Rencontres missives escort

Comment lui révéler que je sais qu'il va voir des escorts ?

2024.05.15 17:31 rabio-sa Comment lui révéler que je sais qu'il va voir des escorts ?

Je suis en couple (F30 et H30) avec un homme depuis 7 mois. Tout se passe bien. Du moins je croyais.
C'est quelqu'un de très porté sur le sexe. Il a toujours été transparent sur son passé : il a fait sa première fois avec une prostituée, il a beaucoup utilisé les applications de rencontres pour du sexe notamment des applications qui renvoie vers des personnes qui ont des demandes particulières (fétichisme, bdsm ect...).
Il a eu recours plusieurs fois à des prostituées (nous sommes dans un pays où c'est légalisé). De ce qu'il m'a dit les dernières datent d'avant notre rencontre l'été dernier. Il m'a toujours dit qu'il était allé les voir soit pour tester des choses soit car il n'avait pas eu de rapports depuis bien trop longtemps.
Je n'ai jamais été réticence envers ses révélations. Je considère que beaucoup d'hommes ont eu recours à ces pratiques mais ne l'avouent pas. J'ai même apprécié qu'il me confie cette partie de lui, pour moi il m'accorde une grande confiance.
Le problème c'est que dernièrement j'ai de gros doutes. Je me demande si il n'y retourne pas pour plusieurs raisons :
L'élément déclencheur :
Je n'ai pas arrêté d'y penser. Et j'ai recommencé à ruminer sur un logo que j'ai aperçu sur son ordinateur. En février, nous étions devant son ordi et une icône ma interpellée sous la barre de recherche Google. J'ai cherché très longtemps jusqu'à abandonné. Hier soir j'ai trouvé. C'est un site descort. J'ai reconnu le logo. Je suis sur le cul. Je me suis inscrite dessus et j'ai commencé à vérifier les icônes WhatsApp des filles qui pourraient potentiellement lui plaire. J'ai eu un électro choc. Je vois la photo de profil en illustration d'une fille où les cheveux sont prédominants. Je fais directement le lien avec la photo que j'ai vu début mars sur son portable. Elle avait attiré mon attention et je m'étais dit tiens c'est bizarre qu'est ce que c'est ? Peut être que c'est pour prendre rendez vous chez le coiffeur. C'est bien l'escort.
Je ne vois pas comment le confronter. Je n'ai pas de preuve tangible (screens ect ...) seulement le souvenir de tout ce que j'ai vu. J'aimerais lui poser la question ce week-end : est ce que tu continues à aller voir des escorts ?
Sans jugement. Je ne veux pas le blâmer. La relation est jeune, peut être que je ne lui donne pas satisfaction sexuellement parlant, je préfère qu'on soit honnête aujourd'hui et qu'on arrête la relation car nous ne sommes lié par rien (mariage enfants....). J'ai peur qu'il ne me dise pas la vérité et qu'il parte dans une colère noire en me disant que je ne lui fais pas confiance ect.
Comment faire si il nie ou qu'il me fait passer pour une folle ? Le croire ou partir....
Merci
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2024.05.10 16:06 n217062 Memory timeline part 9: Unity

Part nine covers Unity. I've done my best to get the dates as accurate and precise as possible. All of the dates are sourced directly from the game and the Unity novel, along with other research that's been noted below.
For obvious reasons, I did not include the server bridges, Nostradamus enigmas, or the companion missions.
Part 1: AC1 + Altaïr's Chronicles & Bloodlines
Part 2: AC2 + Discovery
Part 3: Brotherhood
Part 4: Revelations
Part 5: AC3
Part 6: Liberation + Black Flag Aveline DLC
Part 7: Black Flag + Freedom Cry
Part 8: Rogue
Prologue: 1307–1314
Sequences 1–2: 1776–1789 (Arno aged 8–20)
Between sequences 2 & 3: 1789–1790 (Arno aged 20–22)
Sequences 3–7: 1791 (Arno aged 22)
Between sequences 7 & 8: 1791–1792 (Arno aged 22–23)
Sequences 8–11: 1792–1793 (Arno aged 23–24)
Between sequences 11 & 12: 1793–1794 (Arno aged 24–25)
Sequence 12 + Dead Kings: 1794 (Arno aged 25)
Epilogue + remaining side memories: 1794–1822 (Arno aged 25–54)
\1]) The Unity novel gives the date of Arno's reunion with Élise after his escape from the Bastille as 25 July 1789. This is likely either a typo or an error because it creates a continuity issue with how these events are portrayed in the game. Firstly, after Arno's escape, he makes his way to the de la Serre estate in Paris, which is located in Le Marais. This is literally down the street from the Bastille. Even with lying low and dodging guard patrols, I can't imagine it would've taken Arno more than a day to reach the estate, let alone eleven. Not to mention why he'd wait that long to find Élise when that was his singular objective while stuck in prison for two months. Another thing to consider is that there are a few side memories that take place prior to 25 July. The Paris story, The Great Escapist, happens on 16 July which is when Jean Henri Latude retrieved his rope ladder from the Bastille. And all three of the Ventre de Paris social club missions have to take place at some point prior to Joseph Foullon de Doué's execution on 22 July. If we go by the novel's date, Arno wasn't inducted into the Assassins until 25 July, which means he would've been doing missions for the Brotherhood before he even joined them. This obviously doesn't make any sense. So for the above reasons, I'm disregarding the novel's date and placing Arno and Élise's reunion and the events of Rebirth on 15 July instead, which resolves the continuity issue.
\2]) Widespread public debate regarding Joseph-Ignace Guillotin's proposed method of capital punishment began in December 1789 after a speech he made to the National Constituent Assembly.
\3]) As France dechristianized during the Revolution, many religious institutions came under attack. On 12 July 1790, the Civil Constitution of the Clergy was passed, outlawing religious life and giving complete control of the Church to the government. As a result of this, many congregations such as the Filles du Calvaire Convent were formally dissolved by the National Constituent Assembly. As the Revolution progressed, these tensions only got worse. Shortly after the insurrection of 10 August 1792, the Notre-Dame Cathedral's treasury was looted of all of its liturgical objects, artifacts, and other religious relics. Not long after, the Abbey of Saint-Germain-des-Prés got an even worse deal as it was ransacked during the September Massacres, resulting in hundreds of executions. Among the victims were 22 priests, 135 Swiss guards, and the Princesse de Lamballe. After the massacre, the abbey was converted into a storehouse until 1795 when it was reinstated as a church.
\4]) While Mirabeau's reputation remained largely untarnished until after his death, public criticism of his conduct began as early as 1790 when it was discovered that he had secretly met with Marie Antoinette at the Château de Saint-Cloud on 3 July.
\5]) The on-screen text incorrectly dates this memory to 1 April 1791.
\6]) André Chénier finished writing "Le Jeu de Paume" in 1791.
\7]) Eugène François Vidocq and Charles Cochon de Lapparent appear throughout all of the murder mystery memories. In the initial cutscene for these memories, Lapparent is anachronistically referred to as a police minister by Vidocq. Historically, the Minister of Police position wasn't established in the French government until 1796, and Lapparent served in this position from 3 April 1796 to 16 July 1797. This anachronism creates a potential continuity issue since a large number of the murder mysteries explicitly take place in the years prior. Despite this inaccuracy, it's technically plausible for the murder mysteries to begin in 1791 as during that year there was a short period where Vidocq and Lapparent were both in Paris at the same time. Lapparent was a frequent attendee of the Jacobin Club from late 1789 to around October 1791. Meanwhile, Vidocq was in prison in Paris for a two-week period during the summer or autumn of 1791. Using this evidence, it can be surmised that the initial cutscene and Murder Foretold take place around summer or autumn 1791. The dates for the rest of the murder mysteries are as follows:
\8]) After being released from the custody of the Austrian government, Théroigne de Méricourt returned to Paris in January 1792. About a month later, she began working with the Jacobin Club to gather arms and supporters for the approaching war with Austria. In addition to this, Théroigne spent most of the spring of 1792 campaigning for women's rights to bear arms, and on 11 March, she distributed a summons for the formation of a battalion of women. These efforts were ultimately unsuccessful and proved unpopular among the Jacobins who promptly turned on her.
\9]) The first working prototype of the guillotine was constructed by Tobias Schmidt and tested by Charles-Henri Sanson in April 1792. A week later on 25 April, Nicolas Jacques Pelletier was the first person to be executed by guillotine.
\10]) In September 1792 during a five-day looting spree, most of the French Crown Jewels were stolen from the Royal Treasury. Most of the jewels were eventually recovered. The Regent and the Hortensia, along with several others, were found hidden in an attic in Paris fifteen months later in December 1793. The Sancy made its way to Russia where it eventually reappeared in 1828 as part of the Rudanovsky collection. The French Blue was eventually smuggled to London where it was recut at some point between 1792 and 1812. The largest remaining piece of the French Blue is now known as the Hope Diamond.
\11]) Marie-Jeanne Bertin, better known as Rose Bertin, served as Marie Antoinette's personal fashion merchant from 1774 to 1792. During the Revolution, Bertin made several trips to England and Germany in 1791 and 1792, which fueled speculation that she was carrying secret messages to foreign leaders on behalf of Marie Antoinette. Bertin returned to Paris in December 1792 to settle some of her accounts before leaving for London in February 1793. She would not return to France until 1800.
\12]) The Unity novel indicates that Arno killed la Touche on the same day that Élise finds him in Versailles, as by the following day, Arno and Élise are already back in Paris.
\13]) The political maneuverings of the Revolution often targeted individuals in academia. By 1793, scientists like Antoine Lavoisier and Pierre-Simon Laplace fell under the scrutiny of the National Convention due to their connections to the ancien régime. As a former member of the ferme générale, Lavoisier was arrested on 30 November on charges of fraud and selling watered-down tobacco. He was later convicted and guillotined on 8 May 1794. On 3 October 1793, a warrant was issued for the arrest of Nicolas de Condorcet after he criticized the Montagnard Constitution. Condorcet went into hiding for several months before fleeing Paris on 25 March 1794. Two days later, he was caught and imprisoned in Bourg-l'Égalité. On 29 March, he was found dead in his cell of an apparent suicide. Jean-Dominique, comte de Cassini was arrested on 14 February 1794 simply for being a noble. He spent several months in prison before finally being released on 5 August 1794. Later that month, he retired to his estate in Thury.
\14]) A database entry gives the date of the Bande noire auction as 14 Messidor, which converts to 2 July. The French Republican calendar as adopted by the National Convention began implementation on 22 September 1792. Since Fabre d'Églantine, who was guillotined on 5 April 1794, is still alive during this memory, that leaves 2 July 1793 as this memory's only possible date.
\15]) On 28 July 1793, the National Convention declared 21 deputies, several of whom were Girondists, as traitors. The National Guard, led by François Hanriot, was sent to round up the accused deputies for trial before the Revolutionary Tribunal.
\16]) After narrowly escaping death during the September Massacres, Pierre Beaumarchais pledged his services to the new French Republic. He traveled to Holland in an attempt to purchase arms for the French Revolutionary Army but failed to complete the transaction. He briefly returned to Paris during the summer of 1793 before leaving the country again to conduct other business. While he was in Germany in late 1793, he was falsely declared an émigré and forced to spend the next two and a half years in exile. Beaumarchais' stay in Paris during the summer of 1793 coincides with Marguerite Brunet's ownership of the Théâtre National which opened on 15 August. Brunet managed the theatre until she was arrested on 15 November 1793.
\17]) In September 1793 during the Siege of Toulon, Napoleon Bonaparte ordered more artillery to establish another battery. The siege was successful and Toulon was captured by the French Republic. It was during this time that Napoleon's success caught the attention of the Robespierre brothers.
\18]) During Louis Antoine de Saint-Just's term as president of the National Convention in February 1794, he was noted for wearing unusual-looking clothing. This and his rather extreme political positions resulted in rumors circulating that he wore clothing made from human skin. These rumors were unsubstantiated and most likely invented by his political rivals in an attempt to discredit him.
\19]) During this memory, a civilian mentions the Supreme Being. The Cult of the Supreme Being was a deistic cult created by Maximilien Robespierre who intended for it to be France's state religion. It was authorized by the National Convention on 7 May 1794 and inaugurated at the Festival of the Supreme Being on 8 June. Its existence was short-lived as Robespierre was executed on 28 July, rendering the cult defunct. The cult was later officially banned by Napoleon on 8 April 1802.
\20]) Joseph Bara was a 14-year-old French republican drummer boy who was killed by pro-Monarchists at Vendée. He was subsequently hailed as a hero of the Revolution. Historically, Bara's funeral procession to the Panthéon never actually happened. It was originally scheduled for 28 July 1794 but was canceled when Maximilien Robespierre was arrested.
\21]) After his death in 1778, Jean-Jacques Rousseau was buried in Ermenonville, France. In October 1794, it was decided that his remains would be moved to the Panthéon in Paris. While on their way to Paris, the convoy carrying Rousseau's remains passed through Franciade on 11 October.
\22]) Jean-Baptiste Rotondo was arrested in 1793 and spent the next several years in prison while awaiting trial. The last mention of Rotondo in the historical record comes from a court document dated 20 December 1794. Rotondo disappears completely after this, most likely dying in prison at some point in 1795.
\23]) Louis XVII died on 8 June 1795 at the age of 10. He was buried two days later in an unmarked grave at Cimetière Sainte-Marguerite. Shortly after, rumors began circulating that the boy who died was not the Dauphin and that the real Louis XVII was still alive. This created the legend of the Lost Dauphin and over the next several decades, hundreds of people claimed to be the long-lost Louis. It wasn't until 2000 that it was finally proven that the real Louis did die in 1795, based on DNA testing on a heart that was taken from the autopsy of the boy who was buried at Sainte-Marguerite.
\24]) The Council of Five Hundred began holding their meetings at the Palais Bourbon on 21 January 1798.
\25]) Though the game doesn't give a date for this cutscene, it can be determined that it takes place in 1808 since that's the year that Napoleon ordered the Temple to be demolished. Napoleon gave the order in a letter he wrote to Joseph Fouché dated 16 March 1808. The building's demolition began immediately and was completed in two years.
\26]) Marie Anne Lenormand was born in 1772, which actually makes her younger than Arno who was born in 1768. Despite Lenormand's set of memories being available as early as sequence 2, there's ample evidence that they actually take place much later. The game gives her the voice and appearance of an older woman, and depicts her wearing the headscarf that she was known for wearing during her later years (the earliest mention of Lenormand meeting her clients while wearing a wig and headscarf comes from a newspaper dated 1814). Her first memory features unique dialogue that can only be triggered if the memory is played after completing the main story. And the conclusion of the three Flamel's Secret memories where Arno hands her the Elixir of Life seems to be a direct reference to the claims of immortality that she made about herself towards the end of her life. Though Lenormand did live a relatively long life, she was most certainly mortal, dying at the age of 71 in 1843.
\27]) Jean-François Champollion began studying the Rosetta Stone in 1808. Over the years, Champollion continued his research until finally making a breakthrough on 14 September 1822 when he was able to identify the phonetic values of individual hieroglyphs using clues from the Greek and Egyptian inscriptions on the Philae obelisk. Champollion quickly documented his findings and published them on 27 September 1822.
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2024.04.26 20:31 HFY_Inspired The Prophecy of the End - Chapter 20

Chapter 20 - Meeting the Locals
Previous Chapter
“I’m still kind of on the fence, really. They’re weird looking, you know?” Trksehnoarala had been watching the first contact event live with her friends, each of them chatting into their multivid screens. “All sort of pinkish and rubbery looking.”
“They kind of remind me of the Cetari, but with legs. And a neck.” One of the avians snickered at this, and a couple more laughed.
“It was still a pretty great display.” Another one chimed in.
“I’ve watched it six times already. That music is so creepy but I can’t get it out of my head!” Yet another opined.
“Someone here keeps replaying it on a loop,” Trksehn shook her wings as she glanced around her. “I like it but the same thing over and over is already starting to get old.”
“Where’d they go after that big show anyway?”
“They took off up north. Think they’re going somewhere near the Presh.”
“Ugh. Think we’re gonna get robbed again?”
“C’mon, just because it happened once doesn’t mean it’s going to happen every time.” Trksehn immediately went on the defensive. It was horribly unfair but ‘The Presh were responsible for the robbery’ was a common thought to this day.
“If they’re heading up to the Presh, maybe you’ll catch sight of them?” One of the smaller males on the video chat pointed out. “If so, you gotta tell us all about it!”
Trksehn smoothed out her expression as she felt the desire to flap her wings in pleasure. She was 24 years old, a young adult, and being the center of male attention was welcome. Females outnumbered males by nearly twenty percent, and for younger members of the species there was always stiff competition to stand out amongst each other to vie for attention.
“I wouldn’t get your hopes up. After the Bunters, I doubt that the other Matriarchs will allow the Presh to host another group of aliens.” Trksehn shook her head. “But it really doesn’t matter. What does matter,” she leaned in closer. “Is that after six years of work, I’ve FINALLY managed to buy a Soranet Ten!”
Several faces on the screen immediately contorted with jealousy, and several male faces looked up at this with excitement. “A Ten? You going to the firelands with that?”
“Why else would I have gotten a Ten? I’ve already started replacing the rear vortex cyclers and I’ve got some new airflow control surfaces coming in a few days. I bet I can even make the Nof jealous.” Trksehn couldn’t keep the pride out of her voice.
“So when will you be showing it off in person?”
“I’ll bring it by in a day or two once I’ve swapped out the cyclers. I’m just going to to run the ridges until I have those new controls. It has a tendency to swing wide when…”
Trksehn’s voice was drowned out by a loud roar from overhead. She looked up irritably, as if she could see the source of the tremendous noise through the solid wall, and sighed. “Sorry. Think some hauler with a bad stabilizer just went overhead.”
“They’re not supposed to fly over residentials though.” Someone pointed out.
“Well that’s what it sounded like. Not sure what else would come in that loud and that close.”
Though now that she listened carefully, she could hear a commotion beginning downstairs. “Maybe it came in for an emergency landing? Hope not, this place’ll stink worse than the vents.” Trksehn strained her ears to listen for more details. Having such good hearing meant excellent soundproofing in the rooms throughout the Hab, making it difficult to hear.
“Maybe it was…” The vidcall was interrupted as the door to the room was banged open by a young male Avian. “Trksehn! Look out the window! The humans are here!”
Trksehn dropped the bulky multivid tablet down on her bed and rushed over to the window, peering out. Her younger cousin Fohn was already peeking out, nose pressed against the clear plastic. A short distance away, past the treeline, the bulk of the Humans’ large shuttle could clearly be seen. There was already a crowd starting to form from the nearest few habs as people came out to gawk at the transport landing in one of the most unexpected places.
As they watched, they could see the crowd parting as the Humans and a few Peacemen walked away from the shuttle towards the Habs. Towards a specific hab. The two avians shared a glance then dashed out the door together.
Having excellent hearing made soundproofing rooms extremely important. Now that Trksehn was out of the room the commotion was far more evident as the entire Teff seemed to be running around frantically. The bedlam was so loud Trksehn couldn’t even focus on a single person to listen to get a better understanding of what was happening. It seemed like most of the Teff was gathering up around the large central plaza in the center of the Hab, and as she and Fohn stood there an elder walked up making pushing motions with his hand.
“Down to the center!” He moved from door to door knocking on it and urging each resident the same way, toward the center of the Hab. The living structure was a large and tall round building, housing well over a thousand of the avians. The center of the ring was a shared space where the Teff would gather to eat, drink, socialize, spend time together, even as they had smaller and larger rooms and apartments surrounding it. The entire Hab was designed around turning the large space into a huge shared living area for the residents, and as Trksehn watched each floor of the huge Hab extended its own ring out towards the center, adding a huge gathering area for every single resident to be present and able to witness the goings on at the ground floor.
By long tradition the younger members of the Teff enjoyed a privileged space on the ground floor, and the two of them dashed frantically down the stairs to assemble with the head of the Teff and the other younger members. Supposedly this was to let them experience the responsibilities and decorum of those who lead, but in reality Trksehn just assumed it was because the older and wiser members just didn’t feel like trudging up and down the stairs every day.
As the entire Teff assembled for the gathering, the large doors to the central atrium opened and a pair of Peacemen walked forward escorting the group of humans wearing their white and bronze outfits. Trksehn found herself holding her breath as she realized they were coming here. To HER TEFF. The situation was so unreal she found herself tugging on her feathers to see if it was a dream. World-renowned aliens don’t just show up at random Teffs for no reason at all. They would be carefully managed by the major five, escorted around like leaders of state, not mingling with an unimportant farming Teff.
“Attention everyone!” One of the Peacemen stepped forward, and saluted. “The Human delegation has chosen your Teff to reside in during their stay on the planet. Matriarch Kyshepresh has granted their request. Until they choose to leave the planet, you are to extend to them guest courtesy.”
The humans CHOSE her Teff. Trksehn tugged her feathers again. It had to be a dream. They came across space, landed with a show that every single person on the planet had surely seen at least once (and probably dozens) of times, and asked to stay with a practically no-name group of farmers. She wasn’t the only one bewildered, as the Teff’s Headwoman stood with her mouth agape at the pronouncement. “Of… of course we will. Erm. H… how long will they be staying exactly?” She finally managed to stammer out.
The Peaceman who had spoken turned to the humans, and Trksehn could hear him repeating the question in Universal. He then turned back to the Administrator. “They said they do not know exactly. Rest assured, the cost of their stay will be recouped by the Presh.”
The head nodded, and turned to the Humans. She spread her wings and announced formally, “I bid you welcome to the Noarala Teff. We are humbled to be given the chance to accommodate you.”
The humans stared at her blankly for a moment then turned to the Peaceman. He dutifully repeated the introduction, then turned to the Headwoman. “They thank you for the introduction. They do not understand our speech as of yet, and so we must ask if there are any among you who have been taught Universal.”
The headwoman’s gaze snapped around and unerringly landed on Trksehn. It was true that she had learned Universal, though she was far from fluent. But it wasn’t like she had any formal training in it - it was simply the norm for aircar components manufactured off-planet. Bunter components were often cheaper and higher quality than locally produced ones, so she’d taught herself how to speak and read Universal to keep up with her hobby. Now, however, all she could think of was that the entire thing had been a colossal mistake. Every single eye of every single member of the Teff looked at her with expectation, as did the Humans.
The headwoman beckoned Trksehn, who took a couple steps forward. She hoped her steps weren’t as visible shaky as they’d felt as she moved slowly forward. The headwoman turned to the Peaceman, “Trksehn has learned Universal. She can interpret for us.” The Peaceman relayed the message, then shook his head at their response. “She’ll be more than interpreting. The Humans have asked if she will be an official guide and attendant to the Humans during their stay here.”
The repeated surprises and bewildering circumstances were enough to make Trksehn lightheaded. Everything seemed so unreal around her. She felt herself nodding and spreading her wings in welcome, though it felt almost like someone else in control of her body. She managed a slight but polite bow, and spoke in her best Universal, “Thank you honored guests. I will do my best to be of assistance during your stay.“
One of the humans stepped forward with a big grin on her? His? Face. “Pleasure meet. Name Captain Alexander of ISC Arcadia.” Her Universal was better than any other member of the Teff but actually hearing it from this alien made her realize she was still not entirely fluent with it. They extended a hand to her, and she looked down at it with trepidation. What were they expecting here?
“Shake hand to greet new friend.” The human clarified, and reached forward to take her hand. The human’s skin looked rubbery but it was unexpectedly smooth and supple to the touch, and they had a firm grip as she mirrored the gesture back.
The Peaceman shook his wings with amusement and turned to the Headwoman. “We will be leaving a couple squads here. Others may try to barge in and we’ll keep them off you. We’ll also be around if you need any assistance.” He snapped to attention in a salute, then walked out leaving the Humans alone in the center of the Atrium with their young guide.
Trksehn looked at them apprehensively as they gazed around, unsure how to proceed. She glanced around as well, noticing the expectant looks from the Headwoman and the other leaders of the Teff, the worshipful look of her cousin Fohn, and the Humans who were now looking at her expectantly.
With all of that attention suddenly and squarely landing on her, panic instantly set in and her mind completely blanked. Desperately reaching for something to say, she just blurted out the first thing that she could think of.
“So do you all like aircars?”
—--
“OK Par, you’ve got some news for us?” Alex reclined on the alien ‘chair’. It had the same narrow back that the ones on the station designed for Sovalin did, obviously intended to allow them to lean back without putting undue pressure on their wings.
For the first couple of hours the Humans had been given a tour of the local Habitat. They’d spent some time meeting and mingling with the local inhabitants, and had been given rooms to stay in while preparations were made to have a feast in the evening. The ‘evening’ turned out to be slightly further away than anticipated, however, due to the local day being roughly 28.4 earth hours.
“Preliminary access to the local data has revealed some intriguing insights, yes. I am currently assimilating the language and a new vocal package will be available for your masks and visors for real-time translation as early as tomorrow morning. For now, I will attempt to hit the key points and we can begin making more concrete plans.”
“First, as we have surmised, their society is matriarchal. This appears to be the result of Females being larger, stronger, and more aggressive as well as the fact that they outnumber males 1.2 to 1. They are found in nearly all leadership roles. The exception to this appears to be local security and policing. Violence against Males is a taboo and thus they are able to de-escalate situations far better than the more aggressive females are.”
“Their society is centered around the ‘Teff’ family unit. A Teff can be as small as fifty individuals or as large as two thousand. There is a hierarchy where an individual Teff can be subordinate to a more prominent, powerful, or prestigious one, which is in turn subordinate to a larger one, and so on until we reach the five Matriarchs that greeted us upon arrival.”
“So those five control society?” Ma’et inquired.
“Not quite. Each Teff is responsible for dealing with their own problem. Conflicts or requests that reach beyond the scope of a single Teff are escalated from the subordinate to the superior for resolution. Anything affecting a single Teff is handled by that Teff. Anything bigger than that is handled by the next one up the chain, or the next one up, and so on and so forth.”
“Hmmm. Crew vote - all in favor of using the word ‘Flock’ as slang for Teff?” Alex proposed.
A chorus of ‘Aye’ or ‘Sure’s responded, and Par emitted two short electronic buzzes into the chat to 'clear his throat'. “A not entirely accurate but fitting replacement. To return to my briefing, I have begun the process of scheduling during the next ten local days to meet with each of the Matriarchs in person in their respective geographic locations to learn more about them and their people. From what I gather in reading through the library, each of the five has agreed to a semi-monopoly of certain items or specialities to facilitate trade and cultural exchange between each of them. This is done to maintain peace between regions that have historically been fractious, as well as to ensure that each ‘Flock’ maintains sufficient power to keep one another in check.”
“Sounds reasonable enough. Who do we start with?”
“Geographically the closest would be the ‘Presh’. We currently reside within their sphere of influence, and the speciality and local monopoly appears to be locally grown plant matter distributed for nutrition to the rest of the planet.”
“You know, I’m still learning to read these guys,” Josh joined in the conversation. “But the ‘Kaishe’ lady who leads this place didn’t seem very enthusiastic about our presence here.”
“Kyshe. And I got the same impression.” Amanda joined in immediately. “Perhaps we should start with one of the others who was less antagonistic until we’ve learned a bit of the lay of the land?”
Alex nodded to himself in agreement, and decided to state his opinion. “I think a good place to start would be entertainment. Our music went over so well on the station, after all. If we can use that to get a foot in the door then we can hopefully build some closer ties that way.”
“A valid observation, and one which I personally concur with.” Par’s flashed a quick check mark with his holo-display, and continued. “It would appear that the ‘Pem’ flock is something of a cultural hub that would make an ideal place to begin. With your permission, I will schedule for us to meet there tomorrow.”
“Ji? Min? You two have anything to add?” Alex prompted.
“Yeah. These guys are fucking nuts and I am THERE FOR IT.” Ji had immediately jumped forward when Trksehn had mentioned aircars, and though he’d had to be patient while she was acting as their guide around the Habitat, the moment that everyone had been settled the two Engineers had immediately absconded with their guide to look at the local transportation.
“Fucking nuts. Got it. Want to be a little bit more specific there?”
“What my moronic brother means is that the locals engage in high-speed obstacle course style racing in midair using some extremely interesting vehicles. The machine we’re looking at is capable of extreme mobility in midair coupled with an impressive amount of speed considering the rider doesn’t actually sit inside of it, but mounts it from above. Sort of a flying cyberbike.” Min clarified.
“Midair obstacle course? Seated ON and not IN a vehicle?” Alex blinked in surprise, as that was definitely considerably more dangerous than he’d actually expected.
“According to Trix, they fly around a canyon area while getting shot at from below. The projectiles deform and stick to the aircar when it’s hit, so riders are usually protected unless they’re doing something dumb like flying upside down. So not usually an issue of the riders being hit. She says it still happens, but rarely. They do wear a sort of armored jacket when they fly so fatalities are super uncommon.”
“Trix? New nickname?”
“Yeah, I’m bad with names and she was OK with it. So what’d you want our input on again?” Ji being distracted by a tech project was nothing new and Alex knew it’d be hours at the very least before his Engineer would pull his head away from the project he’d jumped on.
“Nothing. Just be ready for some meet and greets tomorrow, we’re going to visit one of the Matriarchs.”
“Fine. Great. Hey, what do you think the chances are we could shuttle up to the ship and fab some components here? I’ve got this great idea for how we can give her a little more oomph on this thing, by replacing some of the…”
Alex slapped the ‘mute’ button on his breath mask, and buried his face in his palms with exasperation.
—--
Trksehn was practically glued to the window of the shuttle as they sped through the air. She saw a similar view often when flying in other aircars or her Soranet, but the shuttle was flying quite high to reduce wind resistence. They were much, much higher than she could safely go and the view only got more breathtaking from this far up.
The last day had been an absolute whirlwind of emotions from her. From her nervousness when meeting the Humans and guiding them through the Hab, to the excitement she felt when the ‘Engineers’ had actually taken an interest in her aircar, to the surprise and amazement the next morning when they’d suddenly and abruptly started speaking near-perfect in her own mother tongue, and finally the joy of being taken along with them in the shuttle.
Well, okay, the surprise and amazement had been echoed by the entire rest of the Teff. To have a group going from almost entirely unable to converse to being fluent overnight was a shock, and their explanation - that a hovering robot crew member had downloaded their language from their computers and programmed in a perfect translation system in the course of a few hours - was equally implausible sounding. Yet it had happened.
Trksehn had offered to step down as their official guide and attendant after this, since her services as a translator weren’t really needed anymore. But the Captain Alex had declined, stating “It would be easier to simply continue with the original plan. Besides, Ji and Min would beat the fluids out of me if I suggested we don’t keep you around.” She had nodded and smiled brightly at this, since she was enjoying the role immensely.
Last night had been a grand feast, and surprisingly the Humans joined right in. There were many who were speculating whether or not they could actually eat the food provided but it seemed they had no difficulty at all. During the feast Trksehn hadn’t had much of an opportunity to eat herself, as she spent much time translating back and forth between various members of the Teff as the two species learned about one another.
She’d learned which of the humans was male and female, and that they did not have as many distinctions between genders as her own people. For humans, the males are normally the strongest yet the diminutive one - Ma’et - had proven to be able to wrestle on even footing with avians nearly twice her own size. They’d engaged in an odd Human method of competing, pushing one another’s hands as a measure of strength and none could best her at it. Even now some of the women of the Hab had taken to challenging each other in this new and interesting struggle.
There had been a lot of small minutiae back and forth. The Humans ate meat AND plant matter much like her own species. They could eat insects and many of their kind did, but the crew had never acquired a taste for them. They had lives even longer than the Avians own, though not by much. They came from a world with less water and much, much more diverse landmasses. The Humans’ description of their world sounded incredible, with dense jungles and arid deserts to snowy plains and massive, massive cities that stretched endlessly to the sky. A bittersweet part of her listened and knew, deep down, that there was no way she’d ever see such things… but she loved hearing about them anyway.
As she watched out the window, the grand temple came into view. The massive building was a marvel of engineering unlike any other on the entire planet - Fifty stories tall, hundreds of rooms per floor granting well over five thousand private ceremonial rooms in total, and that was discounting the large amphitheater in the center around which the entire complex was constructed. In a way it was just another Hab, but scaled up to an utterly ridiculous degree. And the most impressive of all, it was over a thousand years old. Crafted by hand, as a testament to their species.
The sight was obviously not wasted on the humans. As Trksehn looked around at the others, she could tell. Human expressions were still alien to her but amazement translated extremely well between species. The captain had glanced over to her and lightly prodded her side as he saw her looking as well. “C’mon, guide. Want to fill us in on this?”
Trksehn nodded and gestured at the building. “The Grand Temple. It’s kind of the Pem’s whole thing. People come here all day every day to celebrate life.”
“Gotcha. So it's kind of a religious thing.”
"A worship thing?" The word hadn't translated perfectly, and Trksehn cocked her head. "We don't really worship life. We celebrate it. We come here to celebrate new life. To celebrate a passing. To commemorate major events in our lives. We seek our ancestor's guidance but we don't worship them."
“Alright. Kinda similar to some Terran beliefs.” Alex slid down to lay across one of the padded benches in the assault shuttle. “Why’s the temple so damn big though?”
“So there's always room when people come here. Imagine if you came to celebrate a Teffs loss and the temple was full?”
“Hoooooooold up. You’re saying that everyone on the planet comes here when someone dies?” Ma’et was piloting the shuttle, and she glanced down at her instruments. “So the heavy traffic here is normal? Not just folks following us around?”
“I mean, uh, yeah?” Trksehn looked around at the humans. “Why wouldn’t people come here to celebrate properly?”
“Well, I thought there might have been other temples that are closer. Maybe one per region or something.” Josh opined.
“I don’t know how we could keep up with that many temples!” Trksehn protested at that. “It’s kind of a full time job for a huge amount of people. If everyone just ran temples all day, who’d do all the rest of the work?”
“Not all of them would have to be this big. This is kinda extreme.”
“Seeing off the dead with a smaller, shabbier temple would be incredibly disrespectful, don’t you think?” Trksehn had heard the stories about these aliens rescuing others in need, so their disrespect towards the dead seemed unusual for a species that seemed to value life properly.
“If that’s how things are, that’s how things are.” Alex sat back up and glanced between Josh and the avian. “It’s an impressive structure. No need to worry about the rest.”
Josh nodded at this and turned to the guide. “Sorry, Trix. I didn’t mean any disrespect. Things are different for Humans but we honor our fallen as well.”
She ruffled her feathers up a bit and smiled back. “No, it’s OK. From what I hear other species do things weird so I shouldn’t judge. Like, there’s a rumor that the Bunters just push the dead into the sea. No celebration at all. Just -shove-!”
Alex glanced at Josh and Par. “That true?”
Par’s hologram changed to a question mark. “It’s not in any of the data dumps we received from Farscope, so I can’t say for sure. The company placed higher value on goods than lives but that doesn’t necessarily hold true on an individual level.”
“Hmmmm. Well, just add it to the low priority list of future questions then.” Alex glanced out the window again, and motioned to Trix. “Go ahead and sit down. The grav plating doesn’t dampen the inertia super well while in a planet’s gravity well so there’s still going to be a few bumps and such when we land.”
Trix carefully sat back, spreading her wings out to either side. Unlike most seating, which had cutouts and room behind for her wings to relieve pressure when she’d sit, the human benches in the shuttle had none. Plus there was no gap behind the chair for her wingtips to slide down. Instead, she’d been forced to spread the wings to bring their tips up comfortably, and sit more towards the edge of the seat rather than scoot back.
Alex had, of course, taken note of the unusual posture. “If we do any other trips to the ship let’s install the center bench while we’re out there. That way she can lean back easier.” He mentioned to Josh, who nodded.
—--
“Welcome friends!” Teeshyapem and her male had greeted them more or less the moment the shuttle had touched down, drawing an instant crowd of curious onlookers. A ring of peacemen kept people a respectable distance away but the Humans’ status as planetwide celebrities had most certainly extended here as well. “Welcome to the Pem enclave. We are so pleased to host you here today.”
“Thank you for your hospitality.” Alex reached out and clasped Teeshya’s hand in greeting. She thought to herself that the custom was odd, but harmless. “I must say I was absolutely staggered by the temple over there.”
“The Temple of Life is indeed a grand structure.” Teesha waved an arm and a wing towards it. “It is the source of our livelihoods here. We built it and opened the doors to all, and artists and sculptors came to witness its beauty and be inspired. Now it has become the center of our lives and our city alike, and we in turn maintain it and our traditions.”
Amanda gazed up at the structure. Now that they’d landed and had a much, much closer look there was intricate stonework and carvings along every external facet. “I can’t even begin to guess how long it took to create.” She mentioned. “It’s absolutely beautiful.”
“Many hundreds of years, but it was not created at once. Initially it wasn’t even half this size. But as our populace grew, we found it to be incapable of keeping up with the amount of petitioners who came to seek celebration. So it was expanded. And expanded again. And again. Until it became as you see it now.” Teeshya’s wings swept upwards to indicate the incredible height.
A stiff breeze picked up and blew over the party, scattering leaves from nearby trees and blowing them across the wide promenade the group had assembled at. The entire scene felt eerily beautiful to the humans, seeing avians walking up and down the street, with the massive building dwarfing everything else.
“Well. Let’s not just stand around out here. We’ve prepared a small welcome for you inside. It’s nothing compared to yesterday, but we’d be honored to perform for you all the same.” Teeshya led the party down the promenade and along the street, pointing out local landmarks all the way. A crowd had formed of Sovalin trailing the Humans, eager for a glimpse of these strange featherless aliens.
The doors leading into the Temple were taller than they’d looked from afar. At least a full 20 meters in height, two feet thick, and from the looks of it hewn from a single piece of stone each. Alex couldn’t even begin to try to calculate the weight of each tremendous slab. “How many people does it take to open or close those doors?”
“You know, I’m not sure. We’ve used machinery to do the task for so long I don’t think anyone’s actually tried closing them by hand before.” Teeshya glanced up at the doors thoughtfully. “Perhaps one of these days we should actually try it, just to see.”
“Eh, no need. I was just curious. They’re incredibly sturdy looking.” As the group passed through the massive doorway, the temperature fell quickly, raising goosebumps on Alex’s arm. He glanced around at the cool, shaded entrance as they passed through. Braziers burned brightly in rows along the entrance way as they moved through the path towards the large central amphitheater. Massive staircases lead up to the higher floors, with odd looking alcoves scattered here and there. Alex peeked into one of the alcoves and saw a large platform rising up along an elaborate chained system. “Elevators?”
“Some older visitors require additional mobility, yes. They are old but carefully inspected every day to ensure safety.” Teeshya watched with Alex as a group of Sovalin ascended up twenty or so floors. “And as the Temple grew larger, we found that many had difficulty with the stairs. With the rest of the city around, there was only so large it could grow out before we had to start growing ‘up’. The elevators see far more use now than they used to.”
The group passed through the outer ring of the temple into the central area. The path was lined with temple attendants who had come out to greet the Humans. Trees with brightly colored leaves surrounded them, a veritable rainbow of plants stretching out before them as Alex beckoned to Par. “Tell me you’re getting everything here on video?”
“I am.” Par responded, and Alex glanced around. It was like the scene from a vivid painting in every direction around him. “Good. Do me a favor and fly the remotes from the shuttle in here. I’ve got an idea.”
Par floated back a bit and absorbed himself in the task, as Alex approached Teeshya. “Could you tell me a bit more about the ceremonies that happen in here?”
“Of course. We celebrate our lives and the lives of our loved ones. When a new life joins us, we celebrate it. When a change happens in our life, we celebrate the new possibilities that open up before us. When a life is lost, we celebrate their impact upon us. A loss is always a sad thing, but by looking at the happiness and glory of a person’s life we seek to ensure that the grief is tempered by joy.”
“Then… would it be appropriate if we were to play a song or two in celebration of the lives that have moved on today?” Alex carefully suggested.
Teeshya beamed excitedly. “I had hoped, but hadn’t thought to bother you… but I am sure that those who have come here would be thrilled. It will take some time, of course, to let those who are in attendance know of the event, and not everyone may choose to attend, but…”
Alex simply smiled and waved it away. “It’s not a bother at all. I enjoy the fact that our music is popular here. Josh!” He waved his arm over to Josh, who had been taking a closer look at one of the trees nearby, an odd tree with bluish-cyan leaves.
“Yeah Al?” Josh came right over, frowning as he noticed the expectant look on the Matriarch’s face.
“I was thinking of playing something for the Temple since we’re here. They celebrate life so something upbeat but still, y’know, in moderation. I wanted your advice on which song.”
Josh thumbed the button on his translator, temporarily switching it off without muting the audio. “Another performance? Is this the right time or place?” He responded in English.
“Course it is. But not like a big show, I just thought it’d be a nice gesture for the people who’ve come here today. I just can’t think of any really appropriate music and I know that you have a lot better taste for those style songs than I do.”
Josh closed his eyes in thought, then nodded. “I’ve got a couple of ideas. Human religions have been making music to celebrate life for millenia, but if we avoid religious music, there’s still a lot out there that could be appropriate.“ He glanced over his shoulder, sighing inwardly as he saw the silver remotes floating into the amphitheater. A part of him wondered if the Captain came here specifically for this, and he mentally made a note to ask about it later.
It took a short while for the word to go out to the celebrants throughout the temple, and not all had chosen to participate. But across fifty stories, people lined up on balconies throughout to hear the celebratory music that the Humans had offered. Instead of the simple circle from the planetfall intro, Par deployed the remotes in a complex pattern horizontally and vertically that he assured everyone would provide optimal listening to both the amphitheater below as well as all of the mourners on the balconies who had come for closure. A half hour later, the Temple Attendants announced all was ready.
“Alright Par. We’ll start with something quite light. Let’s go with the original Beatles remaster of ‘Let It Be’. Once that’s done, I want you to queue up Terah Morris’ “Beyond You’. The original as well, from 2184.” Josh was scrolling through songs on his visor, playing snippets only he could hear as he went through picking and judging each option available to him. Alex left him to it and took a seat on a stone bench near the path, observing the interaction.
They’d given Teeshya a quickboard, and as the music began to play throughout the amphitheater the screen illuminated and the translation of the lyrics played out before her. The song was quieter than the Humans’ intro, but still loud enough that all of those assembled could clearly hear each note and word. Only she herself knew the meaning behind the lyrics.
By the time the first song was over, her eyes were shining with tears. She’d been a fan of the Humans from the very beginning, and now she’d actually seen what these strange aliens had sung. The message of love and acceptance had touched to the core of what the Temple advocated, and how could anyone who understands such beautiful sentiment be bad?
—--
“Melk! Melk!” Zelineth was frantic as she moved from room to room of the mansion she resided in. “Melk get over here now!”
“Yes, Mistress. I’m here.” He immediately rushed to her side, and placed a calming hand on her back, below the joints where her wings protruded. “Is it your will that I aid you?”
“Something’s wrong. I can’t see Torief! She was to go to the Temple and deliver my missives, but I saw her back by now. And she’s not.” Zelineth spun around frantically. “She’s gone from my sight!”
“But that… is impossible?” Melk recoiled at that. Zelineth saw everything around her with perfect clarity. Unerringly. Distance would cloud her vision, but Toreif was not distant - she was here, in the Mansion, only an hour ago. Zelineth was frantic and shoved Melk hard enough that he fell backwards and had to scramble back to his feet. “Go to the Temple. Find Torief NOW!”
The smaller male ran out of the room, as Zelineth frantically moved back to her workshop. Everything around her was crumbling and there was no indication of why. First a new star appeared in the sky, without warning. That alone was terrifying enough, but for her Aide to have vanished from sight? That was unheard of. Literally unthinkable. The only possibility she could come up with was that her sight was being blinded, yet if that was the case why could she still see Melk? Why could she still see the rest of the planet? The herdsmen of the Bir as they roamed the plains were visible, clear as day. The farmers of the Presh, as they worked in the sun caretaking their fields and orchards.
Then, instantly, without warning Melk disappeared as well. Vanished from her sight instantly. She collapsed in her chair, recoiling in horror. Both her aides, her link to the world around her, gone in an instant. Had they died? But she’d have seen that. Taken perhaps? But how? To take them out of her sight, they’d have to cross the entire galaxy in an instant! It simply was not possible, was it?
The scrambling of talons against stone reached her ears and at once both Melk and Toreif both reappeared before her, but somehow they had a haze about them. She could not see them clearly. But she could see them, and that was a relief in and of itself.
“Mistress! I’m here! What is your will?” Torief was panting with exertion as she dashed into the room, fighting to control her breathing. Melk followed behind her, gasping for air as the two had completed the mad dash here. Being smaller with shorter legs, Melk had to run even harder to keep up with Torief.
“My will is to know what in the fire happened to you!” Zelineth screeched out. “You. Were. Gone!”
“My Mistress! I was not gone! I was in the temple, listening to the music!” Torief spread her wings wide and thrust them behind her as she knelt down in supplication.
“You were gone! I could not see you! I could not…” Zelineth froze, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I can’t see the Temple. It’s gone. What’s going on? What is happening in the temple??”
“The Humans, Mistress! They were visiting and are playing music for the celebrations! I was listening to it!” Torief was panicked now. Zelineth’s sight was perfect. This was the first time that the older Matriarch had ever shown anything like confusion, and her Mistress’ terror quickly filled Torief as well.
“Humans? Music?” Zelineth’s eyes were wild. “What are you speaking of? What is going on here?”
“The Humans, Mistress. The Aliens that landed on the planet yesterday.” Melk went up and knelt in supplication next to Torief. “We… thought you knew?”
Zelineth’s position and sight meant that she had never had to ask for news before. Minor details she didn’t bother to look into, yes. But she saw major events long before anyone else would tell them to her. Keeping her informed was so unnecessary it was practically a joke, yet now the two Aides were shaking in terror as they saw, for the first time, their Mistress confused and ignorant of the world.
“Humans. Aliens? Why did I not see this?” Zelineth grabbed a cup from her desk, and gulped down the water inside of it. “I can’t see the Temple right now. Yet you say that there are aliens in the temple?”
“Yes, Mistress. They are meeting with the Matriarch of the Pem.” Torief wracked her brain for details, but after delivering the missives she’d only seen the humans from afar as she stopped to listen to their music. It had been breathtaking.
“I need to see them. Bring them here.” Zelineth’s voice had regained its strength, and she stood pointing out the mansion door.
“Mistress, is that wise? They are alien, and the Matriarchs have said that…” Torief lowered her head as she raised her hands.
“GET THEM NOW! Bring them before me! I have to see them, now!” Zelineth shrieked out and Torief immediately burst to her feet, running out the door as quickly as she could.
—--
Next Chapter
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2024.04.20 11:59 EvilMonkeyPaw Veilbinder - Chapter 9

The party reaches Aestrahd, the capital of the Alvarian Empire, after almost a month on the road.
Thanks for reading!
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[First]
Cover
“Hey Jona, are you alright? You look a little uncomfortable.” Sergeant Okoda asked from the driver’s seat.
“Ah- Sir Brian, I’m fine, thank you. I’m just not used to it being so quiet. Combined with these windows, it feels like I’ve gone deaf and blind.”
Jona was riding shotgun in Okoda’s Mutt along with the four others, Xander and Perez were in the back and Dawson was turned out from the turret hatch. Nothing was currently mounted to the turret ring so for now, it served as little more than an observation position.
“I see, makes sense if you’re used to riding in the open air.”
“You and Dawson could try switching seats next time we stop to rest, the sling seat isn’t as comfortable but it won’t feel as cramped. What d’you say, Dee?” Xander suggested, raising his voice to be heard.
“Fine by me.” Came Dawson’s slightly muffled reply from outside the vehicle.
Jona and the riders that went with him arrived back at camp shortly before sunset the previous day, with six of their eight calexes sporting an extra passenger. By that time, those that hadn’t been a part of the group sent to the Styllani camp had done their best recovering and repairing the two remaining wagons from the ambushed caravan using what they could salvage from the destroyed wagon. In addition, they had set up their own camp just inside the treeline and buried the bodies of the three fallen guards, marking the graves with some leftover wood so that they could be retrieved and given a proper burial later.
When Xander and the others arrived back later that night with their unconscious prisoners in tow, they caused a small stir with the caravaners until they removed their helmets, masks, and night vision goggles. While they still regarded the marines with caution, Commander Atha’s reassurances went a long way to allaying their fears towards them.
Due to the lack of proper equipment to contain them, the prisoners were kept in a magically induced slumber until they reached the capital. As they had just eaten, they shouldn’t need to be fed as the magic would slow their metabolisms, though in all likelihood they’d wake up ravenously hungry after a week. Thankfully, it would only take a modicum of magic to keep them from becoming dehydrated in the interim.
As the horses had long since run off, when morning arrived, Jona and Tikal both volunteered their calexes to help pull the remaining wagons, though it did take some convincing before the proud beasts acquiesced to being used as common draft animals. In the meantime Jona and Tikal would ride with the marines, a prospect that both of them were nervous about until Nyrii and Lan both confirmed that the majority of the Veil had dissipated from the vehicles, with almost none remaining within the marines themselves.
With their traveling arrangements squared away, the newly grown misfit group consisting of marines from Earth, cavalrymen of the Alvarian Imperial Army, the six caravaners, and their eight unconscious prisoners had continued their journey towards Aestrahd.
---
Two thousand miles away, a severely diminished force of Styllani cavalrymen made steady progress back to their territories. As their acting commander stopped briefly to take a drink, he took a look back at the fifty or so riders that had managed to escape with him. His gaze fell upon the faces of the dejected, the humbled, and the shamed, and he reflected that only about a third of their force had been killed, which left around thirty or forty others unaccounted for. They had most likely gotten lost or captured following their hectic retreat.
He had no idea how he would explain their failure to the High Provost, of how their force of over 150 riders had been driven away by less than twenty defenders and how both the Inquisitor and their commander had both been felled almost without effort.
For now, he pushed those thoughts out of his mind. He needed to focus on keeping those that remained alive and getting them back to Eoch. With luck, and the blessings of Ylroz, their mages would be able to formulate some kind of counter to the Veil-beings’ weapons, but that relied on keeping those precious few that had actually seen what had happened alive to give their accounts.
---
The last nine days had, thankfully, passed without further incident aside from some light rain a few days prior. As the group had gotten closer, signs of civilization had made themselves more apparent, fields of wildflowers slowly gave way to grasses, which then turned into sporadic farmland, some of which was delineated by low stone walls. Widely spaced out, the occasional cabin dotted the landscape.
Every so often, a passerby would spot them and run up to greet the commander, only to have a look of panic cross their faces and beat a hasty retreat when they saw the four strange armored vehicles following the cavalrymen. The marines had started placing bets on each person they saw as to whether or not they’d be brave enough to approach, one of the marines under August’s command was currently winning with a lead of three coppers.
They had stopped for their midday rest at a large cluster of trees at the base of a small hill, the cool breeze carried with it a pleasant scent and a rainbow shower of flower petals as the mix of trees shed their spring blossoms.
If what Mirun had stated was true, they were less than half a day from the capital.
As Xander glanced at the crest of the hill and the large tree atop it, a thought struck him.
Nah, it couldn’t be that easy… he thought to himself as he stood up.
“What’s up, Douglas?” Perez asked.
“Nothing, just a hunch. I’ll be right back.”
“Just be careful, sir.”
“You know me.”
“Yeah, unfortunately.” She retorted while rolling her eyes.
With about twenty minutes left before they were to be back underway, Xander shot her a playful glance and a smirk as he set off for the top of the hill, unaware of Mirun following him.
Several minutes later, he unconsciously laid his hand on the tree at its peak as he gazed at their destination.
“Oh wow…”
He startled as a growling purr sounded from just behind him. Whipping his head around, he spotted the werecat silently padding up behind him. Mirun let out a chuckle at Xander’s brief expression of surprise.
“Yes, my reaction was much the same when I first beheld the Crown of Cadonia.”
Xander breathed a sigh of relief, making a show of hanging his dead and slumping his shoulders dramatically before turning back to the vista.
“Tell me, do you have cities like this where you come from?” Mirun asked.
“Yeah, we do, massive ones that hold millions of people, They’re modern and clean, but I don’t think I’d ever call them pretty, at least not the ones where I’m from. That though, that’s beautiful.”
Under the cloudless, aurora-tinged, midday sky, with both the sun and Nethe, Tyrium’s small red moon, hanging overhead, Xander observed the landscape expand down and away from them. The gentle hills they’d been traveling through, faint remnants of the foothills dotting the base of the far off eastern mountain range at the heart of the country, gradually leveled off into a wide coastal plain. As the forest that they’d been skirting petered out, Xander could see a large winding line of silver cutting the verdant landscape in two as a river snaked its way towards the ocean. Closer to the coastline, the river broke up into numerous smaller outlets as it formed a delta that led into a large, semi-enclosed bay that emptied out into the ocean.
Built upon the bay was the city of Aestrahd.
The crescent-shaped city bore resemblance to the moniker that Mirun had used, with a large wall made of muted green stone starting at one side of the bay, arcing across the land in a massive semicircle, and ending on the other side of the bay’s outlet. A fort was built upon one of the larger islands at the mouth of the bay, giving the whole city the appearance of a crown or tiara.
Spaced along the wall was a series of watchtowers that further contributed to the city’s crown-like appearance while multiple roads radiated out from the it, connecting Aestrahd to several smaller villages dotting the countryside nearby and along the river.
Inside the walls, the city appeared to be divided into three main sections by the river delta, with the middle third of the city built upon the delta itself. In contrast to the color of the walls, the roofs of the structures were of a dark blue-gray appearance. Xander pictured it resembling Venice in it’s prime, before the canals had been drained and filled. In the middle of the delta sat an obviously artificial island, it’s circular form dominated by a large official-looking building that spiraled into the sky, though he was too far away to make out any fine details.
That wouldn’t be a huge issue, however, as they’d be getting a closer look in just a few hours.
By the time they had reached the edge of the city, the sun started to dip lower in the sky and gray clouds started to move in from the mountains. The deep blue of the sky started to fade into a light orange near the horizon, which had long since become obstructed by Aestrahd’s walls.
“These towns seem a little close to be completely separate villages.” Xander observed.
Rather than take the direct route to the capital, they had stopped by one of the villages to drop off the caravaners with Atha giving them a missive and instructing them to head to the city to be reimbursed for their lost goods.
“You’d be right. They belong to and are governed by the city, though most of the communities have their own local leader.” Nyrii explained.
Excepting the cabins and cottages at the extreme outskirts, the villages that they had passed by shared the same Tudor style as the buildings in Felhaven, with the largest difference being the quality of the streets within the villages. They had evolved from simple dirt paths, to compacted gravel, and eventually to rough cobblestones in the villages closest to the city.
As they approached the city walls, everyone in the vehicle unconsciously pressed their heads closer to the windows to get a better view at the massive structure looming over them before gently arcing away to wrap around the city.
Dawson let out a low whistle.
“Damn that’s a lot bigger up close. How tall d’yall figure?”
“Fifteen meters at least, maybe twenty.” Perez replied.
Now that they were close, Xander could see that what he thought were uniformly dull green stones were instead massive granite-like bricks shot through with veins of some green mineral. Though not polished smooth, the outer face of the wall was ground flat so that the stone bricks lay flush with each other.
The sensation of their vehicle coming to a halt snapped Xander back to the present. Quickly taking in his surroundings, he saw that the entire convoy had come to a stop just outside the city gates, in front of which stood a formation of soldiers to receive them.
Seeing Atha dismount, Okoda and Xander exchanged a knowing glance.
“Alright, just like we rehearsed. Gabby, take the wheel.” Okoda ordered after a quick exhale.
“Yes, sir.” Perez replied as both Okoda and Xander exited the vehicle and walked towards the front of the column armed with only the pistols at their hips.
Closing in on Atha, they saw a large figure clad in full plate armor standing next to his calex at the front of the formation of guards. Unlike Atha, he wore a navy blue cape emblazoned with the seal of the Alvarian empire fastened over his right shoulder. Just under the cape, Xander made out the outline of a massive two-handed sword, though the figure wore it in the same way many of the others wore long swords.
A slight tickle of unease crept into the back of Xander’s mind as they approached.
Huh, so that must be what an orc actually looks like here. Xander thought.
A few days ago, Xander had questioned Nyrii as to her race. When she’d revealed that she was a half-orc, he remembered the quizzical look she’d given him when he’d asked why her skin was closer to dark gray instead of greenish. This, naturally, led to an entire discussion as to the differences between the orcs that he knew from fantasy compared to how they appeared in Tyrium.
While they still stood between seven and eight feet tall, the orcs of Tyrium weren’t hulking green walls of muscle with large tusks. If the figure, and the few others behind him, were any indication, Tyrian orcs were well proportioned with skin in various tints and shades of dark gray. The females seemed to be slightly slimmer and taller than the males, with both sexes being completely hairless. Their faces were more angular and closer to human proportions than Xander had expected, with the largest difference being the pointed ears and a slightly flattened, yet proportionately larger nose set upon a chiseled jaw that protruded forward slightly. As he spoke with Atha, he revealed thin lips that covered large triangular canines on both his top and bottom jaws.
Then he laughed, and despite the unexpectedly sonorous sound, Xander felt a spike of anxiety run through his chest at the sight as the figure’s lips stretched back further than they should have been able to, making his jaw seem to open unnaturally wide. The end result made the figure look positively ghoulish.
As the figure recovered from his guffaw, his pale gray eyes locked onto the two approaching marines before gesturing towards them.
“And these must be the two you were speaking of!” He exclaimed, his voice like warm gravel rolling in his chest.
Goddamn, there’s that smile again… Xander thought as the figure’s lips parted once more, showing far too many teeth. He wondered why it bothered him so much, especially because he’d seen Limnals smile before and it wasn’t all that different. He then realized that it was because they were Limnals that it didn’t bother him, their faces, while transformed at least, weren’t human enough to evoke this same reaction but these orcs looked just human enough to make the sight unsettling.
“Yes, sir. This is Sergeant Brian Okoda and Corporal Xander Douglas.” Atha stated as the both came to a stop, gesturing to each of them in turn as they both snapped a salute to the towering figure. Xander could feel his heart hammering in his chest, actively willing himself to calm down.
The orc cocked his head to the side thoughtfully and regarded the two for a second before crossing his right fist over his chest, bowing his head slightly as his gaze softened.
“It is a pleasure to finally meet the saviors of Felhaven. I am General Tarod Dur of the Alvarian Imperial Army.”
“The pleasure’s ours, sir.” Okoda stated, both he and Xander lowering their salutes as Tarod lowered his. “As for the town, well, they put a lot of trust in us and we didn’t want to let them down. We couldn’t have done it without their cooperation.”
“Hmm. Humble too. A good sign. That Commander Atha’riel trusts you enough to travel freely is another point in your favor.”
“That’s certainly reassuring-”
“Though whether or not I fully trust you remains to be seen.” Captain Tarod interrupted, his expression suddenly growing predatory as he glared at the two. All of a sudden, both Xander and Okoda tensed up as the feeling of dread steadily increased.
Xander’s heart was pounding and in the back of his head, a little instinctual voice screamed at him to do anything he could to get away from the figure that his mind was now rapidly registering as some sort of monster surrounded my a murderous aura. His breathing quickened and his legs started to move when he consciously willed himself to stand his ground, locking eyes with the orc.
He was about to act when his vision suddenly cleared, as if a set of blinders had been lifted. Confused at the sudden shift in atmosphere, he glanced around and noticed the captain’s men and women seemed impressed while Atha looked exasperated as she slowly facepalmed. The captain himself gave an approving nod and a smirk as he proudly crossed his arms.
“Oh general...” Atha muttered under her breath, exasperated.
“Good. Your conduct thus far says much about your intent.”
Xander blinked a few times before breaking the silence.
“What the hell was that?” He blurted, glancing back at Okoda who wore a similar expression of confused shock.
Captain Tarod held up a hand in a stopping gesture as his expression softened.
“Apologies for any undue distress, please be at ease. What you both experienced was the result of an enchantment placed upon my armor. It allows me to amplify feelings of fear or dread of those in an area around me, a useful tool for keeping an enemy off balance in battle, or in this instance, in a much diminished state, for discerning the intent of members of a mysterious and hitherto unknown military force.”
Okoda’s radio crackled as August’s voice came over tinged with worry.
[Hey, you both alright over there? We’re about to send in the cavalry over here.]
Okoda let out a relieved sigh before responding.
“We’re fine, Lance Corporal, at ease.”
[You’re sure sir? Both of you froze up like deer in the headlights up there.]
“Yeah,” he continued, looking at Xander who gave an affirmative nod, “we’re sure. Hold tight, we’ll be back soon, out.”
Xander let out a short half-laugh.
“Undue distress my ass! I nearly shat myself there.” He muttered under his breath.
“My apologies to you both.” Atha stated, looking mortified, “I mentioned that there was a chance the Veil would have dissipated completely, no longer nullifying the effects of magic, but I hadn’t considered how strongly that might have affected you both.”
“There’s no lasting effects, right?” Xander asked tentatively, shaking his head in a mixture of disbelief and relief.
“No, once the effect is dispelled, all returns to normal near instantaneously.” Tarod confirmed.
“Then no harm done I guess.” Okoda finished with a shake of his head. “Though if this Veil stuff really is gone, we’re definitely going to need to learn to defend against stuff like that in the future.”
“That is understandable. If the king sees fit to grant you asylum, I’m sure the mages over at the academy would be more than willing to assist you and your people in that endeavor.”
Okoda nodded.
“You said that went a long way towards building your trust?” Xander asked, looking towards Captain Tarod.
“That I did.” Tarod responded, cocking a non-existent eyebrow.
“Then let’s see if we can’t build a little more. We brought some presents for you.” He stated while jerking his thumb in the direction of the last remaining wagon.
The general let out a chuckle.
“Oh? For me? Are you sure you wouldn’t like to present these gifts to the king?”
“I get the feeling he’d appreciate them more after you had a look at them.”
“Then, by all means, lead the way.” Tarod stated, gesturing towards their vehicles. Atha’s lack of suspicion quelled any fears he may have had.
Tarod and Atha followed behind the two marines as they walked towards the wagon where the sleeping prisoners lay. As they approached, Xander traded a glance with Lan, who was at the reigns. The elf gave him a smirk and a slight nod as they passed. Reaching the back of the wagon, they peered in to reveal the slumbering bodies, swaddled in blankets, some with their shields placed atop them, and carefully lashed to the bottom of the wagon to keep them from rolling around and causing injury to themselves.
General Tarod once again raised his head and let out a resounding laugh.
“Hah! Unorthodox but effective! What have we here?”
“Seven infantry and one warcaster of the Styllani Theocracy, sir.” Atha said. “They likely splintered off the main force when Sergeant Okoda’s men drove them from Felhaven. They attacked a group of traders that were taking the same route as us. The sergeant and his men were instrumental in taking them alive.”
The Lance Captain showed another one of his unnerving much-too-wide smiles, though Xander noted that it seemed much less disconcerting than it did before.
“A warcaster? Perfect, the Kingsguard will be chomping at the bit for a chance to speak with them. Excellent work, all of you. Sergeant Okoda, Corporal Douglas, your assistance in this matter is much appreciated and will not go unnoticed.”
“Thank you, sir.” Okoda stated as Xander nodded.
“Now then, Commander, I will escort our guests to the palace. See to it that the prisoners are delivered to the Kingsguard. Once that’s finished, consider your people’s obligations complete for the day and join us at the palace. As for the two of you, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask for your people to accompany us on foot once we enter the city.” Tarod stated, turning towards the two marines.
“That’s- I understand. Is there a place where we can leave our vehicles? I’m not afraid of people messing with them, but I’d rather not leave them in the open.” Okoda replied.
“Yes, there is a carriage depot next to the stables just inside the walls, where they will remain under guard.”
“I’ll brief everyone before we head in.” Xander stated
“Do it.” Okoda affirmed.
---
Fifteen minutes later, General Tarod and his cadre of heavily armed soldiers were escorting the 18 marines down one of Aestrahd’s massive arterial streets towards the large building Xander had seen on the circular island earlier in the day. Gawking every which way like a group of tourists, the marines were armed only with their sidearms, as they had been asked to relinquish their weapons. Tarod had conceded to letting them wear their pistols while keeping their rifles safely locked up inside their Mutts, which were now under armed guard near the city entrance. Prior to leaving, Okoda, Xander, August and Mason had set the vehicles’ security system to standby, so if anyone attempted to gain entry, they would be notified immediately, a fact that Okoda was quick to inform the Tarod of.
Xander observed the denizens of Aestrahd making way for them while those that had already been at a healthy distance away craned their necks to get a better look at them. Just like in Felhaven, it was a mixture of people from seemingly every race, except now he saw orcs and, presumably, a few more types of limnal in the crowds. Looking further, a few of them seemed to be in the middle of erecting small market stalls in the middle of the street.
Due to both geography and security, none of the city’s four gates had direct access to the palace, instead they led from both the north and south side of the wall to one of two main thoroughfares that spanned the length the crescent shaped city, gently arcing to follow Aestrahd’s contours.
While the land outside the walls reminded Xander of the English countryside, the city itself more closely resembled pictures he’d seen in his high school history classes of Renaissance Italy. The buildings, most of them between three and four stories tall, were sturdy, yet elegant in their construction, being made from wood, brick and plaster in a style that vaguely resembled old Italian or French neighborhoods with a touch of the exposed woodwork he’d seen previously.
The streets were paved with smooth, rectangular gray stones, with the smaller streets roughly following a grid and larger roads radiating outwards towards the wall from the bay. Iron lamp posts were spaced evenly down the entire length of the street, each of them wrought to resemble ivy creepers growing up along a cylindrical core. At their tip, the ivy vines split to wrap around a translucent, roughly cut, yet polished, off-white crystal. This late in the day, Xander could see that some of the wall lanterns placed along the buildings, which were created with a similar design, had started to emit a warm white light, giving the streets a comfortable atmosphere. A small post jutted out near the top of the lamp posts, from which hung a small banner on which was sewn the crest of the Alvarian Empire in white thread.
“Huh, I wonder why they’re different colors?” Xander wondered aloud to no one in particular.
Still walking, Tarod turned his head slightly to glance back before explaining.
“The different colors denote the different districts of the city, green for mercantile, red for crafting and production, or in our case, yellow for business, and so on. Once we get there, you’ll see the colors for the administrative district are a dark blue with the crest woven in brass thread.”
“What, like actual brass metal?”
“Yes, I’m no blacksmith so the process isn’t known to me, but they are able to draw the metal out into nearly hair-thin strands that can then be woven. Ah, here, look,” he stated, pointing to a banner that they were approaching, “see the compass rose below the crest? While all points are filled in on the main street, anywhere else, only the point that is in the direction of the street is filled. When you are finally able to roam the city freely, you will find it difficult to get lost unless you’re trying to.”
It took a second for Xander to make a realization, letting out a sharp exhale in amusement as he did so. Okoda shot him a quizzical look as Tarod spoke up.
“May I ask what is so amusing?”
“Earlier, you said if we were granted asylum, just now you said when.”
Tarod was silent for a few moments before letting out a huff.
“Hmh, So I did.”
Half an hour later, they reached a large pedestrian bridge carved out of the same green-veined granite as the walls of the city. Leaving the business district with its rapidly escalating night life behind, they stepped forward on to the first of many developed islands on the river delta and crossed into the capital district.
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A/N: The facial features of the orcs of Tyrium were inspired by the werewolves from The Quarry, more specifically, this screenshot. I wanted them to be more like original interpretation of Frankenstein's monster, well built and proportioned but unnerving in appearance, rather than the more bulky muscled appearance orcs have taken on now. Another good comparison would be a leaner and more gaunt or ghoulish version of Azog from the Hobbit movies.
submitted by EvilMonkeyPaw to HFY [link] [comments]

2024.04.20 01:19 HFY_Inspired The Prophecy of the End - Chapter 18

Chapter 18 - Planetary Arrival
Previous Chapter
The trip to Kiveyt was mostly uneventful, barring a few practical jokes from the Captain. After spending all that time on being ‘mature’ and ‘reserved’ on the station, being able to just relax and be a bit immature was a pleasant change of pace for him. If not for the other crew members. Thankfully after Ma’et put him in a headlock and carried him around like that for ten minutes, he agreed to tone it down.
Now, however, the ship had left d-space and arrived within the home system of the avian Sovalin race. They had taken the warnings from emerging too close to the Farscope station to heart, and had instead opted to gate out much further away. They were now several hours out from Kiveyt and Alex had called another conference in the ship’s ad-hoc briefing room.
“We’re sixteen hours out from Kiveyt orbit. The comm suite is working perfectly, we have new data chips prepped and audio files loaded. It’s time for the single most important decision of all to be made.” Alex was standing in front of the assembled group, quickboards out in front of each of them. “We need to decide how we’re going to handle our intro.”
A chorus of groans came from the assembled group. “Do we really HAVE to do another one of your silly little shows?” Josh griped.
“Listen, man. This is a once in a lifetime chance. Sure I had my fun with my little surprise back on the station, but this is the sort of thing that we can never, ever do again. It has to be memorable. An event for the ages!”
“So just use that olympic song you used back on the station. It went over well, right?” Ma’et pointed out.
“Sure, the Sovalin there enjoyed it. But this… has to be more. They liked that intro. But I want bigger. More lively. More vibrant. More… spectacular!” Alex threw his arms wide. “There’s a planet down there with over a billion people on it. The moment we set down all eyes will be on us. There’s no better chance to make a wild and incredible intro to show them all how exciting Humanity is! We have one first impression, we have to make it a fucking incredible one!”
Amanda had her head down, hand over her eyes, as she shook in her seat. Alex thought she was upset at first, until she raised her head. She was fighting off laughter so hard there were tears in the corners of her eyes. “Something you want to share with the rest of the class, Manda?” He prompted.
It took her a few moments to get herself under control and respond. “No, not really… just… I was expecting you to want to do something like this, I just… the way you SAID it!” She burst into a fit of giggling.
Alexander sighed. “Fine, whatever. But I’m dead serious about this.” He sat down in his seat at the head of the table. “I like the Sovalin. I want to impress the hell out of them, I want our races to be friendly. From what we saw on the station there’s a good chance of that. So if we can put together a bit of showmanship and pageantry that will make us look good to them then we’re gonna do that. The question is, whether or not the rest of you want to be involved in this. If so, you can stay. If not, then you’re dismissed. But I want it clear that I will tolerate absolutely ZERO bitching from anyone who isn’t staying about what the end result may be.”
He looked around the table, and smiled. “So there’s three key points I want to go over. First, these people wear clothing. When we rescued the crew of that ship, the Bunters wore long kilt things and nobody else did. I didn’t say anything about our outfits on the station because I didn’t know if anyone’d care, but now we’re gonna be in a place where people WILL care. So let’s stand out.”
He pointed at Ji. “We don’t have enough Keplite on board to really go all out, so fab some rose gold rings, bracelets, earrings, etc. I want everyone to get together with Ji about what they want. Their tastes might not align with ours in terms of precious metals, but since this will be the sort of thing the future will look back on we can expect that to change.”
Ji had leaned back in his chair with his boots resting on the table in front of him. “Fine. We have plenty of metals in stock. We can get away with several different kinds of alloys. Electrum, white gold, rose gold, Brass, pewter, bronze…” He ticked off each of the more common precious alloys on his fingers.
“Fine. Make a variety. As for outfits, let’s get some matching uniforms going. Min, you’re the one here with aesthetic design experience, so can you get something drawn up?”
“I can do a mock up in a few minutes, but you’ll have to give me a base to go by.”
Alex looked around, and shrugged. “We’re not members of the navy, so I’d like to avoid their signature gold-and-black look.” He tapped his finger against his leg briefly then brightened up. “The ablative panels in standard mode are kind of a bronze color, right? Let’s go with white and bronze if you can make that work. Put an Arcadia logo on the breast, and the Terrafault logo on the shoulder. Other than that, go nuts.”
Min immediately picked up her quickboard and began scribbling out designs on it without a second thought. “So that’s our visual look. Second, I want an intro that’s gonna POP. We need some kind of song or fanfare for when we exit the shuttle. New or old I don’t care. Big thing is building up to a crescendo that lets us put on a show. Which leads to the third thing…”
Alex pressed a button on his quickboard and the image there transferred to the viewscreen behind him. “FIREWORKS!”
Josh, who had been taking a sip of water, immediately coughed and spluttered as the liquid went down the wrong hole. He choked briefly before managing to clear his airway then glared up at his captain.
“FIREWORKS? Don’t you think that setting off explosions during a first contact might not be a smart decision? Why the HELL do you think that we need to bring pyrotechnics into this?”
“Why? Because I want everything to be absolutely jaw-droppingly memorable! I want this to be the kind of experience that neither of our races will ever, ever, EVER forget!”
“Some weird alien creatures showing up and popping off explosive detonations and triggering a military response may be memorable. It also would absolutely suck to be the ones being blown to bits because their captain’s a giant manchild who likes pretty sparkly lights in the sky.” Josh countered.
“Don’t worry so much about it. We’re going to warn them beforehand that it’s all a show. But it’s gonna be a show and I’m gonna make it absolutely incredible. I will not allow First Contact with these people to be some dry, boring diplomatic stunt where a bunch of naval officers shake some hands then disappear behind closed doors. This is gonna be a big, flashy entrance! We are going to ham it way the hell up!”
“Alex, hasn’t it ever occurred to you that MAYBE there’s a good reason that most introductions are dry and boring.” Amanda pointed out. “When dealing with unknowns, it’s good to try to make them feel calm and comfortable instead of a big display that might scare them into a bad reaction. Now multiply that ‘unknown’ factor by a hundred because we’re talking about an introduction to a completely alien race. You like fireworks, but that isn’t universal. Not every Human does, let alone other species. And let’s not even mention the fact that who knows if it’d produce something toxic to them?”
Alex looked thoughtful at that. “I already checked toxins with the med files Josh got from the station. Just plain old gunpowder smoke won’t contain anything that will do lasting harm. As for the noise, well, I don’t want to compare them to like, dogs or anything, but you’re right that a lot of species don’t like big loud blasts. Still, I do know that at least one member of the species didn’t flinch when there was some loud sudden booming in some music…”
“You mean when you went out dancing with Sophie?” Ma’et had a big sly grin on her face. “She did seem to enjoy that, but man you gotta learn to dance better.”
Alex’s face grew red. “You guys were spying on me?”
“Hey, it was less than two days after Josh got STABBED. Par followed to make sure you were OK, that’s all.” Ma’et grinned as she watched the Captain grow uncomfortable. Mor than the others, she always did delight in teasing him. “And of course as your dutiful crew, we simply felt the need to check in on you from time to time to make sure none of those other fish fuckers had decided to take another shot at you.”
“Yeah but it’s not like I went there by myself. I did have a security escort,” Alex pointed out.
Ma’et shrugged, and Josh responded in her place. “Even with an escort it’s entirely possible that another assault, a more well-armed one, could have occurred. It was a reasonable precaution to take. The fact that we got to see you bust it down on the dancefloor with the security chief was your doing. It’s only reasonable we’d want to make sure you’re OK, after all.”
Alexander was growing increasingly uncomfortable as they discussed his outing. He didn’t normally care too much about making a spectacle of himself, or he wouldn’t have started dancing in front of Sophie in the first place. However the thought that others had been watching, even if those others were basically his family, was uncomfortable all the same. Probably because he hadn’t known they were watching. However they did have an extremely valid reason to have been watching, he had to concede.
“Well back to the point,” he tried to steer the conversation away from that subject. “I still want this to happen my way. Call me childish or stupid but I want to put on a big fucking show for them and I want my crew to help me out with this. It’s not just my ego here - I want our first official contact with them to be as amazing as it can be, given our somewhat limited resources. Please?”
The crew looked around grinning at one another. “Truth be told, it kinda sounds fun,” Ma’et mentioned. “He makes a pretty good point about making a grand entrance being the sort of thing that happens only once between races.”
“I think it’s a dumb idea, but it’s not the absolute worst. I just want to make sure we don’t get shot at when doing it.” Josh pointed out.
“It’s utterly ridiculous.” Amanda joined in. “Even without the possibility of them taking this as a hostile action, it’s an over the top spectacle for absolutely no good reason other than to satisfy the Captain’s desire for attention.”
“Sure, but he’s still the captain and it’s still his ship. If we don’t go along with it, he’ll do it himself. But then he’ll sulk around afterwards for days or weeks.” Min pointed out, then tapped out a message on her quickboard. Amanda glanced down at her own, and saw what Min wasn’t saying out loud. ‘At least if we join in we can maybe keep his wilder ideas in check’ it read.
Amanda sighed and stood up. “Fine. Just… try, TRY to keep it in moderation? Please?” She walked out the door and threw a pointed look at Alexander before she left. “Don’t even THINK about doing anything that would put us in danger. If you aren’t one hundred percent certain about how well it’ll go, you don’t do it. Understood?”
“Understood. I’m not looking to start a fight here. I’m looking to start a friendship.”
—--
“Ugh, who knew it’d be so damn hard to just pick a fucking song?” Alex griped, four hours later.
Ma’et had left an hour ago out of frustration, leaving Josh, Alex, Min, Par, and Ji as the members still discussing the song options.
“Princes of The Universe. There’s that cover that the Cybermentalists did a decade ago.” Josh touched his quickboard, and the song began to play. After a couple minutes Alex made a cutting motion across his neck, and Josh stopped it.
“Love the energy, it’s definitely got the mood, but a song that says we’re here for your love, and here to rule the world isn’t the message I want to get across. The love maybe. Not ruling the world.”
“They don’t understand english. To them it’ll just be the vibes?”
“Sure, but eventually they’re going to get translators or learn english. When they do I’d rather not have to explain why we announced our imminent conquest when we landed.”
Josh just nodded and continued to flip through the songs on his board.
“What about…” “I swear to god Ji if you recommend one more Plasmathrash song I’m going to shove you headfirst into the waste hold and open it to space.”
“C’mon, what’s wrong with it?”
“For one, every single one you’ve recommended has been so loud and distorted even I couldn’t understand the lyrics. And I’m a native english speaker. For two, it may be fun to listen to and “just blows them away” but that ain’t the tone I’m going for here. For all we know it may be MORE aggressive to them, like it is to us.” Alex said wearily.
He’d spent hours listening to every suggested song, suggesting his own. His tastes for first contact music often fell back on classical fanfare with trumpets and soaring melodies. Ji kept trying for modern plasmathrash with incredibly intense beats and screaming vocals. Min had been suggesting a variety of older and newer songs, while Josh was perusing intros to other events trying to find something that would work here. So far none of them had landed on quite the right sound for a once-in-a-lifetime thing like this.
“Kinda wish I’d hired a musician crewman.” Alex griped. “Not that you guys aren’t great but I get the feeling like the sound I want isn’t out there and we need someone to actually make it for us.”
“If I’m gonna be splitting my pay with another crewmember I’d rather not have them be good just for music,” Ma’et commented. “You said it yourself when you scouted us. Everyone pulls their weight.”
“Fair. I’m still kinda thinking that something like a fanfare would be good. No vocals to cause difficulties. Just instrumentals and a big swelling melody that’d time well with fireworks.”
“Hold off on that. I think I got one here. It’s technically a love song, but it doesn’t use the word love anywhere in it.” Ma’et pushed play on her quickboard and the music filled the air.
It only lasted a couple minutes, but Alex nodded thoughtfully at it. “That could actually work.”
“No offense, chief, but I like it a hell of a lot more than the trumpets.” Ji chimed in. Josh nodded as well. “Yeah, I liked the whole bit about ‘being in it together now’. You can’t say that message is bad.”
“No, no, the message is fine. The lyrics are great.” Alex sat back with a sigh. “Not quite what I had in mind for the melody but we have limited time to search and it’s better than most of the rest of the options we’ve been listening to.”
“Captain, I might remind you that I am capable of searching through the entire lyrical library of the ship’s music collection in less time than it takes for me to transmit this sentence.” Par reminded him.
“Yeah, I know. But I also know that your tastes in music are drastically different than ours. Which right there excludes every non-lyrical piece we could choose. Still, it’s worth asking about - how many songs reference a coming together, joining, or walking together without the word love involved?”
“Approximately 43,202 songs have lyrics match that description.”
“And if we were to listen to each of those songs in sequence back to back to find one we like the melody to, how long would that take?”
“Ah. Your concern is understood. Lyrics alone would not suffice if the melody does not meet the requirements. Incidentally, for all of the songs mentioned the total runtime assuming 24 hours of listening and zero breaks for sleep or other rest would be one-hundred fourty days, sixteen hours, and 23 minutes. If the task were to be split amongst the four humans present here 35 days, 4 hours, 4 minutes, and 30 seconds. Approximately. Due to variances between song durations that count could vary by…”
“Yeah, no. I appreciate the offer but we’re on a timetable. 12 hours to reach parking orbit, coordinate with local flight command to send the shuttle into atmo to check for breathability, prep for landfall, load up the shuttle and transit down there. I’d rather have this part of the task done in less than a day, let alone a month.” Alex shook his head. “Min, I think that track will do. Send everyone a copy. Josh, if you’re OK with it go ahead and take over nav until we get into parking orbit. You’re off shift after that. Par, you and I are going to go over the song and determine good beats and times for the firework display. Once it’s programmed in the fabber can produce some reasonable shells and we can load some mortars on the Shuttle.”
“I still think this is a dumb idea.” Josh had a huge grin on his face. “But dumb can be fun, and I’m honestly kind of looking forward to how an entire alien race is going to react when we show up with this ridiculous setup.”
Alex grinned back. “This is first contact, Human Style. Other races might want to just have a meet and greet with minimal ceremony and focus on the minutiae. But I’m gonna make this a spectacle for the ages. At least, as much as I can with the contents of one customized scoutship with a mid-grade fabber on board!”
—--
As the crew prepared their introduction, a different meeting was happening on the planet’s surface. Five female avians sat at a round table, with five males seated beside them. Representatives of the five large regions of the planet. Kiveyt was a much wetter world than earth, with closer to 84 percent of the surface being water-covered (as opposed to the Earth’s mere 71 percent). It was also a very tectonically active world, so much of the land that was available also had the fault of being in regions that may have been difficult to establish long-term outposts on, whether due to volcanic or seismic activity.
Five large Teffs controlled the largest stable areas of the planet, which in turn branched off into smaller Teffs under them, and smaller under them. But here and now the five largest had to decide the best way to handle the newcomers that had arrived.
“Thank you for assembling so quickly, my sisters.” One of the heads of the table spoke up. “We have been in communication with this new species, but per tradition we invite everyone to speak upon this.”
The speaker was a tall, well-built woman with light brown feathers speckled with black spots. Like the others she had mostly human features on her face, but with the elongated elf-like ears their race shared. She was the leader of the Nof Teff who went by ‘Boralanof’. Their Teff boasted the most advanced facilities of the planet, and had received and responded to the Humans greeting.
“Another group from beyond the stars. Here, likely, to steal more of our resources.” Grumped another. The Presh Teff had been the negotiators with the Bunters, and were often blamed for the disastrous deals that were made back then. It was over a hundred local years ago though, and the old leader had long since passed the mantle. The new leader ‘Kyshepresh’ still labored under the weight of discontent for the actions, and was still bitter about it.
“Too soon to say. They may wish for our riches. They may not.” The oldest of the group, the leader of the Pem Teff spoke up. “Perhaps they come as friends?”
“Friends or not, they’ll not take advantage of us again.” The leader of the Bir Teff responded in her deep bass voice. “We were fledgelings before them when they arrived, but we stand proud today. The mistakes of the past will not be repeated.” Scheeeenambir carried a solid staff with her wherever she went, and brought the end of it down upon the floor.
“But how could any of us have known they were mistakes?” Teeshyapem responded. “The wingless ones that cheated us knew the value of our skies better than we did. How will we ensure that these ones too do not try to gain more than they’d pay?”
“We can’t know.” The last of the five spoke up. “Ours is a rich world in metal and stone, but we were blind to the true uses of the ores and alloys they sought. Others too must have found new uses we can only imagine.” The M’rit Teff lived upon some of the richest lands in terms of mineral wealth, so Fohramrit knew better than most the true blow that their economy had taken when they were cheated by the Bunters.
“The best course of action, perhaps, is to make no deals at all. If we cannot avoid it, then we must instead prepare carefully.” Boralanof responded. “We make deals as a group, and we make no deals without an expert on the subject being present. Agreed?”
A chorus of assents responded. “Very well. But outside of dealmaking, we must be prepared. New opportunities DO await us here. For good, as well as ill.”
Kyshepresh snorted at this. “Be prepared, but for what? We knew nothing back when the Bunters arrived and cheated us. We know nothing now. What do these new creatures look like? What do they want? Why come here at all?”
The males exchanged looks with one another, but remained silent throughout as their Matriarchs argued back and forth. “Thus far the details I have sent out in your invitations are the details we have. They claim to be a new species called ‘Humans’. They went to Farscope station and found the kt’cheeees’tiea there to be interesting, and so they wished to come here and meet us.”
Kyshepresh’s face grew darker. “We’re just a novelty to them, then. They come to amuse themselves at our expense.” She was about to say more when her male placed his hand on her shoulder, and the two exchanged a meaningful glance.
“It may be as such,” Fohramrit responded. “But it is also true they may be a novelty to us as well. If they got along well with our sisters on the station, perhaps they might get along here as well.”
“Kyshe, we all understand your reluctance to these newcomers.” Teeshyapem joined in. “They cheated us and your Teff feels responsible, we can understand that. But these may not be the same as the wingless that used our ignorance to their gain. They may not even be wingless at all. We could not ever truly blame the Presh for their inexperience. Any of us who were led into that room could have made the same errors.”
Kyeshepresh simply nodded at that, falling silent.
“Perhaps we should take advantage of the fact that we’re all present then, to communicate with the humans more. Borala, do you object to opening communications with them now?” Scheeeenambir proposed.
“Not at all. I shall have a link engaged promptly with the communications tower.” Boralanof made a motion to her male, who left the room to make the arrangements.
“Perhaps before we speak we ought to agree upon what we must say.” Teeshyapem pulled out a small parchment and writing implement. “Words of welcome, I would say, is the most diplomatic way to start.”
“Yes. Then I would like to hear more about why they chose to come here.” Scheeeenam responded. “I would like to hear how they intend to interact with us and what they wish to accomplish.”
“That is not unreasonable, no. We should ask whether they wish to try to bargain or barter while they’re here. If we know in advance that they seek to make deals, we can be prepared as a result.” Borala mentioned, glancing over at the unhappily glowering Presh leader. Usually she was such a bright and lively woman, but the scars from past misdeeds were deep.
It was a short while before the communications link was established, but soon a large viewscreen in the assembly room brightened and the speakers came to life. “Our apologies for the delay, Matriarchs. We have sent a request to establish a communications link and are awaiting a reply from the incoming ship.” A bright voice chirped out from the monitor.
“Thank you, Chriiiinalonof.” Borala moved to be a bit closer to Teeshya’s seat, to see the document she’d been writing. The Pem had a reputation for beauty of phrase and art, and so she was unsurprised to see the flowery handwriting with multiple possible introductions written there. Some poetic, some simple, but all beautiful in their own way.
They hadn’t had to wait for long. Before more than a scant few minutes had passed, the screen changed to an odd circular silver image. “Greetings. I am Par, the communications officer aboard the ISC Arcadia.”
The assembled group had not expected to hear such a melodious voice, but they were leaders of their planet and were quick to adjust. “Thank you for responding to us, Par.” Teeshyapem immediately spoke up as the representative, as her Universal was by far the best. “We are the High Matriarchs of the Kiveyt. We represent the five largest Teffs of our people, and we have contacted you to offer our welcome to our home.”
“Your welcome is most appreciated. We apologize for the lack of video on this transmission. The communication suite that is used in this part of the galaxy is new to us, and we are still integrating it with some of our ship’s systems.”
“That is not of concern. We have contacted you because we wish to hear more about your visit to our planet before you arrive.” Steeeenambir responded in Teeshya’s place. “We do not object to meeting new friends among the stars,” ‘if friends you be’ was implied but unsaid. “But such new visits are rare enough we wish to better understand the purpose of yours.”
“Of course. Our mission to your planet is to extend peace and goodwill. We discovered the existence of your species when we visited Farscope station. We went there as a part of a rescue effort. Our ship encountered a derelict in space, disabled by a Tanjeeri attack. When we rescued the crew and took them to Farscope, we encountered a number of your people. Our relations with them were much better than the other species on board, and this made us desire to learn more about you. We believe that our two species can become friends.”
Each of the five matriarchs exchanged looks about this. Hope, suspicion, delight… all emotions were on display to one another at this statement. Kyshepresh covered her mouth, and immediately the audio was muted. “Fancy words. But I don’t trust them. They won’t show themselves to us, and they want to express friendship without having met us?”
“They’ve met others. Let’s ask about that before we know more.” Fohramrit responded, and made a blowing motion with her mouth. The audio was restored.
“We’re glad to hear that you are here peacefully. We, too, have often sought out friends among the stars. But can you tell us more of the people you met aboard the station?”
“Of course. Your caution is warranted. When we visited Farscope, we exchanged pleasantries with the Chief of Security Sffffheenoarala. She was most welcoming and we found her company enjoyable, and we have a missive from her detailing her experiences with us. We also interacted with members of the station near the waste reclamation, in an area known colloquially as ‘The Pits’. We bartered with a local merchant there by the name of Demt, who offered us a fair trade for the communication system we are using.”
Kyshepresh’s face had gone from surprise as Sffffheenoarala’s name, to a dark glowering suspicion when the trade was mentioned. The Noarala Teff was a minor one under her own, meaning she’d have no choice this time but to interact with the Humans as they came here. But Kyshe has met Sffffheenoarala before being assigned offworld, and Kyshe had thought only well of her at that time.
She spoke up herself now, fighting to keep her tone neutral. “If you have a missive from Sffffheenoarala, transmit it over so we can confirm its authenticity.” She still sounded more curt than was appropriate, but she managed to keep the rancor out of her words.
“Of course. Transmitting now.”
The document arrived quickly, but it was a few minutes before an Aide rushed in carrying copies with him. Each Matriarch was given a copy of the document, though Kyshe simply handed hers to her male. Time enough to peruse it later.
“Thank you for that. Do you require anything of us for your arrival? The Bunter delegation required assistance on our planet due to the gravity, and we would offer you the same hospitality we could offer them.”
“Your concern is appreciated, and there are a few notes we would like to mention. Firstly, when our ship has reached orbit, we will be sending a shuttle into the atmosphere to test it for any contents that may cause harm to our people. The shuttle is lightly armed but we will be conducting this test flight away from population centers to avoid any undue concern.”
Scheeeenambir motioned to her male, who scurried away to inform others. “That is acceptable. We will take no action against your shuttle so long as you are true to your word. What other accommodations will you require?”
“Secondly, to mark this historic moment of the first meeting between our peoples, our Captain has decided to make an event of this. Upon our arrival, there will be a number of recording devices deployed to witness the event. These recording devices are harmless and will position themselves in a circle around our landing position. We notify you of this to ensure that their purpose is not misunderstood.”
Scheeeenam nodded with this. “A wise precaution. We will take your word for it, but understand there will be a number of weapons on site. We have no desire to cause any ill will between our peoples, but there have been deceptions in the past that make us cautious.”
“That is fully understood. The last accommodation is perhaps the most important. To our people, ceremony is important for events of this magnitude. As such, our arrival will be heralded with the music of our people, along with a display of visual splendor. Our concern is that we wish to ensure that no part of this is misunderstood. The music and display could be loud and sudden but is harmless and simply enjoyable to look at. We do not object to your caution at wanting to protect your people at all but we ask that you treat the display as a celebration of a momentous event between our people.”
Now it was Scheeeenam’s turn to cover her mouth in a muting gesture. “I don’t know if I like this. They’re being overcautious about us not attacking them.”
Kyshe nodded and spoke to the others. “Agreed. We should not let them do this. What kind of ceremony involves loud and sudden noise?”
“They are alien to us,” reminded Borala. “They may have incomprehensible ways to us, but ours may be just as odd to them. If they offer no hurt, we should do so as well. It would be a grave injustice if we let our suspicions prevent us from greeting a peaceful race.”
“But if they’re not peaceful?”
Borala shook her wings at that. “If they start a fight, we fight back. If they do not start it, we should not either. And earlier they spoke of rescue of those in need. If true, that speaks greatly of their appreciation of others and is often not the behavior of maliciousness. Is that not the way of Life?”
“If true.” Kyshe spat out venomously, but then sighed and slank back. She could already see that her distrust alone would not be enough to halt all of this. “But I suppose we shall have to see.”
Scheeeenam made the blowing motion to unmute the monitor. “We accept your terms. We will be carefully watching to ensure no harm can come to any of our people, but if you be true to your word then we graciously welcome you to our world.”
—--
Next Chapter
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2024.04.18 09:06 quillinkparchment [WP] As the grim reaper, you know that death is certain, as we all have one life. You cannot understand how the cats keeps on coming back to life, and it’s making you crazy.

"And now," I said grandly to the soul who had just departed from her withered mortal shell, "I shall escort you to the afterlife."
The pearly form of the old lady smiled at her weeping children, who were gathered around the corpse lying on the bed, and then turned towards me, looking nervous as she took in my tall stature enveloped in splendid silk robes, the oversized hood of which had hidden my face from the world since time immemorial. Her gaze lingered on the fearsome scythe I held in one hand, the sharp of its blade so thin it could slice soul from body at the merest touch.
I preened. It'd been thousands of years since I'd been instated in my role as a guide for lost souls, but I never tired of the first impression I made on human souls. Call me vain, but I had to find something I liked about this job that was frankly depressing most of the time. The reactions of the ne'er-do-wells upon seeing me were my favourite; it was especially satisfying to watch their looks of stupefaction transitioning to those of horror when they realised that they were finally about to pay their dues. To those souls who hadn't earned a place in hell, however, I always tried to water down the menacing aura that surrounded me. Wouldn't do to have them so scared they tried squeezing back into their dead body. And besides, I preferred awestruck to scared to death... eh, well, plain scared would work better here, since it's a truth universally known that living beings could not die twice.
Or so I had thought.
I graciously held out a robed arm for the old lady to take, and we walked from the room. I took a step forward, but something wound its way between my legs, and given my reputation for elegance and grace, what followed was highly embarrassing. I tripped, stumbled around ungainly to regain my balance, but fell nevertheless. As if in slow motion, the floor rushed up to meet me, and I heard the old lady cry out I hit the floor. The impact was inaudible but no less forceful, and if I had lungs, all the breath would have been knocked out of them. My scythe clattered to the floor, its blade neatly sinking into the wooden floor between my fingers.
I scrambled up as quickly as I could, glad for the hood that covered my face, and looked for the object over which I had tripped. And then I rubbed my eyes and looked again. My jaw dropped.
"You!" I said to the tortoiseshell cat, which had seated itself by one of the bedposts and had started washing it's front paws, its yellow eyes fixed unblinkingly on my face. As if it could see my features under the hood.
As if it knew me.
And it did. I was positive that this was the very same cat I had seen on the dust road outside the house, just a few seconds ago, as I made my way to the house for my appointment with the old lady. Its left ear gave it away - it was torn such that the edge formed a neat W. But the cat I had seen earlier was lying with its feet and head at odd angles, with blood and a bit of intestines pooling at a wound in its stomach. I'd seen the soul of the cat standing next to its body, looking confused.
The victim of a speeding carriage, I had thought as I had elegantly stepped over the corpse and past the soul, and then I thought no more of it - for I was meant to escort only human souls. There were far too many other life forms on earth for me to start escorting every departed soul to the afterlife - even cats, who were the only creatures able to interact with us when we were alive.
But now this cat was as alive as it was possible to be. I lunged at it and turned it over to check the wound on the stomach, and managed to catch sight of a quickly disappearing scar before it yowled in protest and raked its claws across my forearms.
"The hell?" I said blankly, barely registering the scratches and the black liquid that oozed from them.
The old lady cried in distress, "Oh, say that it isn't his time to go yet! He's just two years old, the dear!"
"I'm afraid, Madame," I said gravely, "it was indeed his time, but he had somehow cheated death. I will put this to rights myself."
Keeping a firm hand around the scruff of the feline's neck, I picked up the scythe with the other and, with a practised swish, severed the soul from the body. The cat's soul landed lightly on the floor on all four feet, looking highly surprised. I nodded in satisfaction, and then laid the dead body down onto the floor, arranging it so that it would look as if it was merely sleeping.
The soul of the cat mewed, walking up and nosing at what was once its body. And then it crawled back into the body, fitting itself perfectly, just like I'd seen many a human soul try to do. And, like them, I thought dispassionately as I got up to go, it would soon realise that -
The cat opened its yellow eyes and looked at me. Then it yawned, as if it'd just woken up from a deep slumber. Which it had done - the deepest slumber known to all living beings; one they shouldn't be able to wake up from.
Ignoring the old lady's protests, I separated the feline's soul from its body for a second time, and then a third, but each time the soul would saunter back into its body and join back together, the bond between them good as new.
After the fifth failed attempt, I turned to the horrified old lady, who had been wailing through it all. "Madame, I'll be just one moment," I said, and then with a swirl of my cloak, teleported to the throne room of Hell, where Devil King was reclining on his ebony throne, frowning at a scroll of parchment he was holding in one hand.
"My liege," I said after a perfunctory bow, trying and failing to keep the accusatory tone out of my voice, "I have noticed an anomaly where a cat has been able to come back to life repeatedly, and my scythe is powerless against it. You are one of two Beings who would have such abilities to grant this gift, and so I have come to ask if this is indeed your doing?"
He sat up and waved the parchment at me. "Reaper! Sharp as always. I've just received this missive from the Fates, telling us that a plague spread by rats will soon hit the Earth, and death toll is expected to be high. Hell's already running close to full capacity, and our expanded quarters are still under construction, so I had a little - ah - preventive measure put in place, to keep the number of deaths down to a manageable level."
"And this preventive measure include giving cats extra lives?" I said slowly, trying to take it all in.
"Tsk tsk, lives aren't my prerogative," he said, gesturing up at the heavens. "Don't let Him hear you say that. I merely give cats a free pass from death. Several free passes, in fact. Genius, isn't it?" He smiled smugly.
"How many free passes?" I said faintly.
"Eight," he said airily.
"But - my lord!" I spluttered. "The plague's just a one-off event; the cats are going to have these - these free passes for all time!"
"Oh, Reaper," he cried, jumping out of his throne to throw an arm around me as he steered me down towards the double doors that led out of his throne room, "you were always such a stickler for the rules of death. Think about it this way. If the plague comes about in full force, you'll have to work eight times as hard as you do now. For a few years. How's that make you feel?"
I refused to be baited, keeping my mouth shut.
"I'm just the king here, I won't have to lift a finger when all those souls depart for their afterlife. But I'm doing this for you, my friend," he said earnestly.
I almost believed him. But then my eyes fell onto the creature dozing in the corner of the room, and a thought occurred to me.
"It's not because you don't like cats, is it?" I asked. "You're not trying to keep them out of your dominion, are you?"
He opened his eyes wide, the picture of innocence. "Of course not, Reaper."
I thought about the hours of overtime this scheme of his would save me, and decided not to probe further. But as he showed me out and slammed the doors behind me, indicating a touched nerve and causing the dozing hellhound inside to emit a bark, I couldn't help but smile.
Should've known he was a dog person.
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2024.04.11 10:00 thinkBrigger [Event] Hop Along, Back to Where You Belong

Peyton

The Twins, Along the River He did not come bearing the colours of his own house but that of Riverrun, Peyton having taken no standard of his own with its only flourish being a cloak he bore of black. It, along with the fish who inspired it, as much a part of his heritage by now as his father was. The ragged material was pinned across his breast with a silver brooch that had been cast in the shape of a lily pad; a token provided to him by the Lord Vypren from his own cape as a parting gift at the tournament of castle Darry where he and Brynden had first become thick as thieves. Peyton assuming then after a position of squire beneath the Blackfish's banner as an excuse to maintain their antics though their boyhood had been tainted since the day Jack Whent had died in attempt to avenge his brother, and what was left over was summarily slain in the Stepstones as Peyton had too near succumbed to the veil beyond.
Thumbing at the brooch as he rode he was conscious of the fact it laid resting atop two old wounds where arrows had been embedded within his chest. Having nearly punctured his lung, sheer dumb luck seeming to be the only factor that had saved his skin. Peyton had lamented once his failure to out shoot Xhobar Qhoqua had been an opportunity to prove himself long lost. He had in those days dreamed of returning to the Riverlands with a name his own, earned and hard fought for. Even in fantasy not presuming he might beg the honour of taking on the oaths and titles that accompanied the name of his sire. Perhaps paint a plant of his homelands upon his shield to accent that of the House Vypren rather than embrace theirs in inverse colouring of their frog banner as was sometimes expected of a bastard.
It sat ill with him still that this identity--the one of vagabond boy and bastard both--had been stricken from the record as he was left unaware that the talk of his worth had transpired in his absence until long after it was done. It in Peyton's mind did not feel a boon fore he had not earned the honour of his father's house himself. Worse, he was not so thick as to be ignorant of the debt that had been incurred in its bestowing--not of his own sake but that of his father who had sold out his once liege if the contents of his letter were to be trusted.
He knew his sire not to be a proud man, but one who took pride in his loyalty. The Lord Vypren was not some lap dog at the beck and call of the Crossing yet he was beholden to them and took up at times service at the behest of the Lord Frey. They were near enough in age to be contemporaries to one another yet Peyton had never been given the impression that his father was friends with Lord Walder, nor even friendly for that matter. Infrequent was the company they kept and seldom without a summons having been issued from the Twins to inspire it though that might be blamed on Vardis too, having adapted into something of a hermit since his only surviving son had left the spawning pool. Yet neither had Peyton ever heard the Lord Vypren speak ill of his liege Lord, going so far as to chastise and dismiss those who did dare to do so within the extended dominion of the House Frey.
None of what he had been told of the situation aligned with his expectations of his patriarch. They were a poor folk which might in some inspire a desire to covet a reward for the capture of the escaped Freys though this was not the way of the Lord Vardis, all the more in that he had been beside himself when Walder Frey had abruptly paid in full for the improvement of the Sevenstreams barely three years prior of his own volition. He had seen the state of his sire then. The old frog's face on cusp of weeping as he highlighted the unexpected providence and his gratitude had at that time been boundless. There was no price in all the Realm presumed then that might have bought his loyalty out from under him... save perhaps one subject sore.
Peyton shifted uncomfortably in his saddle at the thought. Misliking that his own presence might be presumed as a chink in the armour of the Lord Vardis in which his convictions might be corrupted; all the more in that his chosen heir in Lucias had been recently thwarted by Castamere, leaving the succession of the Sevenstreams as a point of contention.
He shook these less desirable thoughts from his shoulders though the shame in his heart did compound. He was less than half a day's ride from the Crossing and decided this place along the river road was as good as any to dismount and wash himself to a state presentable. He had called upon a barber prior to departing Riverrun so as to trim what had been a mop of blond curls that adorned his head into a closer, more presentable cropping though he had left thin remnants of his whiskers to regrow along his lip and chin during the journey. Peyton shed from his person his riding clothes, stripping first the quiver and bow from his back, and wriggling free of his trousers and boots so he might wade into the river. Selecting a section along the bank where it was shallow enough that he might linger along the edges without being contested by the current. Stooping to collect the water in his hands, splashing it across his face as he layered it systematically over his slender frame. Washing from himself the grit and the grime of the road, then subjecting himself to a second pass as he was aware the company being kept at the Twins far exceeded the rank of those he was accustomed to brushing shoulders with--barring Hoster himself, who was as good as a brother to Peyton as little Otis had been when they were small and whom the fact that he was Lord Paramount sometimes came second in their dynamic. The Lord Tully perhaps charmed that the once bastard had long acted as counter-weight to his blooded and sometimes hot-headed brother Brynden. Or that Peyton was simply prone to doing what he was told without complaint.
By the time that Peyton was satisfied with his cleansing in the river, he was shivering despite the gradual warming of the season. Fetching from his traveling sack the first set of fine clothes he had packed for the venture as he attempted to look the part of a Vypren if his alleged legitimization did not turn out to be some elaborate hoax as a piece of him suspected it to be. He hauled the shirt hastily over his shoulders so that he might secure his cloak to fend off the chill.
As he he secured his boots, he took the time to assess his surroundings which harboured a sort of solemn serenity. Unaltered by the politicking a scant few miles north of this place. Would that I was a beetle fidgeting in the underbrush, he thought, beholden to naught but the changing of the season. Peyton did not feel terribly more significant to an insect no matter the name he was now entitled to. If anything, it was the beetles and the bugs whom he found himself envious of in that instant.
Sighing, he took hold of the reins of his horse and set his foot the the stirrup, wishing there was time to take in the countryside. There was good hunting to be had on the way winding north toward the Crossing though Peyton chose not to risk his skin for the pelt of a rabbit, not with so abundant a force there awaiting. He was unsure as to whether the royal forces had been retained in, well... force or if they had dispersed as some of the Riverlords had been bid to at the breaking of the siege. Either way it was best to take no chances when patrols were on so high a state of alert as though Walder Frey might be found hunched behind a blade of grass about to go bolting as he had somehow already from his abode.
That search had ended before it had ever begun, Peyton felt the same fatigue of indecision as must have been inflicted on his father. Stone was never enough on its own to secure the Sevenstreams, not with a dragon breathing down the Lord Vypren's neck.

Vera

Maidenpool, The Harbour
Upon her departure from the city of Kings the acquisition of a second chest had proven a necessity not so unlike when she had left King's Landing last--though a different King had reigned then. While a stack of books almost as tall as Vera herself was not an uncommon sight within her quarters it did not make for a terribly convenient form in which to bundle them up for travel. As had Vera left the capital with more garments than she had come with, having made it a priority to have several fresh fine dresses on hand should she be called upon in court or counsel on behalf of Maidenpool. It had not in the end been required of her but she was nothing if not a nervous, fretful soul and better she be prepared to accommodate the aid of Ser Donnor than stall should ever it be asked of her. Reasoning these threads would have a use in equal part in the court of the Lord Bryan when the time came to reunite with her betrothed--and Donnor's for that matter.
She had need brace her knees atop the trunks as she packed them for departure so over laden had they become and it was the books to blame. Which was not much in way of weight but enough so that the cover had strained close together so that she could fumble the clasp closed. The brass buckle scraping as if in protest as she did, Vera slinking away from it in a sorts of shame that aroused only after an ill deed was done. It occurred to her how cumbersome her possessions would be for the servants and sailors to sort transport from the Red Keep to hull to home. Maidenpool felt more prospect of one than a home fully realized yet Vera had made her peace with the fact that upon her arrival, she was not like again to leave the burgeoning city again at least without the explicit consent of the Lord Bryan.
Better that I maintain a few creature comforts in that light, until I can send to Harrenhal for the rest, she had come to convince herself though realizing the chief of any she sought for did in Maidenpool await her. More, she did not expect of the Lord Mooton to bundle her away in some tower to wile away her days... though if she was permit the company of her books, it may not have been the worst of all fates possible. No longer dreading what awaited her in Maidenpool upon her arrival with the fortunes that had come to her in droves; Helicent remained a treasured friend if somewhat distant though it was leagues to be blamed for that not disposition, the Lord Bryan too had proven himself to be quite considerate company so the notion of wedding him aroused little fear now, but for the inevitable bedding. Her heart was in fact brimming now with a hope she had never held knowing, too, that in Maidenpool the Lady Blackwood did await Vera with a yearning that rivaled her own.
It was no idle thing that the only tome she had not packed away into her trunk for travel had been one that Alyx had taken such care to send her. The Writings of Maester Eon were particularly dense in design and though Vera was an avid reader, even she could not comb through its contents quickly as evidenced by how oft it occupied her lap and how she fell not infrequently to sleep whilst pouring over its pages. What progress was to be made in its finishing was however halted as the past time was not one that Vera was fit to focus on some slender a selection of writing as thrashing waves did accost the ship that bore her northbound.
It had been the Knight Admiral's hand she had taken as she boarded a vessel for the first time. The water was not unfamiliar to her, in a way, fore the Mere was abundant with natural streams and a shallow lake that reminded her of her girlhood as was the God's Eye a sight quiet soothing to her. In both on occasion a boat might be brought to the shoreline for the women and children to clamour within to bask in the calm waters. Most of the waves in these places brought upon by breezes in lieu of gales and when the skiff would wobble it was oft by a movement seen by the others in your company. Neither of which came close to comparing to the force that was the ocean and barely a day had gone by after embarking fore Vera had been humbled by the intensity of the ocean. Understanding why it was the waters were thought of as untamed, why men willfully read omens in the skies before braving open water.
Sailing was not as the stories implied of it. There were no grand horizons to be had for Vera's sake who had spent the better part of the journey sick, hunched over the railing above deck and utterly unable to adapt to the churning of the waves against the hull. She was in this state able to reason her relative safety--Ser Donnor was not only an avid sailor but a capable admiral, recognized by peers and rivals alike; regardless of any opinion personal held about the conflict that had gripped the Bay of Crabs it was a fact that the Mooton's maintained an authority unrivaled along this route. That she need contend only with keeping the contents of her own stomach contained was a relief to Vera albeit that she spend a majority of the journey apologizing profusely for her broken composure.
It mattered not had they been sailing for half a moon, Vera could have spent the rest of her life upon that ship and never adapted to the swaying of the sea. Her legs wobbled with every step it took to reach the deck above and she was as sick above as she was below, so she choose the open air most often if she was to be miserable either way. Relenting to descend only as she need fall fitfully and fatigued to sleep, fighting nausea as she did unsure of how to entertain herself in absence of written word. When Ser Donnor announced that they were nearing Maidenpool, she might well have kissed him there and then in gratitude that this ordeal was near at end. Yet, she supposed, if he proved himself as patient as Vera herself had been eventually he would earn one indirectly from his own intended that bore a hint of all the sweetness of the future Lady of Maidenpool.

Lucias

Castamere, The Shallows of the Mere
[TW: Suicide]
One might presume that left to fester long enough, the seething in one's soul might eventually give way to submission if only to secure some semblance of self. This had not, however, proven the case with Lucias. He had remained as livid at his lodgings in Castamere as they day he had first been forcibly escorted into them. He still paced, and often was prone to refusing his meals though he never waved away the cup of wine that accompanied them. Nor did he nurse the substance, as the same runner who would come to deliver his supper would be sent away within seconds with plate heaping and cup empty. The meager amount of the drink not enough to subsist his fervent desire for more, nor sooth the deep ache in the back of his mind that rumbled in his belly that had for so long now gone unsated.
That was in his opinion a cruelty abject. It was bad enough to be condemned to Castamere but to do so sober? It was torture outright, to make no mention of the swath of visitors unwanted who called too frequently upon him for his liking. Which was equivalent to calling upon him at all as he was never pleased to see anyone. The sole exceptions of his disposition proving to be his cousin Rytos who aroused a rhythm in Luc and the young Danos Dunn whom a slight accord had been struck though it was less the man who seemed soothe him as the memory of a time different than this one, before he had descended to Dunstonbury to discover the death of the boy's father. A man that Lucias had hoped to call friend had in the end been a corpse and the crypt had been devoid of the banter that they had relied on for bonding. He resented deeply the Lord Davos for having been complicit in his capture and at times, this bitterness did burst out from him in droves though he was working on containing these incidents. Aware on some baser level that for all his anger, Danos was not at fault for the treachery of his kin which was an incident they kept in common to some extent.
His hate was so potent that servants sometimes saw the same ire reserved for his own sire, and the liege Lord of House Reyne; the latter of whom Luc could not manage to even spare a thought to without erupting into curses. More than once, Lucias had lunged at the Lord Rogar spitting vitriol and would have swung upon the man had he not been swiftly detained by the men in service to Castamere. These incidents never waned no matter that the weeks gave way to months and the months spun slowly into years, that he never got near enough to Rogar after the first occurrence seemingly no deterrent to his attempts nor the beatings that transpired after. Some sustained in the scuffling to subdue him and in unseen instances as he was brought away to sulk sporting bruises of blue, purple and those that sported a green tint that hinted toward having earned them in an earlier bout.
Lucias tolerated the visits by his mother, not out of any true affection he possessed for the woman as she was to him a harpy in bed with the lions. Yet their encounters demonstrated a degree of success in establishing a routine of normalcy simply on the basis that the Lady Vivienne never attempted to appeal to her son in pleasantries or want to rehabilitating him. Their time together spent mostly on griping and grievances, many of which they could share in as contempt had become a core of who they were as people. There was within the pair an innate venom, odd as it was that one had not inspired the other due to Lucias' extended absence from Castamere their inclinations aligned complimentary to one another; in these brief encounters Luc was able to expend fragments of his enmity that else might have been channeled back into Castamere. It helped, some, that the Lady Vivienne was not unknown to depart these meets with a set of empty bottles in tow. Lucias would slumber most soundly after those encounters and in the day to follow tended to be of a more subdued mood which was a boon as much to himself as the whole of the castle.
Yet there was no force that succeeded in breaking Lucias as had the correspondence that arrived from the Sevenstreams. Ignorant of what had been transpiring in the Riverlands, Luc had in his own mind been biding his time until he could return to take up the mantle as the Lord Vypren sure that his uncle was soon to expire. No matter what woman or obligation his the Lion Lord might think to impose Lucias had been confident he could shed these burdens as he left the West in his wake assured he would never need return to this wretched place. But the missive that had been brought to him had sundered that last vestige of his escape that he held onto in hope as he read the untidy scrawl of the Lord Vardis which dictated the stripping of the inheritance that Lucias had been raised to expect as his own. To be awarded instead to his bastard.
His anger, though not at all abated, did rapidly dwindle into silence that no cause could arouse a response from. Those who called upon his quarters were met with a stare that seemed to look past the person in front of him. The recurrence of his rejecting of meals grew more common though, curiously, he began to reject the whole offering wine included. He did not banter, bicker or launch barbs as he had before been prone to even when given bait to latch onto. Lucias left even the Lord Roger alone when their paths crossed, listless as he paced the keep absent of purpose. The only solace he seemed to possess was the mere and he waited impatiently for the tide to rise daily so he might be permit to prowl along its shore. Wading inward to the water intermittently to swim or to sit amongst the shallows, the waves rocking against a chest that felt within empty to him.
An escort was expected at this stage and Luc was accustomed to men shifting a skiff into the water as he ventured toward the waterline. Posted so as to prevent his escape. It felt mocking to him now, with no place for him to go had even he the ability to slip away and it incensed him more than the mere detainment he had been suffering. As they assessed the surroundings for the potential routes of his flight that had never before this day been explored, his icy eyes focused only upon the center of the lake ahead where the black of the almost abyss below had issued to him a sordid summons.
Shuffling out of his cloak he bundled the heavy fabric beneath his arm for safe keeping, slipping the belt from his waist a moment after. Lucias wound the leather about his knuckles so tight it began to compress the circulation in his fingers but he paid it no mind, trudging forward in the water still laden in his boots and his garments, the top most layer being a gambson he had selected explicitly for the weight of the padding which he felt at once the water seep inside. He was barely submerged beyond his hip before he set his heels to the stone and sand beneath, using that last bit of leverage to dive abruptly beneath the the water with no intent to surface from the lake alive.
submitted by thinkBrigger to NinePennyKings [link] [comments]

2024.04.05 09:56 EversorA Nightmare Incursions are an EASY 300k+ xp/hr right now! It's insane.

That's over 2 levels per hour on average, and it's not even difficult to do.

Prerequesites/Info:

Guide:

  1. Start at the turn in from previous round
  2. Head into the portal and go to the bottom of the ramp, share all the quests you have, sort inventory and STAY here waiting for people outside of your party to turn in their escort quests You get credit from other parties turning in the escort, you just need to be in range of the aoe objective complete
  3. Go Forest Song
    • Elite
    • Pickup
    • Intel
  4. Go to Satyrnaar
    • Elite
    • Intel,
    • Pickup Was bugged for our layer, not sure if others are affected
  5. Go to Warsong Lumber Camp
    • Elite
    • Intel
    • Pickup
  6. Turn in and rinse and repeat

Notes:

submitted by EversorA to classicwow [link] [comments]

2024.04.04 21:31 Oradainer Only a Myth - Part 14

First / Previous / Next
​
Admiral Nar’Vala watched from the command position on the bridge as Captain Jan’Inar ran the ship through its paces on their sea trial. The Rivendell was five meters longer than any ship in the rest of the fleet, that difference being in the command station on the bridge and the admirals’ quarters. Riven stated it would not affect performance of the vessel, but would add to the sensor cross section.
To be honest, this was a little more boring than she thought it would be. She understood that her job was to control the fleet, and without a fleet she really didn’t have anything to do. As she watched she saw that the bridge crew were settling in nicely. They seemed to know their stations and their jobs, she knew each of them were being coached by Riven through the communication device in their earrings.
Mainly because Riven talked to her through it from time to time as well. As such it was no surprise when Riven’s voice appeared in her ear, “Are you ok Admiral?” She asked.
She took a sip of the absolutely wonderful beverage the Humans called coffee before answering, “I’m fine Riven, just feeling like a fifth wife in the family circle right now.”
There was a pause, before Riven answered, “Your slang terms are a bit strange to us, sorry, I had to laugh off mic on that one. But don’t worry, IAV Isengard will be coming out of shipyard two in three weeks.”
Putting down her coffee cup, listening for the clang as the magnets held it to the small desk she sat behind she answered, “That will at least give me something to do around here. I do love the books Alex left for me, the stories are wonderful. Is it your custom to name Vessels after fictional people and places?”
This time Riven answered much faster, “Yes, at first names were given to vessels as tradition, but as time went on and vessels were made in massive numbers, many ships were named for popular culture references.”
Nodding as that made perfect sense to her she asked, “So has Alex decided to name all our vessels after people and places from these books by Tolkien?”
Riven sighed, “Yes, he thinks it is hilarious for some reason. I really don’t understand men sometimes.”
Nar’Vala chuckled, “They are an enigma, that is for sure. Speaking of Alex, will he be bringing the next crew up from Alandra?” She probed.
Riven answered back, “Actually, he and Monty will each be taking a shuttle to the Palace to drop off more equipment and to pick up the Isengard crew.”
Admiral Nar’Vala knew that humans were more or less equal in number of male to female births, but Alex seemed to be surrounded by females. She knew Riven was the ship’s artificial intelligence, and thus wasn’t really a physical woman, but what about Monty and Kara? Something just didn’t add up, the humans were being secretive about something, but she just didn’t know what.
Prying further she asked, “So does Alex have a wife, or more than one?”
Riven paused again, something she rarely did, if anything she usually answered too quickly, it threw off the balance of the conversation sometimes. “No, but he and Kara are very close and spend most of their time together.”
Nar’Vala nodded internally to this, “I have never met or talked to Kara, but I would assume she is the Matriarch of your group?”
Again Riven seemed to pause, “I suppose you could consider that to be the case, she does watch over the rest of us.”
The Admiral pondered this, the group had a Matriarch, but they all followed the orders of the Captain, who was a man. A very strange way of doing things, but from everything she knew about the Humans, they were a very strange lot to begin with.
Shift change was coming up, Nar’Vala watched as the Lieutenant Lar’Iel relieved Captain Jan’Inar, then the rest of the bridge crew were relieved in order of rank. She had to admit, Human military etiquette was quite elegant. She was told that after the long nap many of the crew felt that doing it any other way now felt somehow wrong or disrespectful.
She rose from her desk as well, taking her coveted coffee cup with her to join the ‘A’ shift in the galley. It was not yet time for dinner, but they had taken to meeting in the mess hall as it was the only area of the ship large enough to accommodate an entire shift at a time. She was sitting in on the after shift report, and was surprised to see a full sized version of Riven in hologram form in the galley.
She had seen Riven in this form before, but only as a tiny avatar on a console or holo-tank, she didn’t know she had the ability to manifest herself that large. She was the same height as the Captain, but with raven hair clipped to her shoulders. She also wore the same uniform as the rest of the crew in officer white, her outline shimmering as she called for attention. “Settle down everyone, we have a few things to go over.”
After a moment or two she began as the room quieted down. “Everyone is doing well, across all shifts, it seems the long nap took hold quite well. The ship does have some bugs to work out however. As we have explained to you before, this frigate design has been modified with newer, better equipment, but that doesn’t meant there won’t be teething problems meshing the old systems with the new. We will have to stop back by shipyard one for some dry dock time.”
Captain Jan’Inar spoke up, “Will we have to disembark from the ship?”
Riven shook her head, “No, the current punch list items will not require you to leave the ship, I’m sure that will be a relief to most of the crew as hot bunking in the shipyard wasn’t well received.”
Admiral Nar’Vala asked the question, “I know there is a problem with the secondary shield generator and one of the torpedo launchers. Have you found more issues?”
Riven turned to the Admiral, “Yes, on top of those issues there are problems with power conduits from the new reactors, they will have to be upsized yet again, and we are having intermediate problems with long range communications. These issues must be dealt with in dry dock.”
Nar’Vala settled in for the rest of the shift debrief, not much else came about from the meeting, oh there was the occasional person who put in minor punch requests for things like lighting or drainage issues in the showers, small things that didn’t effect ship efficiency, and then it was over. She filed out after the Captain and the rest of ‘A’ crew and made her way through the corridors of the frigate.
She marveled at the tiny cleaning bots that adhered themselves to the walls, ceilings and floors to keep the vessel spotless as she walked around one of the round floor models on her way to her cabin. Pressing the panel beside the door, it slid open with a ‘whoosh’ allowing her entrance to the one spot on the ship that was her own.
As the door closed behind her she sighed, pulling her hair clip out and letting her blonde hair fall to below her shoulders. It wasn’t huge, but for even a large naval vessel of the sea it would be considered luxurious. Not that her people had ever built a sea vessel this large, and the Humans considered this to be the smallest class of warship.
After the long nap she instinctively knew things that she would otherwise not know, one of these things was that the Missive of Dissent was not originally a warship. While it was of course far larger than this craft, it was too large to fall into a destroyer class, perhaps it would fit into a cruiser class vessel?
She removed her form fitting uniform jacket for the moment and placed it on the back of the metal chair at her small desk. Then removing her earrings, which doubled as a communications device with both Riven and the rest of the ship she reached into her pants pocket and pulled out the personal data device and placed it on the desk.
Of all the devices she was issued, that was the most impressive. It was small and thin, but surprisingly tough, but the device could access libraries of information almost instantly, and the sheer amount of entertainment that it contained was truly impressive.
“Three days until we are back at ship yard one.” She thought as she picked up one of the leather bound books that she now coveted as one of her most prized possessions and laid down on the incredibly soft and comfortable bed. She turned on her reading light and started reading.
___________________________
Kara sipped her warm tea as she watched the holo-tank above the banquet table. The Rivendell was now in dry dock getting repairs and refits, and Riven would pop in and out of the VR environment to socialize, but lately the needs of twenty nine crew members were taxiing her ability to multitask. She smiled to herself, remembering when the then CARGO 33H6B8 had a human crew and she was in that predicament.
Things were infinitely better once they placed the replicant Alex in to replace them all. It was no secret that this was a cost cutting effort on behalf of Michelle de Halland shipping, but it made her life so much better. She still didn’t know how Alex got Kara out of Cargo, but she liked her new name, and the big oaf was fun to be around.
Just as she was thinking it was going to be another dull day she received a proximity alert from the Lynx system. Waving away the shipyard she frame jacked to maximum forgoing the VR environment for just he holo-tank before her. She noticed Alex appear beside her, also frame jacked to watch the information come in from the probes surrounding the system. Twelve pine cone shaped ships were converging on the system.
That would have been concerning enough, but it was the other three ships with them that both concerned her and confused her. They were triangular in shape, not like the cone shape of the others. They were also small in comparison, roughly a third the mass of the Missive. Taking control of the Missiles outside the Oort Cloud she sent all one hundred and eighty eight of the remaining missiles towards the fleet at full one hundred g acceleration.
Alex spoke up, “We’ve never seen craft like those before, and the Alandrans have no record of them either. They’re obviously here for a reason, we have what, ten minutes before our missiles close the distance to targets? Let’s see what a deep scan reveals.”
Kara nodded and tapped on the probe network, in unison they all focused their deep sensor scans on the triangular ships and received… almost nothing. “That’s not good, that is significant shielding to keep out a string pulse sensor.”
Alex watched the readings in the side of the holo-tank, “From what I’m seeing here those ships are not organic. Their hull is comprised of a large portion of the unknown ore being harvested from Alandra. I think we should consider them to be a far greater threat than the Howron vessels, target them first, we’ll expend everything we have on them to test their defenses.”
Several more focused sensor pings did not show more data on the unknown craft. It could detect some of the outer hull, but not much else, and nothing about in the interior. As they were escorting the Howron vessels it could be assumed that they were far tougher than the organic units. Monty and Riven joined the two around the holo-tank as the missiles closed the distance.
All four assumed control of the missiles through string radio routing. Alex struggled to interface with his sixty two missiles. The rest of his companions were true artificial intelligences, who were built to multitask, thus would have no problem controlling that many independent units.
As they closed on the new craft they watched through the sensor probes as thousands of point defense lasers launched out from the triangular vessels. They weaved, they dropped, they corkscrewed through maneuvers that would be impossible for a biological to survive, and they watched to their horror as over ninety percent of their numbers were cut from the sky.
Monty let out a whoop as one of her missiles managed to dodge through the almost complete wall of laser and maser fire and detonate within two hundred yards of one of the vessels. The joy was short lived as the Hafnium torpedos explosion was dampened by the vessels shielding.
Monty cursed, “Damn it, their shields are good, I can’t get a reading on how much damage it did through the sensor net!”
If Alex was still biological he would be sweating right now, he had only four torpedoes left and was probing for an opening into one of the vessels, he cursed as another one was taken out by what seemed to be a rapid firing flack cannon.
Riven cheered as she managed to weave yet another torpedo through the defenses on the same vessel and detonate it. This time there was a noticeable effect, that side of the vessel seemed to buckle in a bit as the shielding failed. The paint scorched from the hellish temperatures and pressures washed against the hull. There was no doubt that vessel was damaged now.
Alex spoke up, “Focus remaining missiles on the damaged vessel, the fewer of these we have to deal with here the better.”
The other three grunted acknowledgement as Kara managed to curve a torpedo using its side thrusters through the near complete wall of point defense and detonate it on the same vessel. This time the shielding and point defense systems stopped completely. The lights visible on the vessel abruptly shut off, and the battered triangle floated dead in space.
Monty shouted “YES!” As she guided a fourth torpedo directly into the vessel and detonated it mere meters from the hull. The ship was consumed in a plasma sphere as the hafnium explosion set off something inside the vessel, a reactor or charged accumulator, who knows, but in milliseconds the vessel was floating debris.
“Focus whatever else we have on this target!” Alex stated as a crosshair appeared on one of the two remaining triangular ships.
Kara was the first to score a hit, the torpedo exploded against the shields of the vessel causing very little damage. She stated with a sigh, “I’m out!”
Monty cursed as her last torpedo met its final fate to a point defense maser.
Riven stood back and ran both hands through her hair as her last torpedo failed to breach the wall of point defense.
Alex was focused, he had only one torpedo left, he managed to come in right behind Riven’s torpedo and it’s destruction allowed him a brief millisecond where the point defense system was tracking for incoming, he used that moment to bring in his torpedo, it detonated less than a hundred meters from the hull of the vessel. It seemed to stagger in space, losing its shielding and scorching most of that side of the hull.
Alex stood back and looked into the holo-tank. “Well, that’s it, everything we left behind is scrap now.”
Kara reached into the holo-tank and manipulated the probes. “Confirmed, no working torpedoes are left. Sending self destruct protocols to any that may be somewhat intact.”
After a tense few milliseconds the probes confirmed that there was nothing the Howron could salvage from their weapons. After that they all eased up on their frame jack and the VR environment faded back into existence.
Alex was the first to speak. “Ok, whatever those new craft are they are tough, they’re barely bigger than the frigates we’re building for the Alandran’s but they can take more punishment. With almost two hundred torpedoes we managed to destroy one and damage another. Any thoughts?”
Kara nodded in agreement, “Yes, these are going to be a problem, but twelve of the pine cones and two of the new craft won’t be a problem against the mine field as well as us and whatever ships of the Alandrans we can field.”
Alex nodded, “That is true, but what if this fleet just waits for reinforcements? Those new ships are not organic, they don’t need to grow or whatever, they’re probably put together in shipyards like our own vessels. We don’t know if they are Howron or not. I’m kinda leaning towards them being a different species.”
Monty thought about that for a moment, “Oh, that could be bad. What if the Howron bow to someone else, and took the ore from the Alandrans to pay their own overlords? You saw the compositions of their ships, they were using Adamantine in their hulls, which was probably how they survived three direct torpedo hits.”
Riven nodded, “Those could have been scout ships, their version of a scout frigate, if so they are on par with our own technology. If they were only scouts, they may have bigger vessels.”
Alex ran his hand through his hair, “This keeps getting worse, where are we on ship yard three?”
Kara checked the auto factories, “Another month out, Isengard will be complete before it comes online, although we have pushed its completion date back three days to accommodate the refits we discovered with Rivendell.”
Alex nodded, “As soon as Rivendell is finished with dry dock, move her out and start work on Valmar. Kara, do you magic with getting the Isengard AI online and trained. Riven, get your crew battle ready, if those ships decide to run through the system and bee-line it for here we have about four more months until they will see combat.”
Monty turned to Alex, “What do you need me to do?”
Alex looked over to Monty, “Keep up the work on the mining drones, Kara will need all the raw material you can give her to get the Isengard completed and sea trials done before the fur balls and whoever our newest friends are show up to ruin our party.”
______________________________________
My Patreon, or if you really like my work, my Ream. ______________________________________
submitted by Oradainer to HFY [link] [comments]

2024.03.13 14:58 Gullible-Performer-3 Dans la catégorie rencontres, combien seriez prêt à mettre en €/an pour une escorte ?

La question est abrupte, je sais, mais ça évite les sous entendus, les faux fuyants. A titre d'info, je suis H50+, célibataire, j'en suis à 3/4k€..
submitted by Gullible-Performer-3 to TropPeurDeDemander [link] [comments]

2024.03.09 18:25 Throwawayrecordquest Why are some of the Three Stooges Wikipedia entries written like they’re paid by the letter?

Here’s the plot summary on “Three Dumb Clucks”, from Wikipedia:
“Amidst their incarceration, the Stooges receive correspondence from their maternal figure, detailing the sudden windfall of their paternal counterpart (portrayed by Curly Howard in a dual role encompassing both father and son). The missive unveils the elder Curly's ascent to affluence courtesy of an oil strike, his subsequent abandonment of their mother, and his impromptu nuptials to a covetous, youthful blonde named Daisy. Prompted by filial duty and a desire to thwart the ill-fated union, the Stooges abscond from confinement, embarking on a mission to disrupt the impending matrimonial proceedings.
However, complications ensue as the physical resemblance between Curly and his father confounds the matrimonial landscape, resulting in Daisy inadvertently betrothing herself to the wrong individual. Subsequently, the trio finds themselves ensnared in a perilous web as nefarious individuals, coveting the newfound wealth associated with their father's oil discovery, pursue them with malicious intent. Undeterred by adversity, the Stooges navigate through adversity, successfully extricating their paternal figure from jeopardy and restoring familial equilibrium.
Their odyssey culminates in the retrieval of their unconscious father, whom they conscientiously escort back to the maternal abode, thus concluding their escapade with a reunion marked by filial devotion and paternal reconciliation.“
This is just the worst offender I’ve seen so far, but I’ve noticed it on others as well. Did the Wiki editor sleep with a thesaurus under his pillow? 😅
submitted by Throwawayrecordquest to threestooges [link] [comments]

2024.02.23 08:37 thinkBrigger [Event] Then When I Bеcame a Man, Death and I Got Acquainted Fast

Vardis

The Mandercross , 2nd Month of 272AC
Not long had extended the silence upon the bridge upon Lord Roger's departure, Vardis so beset by misfortune that to be blockaded had been but another bruise layered atop a lifetime of beatings. He taken nary more than a breath before his voice was found. It was to the Lady Blackwood he first turned to account for, the woman having been nimble enough to find a gap in the fighting that Lucias had himself been incapable of creating. _Were you wounded?_ He had spouted and, relieved that Alyx had not been harmed, an apology soon to follow. Wishing not for the first time that his nephew had been prudent enough to take after her example; where Lucias had been interested in no more than the coin that was to accompany her, Vardis had been more astute in his assessment of the Lady Alyx for the stability she would have injected into the Sevenstreams. Not blind to the rough edges of his would-be-heir that were in need of buffing. His effort had been valiant, if invisible to Castamere.
Those ambitions though were naught now but tatters. A blessing for Alyx who had been betrothed to Luc but a blow to Vardis who was left to grapple with a withering legacy. He accepted his defeat in what grace could be expected of him. He did not burden the Lady Blackwood with his woes on the matter while politely prying as to how she would wish to proceed. Admitting there was not much to await Alyx at the Sevenstreams with Lucias apprehended by his father's family, certainly no future.
It was this that was more damaging to the old Lord than the humiliation he had sustained at the Mandercross. With sinking stomach he realized he would need return to the Sevenstreams alone. When his nephew had arrived unannounced at his gate Vardis had been perplexed yet had not for a second considered turning him away, eager to have kin take up residence within his halls which none had done in nigh a decade. Luc had not been attentive company yet Vardis had not expected of him to be, recalling a time too when he was young and wistful to be away from the uttering of old men. He had harboured a hope to observe his successor, to shape him. The swamp ceasing to vex his nephew less with each of their excursions into the untamed tracts of land that surrounded the sundered streams. As he had been anticipating the pitter patter of tiny feet trudging through the mud of the courtyard with excitement. With the majority of his own children having not survived to adolescence, Vardis was well attuned to the early development of children and yearned ceaselessly for the opportunities he had lost with his own little ones. He had decades ago abandoned any desire to sire another of his own yet the wistfulness of what might have been would never leave him.
Much as he might have liked to fight for the match that had been made for Alyx, he knew it a hopeless gambit to reclaim Lucias from the Reynes in any fashion timely; which was to say any time before his own death. And to retain her any longer did her disservice as her child rearing years drew nearer to their end. He had directed them with haste then to Raventree Hall rather than return to the Sevenstreams, vowing he would dispatch a carriage of her belongings there accumulated once he had escorted her safely to her kin. Apologizing for the trouble to the Lady Blackwood as though they were not carting the corpses of his escort by cart well at the rear of what remained of it. The wagon hastily procured from a farm within the Reach for a steep cost to Vardis' coin purse, yet it was an expense that could not be spared. His soldiers were not mere hirelings--they were men he had known well, who had long served not only his house but the Lord who bore now their bodies home for the burial rites he deemed them deserving of.
"Let us not delay, my Lady," he said as the rush of the rivers converging assured them that they had crossed into the provinces of their kinsmen, safer in droves than where they had been ambushed, "My house has done you enough dishonour."
________

The Lord of the Sundered Streams

Sevenstreams, 5th Month of 272AC
Rest had been his only requirement upon returning to his homelands, retiring swift to his solar. He need pass by a bustle of builders as he made to ascend the steps to the second landing. Those had had been arranged prior to his departure to Dunstonbury and had been overseen in his absence by Penrin, an eccentric bald headed Pentoshi exile that Vardis had befriended long ago at a crossing that the foreigner had found himself idling in. A quiet quip about their moustaches had laid the foundation of a fast friendship. He did not always reside within the Sevenstreams but Penrin returned often and typically with a new trinket to entertain the Lord with. Or at the very least a tale that was told taller than the truth.
For all his oddities, of which Penrin had many ranging from the boisterous volume in which he spoke to the vibrancy of the threads he wore, he was of mind adroit. He had been a trader of some prominence in his homelands. As was he adept in positions of authority which suited his stretches of stewardship and for the first time since he and Vardis had been acquainted, there was value to boast of in the Sevenstreams. Penrin had delighted in the sourcing of materials for the improvement to the keep--the procuring of the stone especially as he had identified it cheaper to hire a team of miners to break apart the mountain to the east in slabs than buy every block of it in bulk. The labourers did not necessarily agree to its value considering the back breaking work it required but Vardis had seen in the effort the same value his steward had, and he would rather employ his own peoples than important materials where possible. It may not have been his riches to fund the expansion of the keep but they were his to allocate, of which he had Lord Frey to thank.
Penrin regaled him of the progress in his absence as they had settled across one another, a cask of spirits split open for them to share as it was explained it would take the better part of the year to complete the structural work on the keep. The Lord with no modest thirst after his ordeals. Explaining the detainment in the Dunn lands and poor form of the Lord Reyne. Supper was sent up to the both of them without Vardis needing issue a request for it, another of Penrin's presumptions that were much appreciated by the Lord. They too took up a ledger to make note of the men felled in the skirmishing and to assign a stipend to the widows and babes left in their wake, arranging for work amongst the afflicted where possible though Vardis had in the end been reluctant to take on any of the boys to join his barracks in risk of repeating the damage already done.
The Maester, too, was sent for to see to Vardis' elbow that had experienced trauma twice over. Once in his fall in the tilt of Dunstonbury, and again his his apprehension by the Lord Roger. He was assured that his arm would heal well despite the injuries yet a clicking persisted in the weeks after the aching had ceased.
It had not taken long for the loneliness to wear upon the Lord Vypren in the weeks to follow, no matter the faces familiar in his surroundings. He had not been fond of his nephew's tendency to complain yet that no grievances were aired at all was now unsettling, the air of the Sevenstreams too stagnant for him to stand. Vardis expended his spare hours in walking his grounds to shake the sense of self loathing that had come to envelop him. Venturing more distantly into the swamps as his strength returned gradually to him, better able to admire the changes to the keep upon approach to the structure when he would trudge his way to home; marveling as much the first time he had seen stone laid without sinking upon foundations proper as he would do when the work was at its end. The likes of which his ancestors had never come close to completing.
Dour was the day that Penrin did await him in the gatehouse, so engrossed in his gambling with the guards that he nearly did not notice the Lord's return. Jolting to his feet only after a watchman had greeted Vardis.
"Bridges have become your bane," said the Pentoshi, his grin ever persistent as he passed the scroll that had been brought by the Maester. The seal was broken. The Pentoshi's curiosity never quite abated but this was a habit that Vardis had quite some time ago come to terms with.
He unfurled the parchment, flattening it with the pad of his thumb across his palm, "Inevitable," he murmured frowning at the contents of the Lord Frey's letter. If he had not felt insignificant before the implication of army awaiting him south was plenty to humble him, "With the whispers we have been hearing from the capital."
"You ought wait it out," suggested the steward whose loyalties were in people, not provinces, "Let the Crown contend with the old man. He would have you fight his battles, that it will not be with blade in your hand is of little consequence when the ire is so intense upon him."
As Vardis relented in his pressure upon the letter, it coiled. Not as tightly as it had been initially though his hand enclosed upon the missive, pensive as he looked past Penrin. Sizing up his surroundings--his peasants poor, but invigorated as lumber and brick were laid to improve their land long impoverished. None of it possible without the exceedingly generous contribution by the Lord Walder and lacking Lucias to inhabit the Sevenstreams, the keep would for a time be occupied only by those who had dedicated their life in service to the House Vypren when Vardis himself had perished. Based on the correspondence in his hand it was possible that would not be long to await him, yet he could have as easily been felled upon the bridge at the Mandercross.
It was not for the Lord Vypren a conflict. With no next of kin to reside in the Sevenstreams let alone inherit her bounty, his oaths and his honour were all Vardis had left of his life to leave a legacy of. He would not squander what little of it remained to be claimed, "I will not stand derelict in my duty, no matter the odds that await me at the far side of the Crossing," he declared, striding with a vigor renewed toward the keep to commence preparations for departure.
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2024.02.06 21:49 DrDoritosMD (GATE/Stargate Inspired) Manifest Fantasy Chapter 9: The Baranthurians Part 1

Author’s Note (Story and Patreon Updates): I will release one free extra chapter for both Manifest Fantasy and Summoning America if any of the following milestones are met: - RoyalRoad: 3,000 followers on Manifest Fantasy (2013/3000) - Scribblehub: 1,300 followers on Manifest Fantasy (137/1300) - HFY: 600 concurrent readers (based on average upvotes per chapter) (40/600) - Patreon: $1,000/month creator income milestone (700/1000) If you haven't done so already, please create an account to follow and support the story! READ AHEAD: Chapter 10 is now available for Tier 2 Manifest Fantasy Patrons and higher! Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/drdoritosmd Discord: https://discord.gg/wr2xexGJaD
First / Next
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Eldralore, Duchy of Eldralore
Sonaran Federation
November 18, 2024
Ron eased their MRAP into a parking spot near the Guild’s stables, taking an empty space marked for larger carriages and cargo. Henry glanced back at Ryan and Isaac’s MRAP as they maneuvered into a space beside them, struggling a bit with the trailer. Their cargo: samples and collected artifacts from Hardale – proof of their recent endeavors and vital components for Dr. Perdue’s and Dr. Lamarr’s requests.
“Alright, let’s make this quick,” Henry said, unbuckling his seatbelt. As he stepped out, he was met by a snarl – or perhaps a neigh, from dradaks in the stables. Failing to recognize Henry, they returned to their hay and meat, as if uninterested in anyone but the local handlers and their owners.
Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, Henry opened the door for Dr. Anderson and Sera, whose sight drew a few discreet glances from passersby. Ron joined Henry stretching his arms and back. “I’ll help Yen and Hayes with the trailer. You guys go ahead,” he said, tilting his head toward the Guild’s entrance.
Henry nodded, leading the way to the Guild with Dr. Anderson and Sera in tow. They rounded the corner before entering the main plaza, where they saw a large group of people standing by the fountain in the center. Several carriages were also parked near the road adjacent to the plaza, with numerous people moving back and forth from them carrying crates. “Look at that,” he murmured.
It was a diverse crew, easily three, maybe four dozen strong. Some were clad in leather and chainmail, others in robes that screamed ‘mage’ from a mile away. Well, they wore robes, yes, but their clothing was also reinforced with pieces of light chainmail and padded leather – much more practical than what he had seen in Ron’s fantasy anime shows or Ryan’s DnD campaigns. The robes themselves were marked with subtle runes and symbols seemingly woven into the fabric. Enchanted gear, perhaps?
The others had similarly practical getups, and matching gear to boot. Swords, staves, you name it – they had it. Each one of them was busy in his or her own way: analyzing maps, loading carriages, checking weapons, and double-checking supplies with a seriousness Henry knew all too well.
Henry’s eyes followed one figure in particular, a woman who stood out even in the crowd. It was the same person who approached him with a Clan invitation – Elara, the Tier 8 swordswoman. And if she was here, that meant the group was –
“The Mithril Order,” Sera muttered, confirming what Henry was already thinking. “It appears they are preparing for the Campaign.”
Henry watched them for a moment longer. Elara wasn’t kidding when she said her clan revolved around martial discipline. Everything about the preparation was professional, even down to the logistics. It was like watching his own team, just… more medieval fantasy.
“Let’s get moving,” he said, breaking away from the sight and heading into the Guild. Inside, the hustle and bustle was much more pronounced than he had expected. He thought back to the first time he came by and to the Minotaur quest – there hadn’t been a line as long as this, or any line at all for that matter. The queue snaked around a maze of stanchions, forcing them to wait in line like they were at a DMV or event.
Henry scanned the bustling rows of adventurers, a question forming in his mind. He turned to Sera. “Do you know what’s going on?”
She looked at Henry as if he was an idiot for not knowing before her expression relaxed – probably after remembering that Henry was a strange foreigner who just recently became an adventurer. “The Ovinne Mountain Campaign,” she said. “A dormant Elemental Dragon awakening from centuries, perhaps eons, of slumber is hardly a trivial matter. The ensuing chaos, as one might expect, has lured every would-be hero and spellcaster in the vicinity.”
Henry raised an eyebrow. An Elemental Dragon? It sounded mythical – Tier 10 for sure. “Sounds like a major operation,” he remarked, trying to grasp the magnitude of such a creature stirring.
“Major, to say the least,” Sera responded. “The local creatures are in utter turmoil, causing a cascade of ecological imbalance. The Federation, Garethia, and Ovinnegard find themselves obliged to confront such a menace – and obliged to exploit newly discovered Gatebuilder ruins. A campaign of this magnitude presents not just a formidable challenge, but, dare I suggest, a ripe opportunity for the foolhardy seeking glory.”
“Or those seeking riches,” Ron said, catching the tail end of her explanation. Ryan and Isaac strode up beside him, joining them in the line.
Sera turned towards the newcomers. “Indeed, the allure of riches does tend to stir the greedy hearts of many.” She glanced at Ryan and Isaac. “So the other valiant members of Captain Donnager’s ensemble finally grace us with their presence.”
“Yeah? A real shame we didn’t make introductions in Hardale,” Ryan said with blunt sarcasm, his annoyance barely veiled. He locked eyes with Sera before continuing, “Heard someone fucked over our SOP and had us on babysitting duty.”
Sera was unfazed, instead seeming to be emboldened by Ryan’s challenge. She gave a cool sardonic smile. “Ah, village babysitting, a noble task indeed for warriors of your caliber,” she replied, her tone playfully mocking. “My sincerest apologies for the hardship,” she continued, her voice dripping with feigned contrition.
Ryan bristled at the remark, his jaw tightening. “With all due respect, ma’am –”
Before he could retort, Isaac stepped in and placed a calming hand on Ryan’s shoulder. He cut him off, “I heard your expertise was invaluable in disabling that, uh… magic thing…”
“Rune System,” Dr. Anderson offered. He picked up on Isaac’s attempt at de-escalation. “I’ve never seen such a system before – we’re lucky to have had your wisdom.”
Sera’s expression softened slightly at their intervention, her smile turning into a more genuine one. “Rune System, yes,” she acknowledged with a nod. “A complex creation, harnessing forces yet shrouded in mystery, and fueled by a perilous relic from a bygone era. It was fortunate that our combined efforts proved sufficient to neutralize its influence.”
Ryan, now a bit more composed after hearing the rationale behind the abrupt change, added with a reluctant respect,” Yeah, I get it. Ryan Hayes, by the way.” His tone was still gruff, but the edge had softened. The presence of the Rune System was a pretty convenient excuse, but it did make sense to have someone specializing in magic able to help out during a magical anomaly.
“Isaac Yen,” Isaac said, offering a handshake. “It’s a pleasure.”
“Seraphine ad Sindis,” Sera responded, appreciating the formal introductions.
“Glad we’re all acquainted now,” Henry interjected. Seeking to change the topic, he turned to Sera, curiosity piqued by the scale of the operation and the line that still seemed to snake around despite the passing of several minutes. “What does it take to join a Campaign?”
“Intrigued, are you? A venture most audacious, but it’s more than presenting yourself armed for battle,” Sera explained. “Prerequisite to such an undertaking is membership in a Clan or a Tier 7 Party or higher. This is no endeavor for the inexperienced or the solitary. The hazards are immense, and the Guild – in accord with its regulations, seek not mere numbers. They require seasoned warriors, adept at facing the unpredictable and the perilous.”
“Tier 7 Party?” Ron asked.
Sera shuffled forward as the line progressed. Nodding, she explained, “A Tier 7 Party is one where each member holds at least a Tier 6 standing, yet it’s the leadership of a Tier 7 Adventurer or above that defines its essence. Such is one of the only exceptions by which a Tier 6 Adventurer may participate in quests above their rank.”
“And you?” Henry asked, tilting his head toward Sera. “Are you gonna join a Clan or Party for this Campaign?”
Sera gave a short, almost dismissive laugh. “Join a Party or Clan? Preposterous, Captain. My time amidst the nobility has shown me enough of such… power struggles. Soirees turned into strategic battlegrounds. I’ve observed, time and again, how adventuring parties often become a reflection of those very squabbles. Ambitions collide, and what one seeks is not always in harmony with the desires of others.”
Adventurers couldn’t all be like that, could they? No, they couldn’t, or else the entire system would have failed long ago. Henry nodded, remaining silent so Sera could continue.
Her gaze drifted away, off into the distance but focused on nowhere in particular. “Being of noble birth, I have borne witness to how personal aspirations can eclipse the greater good. Adventuring is somewhat of an escape, but not much so. It’s been elucidated to me, how such internal strife can prove… detrimental.”
Henry noticed the subtle shift in her tone. It was clear her stance was not just a casual preference but rooted in something deeper. He understood why she took the initiative back in Hardale. It didn’t make her actions less annoying, but at least now he could try to find a way around it.
She folded her arms, her eyes finding Henry’s once more. “As for myself, I prefer the solitary path. It affords a singular focus-, unmarred by the entanglements of collective aims and… let us say, the unpredictability of adventurers’ … acquaintanceship.”
Sera’s word choice spoke poorly of adventurers. Her decision clearly had layers and hopefully, these layers wouldn’t translate much to him and Alpha Team. “Understood,” Henry responded, thinking back to her interest in him and his party despite her general aversion to adventurers.
As they neared the front of the line, Henry noticed a party unloading an array of collected geodes and looted weapons from a cart. The geodes ranged from small mana crystals to more exotic, almost vibrant materials that he couldn’t easily identify. The looted weapons were nothing to scoff at, either. A massive bronze shield, a chipped but shining silvery sword, a set of spears, three armor vests, another two shields – wait, something didn’t add up. The cart, no larger than the trunk of a small car, seemed to be a bottomless pit of supplies. “How the hell…?” he muttered under his breath.
Ron watched, equally baffled. “That’s some serious clown car shit,” he whispered.
The adventurers in front of them kept pulling an endless array of items from the cart. It was like watching a magician’s endless handkerchief trick, but with a ton – perhaps literally – of loot. “It’s a fucking Tardis,” Henry said, mouth slightly agape.
“Huh?” Ryan asked. “I reckon it is a tad retarded,” he said, squinting at the cart as he nodded.
Henry let out a half-smirk, “No, I mean – nevermind, yeah,” he conceded, deciding not to delve into an explanation about time travel sci-fi at that moment.
Sera, overhearing their conversation, looked at the cart and then at the puzzled faces of Alpha Team. “Unfamiliar with this, are you? It’s a Holding Cart, endowed with spatial enchantments,” Sera explained simply, as if that cleared everything up.
“Spatial enchantments…” Henry echoed, the words feeling foreign on his tongue.
Ron let out a low whistle as he eyed the cart enthusiastically. “Well, that’s one way to pack light,” he commented, no doubt coveting the magic tool.
Just then, the clerk called out, “Next in line!” The voice was female – and distinctly familiar, amplified by what Henry assumed to be magic.
Henry snapped back to the present. Looking to the right, he saw an open space under a hanging sign marked ‘8’. “That’s us.” he said, walking to the counter. As he approached, he realized why the voice sounded familiar.
“Alpha Team!” Mira greeted, recognizing them with a bright smile. “What a pleasant surprise to behold! Ye’ve returned from Hardale, haven’t ye?”
Henry nodded, unzipping his backpack and producing the appropriate quest scroll, signed by Hardale’s village chief, Eldon. Dr. Anderson approached from his right, sliding a report onto the counter while Ryan placed down three bags and one plastic container of teeth.
Mira put on a pair of gloves and opened the bags. The first goblin ears – trophies to confirm the kills. She tallied and totaled them, processing them no differently as she would paperwork, albeit of a more macabre nature. Henry watched, wrinkling his nose slightly. It was gross, sure, but he couldn’t realistically expect every monster to run around with their own sets of dog tags.
Next came the hobgoblin ears – larger, tougher, and just as unpleasant. The third bag contained treant leaves, each marked with unique patterns like a fingerprint or snowflake. It felt less gruesome, more scientific somehow, even if the whole concept of animated trees was as far from reality as one could get. The last confirmations were a group of sharp, right canines from the fenwyrm spawn.
Mira inspected each one, logging them in the Guild’s ledger. “All seems in order,” she commented, skimming the report. After stamping the signed quest scroll to officially mark its completion, she placed it in a secured drop box beside her.
“By the way, we encountered evidence of Nobian activity in Hardale,” Henry mentioned. “It’s in the report.”
“Nobian meddling in affairs, is it? We don’t normally entangle ourselves in international matters, but if they’re rousing monsters on purpose, that’s a dradak of a different color. I’ll need to file an additional report on this,” she said, flipping the pages of the report and reading it more carefully. “I’ll send word to the local Knight Order. Keep an eye on yer Guild Inbox for any missives they might send yer way.”
Henry nodded. He wondered what sort of relation the Guild had to host nations; it seemed like they were some sort of powerful international body – an interesting development that might be of interest to Dr. Anderson and the diplomatic staff back home.
Mira then turned her attention back to the task at hand. She pulled out two sealed envelopes from beneath the counter. “Now then, let me present to ye yer earned rewards for completing the Tier 6 quest posted by Hardale Village,” she announced, handing one envelope to Henry and the other to Sera.
Henry accepted the envelope. 10,000 lumens, not bad considering that they shared the quest with Sera, who received her envelope and tucked it away without opening it.
“Beyond the lumens,” Mira continued, “the folks of Hardale Village have seen fit to offer ye some extra tokens of thanks for yer efforts.”
She consulted a ledger to verify the correct drawer for their specific quest, then walked back to a series of shelves and cabinets behind her. She unlocked one and opened it, retrieving a small, carefully wrapped package. “These items here were reserved just for the ones who’d triumph in the quest. Might not be the grandest of treasures as far as Tier 6 rewards go, but they could well catch yer fancy.”
Henry looked at the contents within: several vials of bluish and greenish liquids, a collection of seeds – useful for Dr. Perdue’s studies, and an assortment of miscellaneous materials from dried herbs to small mana crystals. He accepted the package, nodding appreciatively. The rewards probably would’ve been lackluster for the average adventurer, but they were perfect for fulfilling Alpha Team’s mission parameters. The vials seemed to be healing potions, something he would have to look into for field use.
“As for these,” Mira continued, gesturing toward the plastic box, “Fenwyrm canines – even spawn ones – are rare finds. Ye can choose to keep ‘em or, if ye wish, we’d be willing to take ‘em off yer hands for a fair price.”
Henry considered for a moment. The market price for canines was about a hundred lumens a piece, which meant the box was worth 1,500 lumens, and a bit less if he chose to sell to the Guild directly rather than a local store. It was a tantalizing offer, but the research staff back at the base would probably want a look at these first. “We’ll keep them.”
“No frets,” Mira responded. “Should ye have a change of heart, just swing by anytime and we’ll be happy to make a purchase from ye!”
“Oh,” Henry remembered about the monster parts they collected from the bloodied outskirts of Hardale. They had been split into containers to bring back to Dr. Perdue, a section for sales, and a section for Sera’s kills. “We do have some items we’d like to sell in our… cart outside.”
“Very well then. I’ll see to it right quick. Are ye planning to divvy up the sales as well?” Mira asked.
“We are,” Sera responded. “I’ll go with you.”
“Owens,” Henry said, looking at Ron before jerking his head toward Sera and Mira.
Ron nodded and joined them. As he did so, Mira addressed Henry and the rest of Alpha Team. “I won’t be but a moment. Meanwhile, why not take a look at the Quest Board? It’s been freshly updated with new postings.”
“Thank you, Miss Lenton. We’ll go check out the Quest Board,” Henry replied.
As he walked, he tapped the side of his helmet. “Alpha Lead to Overwatch, requesting a line to Dr. Lamarr.”
“Overwatch acknowledges. Standby, Alpha Lead,” the voice of a communication officer responded. “Connecting you to Dr. Lamarr; it might take a moment.”
Henry approached the Tier 6 Quest Board, its sprawling display reminding him of the vast blackboards in university lecture halls. Around a dozen adventurers clustered below it, most congregating under the ‘Hunting’ category. The board was neatly segmented into distinct sections: ‘Escort’, ‘Reconnaissance’, ‘Acquisition’, Miscellaneous, and the crowded ‘Hunting’. From what he could see over the shoulders of other adventurers, the ‘Hunting’ category seemed to be related to eliminating targets – criminals and bandits with bounties on their heads, powerful monsters that local militias can’t handle, and the typical goblin infestation.
The ‘Miscellaneous’ section covered a variety of mundane tasks from helping local farmers to construction work. Decent pay for contractual work, but not quite aligned with their mission objectives. The ‘Acquisition’ category focused on collecting items for a client. Henry leaned in closer, inspecting one of the quests posted there. It was a simple quest to gather high-purity mana crystals near the Ovinne Mountains. Not the most enticing quest, but it was useful to know where high-purity mana crystals were located. Another quest called for the search for a lost Elemental Amulet, offering a substantial reward. Must be pretty rare if they couldn’t just go ahead and buy a new amulet, he mused.
He moved on to the ‘Reconnaissance’ section, which seemed mostly to deal with investigations, unusual activity, and surveying regions for mining companies. As he skimmed over a quest relating to missing cattle, the communications officer gave Henry an update. “Alpha Lead, Overwatch confirms a successful connection to Dr. Lamarr’s office. Patching you through now.”
“Copy.”
Dr. Lamarr’s voice came through. “Captain Donnager, what do you have for us?”
Henry connected his helmet cam, uploading a live feed of what he was seeing. “Looking at the reconnaissance missions for now.” He scanned a quest titled ‘Unusual Activity in the Grenden Highlands’. “This one’s about investigating a valley in the highlands in between the base and the Ovinne Mountain Range. Any reads there?”
“Nothing on the scale of the Hardale anomaly. Seems interesting, but keep an eye out for anything that might give us more direct insights into magic,” Dr. Lamarr advised.
He went back to the ‘Acquisition’ category, briefly scanning the titles of each quest. One of them was about gathering rare herbs. It didn’t pique his interest, but he lingered for a moment, listening for Dr. Lamarr’s input.
“Hmm, no. Herbs? Maybe Dr. Perdue would be interested, but wouldn’t you have to give them to the merchant that posted the quest? Pass,” she said.
Henry nodded slightly, moving on to the next one. It was about retrieving a stolen artifact – assumed to be in possession of black market arms dealers. “Mmm, maybe. Take a picture of that one just in case,” Dr. Lamarr suggested.
Henry snapped a photo with his helmet cam, cataloging it for potential consideration later. He scanned through a couple more quests, each varying in nature and complexity, but none quite hitting the mark.
“Why don’t we look at another category?” Dr. Lamarr finally proposed.
Henry agreed. ‘Acquisition’ was pretty lackluster today, so he’d have to wait for a decent posting to pop up. He turned his attention to the ‘Escort’ category, which he had yet to scrutinize. It was less crowded, which made some sense. Most of the quests there were for guarding merchant convoys; not many adventurers wanted to get tied up with a single quest for up to weeks, especially not when there were more profitable and efficient ventures out there. However, one of the quests caught his eye. It was posted on a high-quality parchment and neatly written: ‘Escort Scholars to Grenden Forest Ruins.’
“This one looks promising,” Henry said, reading the details. “An escort for archaeologists heading to some Baranthurian ruins in the Grenden Forest. And its…” he trailed off, seeing the client’s information at the bottom of the sheet, “it’s posted by Kelmithus!”
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2024.01.31 21:36 Oradainer Only a Myth - Part 4

Previous / Next
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Two months later Alex and Kara were sitting on the couch watching old game shows, something they somehow decided was fun to watch when the video froze and Kara spoke up, “Sensor net just triggered, putting all drones into stealth mode incase we receive an active sensor ping.”
She then disappeared to the hologram at the buffet table, Alex bounced up off the couch and walked over to see what the holo was displaying. “One ship, our probes have been in stealth this whole time and show no sign of active sensors. Well that is unexpected, that ship is huge.”
Alex stared into the holo, sensors showed the pine cone shaped craft in remarkable detail, “Eight kilometers long, four kilometers at it’s widest point, it is rotating at half a rotation per minute to give artificial gravity. Almost no EM field for shielding, at best they could be deflecting space particles. Looks like they would be relying on armor for space combat.”
Kara spun the holo around looking at the data streams still coming in from the probes, “They are coming in at 10c, which is far below the Missive’s cruise speed. Whether they have slowed down coming into the system or if it is a design limitation I do not know.”
Alex pointed his finger at the armor plating and the weak EM signature which was confirmed to be pointing forward. “No, I believe that is their maximum velocity, if they were to exceed that the deflector shields would not be able to stop even micro meteor impacts that made it through the ripple field. The armor isn’t exactly exotic materials either, just an extremely dense titanium ceramic composite, nothing like the Warsteel we use for plate.”
Kara’s eyes blazed blue as she made calculations based on the continuous data streaming from the probes. “Agreed, however, this is odd.” She stated as more detailed information updated in the wireframe model of the vessel. “I believe this vessel is biological.”
Alex’s eyes grew wide, “A living starship? Are you sure?”
Kara’s eyes stayed their brilliant blue as she continued to absorb information, “It appears to have a nervous system, circulatory system, and gastrointestinal system. It also appears to feed on free hydrogen in the interstellar medium and power itself via a biological fusion process.”
Alex pondered this a second, “Wait, that makes no sense, the outer hull is obviously fabricated, not biological.”
Kara looked from the holo to Alex, “That is correct, however, I believe the vessel was outfitted with the armor and weapons.” She expanded the vessel in the holo to show the forward hull, “They do not have torpedo tubes, they are on cradles lashed to the armor. There is no point defense that our sensors can detect. I would say these are space faring creatures used as beasts of burden.”
Alex rubbed the back of his neck, “Our sensors aren’t detecting any string radiation transmissions, that means they must be flying blind.”
Kara studied the sensor data before answering, “I do not believe that is entirely true, it seems they are riding a weak gravitational wave towards the planet, I believe the ship itself may be able to sense the wave and use it like sonar or echo location. Also, no ripple field is present, they are literally being pushed by spacetime itself.”
Alex looked alarmed, “Ah crap, could they detect us?”
Kara shook her head as she manipulated the raw data on the sides of the holo, “Theoretically yes, practically no. The Missive is in stealth mode, and while a gravity wave could wash over the ship, we are in a dense asteroid field. We would appear as just another floating chunk of rock, they would have to have very good algorithms to see something amiss from the distance to the planet, much less from their current distance.”
Alex nodded, “So they see the universe like an ancient submarine would on earth, as signals around them you think?”
Kara nodded as she continued to process data, “I would say it is a near certainty at this point, there simply isn’t enough radiation emissions coming from that ship to do anything else.”
Alex settled down a bit and eyed a fig newton, picking it up from the table, just as he went to take a bite Kara spoke, “That is strange, I’m reading bell inequality in the vessel. Checking sparrows on the planet. Oh, that is brilliant. They do have faster than light communication.”
Alex pulled the fig newton away from his mouth. Then he cheated by looking up what bells inequality was, “They’re using quantum entanglement to communicate to the planet?”
Kara swiped at the holo for more information, “Yes, and before you ask, no we can’t intercept what they are saying. If it weren’t for the ‘wonky physics’ as you say here we wouldn’t have been able to detect it at all. Or if they had a real shield emitter on board it would have blocked the probes from detecting it.”
Alex took a bite from his fig newton, “Ok, so they can talk to the planet, probably talk back to wherever they call home as well. Do they pose a threat to us?”
Kara continued to process the information from the probes, “The only significant problem is the number of torpedoes they could launch at us, there are literally thousands of them on racks all over the hull. Even with all our point defense systems running some could get through. But no, I would say a single ship of this class would not be dangerous to us. At the very least we can run from it.”
Alex chewed on that, as well as his fig newton, “That’s a relief, we’ll stay in stealth and watch the sparrow drones on the planet to see what they do. If they start nuking the planet again, we may have to go into action.”
Kara stood up straight and crossed her arms, “I would expect nothing less from you Captain.”
___________________
Five days later Alex and Kara stood in front of the holo, between passive sensors on the Missive, passive sensors on the probes, and the small active sensors on the sparrows, they had a good idea of what the pine cone was, and it’s capabilities. First of all, it was a living starship, during it’s slow down and settling into orbit Kara deduced it could manifest weak gravitational waves, allowing it to literally swim through space.
Most of what Kara theorized in the first few minutes was now confirmed, it was very strange the combination of both biological and technological traits they were seeing. It was on this day that the vessel began sending down what could only be considered drop ships.
Kara combined all three sensor points on the main holo, “They are all identical in size, and mostly hollow, they mostly resemble our ore haulers, but are quite a bit larger.”
Alex considered that while picking up a small chocolate chip cookie, “Mostly hollow means they aren’t sending troops down to the planet, you may be right, these are for hauling goods back up to the ship.”
Kara swapped the holo from the wireframe of the drop ships to one of her stealth sparrow drones, “I have one drone that can intercept near a potential landing zone, they are landing outside of most population centers, this one just happened to be flying between villages.”
Alex bit into his cookie and chewed, watching the video feed and keeping an eye on the navigational data from the drop ship. “Are they using chemical rockets to land that huge thing?”
Kara looked to the data coming in, “Yes, it appears they are, however, remember, physics work differently here. They are getting far more energy out of a chemical reaction than we would in our universe, perhaps up to forty percent more.”
He nodded as he watched it precariously land, kicking up dust and debris for a quarter of a kilometer. The tiny probe sped towards the vessel and took up a station keeping role around a hundred meters from what appeared to be the main exit ramp.
Kara looked to the other inputs coming in, hundreds of the Elves were approaching the vessel with wagons of some kind of ore. She turned the probe and used it’s camera to zoom in, but could not determine what it was. “The probe cannot determine the ore they are loading, well, to be precise, the ore doesn’t correspond to anything on our periodic table.”
Alex puzzled over that for a moment, “We ran out of new elements at one seventy three due to the physics of our universe, something about electrons would have to travel faster than light to hold the element together or something like that. Do you think that the wonky physics here allow for more elements?”
Kara looked from the scans all stating UNKNOWN to Alex, “I would say that is a near certainty at this point. Whatever this material is, it is extremely dense, those wagons are barely a quarter of the way full, but the six horse-like animals pulling them are struggling on the mostly flat ground.”
Then the back ramp began to open, slowly at first, but then quicker as the enormous weight of the ramp pulled on the hydraulics on either side. Out stepped what Alex would have considered a hybrid of Humanoids and Lynx. They reminded him of art from ancient Egypt, except their legs bent backwards, like the hind legs of a dog.
They then started shouting to the Elves who brought the wagons of ore into the drop ships while they watched, holding what appeared to be some kind of fire arm. Alex took control of the drone and had it scan the weapon, then looking over to the data flow on the sides of the holo-tank.
“Kinetic weapon, chemically powered, magazine fed, nothing more than a slug thrower. It would’ve been standard military issue five hundred years ago back on earth.” He said as he watched the Elves begin to empty the carts into containers in the haulers.
Kara nodded, agreeing with his assessment. “Those would be quite deadly against opponents without proper body armor, which I doubt the populace has. It appears that this new race of beings has been keeping the Elves as you call them from advancing technologically.”
Alex shook his head, sighing. “Yeah, until we get better language models I doubt we’ll figure out how long this has been going on. You still think the bombardment didn’t happen all at once?”
Kara nodded once more, “Yes, I am getting different trace elements at each sight as the sparrows move around the planet, I believe the bombing has been going on over a very long time, causing the spreading out of population to the villages rather than concentrations in large cities.”
As they watched the Elves empty their cargo and leave they saw the huge ramp close as hundreds of wagons left the area in a hurry. The hauler then started up its engines and launched itself back towards the huge mothership in orbit.
Alex looked from the video feed in the holo to Kara, “If they have room for those big ass cargo haulers, could they have fighter craft? Like the carriers from the Empire?”
Kara shrugged, “Unknown, and without a full sensor ping with the Missive’s active sensors we wouldn’t know until either they launched them or didn’t. I would assume that since they do not have an escort of smaller ships, that they must rely on smaller fighter craft to help defend the ship, but if they are powered by chemical rockets as well, they would have very little range.”
Six more days passed as the haulers left the mothership and filled up on the planet over and over again. Alex was watching a sitcom rerun when Kara called over to him from the holo. “Sir, the mothership is moving.”
He stood up from the couch and walked over to the table, looking down for a snack. “I guess they have all their tribute and they’re heading back to wherever they came from?”
Kara watched the wireframe of the ship, “I suppose, wait, what is that?” She asked as she put both hands into the holo-tank and spread them apart to zoom in on a tiny dot leaving the ship. “Sir, that’s a torpedo, launched from one of the racks on the hull.”
Alex looked from the holo to Kara, “No way to get there in time, it’s a chemically powered torpedo but it will reach the surface before we can get our ripple drive spooled up, much less get the fusion torches online.”
Kara waved her hand through the holo and touched a sparrow that was in the area of the oncoming torpedo. It showed a medium sized town on the banks of a river. No way to tell what the population could be, in a brilliant flash a shockwave roared towards the sparrow, then the signal cut out as it was reduced to metal slag.
She looked through the holo to Alex, waiting to see what he would do. He shook his head and started pacing, she knew that look. It was what he did when he was trying to make a serious decision, he did it before the battle of Birmingham, as he weighed the price of his ships and the lives of their crews versus the millions on the planet.
Alex stopped and turned to the holo-tank, “Is there any indication that they are launching more?”
Kara swiped from the current view to a planetary wireframe with the giant pine cone leaving orbit. “No, it appears they only launched the one torpedo, they will be leaving orbit in the next few minutes, their current trajectory is concurrent with the direction they arrived from.”
Alex sighed, “If we destroy that ship we risk these Lynx creatures sending a fleet to this planet to retaliate. We could make the situation worse for the Elves.”
He paced back and forth running his hand through his hair before turning back to Kara, “Use the probes to gather more information on their outbound journey, use the information from when they came into the system and figure out where they are going. At 10c they can’t be going very far from this system.”
Kara nodded, using the holo to turn the probes focus on the outgoing ship. “Sir, will we be following them?”
Alex thought about it for a moment, “How long until we finish repair and refit?”
Kara’s eyes blazed blue, “After the vessel leaves we can start back to work, we still have nearly a month of work still ahead of us. The only place we can cut corners is on torpedo production, that could save us two weeks if we put all other production into everything else and worked on torpedoes in route.”He looked at the holo as he spoke, “How big of a risk is it to construct torpedoes while traveling at 10c?”
Kara’s eyes faded, “It would be very dangerous, it’s already quite dangerous building them inside the ship, but we don’t have the time to setup the auto-factories in deep space. Onboard a moving starship raises that risk substantially.”
Alex looked away before turning back to her, “No, we can’t risk cutting corners here. We can’t help these Elves if we’re dead. We finish work on the Missive, then we put everything into sparrows and probes for a week. We’ll drop what we can build off at the planet and make our way to wherever the Lynx are going. Our top speed while in stealth is 25c, we can finish our repairs and still beat them to their destination.”
Kara nodded, “That is… sensible Sir. What will we do when we get to our destination?”
Alex shrugged, “We gather information, while we are in route I want the auto-factories churning out probes and sparrows, if it is a system with a planet we’ll deploy both, if it is a space station or shipyard we’ll drop off probes to watch them. We don’t know enough of what is going on here. Best to get information from the Lynx and the Elves.”
Kara crossed her arms behind her back, “I will get a triangulation on their possible destinations, then get the mining drones and haulers back to work. Once we have more raw materials to feed into the forges I can get the auto-factories back up and running. Is there anything else Sir?”
Alex turned and walked to the corner of the room that was once setup for the crew to eat at a huge corner table, he swiped his hand and the table vanished. In its place the corner became his strategy center. One wall had monitors showing the local star cluster, the current system, and finally the planet of the Elves. The other wall was a whiteboard he could take notes with. “I’m going to try and wrap my head around the situation we’re in. You tend to the present, I’ll try to plan for the future.”
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2024.01.07 17:14 miarrial Franklin Delano Roosevelt (1882 - 1945) Président de guerre

Franklin Delano Roosevelt (1882 - 1945) Président de guerre
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Franklin Delano Roosevelt devient en 1933 le 32e président des États-Unis, alors que sévit depuis 1929 la plus grave crise économique de l’époque moderne.
Huit ans après son entrée à la Maison Blanche, le redressement est à peine engagé que l’Europe entre en guerre.
Les États-Unis sont eux-mêmes attaqués par le Japon, allié de l’Allemagne hitlérienne. En première ligne dans la lutte, le président meurt brutalement le 12 avril 1945, dans sa treizième année à la Maison Blanche (un record !), à la veille de la victoire finale.
Son quadruple mandat a installé les États-Unis dans le statut inédit de superpuissance...
Franklin Delano Roosevelt (30 janvier 1882, Hyde Park ; 12 avril 1945, Warm Springs)
Rétrospective sur Franklin Delano Roosevelt (Les Actualités Françaises 1945), source : INA
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La crise

Herbert Clark Hoover (10 août 1874, West Branch, Iowa ; 20 octobre 1964, New York)
Avec le krach boursier d'octobre 1929, les États-Unis et, à leur suite, le reste du monde occidental entrent dans une crise économique majeure. Les faillites bancaires et industrielles se multiplient, le crédit s'effondre (« credit crunch ») et, avec lui, la consommation.
Lors des élections présidentielles de novembre 1932, les États-Unis, première puissance mondiale avec 123 millions d'habitants, comptent déjà 13 à 14 millions de chômeurs et leur production industrielle a été divisée par deux en 3 ans !
Le président sortant Herbert Hoover persiste à croire aux vertus régulatrices du marché et croit voir « la prospérité au coin de la rue ». Le parti démocrate lui oppose le gouverneur de l'État de New York Franklin Delanoo Roosevelt (50 ans) qui, lui, est partisan d'une intervention musclée de l'État.

Une famille compliquée

Franklin Delano Roosevelt à 18 ans (1900)Issu d'une famille patricienne de la côte
Issu d'une famille patricienne de la côte Est, Franklin Roosevelt est un lointain cousin de l'ancien président Théodore Roosevelt, dont il a épousé la nièce Eleanor le 17 mars 1905. Le couple aura cinq enfants.
Réservée autant que son mari est extraverti, Eleanor doit compter avec la présence envahissante de sa belle-mère qui n'a jamais accepté leur union.
Elle trouve un réconfort dans la présence à ses côtés de sa secrétaire Lucy Mercer, enjouée et dévouée à la famille.
Arrive ce qui devait arriver : dès 1916, Lucy entame une liaison adultérine avec Franklin. Eleanor découvre leur correspondance amoureuse deux ans plus tard en défaisant les bagages de son mari, de retour d'un voyage en Europe.
Franklin et Eleanor Roosevelt en famille
Lucy Mercer, 1915 (26 avril 1891 ; 31 juillet 1948)
Il est question de divorce. Une éventualité catastrophique pour le jeune homme auquel tous les espoirs sont permis. On convient donc d'un arrangement : le couple fait chambre à part, Franklin renonce à revoir Lucy... et Eleanor met toute son énergie (et sa fortune) à soutenir la carrière de son mari.
Lucy s'éloigne et épouse un riche veuf dont elle a une fille. Mais elle reste en correspondance avec Franklin et le retrouvera au plus fort de la guerre. Elle sera à ses côtés le jour de sa mort.
Quant à Eleanor, elle tient parole au-delà de toute espérance. Quand son mari connaîtra les premières atteintes de la polio, elle le remplacera dans les réunions publiques. À la Maison Blanche, elle gagnera par sa dignité et son engagement dans les œuvres sociales le qualificatif de First Lady (« Première Dame » ), une première.
Après la chute du nazisme, elle mettra son nom et sa réputation au service des Nations Unies et participera à la rédaction de la Déclaration universelle des Droits de l'Homme.

Un jeune homme prometteur

Après ses études à Harvard et dans l'école de droit de Columbia, Franklin Roosevelt s'est engagé très tôt en politique. En 1910, il devient sénateur de l'État de New York et en 1913, à seulement 31 ans, entre dans le cabinet du président Wilson comme secrétaire d'État adjoint à la Marine.
Franklin Roosevelt, jeune Secrétaire d'État adjoint à la Marine (1913)
Sa jeune notoriété lui vaut de figurer sur le ticket démocrate en novembre 1920 comme vice-président du candidat James Cox. Mais celui-ci, qui est partisan d'engager les États-Unis dans la Société des Nations, est battu par le candidat républicain Warren Harding, partisan d'un retour à l'isolationnisme.
Comble de malheur, le 10 août 1921, alors qu'il fait de la voile dans le Nouveau-Brunswick, Roosevelt tombe à l'eau, victime d'une soudaine paralysie. Les médecins diagnostiquent une première attaque de poliomyélite. La maladie va le priver de l'usage de ses jambes. Il s'en remet très partiellement et surmonte son handicap avec un courage qui lui vaut le respect...
Notons que les photographes veilleront à dissimuler son handicap à l'opinion publique : Franklin Roosevelt sera toujours montré assis ou appuyé à l'épaule d'un ami. Les photographes témoigneront de la même réserve concernant sa vie privée, y compris lorsque Roosevelt les recevra dans son bureau en présence de sa maîtresse Lucy.
Franklin et Eleanor Roosevelt assis sur la pelouse sud de Hyde Park, Photographie d'Oscar Jordan, Août 1932, The Franklin D. Roosevelt Presidential Library and Museum
En 1928, grâce à la médiation de son épouse, Roosevelt fait un retour triomphal en politique en se faisant élire gouverneur de l'État de New York. Quand éclate la crise, il organise des opérations de secours à grande échelle et multiplie les innovations sociales et économiques.
Aussi suscite-t-il un immense espoir aux élections de 1932 malgré la rudesse de ses opposants, tant dans le camp républicain que dans son propre parti démocrate. Hoover avertit que « si FDR est élu, l'herbe poussera bientôt dans des centaines de villes et des milliers de localités ».
Les intellectuels progressistes comme John Dos Passos et Erskine Caldwell l'accusent quant à eux de ne présenter « qu'une version démagogique du républicanisme ». Les élections du 8 novembre lui valent néanmoins une victoire sans appel avec 57,41% du vote populaire et 472 grands électeurs contre 59 à son rival Hoover.
Débute alors une période de transition cruciale jusqu'à l'intronisation officielle, le 4 mars 1933. Ce jour-là, dans son discours inaugural, le président proclame : « The only thing we have to fear is fear itself... » (« La seule chose dont nous devons avoir peur, c'est de la peur elle-même... »). Le Congrès et les États en profitent pour voter un 20e amendement à la Constitution qui ramène au 20 janvier la passation des pouvoirs.
Discours d'investiture de Franklin Roosevelt le 4 mars 1933 (DR)

Le New Deal (en français « Nouvelle donne »)

Le nouveau président, qui s'est entouré d'un « Brain trust » (groupe informel de jeunes intellectuels), a préparé sans attendre un ensemble de mesures interventionnistes, avant tout pragmatiques, destinées à sortir le pays de la crise. C’est le New Deal (« Nouvelle donne »). Il va les faire voter tambour battant par le Congrès au cours d'une extraordinaire session de cent jours, du 9 mars au 16 juin 1933.
Son gouvernement (administration en anglo-americain) se compose de Harold L. Ickes à l'Intérieur, Henry Wallace à l'Agriculture, Frances Perkins au Travail (c'est la première Américaine à occuper une fonction ministérielle), Henry Morgenthau Jr aux Finances à partir du 17 novembre 1933 (deuxième juif à occuper ces fonctions)...
Franklin Roosevelt signe l'Emergency Banking Act (10 mars 1933) sous le regard de son Secrétaire d'État au Trésor William Woodwin (DR)
Dès le lendemain de son entrée à la Maison Blanche, Roosevelt proclame l'état d'urgence (une première en temps de paix) et ferme temporairement les banques. Il interdit les exportations d'or et d'argent puis signe l'Emergency Banking Act, le 10 mars. Trois jours plus tard, 400 banques sont déjà en état de rouvrir leurs portes.
Pour éviter le renouvellement d'une crise de confiance, le gouvernement encadre l'activité bancaire avec le Federal Securities Act (27 mai 1933) et le Banking Act (16 juin 1933).
Plus important que tout, il abandonne l'étalon-or le 19 avril 1933 et dévalue le dollar de 40% : pour l'économiste Alfred Sauvy, cette mesure conventionnelle et peu médiatique aura un impact positif sur la reprise économique autrement plus important que toutes les lois du New Deal !
Le 12 mai 1933, l'Agricultural Adjustment Act (AAA) vise à mettre fin à la surproduction (coton, blé, tabac, maïs) et relever les prix agricoles pour soutenir le niveau de vie des fermiers. Il préconise une réduction des cultures et des cheptels en échange de subventions. Ainsi se met en place une politique massive de soutien de la culture du coton... aujourd'hui accusée de léser gravement les cultivateurs africains.
Le mois suivant, le 16 juin 1933, l'équivalent se met en place dans l'industrie avec le National Industrial Recovery Act (NIRA) qui tend à réduire les heures de travail dans l'industrie et augmenter les salaires. Un Bureau national du travail (National Recovery Administration, NRA) sert de médiateur dans les conflits entre patrons et ouvriers.
Le président Roosevelt debout (adossé à une balustrade) à côté de son épouse Eleanor
Last but not least, le 5 décembre 1933, le gouvernement fait voter le 21e amendement qui... annule le 18e et met fin à la Prohibition de l'alcool : coup dur pour la grande criminalité.
Contre le chômage, qui ne bénéficie encore d'aucune mutuelle d'assurance, Roosevelt met 500 millions de dollars à la disposition de la Federal Emergency Relief Administration. Il confie aussi un vaste programme de travaux publics d'un total de 3 500 millions de dollars à l'Emergency Public Works Administration. La réalisation emblématique est l'aménagement hydraulique de la vallée du Tennessee par la Tennessee Valley Authority fondée le 18 mai 1933.
L'année suivante est mise en place une Securities and Exchange Commission chargée de surveiller la validité des transactions boursières. Tout cela va de pair avec un considérable renforcement de l'admistration fédérale, passée de 600 000 à près d'un million de fonctionnaires entre 1933 et 1939.
Arrivé au pouvoir en même temps que Hitler (et mourra quelques jours avant lui), le président américain se montre, comme le dictateur allemand, adepte des nouvelles techniques de communication : il explique volontiers son action politique à la radio, au cours de longues « causeries au coin du feu ». Il fait volontiers la Une de Time Magazine de son ami Henry Luce. Il innove aussi par l'utilisation des sondages avec l'institut Gallup.
Le président Roosevelt en chaise roulante dans l'intimité de sa propriété de Hyde Park (NY)
Cela dit, les opposants ne désarment pas pour autant. Au Congrès, les républicains et même les démocrates font obstacle aux projets législatifs de la Maison Blanche, obligeant le président à opposer pas moins de 635 fois son veto aux lois de l'assemblée. Un record ! La Cour Suprême, de son côté, n'admet pas que l'État s'entiche de diriger l'économie. Aussi invalide-t-elle en mai 1935 plusieurs mesures du New Deal dont le NIRA (aides à l'industrie). En janvier 1936, c'est au tour de l'AAA d'être invalidé !
C'est au moment où les attaques contre le New Deal se font les plus vives que la production industrielle rebondit enfin. Elle retrouve en 1936 90% de son niveau de 1929. Aux élections de novembre 1936, le président démocrate est reconduit avec 60,80% du vote populaire et 523 grands électeurs contre... 8 à son rival républicain Alf M. Landon ! Il emporte tous les États à l'exception du Maine et du Vermont.
C'est l'amorce d'une recomposition du paysage politique : le parti démocrate séduit les citadins, intellectuels et ouvriers, mais aussi les noirs du Sud qui commencent à délaisser le parti républicain du président Lincoln pour le parti démocrate de Roosevelt.
Mais la crise est encore prégnante. Dans son discours de politique générale, Roosevelt le rappelle : « Le défi qui s'impose à notre démocratie, c'est celui-ci : les mal-logés, les mal-vêtus et les mal-nourris représentent un tiers de la nation ».

L'inquiétude

Il n'est que temps... En 1937, l'activité économique rechute très brutalement avec une baisse de 40% de la production industrielle. C'est qu'en marge des mesures de rétorsion de la Cour Suprême, le gouvernement lui-même croit le moment venu de redresser les comptes publics en réduisant les dépenses et augmentant les impôts ! Il est obligé de faire machine arrière...
Le chômage ne disparaîtra qu'avec la Seconde Guerre mondiale, lorsque l'État inondera les industriels de commandes en vue d'un réarmement à marches forcées. C'est qu'en attendant, le deuxième mandat de Franklin Roosevelt est tout entier dominé par les menaces internationales.
Le secrétaire d'État Cordell Hull, 1939, Library of Congress
https://preview.redd.it/elljit6aj1bc1.png?width=483&format=png&auto=webp&s=76b08649ec800385927dcfea4cb55e19ce3f26db
Dès son accession au pouvoir, Roosevelt et son Secrétaire d'État Cordell Hull ont pratiqué une politique de bon voisinage en reconnaissant dès novembre 1933 le gouvernement soviétique et en renonçant à la politique du « gros bâton » en Amérique centrale.
Soucieux d'exprimer le pacifisme de ses concitoyens, il promulgue en 1935 le Neutrality Act par lequel il s'interdit de fournir des armes à tout belligérant. Mais avec la montée des tensions internationales, cet isolationnisme lui apparaît de plus en plus irresponsable.
Conscient des réalités, le président a déjà entrepris de reconstruire la flotte américaine pour faire face à la montée de l'impérialisme japonais.
En octobre 1939, alors que vient d'éclater la Seconde Guerre mondiale, il fait amender le Neutrality Act en introduisant la clause cash and carry : des belligérants peuvent acheter des armes aux États-Unis à condition de les payer comptant et d'en assurer le transport. Cette clause avantage le Royaume-Uni et la France qui, seuls, peuvent envisager de transporter des armes en sécurité dans l'océan Atlantique.
Quand, le 27 septembre 1940, le Japon conclut avec l'Allemagne et l'Italie un pacte tripartite, Roosevelt obtient du Congrès une loi qui instaure pour la première fois aux États-Unis la conscription en temps de paix : tous les jeunes hommes de vingt à trente-cinq ans sont tenus de s'inscrire pour un tirage au sort, ce qui permet d'appeler 800 000 conscrits.
Mais les citoyens américains n'en restent pas moins hostiles à toute intervention dans le conflit européen. Peu leur chaut que la Tchécoslovaquie, la Pologne, la Belgique, les Pays-Bas et la France soient agressés et envahis par la Wehrmacht...
Le président Roosevelt en couverture de Time (29 novembre 1943)
Contre l'usage, Roosevelt, au vu de la situation internationale, prend la liberté de solliciter un troisième mandat. Sa décision fait débat au sein de son propre camp, au point qu'il doit modifier son ticket et remplacer son vice-président J.N. Garner par Henry Wallace. Son rival républicain Wendell Wilkie fait campagne pour la paix et contre le « faiseur de guerre ». Il ne peut empêcher la réélection de Roosevelt mais celui-ci doit se satisfaire d'un résultat plus modeste que la fois précédente avec 54% du vote populaire et 449 grands électeurs contre 82 à son rival.
Le président a dès lors les mains plus libres en matière géopolitique. Décidé à soutenir le camp des démocraties, il obtient le 9 mars 1941 le vote de la loi « prêt-bail » (Lend-Lease Act) qui facilite les ventes d'armes aux Britanniques. Il obtient qui plus est le droit de les étendre à « tout pays dont le président jugerait la défense essentielle pour la sécurité des États-Unis ».
Alors que le Royaume-Uni de Winston Churchill est encore contraint de lutter seul contre l'Allemagne de Hitler, l'industrie américaine se met toute entière à son service.
Oubliée la récession. Les États-Unis entrent dans une phase d'expansion et de prospérité sans précédent qui va leur assurer la suprématie mondiale pour plusieurs générations. Financées par les commandes publiques et les emprunts britanniques, les usines tournent à plein régime pour fabriquer non plus des voitures mais des tanks, des canons, des avions et des bateaux.
Le 22 juin 1941, avec l'invasion de l'URSS par la Wehrmacht, la guerre sur le continent européen est relancée et change d'échelle.
Roosevelt, plus que jamais convaincu de l'urgence d'intervenir, organise une rencontre spectaculaire avec le Premier ministre Winston Churchill, « quelque part en mer », au large de Terre-Neuve, le 14 août 1941. Cette première rencontre entre les deux hommes d'État est destinée à préparer les Américains à une alliance avec leurs cousins anglo-saxons avec des buts de guerre honorables. De fait, les deux hommes s'engagent sur des principes moraux destinés à soutenir l'effort de guerre et préparer le monde futur. C'est la Charte de l'Atlantique, à l'origine de la charte des Nations Unies.
Dès le mois suivant, la loi « prêt-bail » est étendue à l'URSS de Staline, alliée obligée des démocraties. Le 16 septembre 1941, usant de ses pouvoirs de commandant en chef, Roosevelt autorise aussi la flotte de guerre à escorter les cargos américains à destination des îles britanniques, pour leur éviter les attaques des sous-marins. Ce n'est pas la guerre mais ça y ressemble.
En définitive, il faudra rien moins que l'attaque japonaise sur Pearl Harbor, le 7 décembre 1941, pour faire basculer l'opinion américaine ! Cette attaque avait été rendue inéluctable par l'embargo de Roosevelt sur les livraisons au Japon de pétrole, caoutchouc et autres matières stratégiques. Entravé dans ses projets de conquête de l'Asie, le Japon impérialiste s'était alors vu dans la nécessité de lancer un avertissement aux Américains : se préparer à une guerre douloureuse ou se retirer d'Extrême-Orient et du Pacifique. Un avertissement illusoire compte tenu de la disproportion des forces entre le petit Japon et la première puissance économique mondiale.
Attaque de Pearl Harbor

La guerre inaugure le Siècle américain

Dès le lendemain de Pearl Harbor, le 8 décembre, le Congrès déclare la guerre au Japon. Il ne peut faire moins. Mais le 11 décembre, c'est l'Allemagne qui, en soutien de son très lointain « allié » japonais, déclare à son tour la guerre aux États-Unis. Curieuse maladresse de Hitler qui aurait pu se garder de cette provocation...
La Marine et l'aéronavale engagent leurs premiers combats dans des attaques tous azimuts contre les Japonais pour sauver ce qui peut l'être de leurs possessions du Pacifique. Contre toute attente, elles essuient d'humiliants revers avec la perte des Philippines qui s'ajoute à celles de Singapour et de l'Indonésie. L'expansion nipponne est stoppée cependant par la bataille de Midway, du 3 au 6 juin 1942.
Conscient que la plus grande menace est l'Allemagne, Roosevelt décide de donner alors la priorité à la guerre européenne : « Germany first ». Les pilotes américains participent aux raids sur l'Allemagne et l'armée prépare les attaques périphériques sur l'Afrique du Nord. Le tournant décisif est la bataille d'El Alamein, à l'automne 1942. Vient ensuite le débarquement en Sicile en juillet 1943 puis le débarquement de Normandie en juin 1944. Des opérations finalement secondaires par rapport aux batailles de titans que se livrent Allemands et Soviétiques dans les plaines de l'Est, à Stalingrad et Koursk.
Dès 1942, le président des États-Unis s'affirme comme le chef de la coalition antiallemande. Churchill, le « Vieux Lion », est condamné à jouer les utilités tandis que Staline, s'il se montre prodigue du sang de son peuple, ne peut se passer de l'immense machine de guerre américaine.
Deux mois après le débarquement anglo-saxon en Afrique du nord, premier des débarquements alliés dans l'espace nazi, il organise une première conférence interalliée à Casablanca (Maroc), dans l'hôtel Anfa (12-24 janvier 1943). Avec Churchill, il met au point le prochain débarquement en Sicile et l'aide à l'URSS. Il impose surtout l'objectif d'une capitulation sans condition de l'Allemagne, en rupture avec les traditions diplomatiques européennes, ce qui a pour résultat de renforcer l'union de l'armée et du peuple allemands autour de Hitler ! Roosevelt, qui cache mal par ailleurs son antipathie pour de Gaulle, échoue à le réconcilier avec le général Henri Giraud, un opportuniste falot auquel il aurait préféré confié le commandement des Français ralliés aux Anglo-Saxons.
Le 22 novembre 1943, Roosevelt et Churchill se retrouvent au Caire où ils rencontrent Tchang Kaï-chek, le président de la Chine nationaliste en guerre contre le Japon. Ils se mettent d'accord sur les buts de guerre dans le Pacifique. Là-dessus, les deux dirigeants anglo-saxons reprennent l'avion pour l'Iran.
Le 28 novembre 1943, Roosevelt rencontre enfin Staline à la conférence de Téhéran. Le président est ébranlé et séduit par le dictateur. Il croit pouvoir l'amener à démocratiser son régime et se prend à rêver d'un condominium américano-soviétique sur le monde ! En attendant, il convient avec lui de l'ouverture d'un second front à l'Ouest. Ce sera le débarquement de Normandie. Par-dessus la tête de Churchill, les deux alliés préparent aussi le démembrement de l'Allemagne.
Les mêmes hommes se retrouveront à la conférence de Yalta, en Crimée, le 4 février 1945, pour régler le sort de l'Allemagne et du Japon. Roosevelt, déjà très malade, est chaperonné par Staline qui le manipule à loisir. Le président américain, impatient d'en finir avec le Japon, se montre prêt à toutes les concessions en échange d'une participation de l'URSS à l'invasion de l'archipel ! Plein d'illusions sur la parole de Staline, à la grande fureur de Churchill, il lui consent d'importants abandons en Europe orientale, notamment en Pologne.
Sur le retour, le président s'arrête à Suez pour mettre sur pied une alliance avec un autre chef aussi peu recommandable, le roi d'Arabie Ibn Séoud. Ce pacte du Quincy va perdurer jusqu'en ce XXIe siècle.

Épilogue

Franklin Delanoo Roosevelt en 1944
Trois mois plus tôt, en novembre 1944, les Américains n'ont pas refusé à Roosevelt un quatrième mandat, malgré un état de santé des plus alarmants. Il a été réélu sans difficulté face au républicain Thomas E. Dewey avec 53,4% du vote populaire.
L'élément important de l'élection fut le choix du nouveau vice-président, vu qu'il devait être appelé à gouverner à brève échéance. Ni les leaders du parti démocrate ni le président lui-même ne souhaitent une trop forte personnalité ! C'est sur Harry S. Truman que leur choix se porte. Né le 8 mai 1884 dans le Missouri, il n'a pas fait d'études supérieures. Fermier, employé, combattant sur le front français en 1917, il ouvre une chemiserie qui fait faillite et, en 1922, commence enfin une carrière politique. Il se montre un sénateur consciencieux et honnête.
L'inéluctable survient : épuisé et malade, Franklin Delano Roosevelt meurt d'une hémorragie cérébrale le 12 avril 1945, à 63 ans, quelques semaines avant le suicide de Hitler et la capitulation de l’Allemagne.
Funérailles du président Franklin Roosevelt, Pennslvanny Av.,Washington
Il reviendra à son successeur, Harry S. Truman, de conclure la guerre et bâtir la paix au pied levé bien qu'il ait eu à peine l'occasion d'en débattre avec le président dans les semaines qui ont précédé sa mort. « J'ai cru que la lune, les étoiles et toutes les planètes m'étaient tombées dessus », confiera-t-il aux journalistes... En dépit de son impréparation, il va relever le défi et confirmer les États-Unis comme superpuissance.
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2023.12.30 12:48 freedcreativity A Collapse Freewrite: Scifi Dates and the Will

We, as a society, are about 42 34 hours from 2024. It is a ridiculous date. Ludicrous! 24 years after the year 2000! The future is now!
War, famine, plague, and death stalk the land. But we all have decided on the annual work stoppage between the solstice and the New Year. Praise Hecate!
But I sit aware and paralyzed. My music listening choices have been scrutinized and returned. Hyperpop, synthwave, and vocaloids. Robot music for a robot age.
The AI made of plagiarism probably passes the Turing Test, and Big Tech's internal tools are much scarier than the toys we get to play with.
I spent the year working for the world's richest man, unpaid. For every successful startup, I'd estimate there are a dozen scores of failures. The promise of untold riches is a strong motivator, even in the absence of actual capital.
See, AWS prepositioned my startup with nearly unlimited server credits for a year and a day if I worked on building machine learning and data science solutions for healthcare to deal with the increasing proportion of the population with serious, intractable depression. It is not remarked upon that the US government estimates 40% of adults have symptoms of depression. The best that our pharmaceutical companies can manage is 35% response rates to even the newest psychotropic drugs, in a single trial. Maybe genetics, data science, and LLMs could do better. They could probably, but good luck getting investment when money costs anything.
With a little work, you can just talk to ChatGPT about your genetic data. GPT 4.0 is terrifying, both in its clever perceptiveness and its idiosyncratic idiocy. No boobs, no napalm, but it is happy to run its hands over your genes and ask the NCBI for things it can't remember.
The geese are flying north. The bugs are all dead. The farmland is eroding. Sometimes one hears people talking brittlely about the 'nice' weather.
Surely even the denialists can feel consensus reality leering across the fence. Economic indicators are doing great! You live in the techno-future, the second richest man bought the digital town square to stage his drug-induced psychotic break. But unlike his predecessor he's not storing his shit and toenails in jars, he's dumping dangerous meta-informational garbage straight into the cold-dead hearts of the dumber half of the population. Many of that dumber half also control important posts in government, industry, or finance.
Not since the waning days of Kings have we seen such dangerous ineptitude passed to the friends and associates of the winners two lifetimes ago. If Jack Kennedy was the American Caesar, we are now seeing the rot of the Roman's bloated aristocratic class in the Crisis of the Third Century.
We have this profound spiritual, intellectual, and cultural rot. The hard, moral mass of the small business owner's continuous struggle which underlined the post-war economic milieu with a rational, hand-to-mouth honesty has been replaced by rapaciousness, greed, and zero-sum gamesmanship. The interpersonal democracy of the workplace and petite bourgeoisie has been replaced with a fever dream of capital. An endless ladder of pretty dictators, bent on a new Kremlinology in digital cargo cults have broken the collective will of the society to survive. The various princes of the Middle East build line cities, moon hotels, and new mega-skyscrapers while the prices of the US build rockets and consolidate media empires. One man's Will (and don't pretend it isn't all men) and the increasingly complete technological control over his own reality cannot be a healthful influence for anyone.
We have never seen men so rich and powerful walk the Gods' green Earth. Even unimaginable wealth cannot fight one's own demons. Ruining the Twitter algorithm was just another shadow play on the wall of the Cave. Penelope Scott was right.
One only has to look at the suicide rate, or racism, or the strange spending habits of the younger generations, or child poverty, or the hateful rhetoric in everyday politics, or that 63% of parents report having a chronic illness and 79% of parents report feeling stressed about money.
While an avowed Nietzschean, I fear Schopenhauer's christian-moral-psychosis had a divine understanding of the will. The mania, the magnificence, the drive to death underlies the robber-barons of the modern age. Unreality flows from their pores -- every yacht, every airplane, every watch and every supermodel escort -- serve to warp reality. The billionaires facing down the children of the first world, struggling to digest not only the gravediggers of God but the ongoing violence arbitrarily dolled out to those trying to find meaning and the fact that college only matters if you're already rich. Hyperreality mixes with cyberpunk, the lucid moments before death, and glimpses of unfathomable change; they form a draught for those who hold eye contact with the specter of famine floating over Eastern Europe, Venezuela, and the wastelands of Detroit. The Spectacle beyond even Guy Debord. A Mescon beyond Lem's Futurological Congress. A mode of socio-psycho-neuro-pharmacological control beyond A Brave New World.
Perhaps the techno-authoritarians of the world will win. The ongoing inertia of society, a few good years, and increased police presence might keep everything together long enough to starve, shoot, or SARS 5 billion people. Even 10 degrees C might be survivable, although one could look at the (ahem) Middle East or the Inner Mongolia Autonomous Region to view the desperate measures needed for social control.
"Like and subscribe!" to an increasingly tenuous worldview of infinite growth, endless luxury without externalities. Take the pills and make it to work, homelessness is probably worse than physical death! Homelessness is a social death, replete with the sacrifice of the Little Match Girl to make the solstice a little brighter. The grinning rictus of the customer service wage slaves, contrasted with the increasingly disassociated prognostication of the economics wizards pondering their candle charts paints a grim picture of the state of the human soul in hyper-capitalism.
The Will of the financier class has grown-in like a bad toenail. The year is one of silver-age sci fi novels. The winter is warm and dry, and the AI is breathing down your neck.
To say nothing if Diaper Don survives the many insults, power plays, legal challenges, and general political intrigue to clinch the executive branch for idiocy and oligarchy. Our curse is to live in interesting times, one of contrasting ideology asserting itself across the very fabric of consensus reality. The 'Culture War' is a misnomer I am increasingly convinced. As a student of Nietzsche and former church kid, these evangelicals are those who God himself blinds in the Apocalypses of John. Even contrasted to pre-reformation Catholics, or desert Anchorites, they've divorced themselves so far from our modern, falsifiable mode of understanding that I'm sure American Evangelicals would choose Barabbas a second time while wailing and gnashing their teeth.
The latent Will-to-Power of the human mass gestates uneasily. By my reckoning, our collective consciousness has about 11 months to plot a daring breakout from the economies of attention, unbounded growth, social indifference, and general malaise.
I must end my mestive missive, for the ice cubes in my bourbon have melted like the sea ice, and the hour is late even for Nihilists. Be of good cheer, engage in acts of ontological rebellion, and I wish you a Happy New Year.
PS mods, sorry I took longer than Friday to write this.
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2023.12.16 19:41 Pule2278 Missionary Training Center -circa 1990

I entered the MTC (Mission Training Center) for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints on April 4th, 1990. I was sure that I was supposed to be in this place. When I got there, they escorted me and my family into a room with a bunch of people - young men with fresh haircuts and nicely pressed suits. The room was clearly temporary, but the folding doors were maybe 20 feet high and 4 feet wide, so well-constructed that it took a second or two until you realized it. The floor was carpeted, and at one end of the room was a raised platform about six inches off the ground, and on it was a pulpit.
Before too long, someone stood at it saying, “Parents, this is it. Say goodbye once you have done so, missionaries through this door," he pointed behind him, "Family through that door," pointing to the opposite side of the room. And just like that, I was a missionary. Nineteen years of mom taking me to church, 19 years of singing “I hope they call me on a Mission,” four years in early morning seminary, seven years of mutual, primary, and Sunday school had all led to this moment. As I left that room, some old lady stuck an orange dot on my name tag and said, “Don’t forget your dork dot.” That moment of solemnity died right then.
I was going to a stateside mission, which meant my stay at the training center would only be three weeks. The MTC was built to house about four thousand missionaries, but in my three weeks, I was surrounded by a group of eight other missionaries. We were paired with a companion. For the next two years, I would be with a companion or someone else for the duration of my mission. Together, the eight of us did everything together - we ate, learned, taught, and exercised together. Of course, they were characters.
One guy I’m gonna call Elder Awesome. Elder Awesome was from Las Vegas; he was an all-American quarterback-looking kind of guy. He stood at about six feet tall; his blond hair was coiffed in the latest fashions. He had warm blue eyes and a chin that could break granite. His white shirts were pressed with skill, starch, and the Lord’s own blessing. His slacks were ironed every morning to ensure they maintained knife-like creases. His penny loafers were shined to perfection. He looked like he walked out of a JCPenny catalog. Every sister missionary we ran into needed just a minute to ask him a simple question - hair flip and smile, they were distractions from the work. His teaching style was just as perfect as his look. I mean, the guy was smooth. He had learned it all down before he entered the MTC. Apparently, his Bishop (leader of the local congregations) had coached him, so he was good to go. I liked watching him teach; he had great ease talking to people, so conversational. The guy was just so grossly awesome I kinda hated him. But in a way that you’re glad he’s on your team kinda way.
His companion, on the other hand, was a different story. He was a small guy who stood no taller than five foot five inches. He looked older than the rest of us because his hairline had just retreated to the top of his head. He looked like he had missed too many meals, and his suits were ill-fitting. I’m not sure he knew what an iron was used for, as his shirts always looked like he just picked them up off the floor that morning. Even his shoes were dingy and in need of care. When he spoke to people, his voice was unsure, hesitant, and nervous. He was questioning if he should be here in the Mormon mecca. But he had this simple testimony that he carried like a treasure box cupped in his hands, that he only opened just a bit to share its precious content with his closest friends and confidants. Yet here he was in the sea of young men who were groomed from the cradle to be here. Against all odds, he was here, and he was trying. A braver soul I have not met. He was a new convert to the church only a couple of years if I remember correctly.
One night on my way back to my room, my companion and I happened to come across Elder Awesome and Elder C. in the MTC lobby. Something was wrong with Elder C; he was lying on the couch in the foyer of the MTC. His small five foot five frame looked frail and sickly. He was clutching his chest like he was having a heart attack. I was immediately drawn to him. My heart went out to him, and I wanted to help if I could. Elder Awesome had this look of tired patience.
“Is C ok?” I asked concerned.
“He's was struggling to breath and said his chest hurt.” he replied in that relaxed manner
“Have you given Elder C a blessing?”
“Nope, I’ve given him a blessing before but not today,” he said.
“Do you mind if I give him a blessing?”
“Sure,” he said with a big smile of relief and gratitude he didn’t have to do it again.
We stood over Elder and gave him a blessing. As soon as I completed the “ordinance” part of the prayer, I felt I should tell him without equivocation that he would be healed. The words were just in my head, but I don’t do inspiration like this I thought. So I ignored it; that’s not the spirit. As I continued to pray, I was prompted again. It was clear this time to the point of distraction. So again, I silenced that still small voice. I told Elder C he would be okay with some platitude that escapes me currently. But I knew whatever it was that was bothering him would never do so again after this night. I knew he would complete his mission, and his health would no longer be a hindrance. I knew, and God knew, and he had asked me to give Elder C that comfort. But instead he got was my words, and they lacked the resonance that could turn simple words into life changing moments. When I closed the prayer, I looked up to find EMTs walking into the door and whisking Elder C and Elder Awesome off to the hospital.
I saw that elder one more time before I left the MTC. As we passed in the hall, I pulled him aside, and I asked him how he was feeling.
He said, “Much better,” his tone was light and more assured.
I looked him in the eye and I told him. “C listen, I should have said this before, but I feel impressed to tell you that God has healed you.”
He was nodding, then looked shocked for a second, how did you know? His expression conveyed to me. Then it dawned on me, the Lord had sent another messenger to Elder C, and they had given him the Lord's missive. What I was saying to him now was just an afterthought. The lord knew this young man, he knew what the young man needed to hear. Although I didn’t give him the confront he needed, he still got it from somewhere. It had changed him, put him on the path he needed to be on. I let fear conquer me that day. To this day it’s something I regret. I heard the voice of the lord and I chose to ignore it. It was a good lesson to learn at the start of my mission for it served me well at other critical moments.
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2023.12.15 15:51 miarrial « Islamophobes », les Français ? La France et les Français face à l'islam

« Islamophobes », les Français ? La France et les Français face à l'islam
Lien
20 août 2023 : les 60 pays de l’Organisation de la coopération islamique (OCI) ont parrainé à l'ONU en 2021 une résolution faisant du 15 mars la Journée internationale de lutte contre l’islamophobie. Il existe aussi à Bruxelles, au sein de la Commission européenne, une « coordinatrice de la lutte contre la haine antimusulmane ». La Belgique héberge par ailleurs une association qui se présente comme un Collectif contre l’islamophobie en Europe. En France même, il est courant que, dans le débat public, le terme « islamophobe » soit employé pour disqualifier un contradicteur...
Le néologisme « islamophobie » est employé aujourd’hui comme synonyme de « haine antimusulmane » mais son étymologie signifie « peur de l’islam » (du grec phobos, « peur »), ce qui n’est pas du tout pareil. Il est abject de haïr des individus en raison de leur identité religieuse ou autre. Par contre, il est légitime de réprouver à titre individuel une religion ou un quelconque système de pensée. Dans les siècles précédents, beaucoup de penseurs français (Voltaire, Zola, Sartre…) affichaient bruyamment leur hostilité à la religion catholique sans être ostracisés pour autant.
En irait-il autrement avec l'islam et les musulmans ? Une plongée dans l’Histoire millénaire de notre pays montre que celui-ci n’a jamais manifesté d’hostilité à l’égard de l’islam et encore moins à l’égard des musulmans en tant que tels !... Jamais sauf pendant la guerre d’Algérie.
Mystérieux Sarrasins
Les musulmans font leur première apparition au nord des Pyrénées en 721, soit un siècle tout juste après l’Hégire, acte de naissance officiel de l’islam. Ils sont repoussés devant Toulouse par le duc Eudes d’Aquitaine puis en 732 entre Poitiers et Tours par Charles Martel. Leur équipée ne laissera guère de trace, sinon dans les chroniques de l’époque et les livres d’Histoire.
Les chroniqueurs médiévaux les qualifient de Sarrasins (dico). Ils ne les voient pas comme les zélateurs d’une religion ennemie mais plutôt comme les adeptes d’une nouvelle secte aux contours flous. Ainsi, dans la Chanson de Roland, il sera dit plus tard que les Sarrasins adorent Mahomet et Apollon !
Cette méconnaissance de l’islam n’empêche pas pour autant Charlemagne et le calife de Bagdad Haroun al-Rachid de nouer d’excellentes relations. C’est qu’ils ont l’un et l’autre les mêmes ennemis : l’émir omeyyade de Cordoue (musulman) et l’empereur de Byzance (chrétien) !
À l’approche de l’An Mil, la Chrétienté romaine fait pâle figure face à l’Islam dont le domaine s’étend désormais des rivages du Maroc aux confins de la Chine et brille de tous ses feux. Conscients de leur ignorance, les moines d’Occident s’instruisent dans des manuscrits en latin traduits de l’arable et inspirés d’ouvrages grecs ou persans.
Gerbert d’Aurillac est l’un de ces moines. Il va étudier dans des abbayes catalanes et en ramène une innovation majeure, la numérotation arabe, qui va remplacer les chiffres romains et ouvrir la voie au développement des mathématiques. Ses qualités humaines vont aussi valoir à ce moine de devenir le pape de l’An Mil sous le nom de Sylvestre II.
En cette époque de piété intense, les laïcs, quant à eux, se soucient simplement de sauver leur âme. Beaucoup partent en pèlerinage dans les grands sanctuaires : celui de saint Martin, à Tours, ou celui de saint Jacques, à Compostelle. Les plus audacieux gagnent le Saint Sépulcre, autrement dit le tombeau du Christ à Jérusalem, alors sous domination musulmane. Le « voyage d’outre-mer » ne fait pas peur car tout le long du parcours, les pèlerins bénéficient d’une relative protection tant de la part des chrétiens que des musulmans.
Mais après l’An Mil, alors que la chrétienté d’Occident et la France entrent dans le « beau Moyen Âge », l’espace arabo-musulman se voit assailli par les Turcs et sombre dans les divisions. En 1005, le Turc Toghrul-beg s’empare de Bagdad et devient sultan. En 1009, dans un accès de fanatisme, le sultan fatimide d’Égypte El-Hakim détruit le Saint-Sépulcre. Les pèlerins ne peuvent plus se déplacer qu’avec de grandes escortes en armes.
À la génération suivante, en 1071, d’autres Turcs défont l’armée byzantine à Malazgerd et capturent le basileus. Byzance, menacée, appelle à la rescousse la Chrétienté d’Occident.

Les Turcs arrivent

Le pape Urbain II, à la faveur d’un déplacement à Clermont (Auvergne) en 1095, lance un appel aux chevaliers pour secourir Byzance et dégager la route du Saint-Sépulcre. Il est entendu au-delà de toute espérance tant par la noblesse franque que par les paysans. Il va s’ensuivre pendant plus d’un siècle des déplacements de masse vers la Terre Sainte, plus tard appelés « croisades » (dico).
Il est important de souligner que ces croisades ne sont pas dirigées contre l’islam ni contre les Arabes. Elles n’ont pas pour but de convertir les musulmans, encore moins de les exterminer, mais seulement de contenir les Turcs. Ils ont déjà renvoyé les Arabes dans les ténèbres de l’Histoire où ils végèteront pendant neuf siècles et ils menacent d’en faire autant des Grecs, ce à quoi elle arrivera trois siècles plus tard.
Dans les États francs fondés par les croisés en Palestine, les Arabes vont découvrir ce qui fait la force des jeunes sociétés occidentales : l’égalité de tous devant la loi, puissant ou misérable, chrétien ou musulman. En témoigne l’historien et romancier Amin Maalouf : « [chez les Franj ou Francs] les féodaux, les chevaliers, le clergé, l'université, les bourgeois et même les paysans infidèles [musulmans] ont tous des droits bien établis. Dans l'Orient arabe, la procédure des tribunaux est plus rationnelle ; néanmoins, il n'y a aucune limite au pouvoir arbitraire du prince. Le développement des cités marchandes, comme l'évolution des idées, ne pouvait qu'en être retardé. » (Les croisades vues par les Arabes, 1983).
Caricature du prophète Mahomet laissée par un copiste dans la traduction en latin du Coran (1142)
Avec les croisades, les Francs ou Français sortent pour la première fois de leur fin-de-terre et découvrent le vaste monde et ses merveilles. Leur curiosité va dès lors devenir insatiable. Ils commencent à mieux connaître l’islam et son Prophète qu’ils désignent d’après son nom turc Mehmet, dont Mahomet est une simple déformation phonétique. Dans la prestigieuse abbaye de Cluny (Bourgogne), l’abbé Pierre le Vénérable ne veut pas en rester là. En 1142, il va en Espagne commander à des ateliers de copistes la première traduction du Coran en latin.
Francs et musulmans se combattent comme se combattent tous les féodaux de l’époque, parfois avec malignité, parfois aussi avec noblesse. Le roi d’Angleterre Richard Cœur de Lion, angevin par son père et aquitain par sa mère, lie amitié avec son adversaire le frère et successeur du sultan Saladin. Il envisage même un moment de lui donner sa sœur en mariage afin qu’ils gouvernent de concert la Terre Sainte…
Quelques années plus tard, en 1219, saint François d’Assise a pour la première fois l’idée de convertir les musulmans à sa foi. Il se rend auprès du sultan d'Égypte Mélik el-Kâmil. Celui-ci, neveu de Saladin et dont le père avait manqué d'épouser la sœur de Richard Cœur de Lion, est un homme d'ouverture à l'esprit chevaleresque. Il organise une confrontation verbale entre François et des théologiens de l'islam, puis, rempli d'estime pour l'homme d'Église, le fait reconduire dans son camp.
Après cette tentative manquée, rares seront les récidives (citons seulement Saint Louis et beaucoup plus tard Charles de Foucauld). Après l’échec des croisades, les Occidentaux tentent mais en vain de contrer l’avancée turque sur le continent européen et pour le reste, s’accommodent du voisinage avec l’Islam. En cette fin du Moyen Âge, ils se montrent autrement plus violents envers les juifs qui tentent de vivre paisiblement sur leur sol.

À la découverte de la civilisation islamique

Dans la Divine Comédie, le poète Dante Alighieri (1266-1321) témoigne de l’ouverture d’esprit de ses contemporains et de lui-même en faisant figurer dans le premier cercle de l’enfer, où résident les âmes vertueuses privées de la foi, quelques grandes figures de l’Islam comme Avicenne, Averroès et Saladin aux côtés d’Homère, Platon, Socrate et des grands présocratiques : « Euclide géomètre et Ptolémée, Hippocrate, Avicenne et Galien, Averroès qui fit le Commentaire » (Enfer, IV, 142-144).
Bien plus tard, c’est Raphaël d’Urbino (1483-1520) qui représente Averroès et Avicenne parmi les grands esprits qui peuplent son chef d’œuvre, L’École d’Athènes. Cette grande fresque décore les appartements du pape Jules II. Apprécions comme il se doit cette ouverture d’esprit dont on ferait bien de s’inspirer aujourd’hui (je songe aux Ukrainiens qui débaptisent les avenues Pouchkine au prétexte de leur guerre avec la Russie).
Représentation du philosophe andalou Averroës (1126-1198) parmi les sages de l'École d'Athènes (fresque de Raphaël d'Urbino, 1508-1512, appartements pontificaux du Vatican)
L'École d'Athènes, fresque monumentale réalisée par Raphaël d'Urbino pour les appartements du pape Jules II, au Vatican (1508-1512)
En attendant, les Turcs ottomans ont fini par entrer dans Constantinople et participent désormais aux jeux diplomatiques et guerriers de l’Europe moderne.
Dans son conflit avec l’empereur Charles Quint, le roi de France François Ier ne voit aucun inconvénient à nouer une alliance de revers avec le sultan Soliman le Magnifique, tout comme Charlemagne avec Haroun al-Rachid sept siècles plus tôt ! En 1536, le Roi Très Chrétien en profite aussi pour signer avec le Commandeur des Croyants des Capitulations aux termes desquelles il obtient des avantages commerciaux et se voit confier la protection des Lieux Saints et des chrétiens de l’empire ottoman.
Ce traité demeurera en vigueur jusqu’à la Première Guerre mondiale, quatre siècles plus tard. Il conduira l’empereur Napoléon III à s’immiscer dans une querelle de moines autour du Saint-Sépulcre qui mènera à la guerre de Crimée et à intervenir au secours des chrétiens maronites du Liban.
À la fin du XVIIe siècle, après le deuxième échec du siège de Vienne, l’empire ottoman a perdu de sa superbe. Il n’en excite pas moins la curiosité des Occidentaux et des Français en particulier, tout comme son rival l’Iran safavide.
Réception d'ambassadeur pas le sultan au XVIIIe siècle, musée de Bordeauc
Un artiste de Valenciennes, Jean Baptiste Vanmour (ou Van Mour, 1671-1737), vivra de 1699 à sa mort à Istamboul, dans le quartier de Galatasaraï, avec le titre honorifique de « peintre ordinaire du roi [de France] et en Levant ». Il nous laissera un témoignage iconographique d’une exceptionnelle richesse sur la cour et la société ottomanes.
Avant lui, le voyageur et marchand Jean Baptiste Tavernier, né à Paris en 1605 et mort à Moscou en 1689, nous livre un recueil très documenté, quoique touffu, de ses Six Voyages en Turquie, en Perse et aux Indes. Notons sa description très clinique de la ville d’Ispahan : « La ville d’Ispahan est mal percée ; les rues sont étroites et inégales, et la plupart fort obscures, à cause des voûtes que l’on fait pour aller à couvert d’une maison à l’autre, et l’on marche quelquefois dessous deux cents pas à tâtons. Ces rues sont le plus souvent remplies de mille ordures, et de bêtes mortes que l’on y jette ; ce qui cause une grande puanteur, et qui pourrait engendrer la peste sans l’extraordinaire bonté de l’air qui y règne comme je dirai ailleurs ».
Autrement plus talentueux est le diplomate Antoine Galland. Au service d’un ambassadeur de Louis XIV à Constantinople, il collecte des manuscrits orientaux et, de retour en France, est attiré par un recueil de contes populaires. Il le retranscrit dans le français imagé du Siècle des Lumières et le complète effrontément en transcrivant les contes qu’il a entendus d’un ami syrien. L’ensemble est publié en 1704 sous le titre : Les Mille et Une Nuits et va recueillir immédiatement un immense succès. Il faudra attendre plus d’un siècle avant que des lettrés arabes s’intéressent à ce témoignage unique de la littérature populaire syro-égyptienne.
Les Mille et Une Nuits de Galland vont renforcer l’intérêt des Français cultivés pour l’Orient. En 1721, Montesquieu, dans Les Lettres persanes, fait parler deux voyageurs venus de Perse pour critiquer la monarchie française sans risquer la censure. .
À la fin du siècle, alors que cette monarchie est tombée sous les coups de la Révolution, un jeune général accorde son ambition politique avec sa passion pour l’Orient. Il emmène une armée en Égypte avec le projet, qui sait ? de soumettre l’empire ottoman.
Napoléon Bonaparte, car c’est de lui qu’il s’agit, n’y réussira pas mais il va ouvrir l’Égypte et le monde arabe à la modernité avec le concours des savants de son expédition. Lui-même va avoir soin de séduire la population en affichant sa bienveillance envers l’islam !
Il va inaugurer la vogue de l’Orient chez les artistes et les écrivains français et européens. Chateaubriand ouvre le bal avec son voyage au Levant en 1806-1807 d’où sort un Itinéraire de Paris à Jérusalem dans lequel l’auteur, fidèle à lui-même, parle essentiellement de lui-même !
Autrement plus fin et subtil est le Voyage en Orient de Gérard de Nerval, dans lequel le poète raconte avec une humanité rare ses pérégrinations de Vienne à Constantinople en passant par la Grèce, l’Égypte et le Liban, de 1839 à 1843.
Gérard de Nerval : Carnet de voyage en Orient, 1843. Les bords du Nil et ébauche d'un plan du Caire (BNF)
Voici comment il narre sa rencontre inattendue avec le jeune sultan Abdul-Mejid (16 à 20 ans) alors que celui-ci venait de publier la Charte de Gulhané destinée à moderniser l’empire : « En redescendant vers le port, j’ai vu passer le sultan dans un cabriolet fort singulier ; deux chevaux attelés en flèche tiraient cette voiture à deux roues, dont la large capote, carrée du haut comme un dais, laisse tomber sur le devant une pente de velours à crépine d’or. Il portait la redingote simple et boutonnée jusqu’au col, que nous voyons aux Turcs depuis la réforme, et la seule marque qui le distinguât était son chiffre impérial brodé en brillants sur son tarbouch rouge. Un sentiment de mélancolie est empreint sur sa figure pâle et distinguée. Par un mouvement machinal, j’avais ôté mon chapeau pour le saluer, ce qui n’était au fond qu’une politesse d’étranger (…). Il me regarda alors avec attention, car je manifestais par là mon ignorance des usages. On ne salue pas le sultan. »
Passons sur Gustave Flaubert qui se rend en Égypte et à Jérusalem avec son ami Maxime du Camp en 1849-1852. Nul doute que le voyage va inspirer l’œuvre romanesque du jeune trentenaire mais ses carnets se résument pour leur part à des histoires de bordels et de viols et à une vision glauque de l’Orient.
Après ces références de premier plan, l’Orient va inspirer jusqu’à nos jours les auteurs français tel le fantasque Pierre Loti qui va faire rêver des générations d’adolescents avec Aziyadé (1879), le roman né de son amour impossible pour une jeune Ottomane. Il va aussi nourrir l’imagination du naturaliste Théodore Monod (1902-2000), en quête d’une introuvable météorite, et les travaux des grands islamologues et historiens Louis Massignon (1883-1962) ou encore Maxime Rodinson (1915-2004) et Jacques Berque (1910-1995).
Fantasia (détail, Eugène Delacroix, 1832, musée Fabre, Montpellier
Ali Ben Ahmed, dernier khalife de Constantine (Théodore Chassériau, 1845, musée de Versailles)
Mais l’orientalisme est aussi à l’origine de chefs d’œuvre artistiques. Il y a bien sûr les beautés quelque peu fantasmées de Jean Dominique Ingres : La Grande Odalisque (1814) et Le Bain turc (1862). Plus sérieusement, il y a les toiles d’Eugène Delacroix tirées de ses impressions de voyage à Tanger, Meknès et Alger en 1831, et notamment les magnifiques Femmes d’Alger dans leur appartement (1834).
Cette œuvre et bien d’autres reflètent l’empathie de l’auteur pour l’humanité d’outre-Méditerranée. Cette empathie est aussi manifeste dans l’œuvre de Théodore Chassériau (1819-1856) ainsi que d’Eugène Fromentin (1820-1876), surtout actif sous le Second Empire. Ses Cavaliers arabes et ses scènes de chasse en Algérie expriment sa nostalgie pour un Âge d’Or chevaleresque en voie de disparition.
Faut-il poursuivre ? Où que nous posions nos regards, nous ne voyons dans l’Histoire de France que bienveillance et empathie envers le monde arabe et l’islam lui-même. Ces sentiments se concilient tout à fait avec une foi chrétienne solide comme le montrent les parcours remarquables du père de Foucauld, du très croyant Théodore Monod ou des moines de Tibéhirine. D’où vient alors ce sentiment de gâchis qui nous parcourt quand nous évoquons les relations de la France actuelle avec l’Islam et la place des musulmans dans la société française ?

Le gâchis algérien

La réponse tient en un mot : Algérie ! Depuis bientôt deux siècles, pour des raisons qui tiennent beaucoup à l’aveuglement idéologique des gouvernants de la IIIe République et d’aujourd’hui, il nourrit les pires malentendus et déboires...
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2023.12.14 11:52 miarrial Les samouraïs Un mythe fascinant, une réalité sombre

Les samouraïs Un mythe fascinant, une réalité sombre
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À tort ou à raison, les samouraïs (dico) nous fascinent. Nous les voyons comme des hommes habiles au maniement des armes certes, mais surtout indomptables, inflexibles, voire fanatiques, d’un courage et d’une endurance extraordinaires, d’une loyauté à toute épreuve et d’un honneur rigoureux.
Samouraï portant une grande armure, XIXe siècle, bibliothèque de l'Université de Nagasaki
Serait-ce que ces guerriers japonais nous rappellent nos poèmes épiques et la Chanson de Roland ? Comme nos chevaliers du Moyen Âge, ils sont apparus dans le cadre d’une société féodale fondée sur des relations d’allégeance d’homme à homme, la féodalité (dico) étant une création exclusive de l’Europe et, précisément, du Japon.
Toutefois, les comportements et les mentalités des samouraïs ont beaucoup changé, selon les époques et les systèmes où ils vivaient, mais aussi selon les rangs qu’ils occupaient. L’important pour l’historien est non seulement de démêler la part du faux et celle du vrai mais encore de comprendre quels facteurs ont conditionné la conduite très variable de ces hommes.
Samouraï et Aïnous à Hokkaido, vers 1775 (période Edo), Hokkaido, musée de la ville de Hakodate

À l’origine, des miliciens au service des puissants

D’abord le cadre historique : les samouraïs ne sont évidemment pas les premiers guerriers à fouler le sol de l’archipel nippon. Ils ont eu des prédécesseurs qui n’ont jamais été appelés « samouraïs ».
C’est seulement au cours des premiers siècles de notre ère que, lentement, et avec un retard considérable sur le continent et la Chine, un pouvoir politique s’exerçant sur un territoire plus vaste que celui d’un ou de quelques clans ou tribus, se met en place au sud de l’archipel.
Inspiré par le modèle des codes chinois de la dynastie Tang (618-907), ce pouvoir s’étend progressivement, soumettant le territoire qu’il contrôle et les humains qui y vivent à l’autorité de celui qu’on appelle l’Empereur. Dans ce processus d’expansion, la violence des armes joue évidemment un rôle essentiel – mais les soldats de l’Empereur ne sont pas appelés « samouraïs ».
Très vite les ambitions de cet État centralisé rencontrent leurs limites. Dans l’espoir d’en tirer des revenus fiscaux, il concède des terres, à titre provisoire, à des familles aristocratiques et à des temples assez puissants pour les mettre en valeur. Cependant ceux-ci n’entendent pas les restituer ou laisser l’État y prélever des impôts.
Ces propriétaires constituent alors des milices armées pour se défendre contre les prétentions de l’État comme celles des autres domaines, selon un processus analogue à celui que l’on observe en Europe à la fin de l’empire carolingien.
Ce sont les membres de ces milices qui peu à peu seront connus comme « samouraïs ». En d’autres termes les bandes de samouraïs sont des milices privées – et cette dimension restera indissociable de la notion de « samouraï » dans les époques ultérieures.
Seule la constitution d’un État moderne et centralisé, en mettant fin à la structure féodale, pyramide finalement de domaines privés, mettra également fin à l’existence des samouraïs lors de l’époque Meiji, après 1868.
Village de Sekiya au bord du fleuve Sumida, Hokusai, vers 1830
Entre temps, ces bandes de guerriers sont organisées par leurs chefs. Comme dans tout corps d’armée on y trouve une stricte hiérarchie ; leurs chefs deviennent des seigneurs de guerres – mais notons qu’on n’appelle pas normalement ces derniers « samouraïs ».
Il faut insister sur ce point important : ce que nous appelons en français « samouraï », c’est-à-dire tout guerrier du Japon féodal (1185-1868) est appelé au Japon « bushi » - le mot que nous retrouvons dans « bushidô » – la voie du guerrier.
En japonais, « samouraï » (assez rarement utilisé dans l’acception générique que nous lui donnons) ne désigne normalement qu’un segment particulier du groupe immense des guerriers bushi (7% de la population à l’époque Tokugawa en moyenne ! – nous reviendrons sur ce point capital).
Miyamoto Musashi, figure emblématique du Japon, maître bushi, calligraphe, peintre et philosophe, brandissant deux bokken (sabre de bois)
Sont donc d’abord exclus des « samouraïs » leurs chefs – seigneurs de guerre généralement connus comme « daimyô » et bien sûr le chef de ces seigneurs, leur suzerain si l’on veut, le shôgun lui-même.
L’étymologie de « samouraï » en japonais nous le montre très clairement puisque le terme signifie « celui qui sert ». Même les plus importants vassaux des seigneurs de guerre n’étaient normalement pas désignés au Japon comme « samouraï ».
Un « samouraï » était donc au Japon typiquement un guerrier de rang moyen dans ces bandes armées. Il doit certes disposer d’une monture ou deux qu’il peut porter sur le champ de bataille, - il est donc proche de nos « chevaliers » -, mais il n’a que quelques hommes qu’il peut entraîner à sa suite dans les batailles : des fantassins, ses propres serviteurs, ou des fils, neveux, etc.
En temps de paix c’est normalement un gros paysan, ou le propriétaire d’un petit lot concédé et garanti par son maître, qu’il fait exploiter par les paysans qu’il peut emmener comme fantassins, porteurs d’armes, palefreniers, en campagne militaire.
Bien sûr quelques-uns de ces samouraïs, propriétaires des plus grosses exploitations, peuvent commander à des bandes de quelques dizaines d’hommes. Mais, au-delà, en ces années où les batailles militaires ne mobilisent que quelques centaines de combattants, un guerrier sera plutôt considéré comme petit seigneur de guerre ou daimyô.
Quant à ceux qui, à leur tour, servent les samouraïs comme fantassins ou valets divers, ils peuvent être « bushi » (il y a une importante zone grise) mais ne sont pas pour autant « samouraï ».
Célèbre duel entre le maître Miyamoto Musashi (à gauche) et Sasaki Kojiro (Ganryu) sur l'île de Ganryu-jima, Yoshifusa Utagawa, XIXe siècle

Les shoguns renforcent leur emprise sur les milices de samouraïs

Pour survivre dans une époque de conflits incessants, les bandes de bushi, dites bushidan, comprenant donc aussi bien les chefs daimyos et les samouraïs que les fantassins et la valetaille, en viennent à former des coalitions de plus en plus vastes.
Au XIIème siècle, deux grandes coalitions existent qui tentent de manipuler ce qui demeure du pouvoir impérial, de plus en plus affaibli, de plus en plus impuissant, au point de jouer une coalition contre l’autre.
Procession de Minamoto no Yoritomo visitant Kyoto vers 1190 au début du shogunat de Kamakura, Utagawa Sadahide, 1862
L’inévitable arrive en 1185, quand une coalition triomphe et décide de gérer le pays elle-même plutôt que de préserver l’illusion que l’Empereur (Tenno en japonais) gouverne encore. Apparaît un premier gouvernement des guerriers : on l’appelle bakufu (littéralement « gouvernement de la tente » – la tente des militaires en campagne) qui s’installe à Kamakura, près de Tokyo aujourd’hui, loin de la cour impériale qui survit à Kyoto, fournissant sa caution morale et son prestige en accordant au chef de la coalition finalement victorieuse – le titre de shôgun ou « généralissime ». Le Japon connaîtra trois gouvernements militaires, trois bakufu.
Portrait d'Ashikaga Yoshimitsu (1358-1408), XVe siècle. Il est le troisième des shoguns Ashikaga au Japon de 1368 à 1394
Le premier de ces gouvernements, celui, donc, dit de Kamakura (1185-1333), installe pratiquement une administration parallèle à celle du gouvernement impérial. Celle-ci est laissée en place parce qu’elle a gardé une aura de légitimité que les guerriers n’ont pas, même si son pouvoir s’affaiblit vite. Mais cette structure hybride ne résiste pas longtemps.
La rapacité des seigneurs de guerre crée des coalitions mouvantes, et, après un long épisode de guerres civiles, une coalition un peu plus stable émerge un moment – c’est le deuxième gouvernement des guerriers – le bakufu de Muromachi, près de Kyoto, des shôgun de la maison Ashikaga (1336-1573).
Les souvenirs de l’administration impériale s’estompent encore un peu plus, alors que le caractère féodal du gouvernement des guerriers se renforce alors. Entendons par « féodal » une pyramide de domaines privés. Au somment se trouve un hégémon (le shôgun) à qui se sont ralliés les différents seigneurs de guerre du pays en lui prêtant allégeance.
Bataille de la Minatogawa, entre les troupes loyales à l'empereur Go-Daigo et le clan Ashikaga en 1336
Cet hégémon garde pour sa famille le contrôle direct d’une partie du territoire du pays, mais garantit à ses feudataires, les daimyô, en échange de leur loyauté, des territoires (les fiefs ou domaines) qu’ils administrent librement. Ces derniers gardent une partie des territoires qui leur sont attribués pour eux-mêmes, et divisent le reste de leur territoire pour en garantir des parties (sous-fiefs) à leurs propres vassaux.
Portrait d'Oda Nobunaga (1534-1582), Kano Soshu, 1583. Daimyo de la période Sengoku, il livra de nombreuses batailles
Le schéma peut se reproduire : tout en bas, des arrière-, ou arrière-arrière, vassaux (c’est typiquement à ce niveau que l’on trouve les samouraïs) ont de tout petits fiefs où ils exploitent quelques familles de paysans. Tous ces guerriers sont liés à leur maître par des liens de fidélité personnels.
Aux différents niveaux, ils sont responsables des terres qui leur sont concédées, ils les administrent, y font la justice, en vivent et ne fournissent pas d’impôts au niveau supérieur - seulement des travaux de corvées, des aides ponctuelles – tout cela en échange de la promesse d’un soutien militaire quand besoin est.
Hosokawa Sumimoto en armure à cheval, commandant samouraï de l'époque de Muromachi, Kanō Motonobu, 1507, musée Eisei Bunko
Mais là encore, avidité et rapacité des seigneurs affaiblissent vite ce deuxième bakufu. Il faudra attendre le troisième bakufu, celui installé à Edo par la maison Tokugawa (1603-1868) pour voir s’établir enfin ce presque miracle : un gouvernement féodal stable qui maintiendra la paix pendant 260 ans, hors quelques épisodes guerriers dans les cinquante premières années de son existence.
Sous ces structures évoluant au fil des différents bakufu gouvernements militaires, la conduite des samouraïs va se modifier de manière extraordinaire. On doit surtout faire une distinction entre les périodes de guerres quasiment incessantes (les deux premiers gouvernements militaires incapables de maintenir paix et stabilité pendant bien longtemps) et celui, le troisième, où les guerriers n’ont plus de guerre à livrer, mais où, paradoxalement se constitue dans les discours (de traités, romans, pièces de théâtre) la légende des samouraïs qui nous est familière.
Bataille de Tenmokuzan (1582) opposant le clan Takeda à Oda Nobunaga et Tokugawa Ieyasu : mort su samouraï Katsuyori sur le mont Tenmoku, Utagawa Kuniteru II, 1861, musée des Beaux-Arts de Boston

Les samouraïs avant les Tokugawa

Les premiers samouraïs qui, aux Xème et XIème siècles, se battent contre le pouvoir central, mais plus encore contre les bandes rivales, n’ont pas bonne presse : on ne compte plus les récits qui les décrivent comme des bêtes assoiffées de sang, tuant, pillant, détruisant, accaparant ce qui leur tombe sous la main – même un chef de guerre les décrit ainsi : « qu’on les appelle chiens et bêtes, peu importe, pour les guerriers (bushi), la victoire est la seule chose qui compte ».
Mais ces brutes sont au service de maîtres – très gros propriétaires exploitants, daimyo, seigneurs de guerre –, qui s’efforcent de les discipliner et leur imposer des codes pour, non réprimer, mais canaliser leur énergie destructrice, leur rapacité et avidité, voire leur cruauté.
Minamoto no Yorimasa (1106-1180), samouraï du clan Minamoto et chef des armées au début de la guerre de Gempei. Son suicide par seppuku est resté célèbre. Il est considéré comme celui qui a ouvert la voie à cette pratique
Apparaissent donc très vite – dans des instructions, des codes, des messages, des règlements familiaux, etc. – des injonctions qui précisent ce que doit être le comportement des samouraïs. Elles ne peuvent nous surprendre : ce que leurs maîtres leur demandent, c’est une loyauté sans faille et ce sont des prouesses martiales qui démontrent sur le champ de bataille cette loyauté.
Les deux notions centrales du code de conduite qu’on appellera plus tard bushidô, implicites, dispersées dans les différentes bandes de samouraï, sont en fait identiques à celles qu’on trouve au fondement de la chevalerie en Europe : loyauté (chû) au maître à qui l’allégeance est promise, et honneur (na) prouvé dans le courage et la prouesse guerrière sur le champ de bataille.
Si ces codes expriment avant tout l’intérêt des maîtres, ils doivent aussi, pour être respectés, offrir des satisfactions aux serviteurs. De fait, le système ne peut se maintenir que s’il satisfait les intérêts des uns et des autres : lorsque les samouraïs accumulent des prouesses sur le champ de bataille, ils sont récompensés par l’octroi de biens et de terres.
À l’issue de chaque confrontation et de chaque campagne, les samouraïs compilent ainsi une liste de leur actes – les actes de loyauté disent-ils – : le nombre de têtes prises (et coupées) à l’ennemi, le nombre de guerriers apportés sur le champ de bataille, voire le nombre de soldats perdus dans la confrontation –, ils les portent à leur seigneur et ils s’attendent à ce qu’il récompense promptement et généreusement ces exploits.
Affrontement entre deux samouraïs lors de la guerre de Genpei (1180-1185), Utagawa Yoshikazu, 1808
Certes, il y a des situations dans lesquelles la récompense est impossible : la défaite bien sûr, mais aussi les combats livrés contre des ennemis venus de l’extérieur de l’archipel. C’est ce qui passe au XIIIème siècle lors des tentatives d’invasion du Japon par les troupes mongoles venues de Chine. Elles sont repoussées aux prix de lourdes pertes et de grands sacrifices, mais puisque l’ennemi vient de l’extérieur, sa défaite n’ouvre pas la possibilité de pillage et de butin, il n’y a pas de terres à prendre, de biens à confisquer, de paysans à asservir.
L’absence de récompenses nourrit un ressentiment qui sera un facteur d’instabilité, qui mènera à la fin du régime des Ashikaga, le deuxième bakufu.
Minamoto no Yoshitsune (1159-1189), commandant du clan Minamoto, samouraï honoré, trahi par le fils d'un allié de confiance,Utagawa Yoshitora, XIXe siècle
C’est donc essentiellement lorsque l’espoir de récompenses existe que les samouraïs remplissent leur mission et que l’on voit ces actes de courage, cette ardeur guerrière, cette soif de vaincre, cette volonté d’endurer, cette brutalité aussi qui ont fait leur légende. On le constate, ce sont des hommes aussi intéressés, que nous pouvons l’être…
L’intérêt explique aussi les cas en fait très nombreux où le samouraï trahit sans état d’âme celui auquel il a prêté allégeance. Cela s’observe dans les couches supérieures du groupe où les défections de samouraïs importants et de daimyô, avec plusieurs centaines ou milliers d’hommes armés à leur service, sont monnaie courante. Elles peuvent faire basculer un conflit pendant les guerres incessantes qui ravagent le Japon. L’histoire est jalonnée de ces trahisons, voltefaces, tromperies, reniements, etc. qui relativisent l’honneur des guerriers.
Autrement, un samouraï de rang inférieur et ne disposant que de quelques fantassins à son service ne peut se permettre de faire allégeance à un seigneur autre que le sien à moins de lui apporter des renseignements stratégiques dans le cadre d’un conflit. Ce genre de trahison n’est pas sans risque car il peut donner aux samouraïs de son nouveau seigneur l’idée de faire la même chose lorsque leur intérêt le leur dictera. Les textes nous rapportent ainsi des cas où des samouraïs de bas rang sont promptement exécutés pour l’exemple par le seigneur dont ils espéraient se gagner les grâces.
Tout cela n’empêche pas que nombre de samouraïs se conduisent de manière héroïque au combat et demeurent jusqu’au bout fidèles à leur seigneur. De là le mythe qui entoure les samouraïs.
Tokugawa Ieyasu examinant la tête de Kimura Shigenari à la bataille dd'Osaka (1614-1615) livrée par le shogunat Tokugawa afin de détruire le clan Toyotomi, Tsukioka Yoshitoshi, 1875, musée d'Art du comté de Los Angeles

La nouvelle donne sous les Tokugawa

En 1600, Tokugawa Ieyasu, l’un des seigneurs les plus puissants du Japon d’alors, remporte une bataille décisive contre ses rivaux. Il jette les bases du troisième gouvernement militaire – le bakufu des Tokugawa – installé à Edo, aujourd’hui Tokyo.
À la différence de ces deux prédécesseurs, ce régime sera stable. Plusieurs systèmes expliquent cette performance étonnante pour un régime féodal. Il y a d’abord le choix d’isoler l’archipel. Par une surveillance rigoureuse des échanges avec l’étranger, le shôgun interdit à ses rivaux potentiels de chercher l’aide de l’étranger. Il y aussi l’obligation pour les daimyô les plus importants d’envoyer en otage des membres de leur famille à la cour du shôgun. Enfin, rappelons-le, la famille Tokugawa est de loin la plus puissante des maisons guerrières. Le shôgun et sa famille possèdent un quart des ressources et terres du pays. C’est assez pour empêcher que se forme une coalition hostile.
Kōsaka Masanobu (1527-1578), l'un des 24 généraux de Takeda Shingen, Utagawa Kuniyoshi, XIXe siècle
Cette Pax Tokugawa va conduire à la rédaction de nombreux traités de morale ou de conduite à l’intention des samouraïs, avec une audience bien plus étendue que les règlements des maisons guerrières des époques précédentes. Tous exaltent les vertus caractéristiques des samouraïs : la loyauté chû et la fidélité na. Ils formalisent la notion de bushidô, la voie des guerriers, alors même que l’époque tend vers la paix. De façon paradoxale, parce qu’elle a ramolli les mœurs et qu’il faut rappeler les samouraïs aux vertus d’autrefois, cette paix rend nécessaire l’exaltation à un point jamais vu jusqu’alors de ces vertus martiales.
Le comportement des guerriers ne s’en modifie pas moins. Souvenons-nous d’abord qu’il s’agit d’une masse démographique considérable : après l’institution claire, mais tardive, d’une stricte séparation entre paysans et guerriers bushi à la fin du XVIème siècle, il est probable que 7% de la population pouvait encore se réclamer du statut de bushi – à comparer aux 1-2% pour la noblesse d’épée dans l’Europe féodale.
En excluant aussi bien les 150 à 200 familles de daimyô que les mille ou deux mille vassaux de très haut rang et aussi la majorité des bushi sous le statut samouraï (souvent dit kachi), nous pouvons supposer que les samouraïs (non leur famille) étaient à l’époque des Tokugawa 100 000 à 150 000 personnes.
Si le shôgun a moins de 25 000 samouraïs à son service, certains domaines croulent sous des masses pléthoriques. Mais que peuvent faire tous ces samouraïs maintenant que la guerre ne les occupe plus ? Ils deviennent quand ils le peuvent administrateurs, policiers, percepteurs d’impôts, juges, etc. Ceux qui ont la chance d’avoir une telle affectation, avec le petit revenu qui l’accompagne, doivent souvent la partager par rotation avec deux ou trois autres samouraïs.
Certains samouraïs bénéficient d’emplois militaires dans les garnisons (escortes, gardes, etc.) et s’ennuient de pied ferme. Les autres enfin, comme 40% des samouraïs vassaux directs du shôgun, n’ont aucune affectation et vivent chichement de leur solde héréditaire de vassaux et arrière-vassaux.
Le samouraï Hasekura Tsunenaga à Rome en 1615, Collection Borghese, Rome
Cette perte de prestige est encore aggravée par le fait que les samouraïs sont obligés de vivre autour de leur seigneur, dans la ville-château du domaine. Progressivement, ils perdent ainsi dans beaucoup de cas les minuscules domaines où ils vivaient parmi les paysans, en exploitant leur labeur et en jouissant du prestige des maîtres et des propriétaires, loin aussi des gaspillages de l’économie monétaire qui règne en ville.
De ce fait, faute de combats, il leur est devenu impossible de faire étalage des vertus associées à la condition guerrière : la loyauté et l’honneur. L’honneur, na, se ramène à l’invocation pointilleuse de la généalogie ; de fait, la seule justification pour un samouraï d’occuper tel ou tel rang dans la hiérarchie militaire tient à ce que ses ancêtres l’occupaient déjà.
Les familles se mettent alors à concocter des généalogies souvent fantaisistes pour asseoir leurs revendications. Quant à la loyauté, qui n’a plus l’occasion de s’exprimer sur le champ de bataille, elle se ramène dans le meilleur des cas à une obéissance bureaucratique.
Les samouraïs se retrouvent confrontés à une très sévère « dissonance cognitive ». Il y a d’un côté, dans les traités du bushidô, un récit de gloire tissé de prouesses ; de l’autre, des conditions de vie difficiles, pour ne pas dire médiocres ou misérables, sans espoir de promotion.
Il s’ensuit une crispation sociale. Chacun s’accroche au rang dans lequel il est né, et dans lequel il mourra en défendant ses prérogatives et l’apparence de la gloire. On voit alors une minutieuse codification des comportements publics, du costume, des escortes en ville, tous modulés en fonction du grade : un théâtre se met en place où l’important est de respecter les conventions, quitte à prendre des libertés par derrière.
Chacun sait, par exemple, que les généalogies sont souvent mensongères, mais on fait mine d’y croire. Chacun sait que les multiples rapports fait au maître ou au shôgun sont inexacts, mais ces derniers font mine de les croire puisqu’ils sont le signe de la relation hiérarchique.
Chacun sait aussi que les suicides rituels seppuku ou harakiri ordonnés en cas de faute sont en fait des décapitations, mais ils restent décrits comme glorieux éventrements. Chacun sait enfin que l’entraînement aux arts martiaux avec les bâtons de bambous ne prépare pas au combat de sabre, que le sabre lui-même est un symbole et non une arme (au demeurant fort peu utilisé même dans les époques plus anciennes), etc. mais peu importe, partout, tout le temps, c’est l’apparence et la mise en scène qui priment.
Les ronin, sur le chemin du retour à Sengakuji après l'attaque de Kira, arrêtés devant le palais de Matsudaira-no-Kami, prince de Sendai, Chushingura, Act XI, Scène 5, Utagawa Hiroshige, vers 1836

La parodie de la loyauté : les 47 samouraïs

Le mythe entourant les samouraïs se devait toutefois d’être entretenu car c’est lui qui légitimait le pouvoir de la classe guerrière, y compris des grands seigneurs. L’épisode célébrissime des « 47 vassaux fidèles » l’a opportunément renforcé tout en témoignant du changement des mentalités.
En 1703, 47 samouraïs attaquent la résidence d’un seigneur que leur propre seigneur avait essayé de tuer dans le palais du shôgun, tentative pour laquelle le bakufu l’avait condamné à l’exécution rituelle.
Deux des 47 rōnin : Horibe Yahei et son fils adoptif, Horibe Yasubei, Utagawa Kunisada, vers 1850
Ces samouraïs assassinent alors la cible manquée de la colère de leur seigneur, qu’ils voient comme son ennemi alors qu’il n’était que sa victime. Ils prétendent de la sorte manifester la loyauté due à leur défunt maître et espèrent la grâce du shôgun. Mais celui-ci prononce leur condamnation au suicide rituel.
L’imagination populaire s’enflamme, exalte le courage de ces samouraïs à l’ancienne, courageux et loyaux. L’incident nourrira et nourrit encore une myriade de pièces de théâtre, poèmes, plus tard de films, de feuilletons télévisés.
Les 47 ne constituaient qu’une petite minorité des vassaux du daimyô condamné à mort et ne sont en aucune façon représentatifs de l’écrasante majorité des samouraïs de l’époque. Mais leur entreprise désespérée nous dit beaucoup sur la façon dont les samouraïs souhaitaient qu’on les perçoive.
Chōjūrō Kawarasaki dans La Vengeance des 47 rōnin de Kenji Mizoguchi, 1942
Certes, l’idéal de loyauté qu’invoquèrent les 47 portait toutes les marques de l’influence corrosive d’un siècle de paix. Les samouraïs d’avant la Pax Tokugawa ne se seraient pas comportés de cette manière. Ils auraient fait corps autour du nouveau daimyô plutôt de de s’engager dans une vengeance autodestructrice, dangereuse et qui, de surcroît, se trompait d’ennemi.
C’est donc dans une totale incompréhension de la notion traditionnelle de loyauté que meurent ces 47 samouraïs – une interprétation romantique et non pragmatique, possible seulement parce qu’à la différence de leurs ancêtres, eux n’étaient plus utiles à leurs maîtres : ils n’étaient que le signe symbolique de son statut.
Ce théâtre des apparences n’en paraissait pas moins nécessaire à l’ensemble des samouraïs pour leur faire oublier la médiocrité de leur condition. C’est ce qui explique que les thèmes du bushidô, courage, sacrifice, dévotion, aient pu être recyclés si aisément à l’époque Meiji, quand, par une cruelle et ultime ironie, ils furent mis au service d’une cause totalement étrangère aux samouraïs d’antan, celle du gouvernement impérial.
submitted by miarrial to Histoire [link] [comments]

2023.11.27 22:03 storytime_42 Further Ideas for Running PotA in a city

First, I'm pretty sure they aren't in this sub, but if any of the A-Team / Lucky's Lightbringers are reading this, you should stop now. The group I'm running for is playing ToA, and they just found Omu, and will need to descend the tomb shortly. I have reversed Omu and the Yuanti, so they have already dealt with the fane of the serpent. My expectation is they will be ready for a new campaign in early 2024, so this is prep for that next campaign.
Since my last post, I have quickly read over the adventure. I'm sure there are specific details I missed, however I think I have some good ideas to set the stage. This is a long post, with a lot of worldbuilding ideas. I'm only working on that atm, and I have ideas to for a hook into the adventure, and nothing really established beyond starting.
I am sharing this, as I think I have some good ideas (that may need fleshing out) And I think some of these ideas can be incorporated even in the normal setting. For the next couple months, I will be working on a map, and finishing out the current campaign. Any feedback is welcome. This is the vary large rework, I know. Hopefully, I can pull it all together in a satisfying way.
Again, none of this is table tested, but feel free to use any ideas in your own games and let me know how it worked out.

THE CITY

The city I am designing is a Victorian steam-punk style.
Some required key features will be: Tower District, Large Park next to a Cemetery, a Waterfall, a Canal with Lift Locks, Docks (Lower City), Industrialization, wide variety of Churches (using FR pantheon), an Educational District equipped with a Library, Wizard U, Artificer College, and a Music Program.
This is a coastal city. The economy is driven by massive trade. A series of lift locks allows flat cargo ships to travel up the waterfall, and up the river to other cities and towns in the region.
The city is old. It has been around for at least 200 years. And is considered home to the field of Articifery. The fusion of arcane forces into mechanical contraptions. The leap in technology has allowed them to build extremely high towers, and stabilize and strengthen land masses. Cliffside erosion has crawled to a near halt, and crops have been abundant.
The city is run by council of 9. One space is reserved for someone of the royal line, even though the monarch has not been in power for many generations. The other 8 positions are elected by the public for representation. The Lower City, has only one representative for the entire area. Since it is the poorest section of town, very few are advocating for a fairer representation.
Even with the trade of goods that the region relies on, each city is a state on their own, and this city protects their secrets well. This gives them massive economic sway over the region without direct political control. As such, the city has been attacked by land and sea in regular skirmishes. Which has been easily held off by the army, led by the airborne division 201.

THE PROPHETS

EARTH
Prophet Marlos Urnarayle is the head of Black Earth Society. BES have an atrium and greenhouses near the park. They are also the curators of and caretakers of all the city parks, and the cemetery that is within the city walls. There are many members of the Black Earth Society who are hobbyist horticulturists, and are not part of the cult. However, anyone within the society of any significant authority is a willing participant in the Black Earth cult.
A citizen can see the monks from the Black Earth Dojo practicing their meditation and stances in the park, and programs are offered to the citizens for a modest fee. Citizens can learn their path to tranquility, or self defense. The best students are often tested and recruited into the Black Earth cult as part of their patient monk army.
Marlos Urnarayle is an aristocrat who’s family makes their money on the trade of farmed goods. He is on the city council, and is well liked by those that know him, which are mainly the affluent in either money or power.
WATER
Prophet Gar Shatterkeel is the head and lead negotiator of the Crushing Wave Union. The teamster-style union uses aggression and threats to aid in their negotiations for better wages for their workers. His favorite line to say in a tough negotiation is “Let me make an offer you cannot refuse” Since banks are not favourable to those that live in the lower city, Gar provides loans with strict payment plans.
The enforcers of The Crushing Wave make up a bulk of their fighting force. When the implement force, they often plan short skirmishes and use guerilla tactics. Those with specialized talents are also recruited for ‘special tactics’.
Gar Shatterkeel is the son of a poor fisherman. His father died at sea during a storm, and his mother received 1gp from the fishing company. Gar hustled and muscled his way through childhood, and eventually got a crew together. He is feared and respected, but rarely liked. Now he runs an organization that does not see the law as a barrier. He has purchased his way onto the city council where he uses his political power to keep tight control on the Lower City.
FIRE
Prophet Vaniform owns the ironworks – Eternal Flame Forge. The industrialized area next to the canal is thankfully obscured to the nobles by the inner wall. Even though his workers are unionized by The Crushing Wave Union, Vaniform often avoids strikes by paying some of the best blue-collar wages in the city. The Eternal Flame Forge makes the construction materials for the city (and anyone else). And also makes custom tool & die forms for the special and unique equipment required by the artificers.
The Eternal Flame Forge have heavily invested in R&D, and are the largest single contributor to the artificer college, by a large margin. They also provide scholarships to those that show promise in the arcane arts of all types. They have their own dormitory for the students they sponsor. Students then often come back and work for the cult of the Eternal Flame.
Vaniform is a direct descendant from the original royal line of the city. Although there has not been a monarch in many generations, Vaniform owns and maintains the original castle, that now serves as a history museum, and tourist attraction. Vaniform sits on the city council as the ‘Royal Representative’ When the monarchy gave the power to the people to stave off a revolt (although the museum states that it was to aid in the expansion of the city and bring greater prosperity to the citizens), one of the conditions was there would always be a ‘royal’ on the council with a full vote (like any other council member). He is liked by some, and hated by others. Respected by all. Vaniform has not been afraid to make enemies in the interest of the fire cult.
AIR
Prophet Aerisi Kalinoth is a general in the city army. The army is responsible for the safety of the city from both external and internal threats. The City Guard is often the entry point for recruitment, with specializations being hung in front of new recruits as carrots they will never see. Chief among them is airborne division 201, better known as The Howling Hatred.
The Howling Hatred is extremely selective on who gets to join. No one has ever been able to bribe their way into this company. But their fame and position allows them to pick from anyone in the army with the talent and the correct psychological profile. Those in the Howling Hatred wear their emblems proudly. Everyone in the Howling Hatred is a cult member. They are clever and creative. They use stealth and illusions to complete their job. They use others in the army city police force to attain information, using vague promises that one day, perhaps, they could join them (spoiler - they never will).
Despite their very public outward personae, they are not suspected as a malevolent force. Aerisi Kalinoth is a war hero, and is widely looked up to and idolized by the public. Beautiful, strong, and with a wisdom that comes from battle experience, she is a well respected member of the city council. She prefers to be in the air on her flying mount, or in her tower base, as when she is on ground level, she is often barraged with requests for autographs.

THE FACTIONS

The players are to choose one faction together that they are all a part of.
Harpers
Decentralized. Do-gooders
Bureaucracy level – Med. Relates mostly in intel
Stated Goal – Keep the balance of power between the political giants so the avg citizen does not get crushed
Stand of equality, oppose the abuse of power. Operate with stealth and secrecy.
Positive contacts – noble, religious, thieves
Negative contacts – army, merchant
Lord’s Alliance. Police Force/Army
Organized. Lawful
Bureaucracy level – high. Relates mostly in intel and manpower but via long process
Stated Goal – Keep the peace, uphold the law and protect the city.
Firstly, they prioritize the nobles and the Upper City before the avg citizen and anyone in the Lower City. While shakedowns and protection rackets are not allowed, fines and small charges can be often bribed away.
Positive contacts – army, nobles, merchant
Negative contacts – thieves, religion
Order of the Gauntlet – The Church (Good aligned option of the player’s choosing)
Organized. Good. Duo-role in the city as both judicial and religious.
Bureaucracy level – med. Very narrow scope of religious influence, and judicial
Stated Goal – To maintain justice for all.
While the army keeps the peace and enforces the law, maters of dispute and trials of the guilty are brought before acceptable church magistrates. Often at odds with the army. The conflict often arises when the army is unsuccessful at getting a guilty verdict from a ‘perp’. The church attempts to be fair and without bias. Even for the guilty, they attempt to provide sentences that give an opportunity for reformations.
As religious leaders, they teach the citizenry of the various tenants of their gospels. There is recognition that a pantheon of gods exists, and it is not uncommon for a citizen to attend 2-4 different churches throughout the week. For this reason, the biggest churches provide daily services. Some of these religious leaders feel that the army does not pursue justice everywhere in the city that they should. As such, they sometimes sponsor covert vigilante groups within the city. If they get caught, the church will often officially disavow them. Such risk would be made known to the group members.
Positive Contacts – religion, noble, merchant
Negative contacts – army, thieves
Mercenary – Acquisitions Incorporated style
Decentralized – Self Interested
Bureaucracy Level – Medium. Everything you get from Head Office has a monetary cost
Stated Goal – To make a profit and gain reputation
Players start up a franchise investigations company. As a group, they strike out on their own planning on using their own talents to make money, fame, or other personal goals they have in mind. The army sees them as competition, in many respects. And the church does not see them as particularly useful. However, they can often be used as middle men between nobles, merchants and thieves
Positive Contact – nobles, merchants and thieves
Negative Contacts – army, religion
​

The Delegation

I am using the delegation for this campaign, exactly as intended (not as it's written). As a way to get the players to each cultist hideout. I plan to have each delegate be available to be rescued. And each delegate knows the secret to unlocking the elemental node. They are not, however, an actual delegation. They are just people with knowledge, brought together by Bruldenthar, to piece together an academic puzzle
Bruldenthar
Male. Dwarf. Historian. Harper
Bruldenthar is a professor of history at the university. He is especially versed in the history of this very region predating the city founding. Bruldenthar has long believed that the dwarves settled here before any human, even if no evidence of a dwarven city has ever been found. This has made him well known as a conspiracy theorist and has lowered his academic standing and respect within the community as a whole. When Bruldenthar sees Black Earth texts, his inquisitive mind can quickly deduce how the earth node is opened, but his lack of wisdom means he can be easily tricked into giving up this info. Something like “Tell us and we’ll let you go back to your classroom and library” would likely be sufficient to trick him. (spoiler – they don’t let him go)
Deseyna
Female. Human. Noble
Deseyna’s family can be tied to one of the founding noble families of the city. Smart but naive, she has spent her life attending university and learning all manor of subjects. While recently taking a history course under Prof Bruldenthar, she thinks she has discovered an old family lullaby may have more to do with the city founding than meets the ear. The nursery rhyme is in actuality the secret to opening up the fire node. And Bruldenthar seems to agree on it's historical importance and has taken a sudden interest in her family history.
Rhundorth
Male. Dwarf. Articifer
Rhundorth works for the city. Often unrecognized and underappreciated for his works, he is the one who keeps the dam atop the waterfall working to provide cheap turbine control to the city. He maintains the city lift locks. He has seen almost every city blueprint to every city structure. He has often come to his friend and fellow dwarf Bruldenthar whenever he has had trouble understanding how the current maze of sewers and the old, unused aqueduct systems access and connect. Recently, Rhundorth has been questioning the existence of an underground waterway that should be there, but is not on any map or blueprint. The waterway does in fact exist, and should be accessed somewhere just off of the docks section of town. Perhaps just outside of the city limits? When the cult gives him information they have, he can be convinced into figuring out and revealing how the water node is opened.
Teresiel
Female. Moon Elf. Druid (elven religious leader)
Teresiel is visiting the city at the request of Bruldenthar. Bruldenthar has sent a request to the elven community in [the forest near the mountains that is close-ish to the city] The elves, as a whole, do not deal much with those in the city, however they do send emissaries and diplomats. The elves are very much aware of the disaster that the dwarves nearly caused all those centuries ago, and they don’t speak of it. They were around when the earth swallowed up the dwarven settlement, and hopes that ignorance will keep history from repeating itself. Teresiel is responding to Bruldenthar’s missive in order to discover what Bruldenthar has uncovered. Teresiel has arrived in the city as a religious emissary and is staying as a guest with one of the churches. Until she goes missing, that is. Teresiel knows about the air cult that almost caused disaster when the dwarves were in charge, and the air cult has memory magic to forcefully pull information on to open the air node.

Plot Hook

I plan on allowing the players to pick what faction they belong to. They must all agree on one faction for all of them, and this will filter how this story is revealed and played. I have no issue limiting background choices around narrative limitations of the faction they choose. If they choose the army, who are not on good terms with thieves, then limiting backgrounds that gain Criminal Contact would not be allowed, and so on.
The cultists have kidnapped both Bruldenthar and Teresiel. They were together at the time, and it was a well coordinated skirmish. 24 hrs, and 48 hrs later, both Deseyna and Rhundorth will be taken. The adventure starts with investigating the first kidnaping, and moves on from there. Here are the starting hook depending on the faction chosen.
Harpers
Our sources tell us that Prof Bruldenthar has requested a visit from [Elvin Church], and they actually sent an emissary. Could it have anything to do with the late library sessions with Deseyna? Go find out the particulars.
Lord’s Alliance. Police Force/Army
We have a missing persons case. And your group drew the short straw. Go find out what happened to that crackpot professor Bruldenthar.
Order of the Gauntlet – The Church (Good aligned option of the player’s choosing)
Teresiel is an emissary visiting from [Elvish Community/Church] to meet with professor Bruldenthar. Why? We cannot say what they would want with such a dwarf. However, Teresiel is a member of high standing, is our guest. Teresiel did not return home last night. Please go make sure she is safe, and provide an escort back if she requires it.
Mercenary – Acquisitions Incorporated style
2 options.
First option. Deseyna hires them. Professor Bruldenthar is missing, but the army will not investigate. They said they might look into it, if they can find someone to take the case. But crackpots are not high on the priority. Please find out what happened. (Deseyna, and their payment goes missing the next day)
Second Option. An insurance company hires them. Professor Bruldenthar has a very peculiar insurance policy, as eccentric as he is. In the event that he goes missing, we are contractually obligated to find him, and bring him to a successful return, or to find the reasons for his death and make it publicly known. It seems that this morning, his home has been ransacked and he has not returned to his office. The army has placed this on low priority, and we have a reputation to maintain. It seems that your competition has little compassion to conspiracy theorists, so it seems I need to hire you. You get paid for every day of the investigation, with reports due every evening at sundown. Late reporting will result in deductions of pay. Recovery of the professor alive will come with a substantial bonus. His dead body will also come with a bonus, although substantially smaller. If he is found dead, any information to the manner of his death, or the reasons and actions leading up to his death will be rewarded on a sliding scale.
submitted by storytime_42 to ElementalEvil [link] [comments]

2023.11.22 23:29 Raphaetcc Another problem with the LO

Hi , its me again.
The script problem was most likely fixed by doing a nuke on the reserved space, however i still have another issue.
For some god unkown reason, while playing with Sacrosanct, i take damage from the sunlight.
No, i have no other plug-ins that enable sunlight damage.
If someone knows what is causing this i would be very grateful
The LO is almost the same as last time, but i removed the quality world map and added some patches.
MASTER FILES
USSEP
Realistic Water Two Resources
Skyrim Fixes & Misc _ Scripts ( have a feeling its this one )
Reconciliation
Reconciliation USSEP patch
SWF
FOUNDATIONS
Cheat Room
DMH Busty Skeevers
No Easy Septims
MENUS, USER INTERFACE, FONT CHANGES
Display Enhancements
SkyHUD - Dissonance
GAME MECHANICS
Sacrosanct
Headhunter
Thugs Not Assassins
LEVEL PROGRESSION
50% More Perk Points
PERK OVERHAULS
Vokrii
Ordinator
Vokriinator - Choice Cuts
MAGIC ADDITIONS AND OVERHAULS
Ars Arcanum Nova
Triumvirate
ITEM AND LOOT LEVELED LIST.
Rogues `N Raiders
Summermyst
Apothecary
AUDIO
Immersive Sounds Compendium 3
WEATHEATMOSPHERE
DAWN
GRASS MODS
Tamriel Reloaded- Grasses
LANDSCAPE AND GRASS FIXES
Landscape Fixes for Grass Mods
No Grassias
SKIN MESH AND TEXTURES, SKELETON
XPMSE by Team XPMSE
IDLES AND ANIMATIONS
The Ultimate Dodge Mod Reborn
Gritty Animations Requiem
GENERAL MESH AND TEXTURES
Divergence - Compendium of Beasts
Divergence - Aniversary Edition
Tamriel Reloaded - Landscapes
Tamriel Reloaded - Mountains
Tamriel Reloaded - Interiors
Tamriel Retextured - Architecture
NPC AI
Guard Dialogue Overhaul
Innkeepers Don´t Escort SE
Realistic Conversations
AI Overhaul 1.8.2 Lite
NPC/ PC immersion
Extended Encounters
NPC/ PC FACIAL MODIFICATIONS
Cathedral Character Overhaul
fairskin unp
UNP Body
Master skin fix
There Will be Blood
Ks Hair Pack
Superior Lore-Friendly Hair
Trueblood Serana
Natural Eyes
Racial Abilities
Sos Ahst Mulaag
INTERIOR LIGHTING/ DECORATING
Updated - Enhanced Lights and Fx
ELFX - Exteriors Fixes
Reconciliation - ELFX Patch
SINGLE AREA EDITS
Castle Volkihar Rebuilt
Magical College of Winterhold
JaySerpa´s Quest Expansion Bundle ( asked to be lower than Magical College of Winterhold i think?)
MULTIPLE AREA EDITS
Pauly`s Lush Forests of Skyrim
The Notice Board
Missives
Wintersun
MAP - Project Hippie
Monoliths of Mundus
Northern Roads
UNIQUE ITEMS ADDED TO LOCATIONS
Serendipitous
Shalidor`s Armaments
Shalidor`s Armaments - Extended
COMBAT MODS
WildCat
Dragon War
UNIQUE FOLLOWER MODS
SDA
Remiel
Xelzaz
Map Mods
Pastel Map Markers
A Quality World Map
Actual Limbo
Growl
VioLens
FPS Boost ( Maybe ? )
Perks From Questing
Wear Multiple Rings
Bottom LO
Realistic Water Two
Reconciliation - Serendipitious Patch
Alternate Start
Quest Debugger ( Perhaps )
SDA Castle Volkihar Rebuilt Patch
Its Just Time
USSEP - Shalidor Armaments Patch
Reconciliation - Shalidor Patch
Northern Roades & Alternate Start Patch
Northern Roades & JaySerpa Quest Bundle Patch
Northern Roades & Aspen Ablaze Patch
Reconciliation - Sos Ahst Patch
Northern Roades & Landscape Fix Patch
submitted by Raphaetcc to SkyrimModsXbox [link] [comments]

2023.11.21 12:26 Raphaetcc Trouble with script overload

Hi !
I found out quite recently that my game is facing script overload when a save reaches ~20 hours.
Could someone help me figure out who is causing this ?
Load order :
​
MASTER FILES
USSEP
Realistic Water Two Resources
Skyrim Fixes & Misc _ Scripts ( have a feeling its this one )
Reconciliation
Reconciliation USSEP patch
SWF
FOUNDATIONS
Cheat Room
DMH Busty Skeevers
No Easy Septims
MENUS, USER INTERFACE, FONT CHANGES
Display Enhancements
SkyHUD - Dissonance
GAME MECHANICS
Sacrosanct
Headhunter
Thugs Not Assassins
LEVEL PROGRESSION
50% More Perk Points
PERK OVERHAULS
Vokrii
Ordinator
Vokriinator - Choice Cuts
MAGIC ADDITIONS AND OVERHAULS
Ars Arcanum Nova
Triumvirate
ITEM AND LOOT LEVELED LIST.
Rogues `N Raiders
Summermyst
Apothecary
AUDIO
Immersive Sounds Compendium 3
WEATHEATMOSPHERE
DAWN
GRASS MODS
Tamriel Reloaded- Grasses
LANDSCAPE AND GRASS FIXES
Landscape Fixes for Grass Mods
No Grassias
SKIN MESH AND TEXTURES, SKELETON
XPMSE by Team XPMSE
IDLES AND ANIMATIONS
The Ultimate Dodge Mod Reborn
Gritty Animations Requiem
GENERAL MESH AND TEXTURES
Divergence - Compendium of Beasts
Divergence - Aniversary Edition
Tamriel Reloaded - Landscapes
Tamriel Reloaded - Mountains
Tamriel Reloaded - Interiors
Tamriel Retextured - Architecture
NPC AI
Guard Dialogue Overhaul
Innkeepers Don´t Escort SE
Realistic Conversations
AI Overhaul 1.8.2 Lite
NPC/ PC immersion
Extended Encounters
NPC/ PC FACIAL MODIFICATIONS
Cathedral Character Overhaul
fairskin unp
UNP Body
Master skin fix
There Will be Blood
Ks Hair Pack
Superior Lore-Friendly Hair
Trueblood Serana
Natural Eyes
Racial Abilities
Sos Ahst Mulaag
INTERIOR LIGHTING/ DECORATING
Updated - Enhanced Lights and Fx
ELFX - Exteriors Fixes
Reconciliation - ELFX Patch
SINGLE AREA EDITS
Castle Volkihar Rebuilt
Magical College of Winterhold
JaySerpa´s Quest Expansion Bundle ( asked to be lower than Magical College of Winterhold i think?)
MULTIPLE AREA EDITS
Pauly`s Lush Forests of Skyrim
The Notice Board
Missives
Wintersun
MAP - Project Hippie
Monoliths of Mundus
Northern Roads
UNIQUE ITEMS ADDED TO LOCATIONS
Serendipitous
Shalidor`s Armaments
Shalidor`s Armaments - Extended
COMBAT MODS
WildCat
Dragon War
UNIQUE FOLLOWER MODS
SDA
Remiel
Xelzaz
Map Mods
Pastel Map Markers
A Quality World Map
Actual Limbo
Growl
VioLens
FPS Boost ( Maybe ? )
Perks From Questing
Wear Multiple Rings
Bottom LO
Realistic Water Two
Reconciliation - Serendipitious Patch
Alternate Start
Quest Debugger ( Perhaps )
SDA Castle Volkihar Rebuilt Patch
Its Just Time
USSEP - Shalidor Armaments Patch
Reconciliation - Shalidor Patch
Northern Roades & Alternate Start Patch
Northern Roades & JaySerpa Quest Bundle Patch
Northern Roades & Aspen Ablaze Patch
Reconciliation - Sos Ahst Patch
Northern Roades & Landscape Fix Patch
​
That`s it, not very heavy on the graphical side, but apparently heavy on the script side?
Any help regarding this LO would be MUCH appreciated.
​
​
submitted by Raphaetcc to SkyrimModsXbox [link] [comments]

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