#serf

[whencyclopedia]

July, Les Tres Riches Heures

A medieval manuscript illustration depicting the work on an agricultural estate during the month of July. From 'Les Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry', c. 1412-1440 CE. (Condé Museum, Château de Chantilly, Oise, France)

Image by Limbourg Brothers

[env0]

My friend, Jon and I, at his first Renaissance Faire.

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

All Your Fault

Next

Author's note: I got the Bully Cato Sicarius Fleas. I've read the fics and they are good. I hope I got his character right.

Warnings: Bullying behavior, verbal bullying, Power Imbalance, Cato's Sparkling Personality. uh let me know if I need to add more.

Summary: You are just a Serf, and one day gain the attention of the Captain of the Second Company of Ultramarines. It's not a good thing. Just what did you do to upset him so?

Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog, @i-am-a-dragon34, @egrets-not-regrets, @gra93fruit-blog

You were born and raised near your family's farm on Calth. You had grown up hearing about the Glory and Wonder of the Imperium and how very Lucky you and the other citizens of Ultramar are to have the protection of the Mighty and Noble Ultramarines. 

You had heard stories of how some of the stronger boys in your farming community were blessed with the chance to become Ultramarines. But that had been a few generations ago when the farming community had a poor harvest and they had to give people as part of the tithe more than finished and raw farming goods. 

You bite your lower lip a little as you continue to pull weeds and tend to the section of the fields You had assigned to you to work on. There has been a bad drought that has made the usually high yield farm rather lacking. You have heard your parents and the local town leaders talking about it. 

With the Tithe Coming within a few short weeks, and a lack of agricultural goods. They had been arguing over who to send as tribute and part of the tithe. As a farming community it was heavily encouraged to have multiple children for a variety of reasons. 

The families with more children got tax breaks and help from the centralized government for Healthcare, child rearing and daycare. As well as cheap, decent quality education and help with feeding and funding Children born and continued growing. You were one of seven children and are among the middle of the pack. 

You are full grown, but due to circumstances still stuck at the family farm, working on it rather than having your own place to live. While volunteers are preferred a lottery was going to be set in place for the whole community to gather and those of a certain age range were going to be the most targeted for the Tithe-ing. 

You are in that age range, you aren't sure if you want to be one of those chosen to go. Whether it is into the Astra Militarum, Chapter Serf, or into a different part of governmental service. If it happens, you will do your duty and say your goodbyes to your loved ones. 

The sinking sensation that you felt proved true five weeks later when your name was called as part of the Tithe to the Imperium. You were just barely able to say goodbye to your siblings. Before you were whisked off to be assessed and put into quarantine with your fellow Calth-ites. After quarantine and skills tested, you were given the uniform of Serf. 

And to your greatest joy and honor. The colors of the Ultramarines, denoting which holy chapter you had been chosen for. You whisper in gratitude to the God Emperor for his mercy and wisdom. You swiftly change into the uniform And follow after those who were chosen and head to the proper disembarkation point. 

One of the higher ranking serfs explaining the rules and consequences for breaking them. As you walk by, you and the rest of the Serfs have to flatten yourselves against the walls when Astartes in Blue and Gold Armor go walking by, you keep your head lowered out of respect, even as you peek at them from the corner of your eye as awe and dread grips your heart. You had only ever heard of the Angels of the Imperium before. And now… you get to serve them, what an honor.

Even if it makes you anxious, one of the Ultramarines brushes past you, he has a stern expression on his stunningly handsome face. You swear you feel his eyes flicker over and stare at you ever so briefly before snapping back in front of him towards where some of his fellow Angels are. 

Once they leave the hallway you and your fellow new Serfs are hurried along to their destination as the Serfs who’ve been there longer and are in charge continue to go over the rules, regulations and consequences of disobedience.

Over the next several months you learn of the complex social and political hierarchy of the Serfs. Or at least, you do your best to do so as it seems a tricky, complicated and almost arcane nature. Far more complex that a simple farm hand turned chapter serf could comprehend at times. Although you did your best to do your duties swiftly, promptly, quietly, and with as little impact on your higher ups as possible.

You are carrying some clothing from one part of the ship to another when you sense movement out of the corner of your eye. You stop and shift out of the way when you spot blue and gold ceramite armor and an Ultramarine Space Marine comes walking over. You dutifully flatten yourself against the nearest wall to give the massive man more room.

The Ultramarine pauses and stares down at you. It was the same one that had briefly looked at you all those months ago when you’d first come aboard the ship as part of a tithe.

“Serf,” He barks at you.

“Yes, Lord?” You say trying not to jump. 

He scowls at you and your heart sinks and you feel like you want to cry. “What the fuck is that accent?”

“I-I am sorry my lord?” You try as you carefully try to enunciate Low Gothic properly. 

One of his eyes twitch and he scowls down at you, “Speak properly or stay silent. Serf.”

You nod, even though you feel hurt, welling up, and confusion. He was the one to start to speak to you. “Yes, Lord.”

“Hrm. Barely better,” Cato sneers down at the country bumpkin now blessed to become a Serf of the Ultramarines.

They have the same fucking accent that, Prissy bastard Captain Ventris gets when he’s talking with his uppity giant bastard of a Sargent Passinius. He’d had yet another disagreement with the Captain of the Fourth Company over tactics and Calgar had barked out orders that the pair of them needed to break it up and cool off before coming back to the meeting.

He had meant to go to the training salles to cool off as he seethed in his wrath when he spotted that one far too pretty looking Serf that had come aboard McCragge’s Honor a few months ago. Not that he had noticed them at all. Or that he’d been, for some reason, tracking them from time to time. Not that he’d sought them out while he was in a temper because of Throne-cursed Ventris.

Their large eyes staring up at him, with tears starting to gather at the corners of their eyes. Tch. Pathetic. Even as something else shifts in his hearts at seeing their emotional reaction to him. He’d hardly said much and they were already acting like he was being a Bastard. So he scowls down at them some more and snarls that they need to be tougher to survive as a Serf serving Astartes.

"Leave," He barks and you bow and scurry off and away from him as you continue to do your duties, trying to figure out what it was that you did to upset the Second Captain of the Ultramarines.

[saying-odd-shit]

if i was a serf i would be going through a serfy little breakup with Burchard the serf and cry in my straw serf bed not even knowing i could go visit like Edith the serf and get my serfussy ate or whatever

[krasivaa]

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Queen Marie of Yugoslavia with her sons, Crown Prince Peter and new born Prince Tomislav in 1928. 💝🇷🇸

[arabdoll]

“Write about how this young man squeezes the slave out of himself drop by drop and how one fine morning he awakes to find that the blood coursing through his veins is no longer the blood of a slave but that of a real human being.”

Anton Chekhov, letters to a friend

[whencyclopedfr]

Système Manorial

Le système manorial de l'Angleterre médiévale était un système dans lequel la société rurale était organisée autour d'un manoir ou d'un château situé sur un domaine. Les plus petites unités de ces domaines étaient appelées manoirs. Les travailleurs libres et non libres y travaillaient la terre du propriétaire ou du locataire en échange d'une protection et du droit de travailler une parcelle de terre séparée pour leurs propres besoins.

Lire la suite...

[ts2cambremon]

Guard Ivan: He's doing fine, considering... We were gentle enough, the little rat just gave quite a fight.

[technicolorxsn]

thinking about the commentary being made with gideons sole hope on the ninth being joining the army

[whencyclopedia]

Peasants' Revolt

The Peasants' Revolt, also known as the Great Revolt, was a largely unsuccessful popular uprising in England in June 1381. The rebellion's leaders included Wat Tyler and they wanted massive social changes which included a removal of the poll tax, an end to the cap on labour wages, redistribution of the Church's wealth and the total abolition of serfdom.

Continue reading...

[chronivore]

[localdryadfaggot]

2024 feels like we’ve just weaseled our way back into serfdom without any of the benefits of serfdom.

[mythologeekwriter]

[Image IDs

1: A tumblr reply from @/xandeyn reading “Made a feudal class assigner for fun lol https://perchance.org/xlqc5kmmsz”

2: A result on the Feudal Class Assignment randomizer showing that the person got noble.

End ID.]

ATTENTION!

FEUDALISM RESTARTING IN 10 SECONDS. CLASSES WILL BE RANDOMLY ASSIGNED

[florad0ra]

Absolutely obsessed with this hurdy gurdy rigged up to a tredle sewing machine stand. Man is going NUTS on the thingamabob!!!

His tiktok has more videos as well!

[eveandthetree]

Peasant, Serf

My soul is engorged. 

Aggravated.

Spent.

The monarch stole every single cent,

and beat me to torment.

Afflictions of misery,

My scraped legs over cement.

(I just wanted to go shopping.)

I'm foaming at the mouth,

so I can't speak out.

A divine chorus of doubt that i'll be saved

becomes loud.

(They were eavesdropping.)

Their regal ears watch,

listen,

And wait for more.

As I lay

bruised,

harmed,

and gurgling 

on the floor. 

(I couldn't stop them from robbing.)

The royalty ruin

my already emptied out bag.

Tugging on the threads

And hoping they snag.

Loosening the threading 

Laughing as they brag.

(Did someone hear? Ignoring what they were plotting?)

Sabotage.

But their seam rippers are hidden in

bright camouflage.

A beautiful, 

deceptive,

Golden encrusted

mirage.

(My face is left throbbing. It hurts to keep sobbing.)

[wingerworthwritersassociation]

Impact of British Politics on the Working Class

A lack of choice makes this serf angry. During debates they try and remember the name of the questioner while they think of which answer they had rehearsed for this line of question. They promise much but the promises only sound real when they are empty of substance. Do they listen? If my workplace is anything to go by, the politicians listen to us about as much as we listen to them. In a…