“Can you hear me?” Johan’s voice was distant, echoing through a loud, painful ringing. I groaned as he tugged my helmet off and looked down with concern. I raised my hand to my head and felt for the deep cleft I was certain was there. I found only wet hair. Lifting my hand away, I found it devoid of red. It was sweat, not blood.
“Come on, you can’t lay here,” Soren said. The two helped me sit up. Around us, the melee still raged with its chorus of steel, shouts and screams. The man I’d been fighting lay at my feet. We’d struck each other and fallen sole to sole upon the ground, only my head was intact, and he had Knochenmus’ blade in his throat. My helmet, however, was mangled beyond use. It had done its job and taken the shock so my skull didn’t have to. I regained my feet and reclaimed the short swords. From Graymire’s back, none of them had the reach needed to do any fighting. I scavenged a pollaxe whose owner was in no shape to complain. I could come back for Otto’s blade when there was time to hack the lindwyrm’s head open. As quick as I could manage, I was back in the saddle and regrouping with the rest of our contingent.
“Wearing a crown and facing you is unhealthy,” Lenz said.
“What are you talking about?”
“That’s the second king you’ve beaten in single combat.”
“Wait, that was Marcel?” I asked.
“Who did you think it was?”
“I don’t know. We didn’t exactly stop for introductions.” Checking the scraping sound under my tabard, I found a long crack down the front of my breastplate. It started from the hole the spear had made, but had been propagated by Marcel’s boot. It was just as ruined as my helmet, but would still do some good for the time being. Those Drakoi horsemen who’d been trapped between us and the camp wall were overpowered and dispatched. The rest were scattering to the four winds.
From the signals, it was obvious Gebhard didn’t think we could catch them, as he was calling for us to form up and move towards the infantry. We did as the flags directed, forming up into a block almost stirrup to stirrup. Those who still had lances, or had gotten new ones, were moved to the fore, and we advanced in unison. My instinct was to aim for the heart of the fight, but that would have led us to smashing into our own lines. Gebhard steered to the side and sounded a charge when nothing but the Drakoi mob was before us.
Unarmored rabble with neither discipline nor experience had no hope of seeing off a cavalry charge. Our hoofbeats drummed out their doom as we swept down and ripped a red ruin through their ranks. In the middle of the pack, no one was standing to face my borrowed pollaxe by the time I reached them. Graymire’s hooves splattered up blood as he pounded over the bodies. Terror and agony wailed in our wake as we tore out the other side and wheeled about for another go. The second charge threaded the gap between two of the besieged squares, leaving even less room for the rebellious slaves to run. We reaped a scarlet swathe of sundered souls, shattering the resolve of the swarm. They scattered, scrambling, scurrying, and scrabbling for safety in every direction save towards us.
The tide of bodies turned, washing away from the rocks of our formation and receding as fast as their feet could take them. Separate squadrons stampeded stragglers through the savannah around Kydessa. There was no sport in the slaughter, so I stopped to check out my chest wound. I had stained my arming doublet with a worrying amount of blood, but the laceration itself had clotted. It did not appear deep enough to have reached my ribs. Still, we washed and covered it with clean cloth until the surgeons had time away from more serious cases. There were many more badly wounded than I who needed their attention.
I returned to my vantage and watched the dwarfs secure the bridgeheads, finally investing in the siege of Kydessa proper. Bodies still lay scattered about, or in heaps and clumps where the infantry fighting had been thickest.
“I think we might have actually won,” Johan said.
“This battle,” I said.
“What’s left?”
“Well, the city’s still in rebel hands. And so is the Slagveld. If Kirchner is behind the attempts on me, he could even be looking to march on Salzheim.”
“So why are we all the way out in Quendaverus?”
“Because I was too foolish to take Hubert’s advice in Farcairn. I should have gone to Stirnberg and taken up the Iron Diadem as he suggested.” Of course, if I’d been less obsessed with teaching myself magic, I might have paid enough attention to have known the value of his advice at the time. But there was no point in dwelling on what could have been.
***
A crowd had gathered around the corpses of Marcel and his lindwyrm. Archelaus sat on a curule chair, his two-tone helmet not betraying his expression. Though knowing him, it was probably sour. Partanen stood next to him, though the ambassador’s expression indicated a desire for a seat of his own. A knight in a black and white tabard bearing a blue oxhead stood proudly by the body of Marcel. His helmet was tucked under one arm, and he held his chest puffed out. His face was broad and blunt, with a bushy moustache and narrow sideburns that ran down to his jaw.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Oskar von Ochstead has killed King Marcel,” someone said.
“No he didn’t!” Johan blurted, “Prince Kord did.”
Oskar turned a patronizing smile on the young Ritter. “Now, boy, I know you’re a loyal retainer, but there’s no need to further aggrandize your lord by fabrication. These men saw me.” He gestured towards a couple of knights in the red of the Order of Gefrah. They looked at Ritter, then at me.
“What exactly did you see?” I asked.
“The knight that slew the king and his beast wore a black and white tabard with a blue ensign on the chest.” He paused. “I was too busy with my own battles to see what the emblem was.”
Unprompted, Soren went to Graymire and pulled my tabard from his pack. With a snap, he straightened out the cloth. It was the same one I’d worn at the tournament, quartered in black and white with a blue shield to hold the Raven Coast Roc. Oskar looked a little uncomfortable at the sight of it.
“Coincidence,” von Ochstead said.
“True, normally I should be entirely in blue. But Farcairn ran out of blue cloth during the tournament, and I needed something to identify me.”
“What would we hope to gain by lying?” Lenz asked.
“Well,” Partanen cut in, “There is a reward for killing him that includes his wargear. And proper dwarven armor costs as much as a castle.”
“I see,” I said.
“That is why I find your retainer’s lies more than a little annoying,” Oskar said. “I will not be deprived of what I have earned.” Up to that point the whole thing had been a minor irritant. Now I was getting perturbed.
“We can resolve this very easily.” My eye ran over the remains. My crushed gauntlet had been quite conveniently removed from the dead king’s grip. “Does anyone contest that the same man slew both Marcel and his steed?”
There was a general murmur from the crowd, but no one challenged the fact.
“Then open that beast’s mouth.” I pointed at the lindwyrm.
“Why?” Oskar asked.
“Open it and see whose sword is lodged in its brain.”
Von Ochstead became visibly uncomfortable as several of the men standing around hoisted the upper jaw of the lindwyrm. Moistly glimmering in the evening light was the handle Krahenhammer had crafted in the form of my heraldric ensign. Oskar turned bright red with rage and embarrassment. Gebhard stormed out of the crowd and spun von Ochstead about.
“What do you think you are trying to pull? Your lying not only sullies yourself, but besmirches my-” He was interrupted as Oskar was overcome with anger and sank a dagger in his side. Hollers of protest erupted from the crowd before a pack of knights in black surged forward. They pummelled von Ochstead into the dirt as another drew a very pale and pained Gebhard away. The Captain-General was carted away to find a surgeon as Oskar was ripped from his armor and trussed like a hog.
“Gilded barbarians,” Archelaus snorted. He rose and walked away, leaving his seat to Partanen, who took it gratefully. The knights continued to pummel and kick von Ochstead.
“Grandmaster Straub,” I called. “Restore order before these men kill the prisoner.” With a gesture, the Knights of Gefrah dragged Gebhard’s retainers off Oskar, restraining them from further violence. Whimpering and bleeding, von Ochstead buried his face in the dirt. I knelt beside the liar. “You’d better pray he lives though this, because you have more than enough witnesses to your actions now.”
***
My headaches continued as both Volwin and Vogel informed me that the other was acting quite suspiciously. Each was convinced the other was up to no good. I thanked them both and tried to keep the frustration from my voice. With Gebhard incapacitated, I gave the orders to bury the dead and to patrol for signs the Drakoi were regrouping. Part of me doubted they would, but we couldn’t take that chance. The dwarfs provided no help with the graves, as their attention was on Kydessa. There were a thousand little details to attend to, from the important to the inane, and every one now appeared to be my job. I got so overwhelmed that I slept through the fall of the city. It was at night, but I slept the dreamless sleep of exhaustion. The dwarfs hadn’t been making a pontoon bridge, but pontoon boats to ferry a vanguard across. It seized the gates and bridge in the dead of night and let the rest of the legion into the city. I awoke to find Kydessa flying the legion banner.
It was Hengist who called me into a pavilion with Straub and three of Gebhard’s chief lieutenants. I didn’t know their names too well, and mainly recognized them by appearance. The one with the pudgy face was on their left. The one with the crooked jaw was on their right. And the one with the arched nose stood in the middle.
“All right, what is it?” I asked.
“The prince isn’t getting any better,” the middle of the three said. I scoured my brain for a name. Grun-something. Grunwald.
“I see,” I sighed.
“We’ll be marching soon, and we’ve got too many people giving orders,” the pudgy-faced one said. Appelblum – that was his name. Rein Appelblum von something.
“I take it then we’ve been causing confusion.”
“Yes,” crooked-jaw said. Was his name Blout? Bloch?
“So we decided it would be prudent to choose an interim Captain-General during Freinmarkt-Ziegeberg’s incapacity,” Straub said. “That way we don’t have six people giving conflicting instructions.” I raised an eyebrow, but the frustration of the last few days made sense.
“It has to be someone acceptable to everyone in this tent,” Hengist said. “With the exception of Gebhard’s personal retinue, the entire human contingent of this army answers to the six of us.”
“You would be the ranking member of this group,” I said, “And the only monarch.”
“With all due respect,” crooked-jaw said, “His majesty already lost one army and-”
Grunwald cut him off, physically putting an arm in front of him. “Most of our soldiers are men of the Volkmund, and a foreign king would not be acceptable to them.”
Hengist visibly released his breath, pushing an inopportune reply far from his voice.
“Did you three have someone in mind?” Straub asked.
“Well,” Appelblum said, “You’ll never catch me taking orders from these other two. And I’m pretty sure they won’t obey me either.”
“You got one thing right, finally,” crooked-jaw said. Was his name Blucher? No, not Blucher.
Grunwald spoke up. “We figured a good compromise would be von Karststadt.”
“Why me?” I asked.
“You brought the second biggest contingent to this army, and you’re already in good with the dwarfs,” Appelblum said.
“And if the men know you’ve got the five of us to keep your head on straight, they’ll stay in line long enough to march back home.” Blutenblatte. That was his name – Hugo Blutenblatte.
“I can go along with that plan,” Hengist said. He looked to Straub.
“The Furst of Karststadt is my liege regardless.”
“I’m not Furst yet,” I said.
“We had that conversation already,” Straub said.
“Well, this is only until Gebhard awakes from his fever, or we reach home,” Blutenblatte said.
“Clearly,” I said. “Our two tasks at the moment are to keep watch for signs of the Drakoi having rallied, and preparing for the march home.”
“With all due respect,” Grunwald said, “We need to tell the men first. They are displeased with the disorder of the past few days, and it would be best if we proactively quelled any further discontent with the commanders.”
“I see your point. Yes, we will need to address them. The six of us standing together to present the image of unity that has been missing of late. Then we prepare to march.” There was agreement in principle followed by a discussion of the details. We agreed to muster those not on sentry or patrol and address them from the camp rampart. With the authority to delegate and a unity of purpose, things went far more smoothly than they had since Gebhard had fallen. That is, until I climbed onto that walkway and found myself facing the serried ranks of our own army. My voice caught in my throat as I straightened my back and tried not to look as gormless as I felt. I had never addressed this many people before in my life. A year ago, I’d never seen this many people before.
Still, I had to at least present myself as competent enough to march them home. The hard part was over. I wasn’t asking them to do anything they weren’t already disposed to do. I drew in a lungful and spoke with as much feigned confidence as I could muster.
“You are all well aware that the Captain-General is gravely injured, and unable to perform his duties. The council of war has met and decided that, for the interim, I shall take over as Captain-General. Kydessa has fallen. King Marcel of the Drakoi is dead. Our objectives in Quendaverus have been completed. Now is the time to head for home.”
This got a few cheers.
“We will begin preparation for the march, and keep an eye out for reprisals by surviving Drakoi. Gods know we didn’t kill all of them. But they are a broken force. If we are vigilant, they cannot threaten us.” Lacking for a suitable way to wrap up the address, I simply said, “As you were.”
“Congratulations?” Lenz asked as I climbed down from the rampart.
“Someone has to do it,” I said, “And I was the least objectionable candidate. Besides, with any luck we won’t have to fight again until after we’re back home.”
“You know this army is going to disintegrate the moment we cross the Ironblood Spill, right? Everyone’s going to head for their own homes.”
“I know. But until then, we’re all still headed in the same direction.” I started walking.
“Where are you going?” Lenz asked.
“I need to ask the dwarfs when we’re leaving.”
Riding across the bridge, I finally set foot within Kydessa. Wide streets separated tall, mud brick houses shaded with whatever pigments the owner could afford. Most were muted, sunbleached, potentially involuntary pastels. The legionnaires guarding the intersections pointed me to the palace. It sat at the foot of the basalt tower. Red with beige trim, it had tall columns and pronounced pediments. Brightly painted friezes showed horsemen at a gallop, sabers raised. I dismounted and walked through the wide doors. The exterior decor continued through the great hypostyle throne room. The field of pillars tricked the eye into thinking the room was bigger than it was. I crossed to the carved wooden throne where Stojan sat, consulting with his aides. The Protoarchistratigos looked up at me.
“What is it?”
“While Erbprinz Freinmarkt-Ziegeberg is incapacitated, I am acting Captain-General.”
Archelaus waved dismissively.
“If your rebellion has been dealt with, we would like to head for home.”
“No,” he said.
“No? Have the Drakoi regrouped?”
“They have not, but I have standing directives from the Emperor. Were Marcel to be taken alive, I was to bring him to Kheimopolis to face trial. If he fell in battle, I was to instead bring his slayer for accolades. It is impermissible for your army to approach the winter capital, but you must go there by the command of Emperor Anastasios Nurmi the Eighteenth.”
“Protoarchistratigos-”
“This is not negotiable.”
“If you would let me finish, I was going to say I still need to arrange for my men to get home.”
“Part of my legion will be remaining in Kydessa as a garrison, but the remainder will escort your auxiliaries to the Ironblood Spill. It would be… inopportune for them to get lost on the way.”
If you want your own copy, the whole book is available from Amazon in eBook, Paperback, and Hardcover variants.
Well, the first-person narrator retelling the story decades after the fact didn’t die.
Who’da guessed?
Joe Gillis?
Somehow I suspected he was going to end up back in the Dwarf-City and not by his own volition. This time essentially alone. Fun times.
I’m surprised von Ochstead survived. I suspect he’ll be heard from again. Time for the Elf to be useful.
I look forward to the next installment.
thanks again for the story
You’re welcome.
I’ve finally accepted that maybe 2-3 people are still readint it.
More people read than that. There just isn’t a whole lot to say. No offense to anyone who contributes, but people tend to be scared to offer criticism and there’s only so many times you can say good job or thank you for posting.
What Bro said.
I’ve got the paperback!
What Gustave said. I just don’t like the serial format – I tend to read in chunks, when I want to. I’ve got this on my Kindle, probably next or second inline.
I would love criticism. It helps me improve.
Still reading.
I have forgotten who most of the characters are but I have the Kindle version so maybe I’ll read it properly later.
I’m still reading. 😁
Still reading.
Ditto.
I have forgotten who most of the characters
Ditto. I do not have the Kindle version… yet.
Count me in, as well. Especially interesting, from my angle. Fiction *is* especially hard to comment on, for many. I’ve admitted I haven’t read fiction in forever. Yours is possibly the last novel I’ve read, and that was several years back. My brain has a hard time diving into different literary worlds, though growing up that was my jam.
It’s a pretty silly, yet kinda important failing of mine, and I’d like to address it. Pretty much, I can’t sit still and be devoted to a single activity for any stretch of time. (Sleep ain’t easy, neither.) Nope. Not making a damn New Years Resolution, though I doubt many of us do. I wish I were one of those (possibly imaginary) Beach People who can sit and truly reeelaaaaaax with the waves. Deeply envious.
I just love the word “gormless,” and I don’t even know what gorm is or whether it’s a good thing to have or not.
It appears to be a word English collected from other languages, in this case Old Norse.
Fun fact: One of my BIL’s Christmas gifts (from his Amazon wish list) is a text in Old Norse with English translation, The Wanderer’s Havamal.
Gormless implies an opposite, gormful.
Odd coincidence, Top Gear repeat was on and Clarkson said the driver had a gormless look on his face, just as I read this.
It’s the word of the day! Whenever you hear someone say it, scream real loud! 😃
😱
“I want the new cover to be EXACTLY like this draft, except change the background and the font.”
Um.
And the foreground, and…
Submit it to Draft2Digital and they’ll change it for you!
/ducking
Good gravy.
Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer – Postmodern Jukebox ft.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yHqZQve0KWc
A more complicated way to make music
A much better version no doubt but I still feel like I’ve been run over when I hear that song.
A much better version
+2 Reindeerettes
Santa got run over by my chevy – Manic Hispanic
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_cXddVfXSbQ
Love them.
Russian election interference in a NATO country was so bad that the elections had to be cancelled. The only rational response to a narrative like this is to assume it’s a complete lie until proven otherwise.
Russian election interference in a NATO country was so bad that the elections had to be cancelled. The only rational response to a narrative like this is to assume it’s a complete lie until proven otherwise.
Now they just need to tie in the Clinton Foundation.
I assumed it was a lie from the start just like when they claimed Russian interference in the US elections in 2016. The Twitter files basically confirmed that one for anyone paying attention (along with the Mueller report).
Or Soros.
I’m just in the middle of a long chin-stroker about how Obama used similar tactics to turn the country stupid. And how it’s going tits-up.
That’s a good read. The author’s use of “Black” is a perfect example of his thesis.
A contrived pretext for some contrived democracy defending? Is Nuland working for Romania now?
Large owl flies down chimney and perches on family Christmas tree:
https://x.com/KarluskaP/status/1870453214614892608
Pretty neat, is this a good or bad omen though?
Cats with wings.
I never caught it during the original run but I love that owls play the role of house mice in Futurama.
An owl without wings: https://x.com/aladetteinsane/status/1870968864282157406?s=61&t=h5BOKTRU9mc6OIfm7REElw
sigh I used to come home from work to find the curtains on the floor.
https://archive.is/Lm75q/3123ce57cb5dce1d6b9802181f625d6495865ccc.jpg
https://archive.is/4hv5x/840b14333fac3e685b93544d35ac6bd67226039d.webp
Two archived links and not a single breast? You feeling OK Q?
I took all next week off. I’m still going to lose a week+ of vacation (I can only carryover 2 weeks to the new year)
Figure it the fuck out nick! Take your vacations earlier!
You’ll have time to work on your snowblower and tractor
The tractor seems very temperature sensative. It won’t start at anything less than 32 degrees. Even after I changed oil to 5W30.
Are you using a synthetic oil? Synthetics allow much colder starting temps.
@ the Bearded Hobbit
You don’t even knoe how cheap I am!
Synthetic oil! What next? Synthetic fuel?
December is very reminiscent of last year. Hope it continues to mimic the rest of the winter the same as last year.
I’m sorry Derp had to spend the night in jail. That a level of ‘Shit I’d Prefer to Not Achieve.’ You sound remarkably stoic about it, though words on a page are just that. It is another check you can add to your List. I’m pleased the viking hat is the upshot to the story. I don’t want to be arrested, but If given the choice, I’d certainly prefer the horned Viking hat to no hat at all.
I hope from here on out is as smooth as it possibly can be. I know I’ve been quite lucky to not get caught for my extensive list of minor transgressions.
*Crosses self like Tuco* May it continue.
Sounds like Derpie took a calculated risk, open carrying where it’s not allowed. We can say that it should be allowed (and I certainly will), but thems the rules in FL.
Derpie needs to get his shit together before he makes a mistake that haunts him for the rest of his life or worse. Just my two cents.
You get arrested for a gun crime, kind of makes it hard to teach in the future. Even a misdemeanor.
QFT.
As inartfully as perhaps this is put, I tend to agree. I recognize Derpy has been going through some tough stuff the past few years, but there’s a fine line between calculated risk, bad luck and intentional self-destruction.
I’m definitely not one of these therapy-obsessed mush-brains, but talking to a competent professional to understand why he keeps making decisions that lead to “bad luck” might be helpful.
Putting it gently or just being empathetic hasn’t gotten through to him. He’s talked to “professionals” to no avail, though I think it was mainly for his drinking which he never seemed to serious about quitting in the first place. Just cutting back at most.
I don’t like to diagnose people over the internet and I’m hardly qualified to begin with, but I don’t want to see him go down a dumb path. He’s a smart guy. He’s got plenty of potential post-military.
Your daily 2 minutes hate of journalists
https://x.com/NYDailyNews/status/1870893077721735196
Jeezus. You can’t hate them enough.
I can’t even keep up with the depravity.
*currently watching “the last woodsmen”
/wannabe lumberjack
I’m a lumberjack, and I’m OK.
I like to press wild flolwers.
I like to dress up in women’s clothing.
I still have enough firewood for 2 more winters. I’m not sure if I have that much motivation. I’m burning the stuff from about 2015 or so. It really burns nice, dry, starts easily. Just seems like the wood shed is farther away and the wood has gotten heavier.
/flowers
Dude, it’s gotten lighter since 2015.
*looks out window*
Cop cars, an ambulance picking up what is likely to be another overdose from across the street, a fire truck, and… a tow-truck just hauled away a dead bus.
Quadrafecta!
*moves far away from rhywun’s neighborhood. Out into the country.
/remembers watcthing a dude get sucked off by my next door neibor out my window when I lived in downtown Duluth.
Iowa welcomes you with open arms.
How much is a hobby farm?
It costs all of your free time and disposable income.
The average price of an acre of farmland in Iowa in 2023 was $11,835.
There are no hobby farms around that I know of.
Small acreages with a house can be found. A nice house on 2 to 5 acres is going to be half a million to a million (at least locally).
Actual small farms are probably still around. But I think they generally kept in families.
lol Where do I sign up.
I like spicy.
Though the derelict hotel across the street is a bit much – I don’t see how that lasts. Especially since it’s on top of the convention center and next door to City Hall lol. I can’t see even the r-tards that vote here putting up with that shit much longer.
Ugh I’m tipsy and watching a German drama and attempting to repeat some of the words and failing.
I defy a non-sober person to repeat the words Neuigkeiten and selbstverständlich.
The fact that Germans can speak semi coherently while drunk is impressive. That language is brutal.
“It is the German who is so uncourteous to his verbs.”
I have a tremendous soft spot for Baker Mayfield. He’s gritty AF.
There was a “rumor” (read – agent negotiation tactic) that Baker wanted to go to the Pats coming out of school. Likely bullshit, but a Brady to Mayfield transition would have been interesting.
Um…we are witnessing a Brady to Mayfield transition right now in Tampa, slumbrew.
That’s… fair 😀
I was thinking back when Belichick was still firmly in control with the Pats, not when Tom was running the show.
As an aside, I love the memes about Belichick’s recruiting ability
https://x.com/amberlockhert/status/1870113357665034501
Tonite was the rare match I could not give two shits about.
Two teams I hate – hm, where do I sign up??
Woh woh woh….this isn’t Euroball no matter how much Fuhrer Goodell (I’m the one who came up with that nickname, as well – it was stolen from me) tries to make it. This aint no match. It’s a game.
Game = sport
Match = game
Deal.
Adam Frank. The establishment puppet on the alien question. Cites how bright our future is if we survive climate change 50 times as if it’s an actual existential threat like a clown and completely dismisses UFO’s as secret government technology.
Hey, asshole – are you telling me that the US government (because no one else has it) has obtained anti-gravity technology and never deployed it or made use of it publicly? Give me a fucking break. That’s revolutionary tech that changes the course of history.
Merry Titsmas!
https://archive.is/a3j45
NSFW.
Rawr.
One and done.
(Lotta talent, though)
Upon further review:
That whole set is bananas. I can’t pick a favorite.
All but the ‘spreaders’…If I want that Ill go to Pr0nhub….otherwise, well rounded grouping
I can see why musicians, songwriters and filmmakers are all clamoring about AI LLMs. Most of it is better than what is currently being made and I gave them some small stories to make a song.
Coming from the point of view of someone who makes art without much input from anything/anybody, art that is pretty okay maybe, I just am tired of being lost in the noise of other people who also make art, maybe better than mine, maybe worse, but are GREAT marketers.
I’m nihilistically resigned to AI being a major player because a) I know it’s been fed my stuff or it’s going to be because that is the nature of non-DRM’d work and b) I’m already competing with so much other stuff*, what’s a little more?
*And I’m not just competing with other authors. I’m competing with the internet, social media, gambling, sports, porn, YouTube, TV, movies, other hobbies, drinking, etc etc etc. Are people even reading books anymore? The younguns aren’t.
Understood and I sympathetically agree, but/and it’s been said by every generation about something. Being an artist is hard as fuck. Always been true and always will be. I’m saddened and intimidated as well.
Curiosity strikes, and I’d ‘wager’ that, comparing epochs, the increase in the speed of information spread, along with the size of the audience being reached, that it was a. just as hard to get a hit song on ’60s radio as it is to get ~1M hits on YouTube; b. it was just as hard to get a book popularized in Victorian London as to get xM book sales; c. and all the new apps, tech, projects etc today compare to the population size and audience reached as back when. Social primates gotta communicate: When the population spreads, better tech is necessitated. The acceleration in tech has assuredly increased, but so has the size of the audience being reached.
(What’s popular is what’s popular. No real rhyme/reason other than sex. You’re absolutely correct –> ‘Selling’ the book/idea/song is (perhaps) more important than the work itself.)
All AI created
Same with this
There’s tone-deaf and then there’s this.
https://x.com/GovKathyHochul/status/1870932469266190412?t=jRtx8gY0IJ7RTGIJmZu2iQ&s=19
I think at the end of the battle the group should ask themselve were we thr baddies… The dwarfs dont seem worth fighting for but politics is politics