I woke to the crackle and hiss of wet wood on fire. The warmth washing over my back told me that the fire was not far away. Groggily, I twisted until I could see what was burning. It was a heap of sticks and small branches within a circle of cobbles. A campfire not five feet from me. I blinked and worked the bleariness from my eyes. As they refocused, I made out the figure on the far side of the fire. Lenz sat there, firelight playing across his sharp features. Johan and Soren sat to either side so that the four of us ringed the fire. I sat up, fighting the urge to groan from the aching soreness that ran through every part of me.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Looking for you.” There was pity in Lenz’s tone, though undercut with a lingering hint of anger. I suppose he didn’t expect to find me in such a wretched state.
“How did you find me, anyway?”
“Well, you left a note,” Lenz said. “And it wasn’t hard to remember the guy asking about passage to Zerhaltenberg in the dead of night. And in Zerhaltenberg, the tall man with eyeglasses and the giant horse left on the pilgrim road. There’s only one thing down that road you’d be interested in, so here we are.”
“But in the middle of the woods?”
“There are more inns in this town than any city should have, but ask around at enough of them and someone remembers you’re looking. Which comes in handy when someone makes a scene and gets chased off the mountainside.”
I slumped against the rock behind me.
“Who were the men by the pit?” Soren asked. I looked up at him. He’d returned to his typical foppish appearance, but I could still see the severe lines of a soldier in his face.
“Bandits, I suppose. They did try to rob me.” I looked down at my hands, then tried to cover each with the other. That didn’t work out so well. Seeing my sullenness, Soren tried to bolster my mood.
“All you did was defend yourself.”
I returned my gaze to Gost. “That doesn’t change the feeling when you’re looking into the eyes of the man you just stabbed and he knows he’s dying.”
Soren bit his lower lip, words failing him. There was an uneasy silence that I eventually broke.
“Why did you even follow me?”
“I planned to punch you in the mouth for ditching us like that,” Lenz said.
“If it will make you feel any better, go right ahead,” I said, morosely.
“No, you’ve gone and ruined it.”
“All right then.” I listened to the fire hiss and spit for a while.
“Do we have to stay out here all night?” Johan asked.
“No,” Lenz said, shaking his head. “But the first thing we need to do when we get back is get Kord a bath.”
I looked at the dried mud and the random detritus covering much of my front. Flicking some of the larger pieces away, I had to agree. “I’m afraid I don’t know which way the town is from here.”
“Just follow us, we’ll show you the way,” Soren said. I rose to my feet, and Johan set about dousing the fire. Lenz managed to light a lantern before the copper-haired youth succeeded. Graymire was the only horse with us, so I walked, leading him through the dark woods. It was a bit of a hike before the glimmer of the city filtered through the leaves. The number of lights hung out in the evening was astounding, but there were still wide spans of shadow in between pools of illumination. There were still a decent number of people on the street, many in differing degrees of inebriation. Three sober, armed men proved an effective deterrent to cutpurses, and we were undisturbed as we made our way through the crowds.
An entire district of the city was given over to the baths where the hot springs bubbled up through the ground. I was surprised to find that many of the facilities were still open, despite the hour. Most sported a ‘No Drunkenness’ sign on or near their front door. The portable notices were more prominent than the list of rules for behaviour, which had far more lines, though the prohibition on drunkenness was repeated there as well. The establishment we stopped at looked to be one of the nicer buildings. The way the lanternlight played over its limestone columns made them appear as if wrought from gold. Neat tilework framed mosaics of pastoral scenes that flanked the front doors. Feeling someone tug on Graymire’s reins, I looked over to see Johan trying to take him from me. I hesitated before letting go, then chastised myself. He was just going to take the horse to a stable while I started the rather involved process of cleaning up from the worst day of my life.
Alert attendants in the foyer gasped at the sight of me.
“I think you see the problem,” Lenz said with a smirk as he dropped coins on a wooden counter. “My brother will probably need a couple of basins of water before he can even get into the baths.”
“A private room, please,” I said. The space I was led to was a pair of vaulted chambers linked by an open archway. The tiles slowly changed from blues at floor level to greens high on the wall and suddenly back to white and pale blue at the top of the vaults. The mosaics depicted a progression of aquatic, pastoral and alpine scenes as the eye moved up. Each individual tile framing the mosaics was painted in a scene all its own. These progressed thematically with the mosaics. Hanging lanterns filled the space with warm, relaxing light despite the hour. The smaller room looked to be changing space, with ample shelving, including one laden with towels and wash cloths. The attendants dragged in and filled a portable tub so I could wash before getting in the bath.
Lenz was right, it did take several refills of the small wooden tub before I’d gotten enough of the forest mud and detritus off of me to climb into the tile-lined pool to relax.
***
It took a moment to work out how my sword made it back to the Playful Fox. The note to the temple had my name on it, and I’d told the Academy where I was staying. Collecting the remainder of my things, I settled my bill and we set out east. An Imperial Highway ran between Zhalskrag and Freinmarkt. Scattered along it was a series of inns, coaching houses and small towns at intervals of roughly a day’s travel. They ensured an ample supply of accommodations when we needed them, and there was never a need to sleep on the hard ground under the stars. Throughout the trip, I remained sullen, hardly bothering to say more than a few syllables when I absolutely had to. On the last leg of the journey to Freinmarkt, the others foisted an overly foppish outfit on me along with the elaborate livery badge I’d left in Farcairn. I was too morose to care.
The city of Freinmarkt was easy to spot. Its central citadel sat on a high promontory that commanded a bend in the river. With control of the boat traffic, the castle could force the merchant vessels to stop and present their wares for trade. Early on, that was what they did, but the city slowly morphed from a place where merchants had to trade to a spot where they went to seek out trade. The construction of Imperial highways linking it to other cities off the river only accelerated that trend. Multiple courses of fortified walls split the metropolis into districts and showed where it had repeatedly overgrown its defenses. If not the largest city among the Volkmund, it was among the biggest, and it certainly dominated the surrounding landscape. The gatehouse spanning the highway was a castle in its own right, though the gate stood open.
Guards in orange and yellow vertical striped tabards and kettle hats interposed themselves between us and the entrance. Their halberds crossed in our path. Soren rode ahead, stopping just shy of the pair. He introduced me in a disgustingly overblown manner. As the guards looked me over, I realized why I’d been overdressed that morning. It was easier to convince them when I looked the part. Still, the first reaction I got was, “Doesn’t look much like a prince.”
“We’ve been on the road and in the wild for weeks,” Soren said. After a moment of grumbling, the guards decided to go hassle a wagon approaching the gate and let us through. Within the walls, Freinmarkt was much like Salzheim and Zerhaltenberg, with as much building crammed into as little space as possible. The main roads were wider than in Zerhaltenberg, but the side roads were as cramped and tunnel-like. I watched as we passed inn after inn, frowning and wondering why the others didn’t even bother to glance at them. Passing into a space marked as the ‘South Market Square’, we found a more open plaza filled with small, awning-sheltered stalls and people who hollered and haggled. We turned down a narrow side road where our ears were assailed by the howls of fishwives, the bellows of butchers and the chattering of chapmen. Stacked brining barrels filled the storefronts of the shambles. It looked to have been a while since livestock had been herded to the chopping block.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“The Freihaus,” Lenz said, as if that was sufficient explanation. We had little further to go, stopping shy of the tanneries amidst the stench of that process. The Freihaus looked like a small city block turned fortress. Narrow alleyways framed the building footprint. No windows marked the lower floors, and only narrow lancets marked the upper floors. The only entrance I saw was an iron-reinforced oaken behemoth pierced by a smaller door for individual people to pass. Soren dismounted and rapped on this door. The slot opened, and he had a discussion with the person within. Shortly afterward, the large gate groaned wide, revealing a passage to an inner courtyard. The tall, looming structure pressed in on all sides, despite the slice of the heavens visible above us. A carved limestone shield on the wall made me pause. It bore the Raven Coast Roc and the word ‘Karststadt’ on a stone scroll below it.
“What is this place?” I asked.
“You honestly don’t know?” Lenz asked.
“No, I don’t.”
“It’s your house in Freinmarkt. This lot is officially not part of the city. It is instead your personal property.”
As I dismounted, an old man in a blue tailcoat hobbled into the courtyard. He looked up at us, and Lenz grinned.
“Statthalter Kranz, I have returned as I said I would. And I have brought with me Prinz Kord.” He gestured towards me. “Kord, Herr Kranz has been the caretaker of the Freihaus since your father was little.”
Kranz gave a bow. “My Lord, I am pleased that you have decided to visit us.”
“I must apologize, I didn’t even know this house was here.”
Kranz gave a weak smile. “That is all right, my lord.”
“Why is it between the shambles and the tanneries?”
“The Grossburghers of Freinmarkt were displeased that they could not dislodge us, so they made the plot as unpleasant a spot as they could manage. We have adapted.”
A few sniffs told me that little of the smell from outside the walls managed to make it into the courtyard. I shrugged. “Fair enough. I suppose if this is my house, I must have a room somewhere.”
Kranz smirked. “Of course. If you would follow me.”
***
The decor within the Freihaus was subdued, and skewed towards pale hues to make the most of every iota of available illumination. It also didn’t appear to have been updated in a century. From the architectural motifs to the furnishings, everything spoke of a sturdy, geometric style that was in vogue a hundred years ago. While the look was no longer fashionable, none of it felt like it was going to break on me. My room in the master apartment had the most painstakingly detailed rendition of the Raven Coast Roc I’d ever seen. It filled an entire wall of the otherwise sky-blue room. The extent of each primary feather was picked out in a subtly paler shade so that it was still obvious it was meant to be black, but needed delineation. A similar color scheme in the palest of grays was used for the breast of the creature. It’s left wing pointed to a private arming chamber.
If it hadn’t been clear Lenz and the others had stopped at the Freihaus on their way to Zhalskrag, the contents of the arming chamber proved it. I leaned the tournament arming sword on the rack next to the gaudy sword Jost had given me. Off to my side sat the tournament longblade and the overwrought insult I’d clobbered Otto with. Armor stands held the tournament plate as well as the lighter armor I’d worn against the goblins. Most unwelcome was the shelf holding the assassin’s blade from Amber Town and the short staff the Skrael sorcerer had carried. I lifted the walking stick-sized staff off the shelf and examined the cuneiform inlays twisted about the haft. The liver-colored metal was hard to pick out against the ebony, unless the light hit it just right. It didn’t help that Skrael was one of the languages I couldn’t actually read.
Knowledge I hadn’t had in Farcairn sparked recognition in my mind. It was a channeling staff – a device meant to aid a spellcaster in drawing upon more power than they otherwise would be able to. I frowned. The little factoid didn’t help me any, did it? Turning the staff between my fingers, I focused on the enigmatic inscription. Dark purple light crept along the hepatizon, working a helix around the haft towards the head. An eruption of purple flame as long as my arm startled me. Stumbling backward, I dropped the stick, letting it clatter to the floor. One final swoosh of dark fire faded as I bumped against the door jamb.
Sliding to the floor, I shook my head. I had been even less in control than when I conjured up the mote unaided. Maybe Hutmacher was right. The back of my skull thumped against the wall and I closed my eyes. How many self-taught wizards even existed? The momentary temptation faded, leaving the hole inside me larger than it had been before the thought had come by.
“My lord?” a hesitant voice asked.
I opened my eyes and looked up at the serving girl in the doorway. She was a little slip of a girl in a white dress. The Raven Coast Roc was stitched over her heart.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I lied.
“I was told to inform you that dinner is ready.” Rising to my feet, I saw the serving girl’s eyes go wide as she realized just how tall I was.
“If you would be so kind as to show me where the dining hall is,” I said. I left the sentence incomplete as she nodded and turned.
The dining hall turned out to be on the top floor of the western end of the house. It ran along the wall so that lancet windows could catch the last rays of daylight. A stout pair of fireplaces capped the ends, ready to take over when that light left. The long table looked sturdy enough to serve as a battering ram, and the square backed chairs ringing it looked no less robust. The massive throne-like seat at the end had a towering, peaked back that resembled the silhouette of a steeple. I put my hand on the back of one of the ordinary chairs and was about to draw it out when I paused. Dread rolled through me as I turned my eyes upon the overwrought seat at the head of the table. Of course I would be expected to take that seat in my own house. I didn’t really want to, but I slinked down to it anyway and tried to force myself into it. I ended up perched on the edge.
Soren took the seat to my left, Lenz to my right and Johan to his right. I gestured at the vast expanse of unused table. “Is anyone else joining us?”
“That would be inappropriate,” Kranz said, appearing as if from thin air at my elbow. The chair itself had blocked his approach, but it still gave me a start.
“In that case, can we find a smaller room? This seems farcical to waste that much of the table.”
Kranz’s mouth narrowed to a grim line. “My Lord, may I beg your forbearance for just this evening? It has been decades since we’ve had the honor of hosting the master of the house, and many of the younger staff never have.”
“You don’t actually have another room available, do you?” I shot Lenz a glance as he suppressed a smirk that threatened to break out into a grin.
“… No. Most of the furniture was put in storage.”
“Fine, we’ll stay here,” I said.
Kranz bowed out and disappeared from my sight.
“You sound annoyed,” Lenz said, the smirk breaking its bounds. I shot him a look, but he missed the significance.
“So, what is next on the itinerary?” Soren asked, sounding eager to distract from my sour mood.
“Krahenhammer was in Freinmarkt, wasn’t he?” Johan asked.
“What?” I asked.
“We could find out who he made the sword from Amber Town for.”
“Well, we’re here anyway,” Lenz said.
***
I kept my left hand wrapped about the grip of the gaudy sword. Not out of any intent to draw it, but because I wouldn’t have been surprised if the cutpurses of Freinmarkt could swipe the three-foot blade unnoticed. I wore it out of an abundance of caution, though the congested streets made it impossible to draw and swing the blade without striking bystanders. The assassin’s blade would have been more useful, but we didn’t have a sheath for it, so it was wrapped in a bundle under Johan’s arm. According to Kranz, Krahenhammer’s shop was on the north end of town, closer to the Order of Goldsmiths than his fellow arms merchants. What he hadn’t said was that it sat directly across the street from their Guildhouse. The crow-on-anvil crest of the swordsmith was unmistakable, even colorized and wrought of wood.
The door sat open and I stepped across the threshold. A blond youth was sweeping the stone flags of the front room. Hardwood wainscotting gave no indication of the sort of goods actually made here. Without foreknowledge, I would have been hard-pressed to guess. There was another door that led to a back room, but it was ill-positioned for me to see through it. Looking up from his broom, the youth boggled for a moment, before his eyes caught my livery badge and he jumped to attention.
“I’m looking for Krahenhammer the bladesmith,” I said.
The reply came from the back room. “I am he,” it said. The speaker followed soon after. He was a wiry, whipcord of a man in a neat, black waistcoat. Spectacles sat high on a sharp nose, and meticulous silver hair topped his head. He only stood as tall as my collarbone, but had a calm air of assurance about him. “May I help you?” His eye flicked to my badge and an eyebrow raised. “House Karststadt?”
“I’m here to ask about some of your previous work,” I said.
“The blade on your hip?”
“No.” I motioned Johan forward, and he handed me the assassin’s blade. I presented it to Krahenhammer. The swordsmith took it and examined the weapon.
“It’s gotten dirty, but I don’t see any sign of defect in the workmanship.”
“I’m more interested in who you made it for.”
Krahenhammer glanced suspiciously in my direction. “Why do you want to know that?”
“He tried to put it between my ribs without the courtesy of introducing himself first.”
“How impolite. I take it then he eluded you?”
“I only had a stool at the time. It wasn’t the most effective weapon.”
“This particular blade… I recall the man paid in hacksilver and odd gold.”
“What was odd about it?”
Krahenhammer smiled in forbearance. “‘Odd’ gold means scrap of inconsistent purity rather than coinage. He had a foreign accent, but he called himself Knochenmus. I don’t know if that was actually his name.”
“This sort of work takes time. Where did he want notice sent when you’d finished?”
“Sir, this was years ago. I do not remember that.”
“But you remember his name and how he paid?”
“Most people use coinage. As for his name-” Krahenhammer held up the sword so that the stylized mouse skeleton was facing me. “He wanted it signed.”
“Forgive me,” I said. “He vexed me greatly. I did not mean-”
Krahenhammer waved it off. “It is nothing.” He handed the sword back to me. “Is there anything else?”
“Not unless there are any other details you remember.”
“He had a tattoo,” Krahenhammer gestured towards his shirt collar. “A mouse eating a snake.”
“Thank you,” I said. A foreigner calling himself Knochenmus who was in Freinmarkt years ago didn’t help a whole lot. It was not exactly rare for people from outside the Volkmund to arrive at the major market towns.
“I take it you won’t be ordering anything then.”
“I already have two of your blades.” I glanced at the assassin’s sword. “Plus this one.”
“Ah, then the longblade was for you as well.”
I nodded.
“How do you like it?” Krahenhammer asked.
“I haven’t used it against a real opponent yet.”
“What about Hackenhof?” Johan asked.
“It wasn’t as if we were trying to kill each other,” I said.
“So now what?” Johan asked.
“Now we go back to Salzheim. Unless you can think of a good reason to stay in Freinmarkt.” It’s not like I particularly wanted to go back, but it seemed like the place I was supposed to head.
If you want your own copy, the whole book is available from Amazon in eBook, Paperback, and Hardcover variants.
Still without electricity, and my phone needs charging, so I have to be quick. Still note that for my taste, you include just the right amount of detail in your descriptions of people, places, and objects.
Also, what’s the equivalent of trigger discipline when handling a channeling staff?
🤔
Self-Control?
thank you for the story
hepatizon – I had to look that up. Nice touch. I’m hoping Kord is revealed to be more of a sorcerer, a natural talent. Maybe a wild talent. Proper mages are such stuffed shirts.
Also harking back to the previous installment I suspect Kord’s belief (IMO a naive) in their probity might be misplaced.
What makes you say that?
If I just found out I owned a small fortress, I think I’d be more upbeat.
The mortgage is underwater and you owe back taxes.
And it has no income stream associated with it.
The foundation is crumbling and it is haunted by Billy Mays.
😱
“But wait, there’s more!”
Kristofferson was 88
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HCgnbRWVvU8
Rip. Willie’s the last Highwaymen.
I can’t stand Willie’s voice. The only song of his I will listen to is “The Highway Man”. Every other song gets rage quit.
Here’s some Willie you may enjoy
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UcMCk_W8mG0
I used to feel the same way, except Seven Spanish Angles was the only one I could listen to. Then almost like a switch, and for reasons I don’t quite understand, all of a sudden I appreciated his voice and fell in love with a bunch of his work.
pistoff, this might or might not change your mind, but he paired up with Santana for They all went to Mexico, which I quite enjoy.
I’m a Willie fan and all the others of my generation. Willie, Merle, Freddy, Johnny, Waylon and the rest. I guess because I can understand the lyrics.
I would have wagered he was already dead, 88’s a good run.
I took Lawyer 1 to see him in Fort Worth;
he did not look excellent 15 years ago.
Tories finally shanked the coal miners! Snatch a milk for victory!
https://www.bbc.com/news/live/cq5e4n5z888t
Since 1967, it has produced enough energy to make more than one billion cups of tea per day
1gigacups?
Light the Q signal.
So fucking stupid.
For sure. They may want to look at Germany. Things aren’t going so well.
Time for an unexpected truth bomb.
Women’s Box Lacrosse is the best women’s team sport.
Watched the inaugural world championship with my daughter today.
They play indoor lax on a hockey rink with astroturf and tiny goals. Play with men’s rules and equipment.
Fast. Physical. Skilled. Strategic.
Exciting sport. Nothing like the wnba. Or even team usa soccer.
Better than hocky?
Yeah…. they are allowed to hit. (Refs also let a lot of extra go in the championship game)
Skill level allowed more control on offense than women’s hockey.
Closer approximation of a men’s game than women’s hockey too.
(Not implying they could compete with men… keep it real… but it made for a fast and physical game, not many turnovers, plenty of power on shots (you literally couldn’t see the ball at all on some shots)
I had a blast.
Also… women are slower, which usually is a big negative. But in this case it let me see what was developing – a double screen with the roll defender coming over to help…. men are so fast you don’t see it coming. But the women…. I’m yelling “somebody get the cutter!!!!”
Or conversely “there it is!!!” right before we score.
OT: May have missed the update. Is niece ok?
She made it back yesterday. Then her boyfriend called a couple of hours later… the road she got out on is gone. Yikes!
He says it is terrible. Way worse than the national or even local news says. Pulling lots of bodies out of debris piles and from bridges and such.
Totally apocalyptic.
I’m glad she got out. The rest is tragic.
Same. Very glad to hear your niece is safe.
Fuck these people.
Activists Throw Soup On Van Gogh Paintings Hours After Fellow Protesters Jailed
The National Gallery reported that while the protesters caused approximately $13,420 in damage to the frame, the painting itself remained unharmed, protected by a screen.
On Friday, three activists from Just Stop Oil threw soup at two of Vincent van Gogh’s “Sunflowers” paintings at London’s National Gallery. This incident occurred just hours after two other members of the protest group were sentenced to prison for a similar act in 2022.
The gallery in a statement said “a soup-like substance” had been thrown over “Sunflowers” (1888) and “Sunflowers” (1889) and that three people had been arrested.
Until people decide to initiate force to stop this crap, they will continue.
A kid; a grey-haired lady; and a grey-beard dude.
My gut reaction is to beat the shit out of these people. But I can’t see the value in harming these specific misfits.
I also imagine that any one that intervenes will get punished worse than these three.
Just grab them by the scruff and drag them out.
Every video shows people just watching for many long minutes.
There really needs to be some, uh, swifter justice in these cases.
Meh, toothless protest, even if they did destroy the painting so what? we have countless reproductions the world would lose absolutely nothing. And I call bullshit on the 13 grand damage to the frame, reeks of cops pulling millions of dollars of dope off the street. Even if it’s true why didn’t the museum put the frame behind the protective screen as well. It’s low rent vandalism at best, which yes, is still a crime and should be punished but a slap on the wrist and restitution for actual damages would be the proper punishment.
what justice would you have?
I endorse Semi-Bright Border Collie for president. And TOK. A co-presidency.
I think I disagree with every single thing you wrote.
Impressive.
I’ll give you everything but the 13 grand on the damage to the frame, that is outright bullshit. The rest is subjective so we can agree to disagree.
Just stop giving the losers all this free press would be the harshest punishment to them.
These people are trying to destroy a cultural icon (don’t think for a minute they would hold back if it wasn’t behind glass). They are playing for high (symbolic) stakes – they set the stakes, so I have no problem if they have to ante up.
Fuck. Them. They are part of a movement to destroy Western civilization and impoverish everyone (which will in turn lead to millions of deaths) if they get their way. They need to be stomped on, hard.
“Oh, there are copies.” By this reasoning, anyone who is robbed can just get “reimbursed” by the bank. No reason to put the thieves in jail, is there?
13 grand on the damage to the frame
I don’t know that the going rate is for people who restore antiquities, but 13k doesn’t surprise me at all.
“Even if it’s true why didn’t the museum put the frame behind the protective screen as well.”
I guess if you leave your front door unlocked you have nothing to complain about after a home invasion.
Did you see the dress that painting was wearing?
“No reason to put the thieves in jail, is there?”
Slap on the wrist and restitution for actual damages, if they managed to destroy the original, I imagine they wouldn’t be able to make restitution so I guess it would be up to the aggrieved party to mete out the punishment.
“Did you see the dress that painting was wearing?”
There are reasonable precautions, if you have a valuable item and you leave it out in the open and it gets damaged , yes the blame is entirely on the person who damaged it, but you are still a dumbass for leaving it out there. Obvs the museum recognizes this, they had the painting under a protective screen after all. why leave such a delicate frame exposed that a mere splash of soup can cause half a years wages to repair?
I’m surprised you make that much.
No one knows the value I place on my property. For some things there is no monetary replacement. A very long term in a far away place, not two years but 10-15-20. Not only a punishment for the perp but a deterrent for any copy cats. Some labor tossed in as well.
If you can’t do the time….
There is no George Jeffreys in Merry Olde England. And if there were, he would be enforcing Starmer’s policies.
The last two were sentenced to 2 years for the same conduct. Let’s see if 4 years gets deterrence.
The 12 year old in me loves this
Hahahaha!
Yup. Fantastic!
That’s great.
Political commercial for some chick running against Rick Scott.
Hard to remember, even though it was less than 3 minutes ago…
But she says “Rick Scott wants to take away your freedom”
For women… abortion.
For families, tax cuts for the wealthy making it harder on families
For the elderly, eliminate social security so you can’t retire with dignity.
Vote for someone who stands for real freedom.
Didn’t mention free speech – please tell me you all saw John Kerry talking about how the 1st amendment blocks the ability to fight misinformation and we have to have the tools- but they are assaulting it violently.
Freedom from racial discrimination. Yeah, they are killing that.
Is title IX really a freedom thing? Are we abandoning women’s sports protection? Because if that counts, they are attacking it full force.
But rasing taxes in rich people is freedom.
And a ponzi scheme retirement plan backed by printing money… that is freedom, even though it isn’t voluntary.
I suppose if you don’t count the unborn as human lives, they at least have a case for the abortion one.
Pretty horrific abuse of the English language.
I note that Kamala is going full tilt on the same strategy.
We’re seeing a lot of TV commercials for the Kamala. She is going to reduce the cost of living.
Eliminating food, electricity and transportation will reduce the cost of living (and dying)
He must be very powerful to do that on his own.
Someone here smarter than me help me out….
I have 3 synthesizers. All 3 are powered by their own 15v wall wart. One of the wall warts is .55mA, the other 2 are 1.3mA, although one of those can power any 2 of them with an included dc splitter cable. I’d like to find a solution that will power all 3 as efficiently as possible.
I know that the most power hungry 2 can be powered in less than 1.3A, and the third on less than .55A, which means all 3 can be powered on 1.85A total. My hope is that the most power hungry of the 3 can be powered on 800mA, which means I can power them all from my guitar pedal power supply, which would be ideal.
If that doesn’t work….
My first thought is to buy a 15v 2A power supply and a 1>3 DC splitter and be off to the races. However I’m not sure of what to get because all 3 synths require center positive dc plugs. I’m not sure that if I get a power supply with a center positive plug (or an adapter to center positive) whether the splitter is agnostic to polarity, or what.
My second thought is to get a USB C PD power station and run PD > 15v converter cables.
Any suggestions?
Cabling will be agnostic with regards to center positive. You just can’t mix and match on a splitter (ie, you can’t have a center positive and center negative on the same splitter, but it should be otherwise fine if they’re all the same).
I just don’t feel comfortable mixing devices with different power requirements on splitter.
I figured the splitter would be agnostic. Just wasn’t sure. It depends on what the source feeding the splitter is. If it’s center positive, so will the plugs at the end of the split. If it’s center negative, the splitter will also be center negative. Excellent.
One of the 3 (they’re all a set from the same brand) comes with a DC splitter specifically to power 2 of them together from a 1.3A wall wart, so at least the idea of splitting DC is an accepted practice by them and is officially supported. I just want a solution for all 3, and it sounds like a 15v 2A power supply with a center positive tip and a 1>3 splitter should work.
What I worry about is that your gear will get the wrong voltages and burn something out. Most devices do some voltage rectification, but can only take a particular range of values in.
I’m less worried about that than I am with crosstalk. It’s a real thing in audio. I definitely don’t want any power noise from one creeping in to the other. I may go the PD > DC converters. Those will have independent ports (although obviously none are filtered).
Or I might just say fuck it and use 3 wall warts and call it a day.
I’m not an audio guy, so I don’t know
Buy another wall wort, you cheap bastard
I have 3 wall warts. Trying to streamline the amount of cables and clutter. Already enough of that as it is.
Poly markets is weird.
One question has Harris defeating Trump 50% to 49%
The next question has Tim Walz being the Dem nominee on Election Day @ 98%
Harris is less than 1%
https://polymarket.com/markets/politics/us-election
So they’re counting on the assassins taking out cackles?
I think the conspiracy theory is that the Diddy tapes will force her to resign.
Doubt it, she’s known for having slept her way to the top.
I don’t see how that would happen but it would be hysterical if it did.
Looks like the Houthis fucked around and found out.
https://x.com/DrEliDavid/status/1840462891977158866
I suppose they do want to become ‘martyrs’
Meanwhile, zero response from the US for the Houthi attack on USN ships last week.
This is a war between honor cultures and our dignity culture. The only goal they have is to restore their honor. This can never happen until they achieve total victory. Every single jew on the planet, no matter who they are, where they live or what their alignment must die. The US must be destroyed and western culture cast into servitude. Nothing else will get them to quit.
Most here in the west do not understand that mentality at all. I keep hearing people ask “Are they serious? ” or “They will come around eventually.”
Yes, they are serious. No, they will not come around. It is a war to the death.
Never had them, but neighbors when I was a kid did.
https://www.mprnews.org/story/2024/09/23/yelloh-once-better-known-as-schwans-announces-november-closure
Uffda. Marshall (the city this company started in) is going be crushed by this closure. There is a small college there, but other than that it was Schwann’s.
I fondly remember their mini pizzas.
That was my previous job.
Schwans kids weren’t interested in their father’s business, and sold part of it to a Korean food company a few years ago. I had customers that quit buying over it.
I expect, as so often happens, the accountants took over and ran the company into the ground by their “cost cutting”.
FedEx Express, the flagship company, is about to be no more, as well. I worked there, too.
I used to work at Sears, and now they are gone.
Welp. The only thing I can say is don’t buy stock in the Post Office.
C’mom Glbs, get up and get at it!
🌞✊✌
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=RFGo5cqcxP4
🎶🎶
Mornin’. I’m looking forward to today going quickly and well. Saturday wasn’t, though not a disaster by any stretch. Fri and especially yesterday were quite fantastic. I was complimented by a donor yesterday: “That was nice! You’re much more delicate than the others!”
“You mean I’m not as stab-and-diggy as the others?!” <– Happily, I bit my tongue long enough to stifle that truthful thought and my laughter beneath.
Go out and kick ass, y'all.
“Get up and get at it” “Go out and Kick ass”
You people sure are bossy for so called ‘libertarians’
Sleep in and half ass it today, if you want.
[ goes out and kicks Hyperbole’s ass ]
Better bring a sammich, Teddy.
Whom am I kidding, a semi-bright grade schooler could kick my worn out old ass.
Maybe y’all can figure this out better than I can. I did not understand at the time, and still dont, why the Carter admin was so dead set to give up the Panama Canal. It is the single most important strategic point in the Western Hemisphere.
My suspicion now is that the western globalist cabal is dead set on giving up the Red Sea choke points. Either they have lost significance or there is some reason they want the Iranians, Yemenis etc to have control?
I am not sure. Despite my having sleep last night I dont seem to be very sharp this morning…even for me.
I expect it’s due to reasons similar to why Schwans went out of business. Competing interests make it difficult to impossible to focus on the important thing; the shared goal that we are supposed to be working together to achieve.
It somehow becomes more important that I get the sparkly trinket before you can, so my work group sabotages yours, and we both wind up losing.
I dont see a shared goal. In fact, quite the opposite.
So, maybe, you have the cleverness to develop a peace plan that really works, but you also made fun of how I arranged my office, and so, now, I’m going to go behind your back and tell the parties involved that you are a duplicitous snotnoggin, and cause the peace plan to fail.
Good morning all! (No time to scroll to take attendance.) Greetings from Camp GT/TT! Boiled water on our GAS STOVE!!! and turned out 12-cup drip coffeemaker into a giant pourover! 😁☕
Still no power?
Correct. I think we’re at 37 hours now. Making due? do? with the smaller generator for the fridge, router, and a few other things like phone chargers. Mindful that we’re much better off than many!
(Can’t run the generator overnight, as that would leave the house unsecure with the cord preventing closing the back door.)
suh’ fam
whats goody
I’m off to the land of the Hilterses.
Going to study some economics?