#my benthic brethren

[fshoulders]

I’m putting this here because the world is stressful and maybe watching it will make you feel a little better, as it does me (every time):

[jackalspine]

Sometimes tumblr posts will allude to the existence of tumblr users that are simply beyond the closed ecosystem of my dash and it just makes me so grateful that I’m just a little guy swimming with a bunch of swagtastic benthic brethren

[tequila-sunfall]

(Note: some graphic descriptions of violence and gore ahead.)

“DERANGED POWER CRAZY MASTER PAWN BEGINS WOLFSTACK MASSACRE — AN IDIOTIC TRAGEDY”

Opinion Piece - Ferdinand Brante

Rats, scurrying forward at the smell of crimson blood. Hands and eyes left open, no will to close either - their wills have fled to the Boatman. Some for their final, cruel venture. A child walks out, arm broken and coughing blood, screaming for his brethren. They won’t be returning for a very long time. “Honorable” neddy men stumble out with their stained weapons. Bodies with cigars landing on their stomachs, mouths open, some still clapped between their lips.

These are, as written, the damages concluding the first wave of the wars raged on Wolfstack Docks, perpetrated by Marie Brutus. My full title for her - Marie Brute-us. The Master’s pet, princess of fascism, of which the country that is her ideology hath deserted her centuries before. 

Just two weeks before, she, from atop her high throne of ice (much like her cold demeanor), steps out of the Bazaar Spires, to declare her delusional rhetoric, clearly drunk, to wage war against the Revolutionaries that combat her kingdom: the Masters’ rule. I remember where I was at the time, atop my Zubmersible, freshly docked from a trip from Port Cecil. There, my first-mate left the boat first, to get assistance in tying down the ship firmly. They never managed to get back to the ship. Doctors said if they had been damaged any further, they wouldn’t be seen in London, or anywhere, ever again. They were an innocent person, without a history of Revolutionary deeds. She - Princess Marie - ordered this attack, uncaring for those caught up in this “fight”, for this is rather a public execution, of which there is no evidence, no confession, and no crime. Yet, here we are.

Seven. The number. This is the number of those permanently killed amidst the bloodbath.

Elizabeth Stalking. An author interviewing a nearby group of Zailors for a new novel she was writing. Death by a crowd of neddy men, stepping on her head so hard it burst open. The rest of her organs went soon after.

Martin Grehan. A father of three, heading to buy a set of trinkets for his second eldest child, as a graduation present. He was shot thrice in the chest, once in the head, and twice at the legs, before his body was grabbed by one of the Constables, and decapitated. Which - I do not know.

Marcus Windhalm. Eighty-nine year old philosopher. Renowned and beloved by all in Benthic, and many in Summerset. Was on a stroll, when he was mistaken for a suspected Liberationist group leader, and shot a total of fifty nine times. He was only identified by his journal, tattered to bits, pages still attached to his overcoat.

Steban Idlestahm and Trent Idlestahm. Sibling tourists from the Surface. Got entangled in a gunpowder explosion. Steban’s last words were reported as “God, please.” Trent’s were “Why?”

Ridley Randurm, a Mourner returning to meet his family in London. He killed five Neddy Men before being taken down. They say a certain blue capped individual visited her in a certain river. Kicked her off a certain boat. The Boatman shivers in disgust.

Caleb. From a local orphanage. He was six.

Remember these people when you think of what happened on this day, today. Three hundred was the death toll, minimum. Think of everyone who perished, those who will not return. Know that this will continue, until we rise up and force them to stop. Marie, the Tyrant she is, will not end this alone. We must force her to listen to reason - if not reason, then the Masters. Quickly. Before one of us ends up on the papers.

Have faith. All will be well. God willing. (If there is one.)

-PAGE 3 OF THE DAILY INFORMER.

The Wolfstack Massacre

Summary: Marie gathers the neddy-men in the Bazaar side-streets, and delivers a speech which incites a battle on Wolfstack Docks. Contents include strong fascist themes, incitement of violence, anti-revolutionary sentiment, and described non-graphic violence at the end.