1968 Democratic National Convention--I find it amazing what I don't remember about this event from August 26-29. Probably because I was out carousing with my pals every night when it happened. The convention attracted more than 10,000 young anti-war protesters--student activists, members of SDS (Students for a Democratic Society), hippies and Yippies (members of the Youth International Party) such as Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin of "Chicago Seven" fame. Authoritarian mayor Richard Daly turned out a like number of police and National Guard members to confront them at Lincoln Park, Grand Park and outside the International Amphitheater, site of the convention. Things got off to a bad start when just before the convention the Yippies mockingly nominated a pig--yes, an actual swine named Pigasus--for president. As the convention progressed, security guards were caught on camera roughing up CBS News reporter Dan Rather, trying to interview a protesting convention delegate being ushered off the floor by the cops. I only know that the whole thing turned out to be a bad scene. Maybe I don't recall many details because I've always been more than annoyed by senseless violence and turned my head away when it happened. In any case, it seems that the cops were ready to administer beatdowns rather than back off at the first sign of tension. Perhaps the young protestors started the confrontation by hurling debris or breaking police lines. I just don't know. I do know that I've said many times that cops often get only a split second to make what can be life-or-death decisions when doing their jobs. But from everything I've ever heard or read, Daly's strategy was to bust heads from jump and not even try to diffuse the situation.

But for all the turmoil of 1968, my life could not have been much better in the fall. It was the beginning of my senior year in college. The "two Ricks," close friends from my Abbot Hall days, and I secured a lease at Water's Edge. Just two blocks from campus, it had the largest living rooms of any student apartment building in East Lansing. At one point we set up a ping pong table, and sometimes we'd buy a keg of beer and charge admission to Friday afternoon TGs. It was wall-to-wall people as we did the "Boogaloo Down Broadway." In October, after watching the Tigers Bill Freehan--yes, on that same old black and white TV--catch Tim McCarver's pop-up for the final out of game seven against the Cardinals in the '68 World Series, we spontaneously decided to hitchhike to downtown Detroit, where we celebrated into the night with throngs of Tigers fans who filled the streets.

Oh, yes, it felt like the best of times.

Little more than a year later, however, all four of us (another Abbot Hall friend had moved in at midyear) were notified by Uncle Sam to take our physicals for possible induction into the army. Amazingly, I flunked mine and was declared 4F (unfit for military service) due to two knee surgeries (osteochondritis) I'd undergone in high school. However, even if I'd passed it, I would not have been called to service because all young, draft-eligible males at the time had been assigned "lottery numbers" after a random drawing on national television. I drew 298, but the government filled its manpower needs by the time it got to 176. My three roommates all drew lower lottery numbers. They were all drafted. But thanks to pure luck they were eventually stationed in West Germany rather than Vietnam.

All four of us had been philosophically opposed to the Vietnam War, but not enough, I guess, to seriously entertain the thought of moving to Canada. Had I not flunked my physical, had I not drawn a favorable lottery number, had I not had the same good fortune as my roommates and been sent to Vietnam, I'd have gone into the military, served and done whatever my superiors would have told me to do.

To be quite honest, however, when I look back on it all, the young men who had the balls to cross the border into Canada, risking the scorn of being called cowards back home, displayed their own acts of courage by standing up for what they believed to be morally right. Because, to this day, I think the U.S. involvement in Vietnam was an exceedingly bad calculation, to put it mildly. Or, as my Dad, World War II veteran that he was, said in 1968, "It's all bullshit, Len."

Nineteen hundred and sixty-eight?

Charles Dickens' opening lines from "A Tale of Two Cities" sum up perfectly that paradoxical year:

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way--in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only."