Armies are expensive. Even when the main fighting force is provided by men fulfilling their duty to their liege, you still need to provide food, replacements for arms, armor, tack and harness that are damaged on campaign. Fuel, spare mounts, pack animals, wagons, hiring ships and other transport. When moving across neutral territory, you can’t simply forage, lest you find yourself in another war with the holder of that domain. And then there were the people who had to be paid. Artisans and engineers, pilots and guides, town officials who stand athwart your march. Just mustering at Zerhaltenberg had made what once looked like ample coffers hurt. I tried to take some solace in that I could find no sign of embezzlement. But that meant I was going to keep burning through my funds. Pushing off from the docks had marked the end of immediate expenditures, but now the ledgers showed the steady depletion of our stores of food. Despite our careful preparations, I fretted and fussed over the numbers, unable to affect their decline.
We had proper horse transports this time, with side doors for quick unloading. What von Slough had failed to mention about Odebucht was the reason no port had developed there – the shallow contour of its bottom. We had to unload and trudge through half a league of shallows to reach dry ground. When the wind worked up a wave in the cove, it rapidly grew tall enough to swamp a wagon. The rafts moving horses into waters shallow enough for them to ford were more easily upset. Watching a horse swim for shore as a boat pulled its groom from the waters, I suppressed a growl. Mirroring my irritation, Graymire pawed the scree underhoof.
“This is bad ground,” I said.
“I’m afraid we’re already committed,” Straub said.
“Will we even be able to unload before the tide turns?”
“We may not be finished unloading come nightfall.”
“I want a watch and a camp established. Everyone needs to get plenty of rest. I intend to march come midnight.”
“Midnight?” the Antixenarch asked, “Your Serene Highness, a midnight march is reckless at best. We should wait for dawn.”
“At dawn, I want to set eyes upon the walls of Salzheim and see the state of the siege for myself. We are stuck at this cove for the remainder of today. Make the best of it and be sure everyone is fit for the journey.”
“This was not the original plan.”
“Our previous discussions hadn’t had to deal with these delays in unloading.”
“If I may.” We turned to Wenzel, who had been quiet since the quality of the cove had come to light. He straightened up as we waited expectantly. “We should at the very least send out scouts now, as signs of enemy disposition will change our plans.”
“I concur,” Straub said. “Whatever our course of action, that needs to be done now.”
“Agreed,” I said. “Herr von Slough, organize the scouts. Grandmaster, establish the camp and watch as instructed. Antixenarch, continue to oversee the offloading.” I got a chorus of affirmatives as I watched another rider reunite with his horse and splash ashore. As he mounted, I realized it was Ritter. The copper-haired youth grinned at me as he rode up.
“It’s almost cold enough to be home.”
“It is the middle of summer still,” I said.
“The horseflowers should be in full bloom then.”
“Yes,” I said, looking at the desolate rises framing the cove, “They should.”
“The rest of our troop should be ashore soon.”
“Johan,” I said.
Ritter turned to face me.
“When we engage Kirchner’s army, I want you to carry my banner.”
“Seriously?” he asked, excited.
“There are only so many men I can entrust it to. It does mean that your sword arm will be occupied, and you have to stay close to me.”
“Is this your way of saying I’m the worst swordsman in the troop?” Ritter asked.
I gave him a sidelong look and he broke into a grin.
“It would be my honor,” Ritter said.
***
Despite the grumbling and attempts to dissuade me from the prospect of a midnight march, we still broke camp by the light of the moon and kitted up for battle. By the silvery glow of moonlight, the blue tabards of the troop I’d originally mustered in Ritterblume looked black, but their armor shone almost white. My armor took on a sepia tinge, but its dwarven aesthetic marked it out anyway. As the columns formed up, I took the vanguard, following the path laid out by von Slough’s scouts. Despite my impatience, I had to pace myself. Getting ahead of the footmen and the baggage train would doom this whole endeavor. So I advanced Graymire at a slow walk.
“Prince Kord?” I turned to look at the speaker. Had Vinzent not had his visor up and bevor down, I’d not have been able to distinguish him from the others.
“Yes?”
“There’s a rumor that there were trolls among Kirchner’s army.”
“That is not true.”
“All right.”
“It was ogres.”
“Ogres?!”
“An ogre is just an orchetto that has grown particularly large[68]. Most of them are not very bright. Their vitals are arrayed in the same manner as yours or mine. You already know where to spear them.” My nonchalance may not have perfectly settled Vinzent’s nerves, but I had no better answer. Roland’s letter had noted the ogres, but he could not state how many were in the host.
I looked over my shoulder at the rest of my own force. My height and high perch upon Graymire’s back granted me an almost unobstructed view of how it was progressing. Seeing things in good order, I turned back to the moonlit trail ahead of me. As we progressed, the soil improved, and I could see the neat rows of fruit trees on the margins between the plowlands and pasture. I tried to recall the contours of the ground around Salzheim. Aside from the rise where the palace sat overlooking the harbor, the area was a large bowl. A very shallow bowl, but the city clustered about the harbor at the lowest overall region. The rim would be well out of bowshot of the walls. Indeed, I doubted even siege engines would be capable of hurling missiles that far. Besides, it was far too big a perimeter. If he’d invested the city, Kirchner would be camped closer to the walls.
“Do you think von Salzheim will know to sally when we arrive?” Lenz asked. “I’d hate to go to all this trouble and not manage to bring our full force to bear.”
“My uncle is no fool,” I said. “He will join the fight when we have committed.”
“You’re assuming the siege is still ongoing,” Soren said.
“It can take months to force a fortified city to capitulate,” I said. “And if Kirchner has abandoned the effort, we can link up with Roland to prosecute the offensive.”
“I doubt he’ll have abandoned the siege unless he knows we’re coming,” Lenz said.
“I wouldn’t assume he doesn’t know we’re on our way. Armies are not exactly subtle. But he likely expects us to land further afield. There are actual ports in the Slough.”
“Is that why you didn’t listen to Straub and Birke when they warned against reckless actions?” Soren asked. I scoured my brain for a moment to recall who Birke was. Verner Birke, Antixenarch of Longue, the man who looked like he was made of porcelain.
“Partially,” I said. “But I also want to bring our steel to Kirchner before we’ve depleted our supplies. I was not the only one of us there at the Kestrel estate.”
A moment of uncomfortable silence rolled through the others. We continued on amidst the trudge of hoof and boot in the moonlight.
***
The hedgerows carving up the landscape around Salzheim had themselves been carved up. They had been put to the axe for the timber and branches inside, leaving scattered leaves and twigs among the scuffed fields in their wake. There was no other convenient source of wood to reinforce their circumvallation of the city. Most of the besieging line consisted of a trench with a stake-studded embankment behind it. A few stout palisades would command more strategic points beyond the various gates. That is, if Kirchner had finished them. He had started in the north and begun to extend his position around either flank, but had abruptly given up on that approach.
In the gray light of dawn, the smoke rising from the city was a few dark columns of haze while the glow of the flames pulsated menacingly from just out of view. The clash of steel and cries of death echoed out of the narrow canyons of the streets as more troops tried to pour in. Swarms of goblins scrambled up ropes to reach the battlements while columns of men pushed through the open gates. I didn’t see any ogres, but the streets and the interior of the two completed palisades were obstructed from view. Above those palisades, I saw three banners – the snake-eating mouse of House Knochenmus, the white tower circled by starlings of the Slagveld Mark, and the white archer of House Feyblooded. Above the battlements of the palace proper, the banners of Ritterblume and Salzheim still fluttered defiantly, but it would not be long before the city walls were out of their hands.
As I surveyed the storming of Salzheim, the other squadrons of horse formed up to either side of my position. The Knights Commander formed up the infantry into lines behind us. I felt Straub and Birke look in my direction more than I saw it. I sat up straighter in the saddle as a distant cry from the battlements had many fingers pointed in our direction. Eyes followed the fingers, squinting against the rising sun.
“Unfurl our banners,” I commanded.
Eagerly, Ritter held aloft the pole and released the cloth to let the Raven Coast Roc fly in the breeze. Soon the other flags of our army were let to flutter as even those vexillifers who hadn’t heard me took notice. Drawing the Sword of Jochen, I gave it a twirl and held it aloft to get the attention of those around me.
“We must retake that gate!” I called, “On me!” Sweeping the blade down, I spurred Graymire from his torpidity. Surging down the hill, I heard the thundering of hooves behind me. I focused my attention on the path ahead, and the gate that had been opened to the enemy. Goblins scurried to turn glaives in our direction as captains bellowed for the back ranks of the human infantry to about face. Glaives glancing off steel, goblins were trampled to green paste under iron-shod hooves. The patterned blade in my hand ripped red ruin through the ranks of the footmen who vainly tried to hold the line before us, and hacked into those who broke and ran for the gate. I ignored anyone not between me and that yawning portal and cut through those who might impede my advance on that object.
With a creak and a wooden rattle, the doors slammed shut. Panicked cries and protests emerged from those stuck between us and the wall. From atop the gatehouse, Stal Feyblooded merely sneered with the same familiar contempt I’d seen on his features in Steel Fen. Eight inch thick imported timbers banded with wrought iron would not yield so readily, and I was forced to pull up short, casting my gaze about to any way to get in. Sheathing the Sword of Jochen, I turned to ride along the base of the wall. Climbing from the stirrups, I leapt from the saddle and seized one of the goblin ropes still dangling from the battlements. Climbing hand over hand, I pulled myself up the stone face despite the creaks and cracks of protest from the crude cable.
The rope was never made to handle the weight of an armored man, let alone one my size and clad in Marcel’s plate. With a snap, the strand separated at the sharp edge of the stone. Starting to fall, I slapped the battlements, barely snagging the lip of the machicolations with my fingertips. In an instant I became acutely aware of the fact that I was dangling a dozen yards above a wild melee. Releasing my grip on the rope, I let it drop. Swinging up, I grasped more of the stonework. With a grunt and a growl, I hauled myself over the embrasure and onto the battlement.
At once I was set upon by two of Feyblooded’s men. I ducked the swing of a pollaxe so that its haft struck my shoulder instead of the bit. Rising out of it, I drove a mailed fist into the armored visor of the man swinging it. Backhanding the other man’s weapon away, I seized the first implement at hand, the pollaxe still resting on my shoulder. I introduced the spike on the back of its head to the side of the owner’s helmet. It didn’t come free as I spun about, and a hammer rang off the thick plating of my shoulder. Lesser plate would have buckled under the blow, but I was still sent reeling. It put just enough distance for me to draw the Sword of Jochen again and meet his charge. The tip drew a spurt of red from his armpit before I twisted out of the way. Hacking into the back of his neck, I sent his helmet tumbling away, still full.
Twenty paces away, Stal Feyblooded stood atop the gatehouse. The overlapping strips of his armor were molded to his svelte frame and made him look nimble and agile. The long arming sword he held in a guard stance towards me would perfectly complement such an aptitude. Casting the blood from my blade, I advanced on Stal, sabatons singing on stone. Straightening his spine, Stal took in my advance, and took to his heels. He was quite fleet of foot, and it would have been difficult to catch him, even if I didn’t have other work to do. The gate mechanism had a counterweight and capstan that were designed to close the gates as quickly as possible. Reopening this was a slow process driven by the turn of the capstan. I cranked it as fast as I could manage, parting the gates so that my men might make it inside.
Ritter led Graymire through the gate as I emerged at ground level. Graymire’s blood was up, and I noted favorably how the youth still managed to maintain control. I climbed back into the saddle and reclaimed the reins.
“You are reckless,” an unexpectedly feminine voice said. I turned to see Marcelene on a nimble Drakoi horse. In place of a full-length dress, she had a skirt that went down to the knees over tight-fitting trousers that tucked into buckled riding boots. Her hair was back in a tight braid, and she’d foregone jewelry.
“Where have you been?” I asked, more curtly than I’d intended.
“Oh you know, it’s been such a nice morning I decided to take a stroll by the shore, only I couldn’t decide what book I wanted to read. I’ve been protecting you from arrows, you big lout.”
Vinzent forestalled further arguing by cutting in. “I see the ogres.” I followed the line of his finger, though the street pointed the way regardless. There were four of them, hulking masses of muscle towering above the height of men on horseback. Clad in iron plates and crude links of mail, they clattered with each lumbering step. They might have been more light of foot if not for the platform they bore on their shoulders. A portable palace with a throne of blood red wood and a scarlet silken canopy, the palanquin bore a half dozen men at arms and a solitary woman. The men wore scale mail with disk-shaped breastplates and conical helmets. They fired bows from behind pavises set up along the perimeter of the palanquin, but each carried a sword as well.
The woman with the raven black hair perched upon the throne, almost lazily gathering scarlet energy about her fingers before unleashing a torrent of flame into the city before her. Wherever the spiralling inferno struck, stone splintered and beams burst. Towers tumbled as their constituents came apart in the flames. Her destruction was not random – she was burning a trail towards the palace gates.
“Lady Knochenmus,” I snarled.
“Ooh, there’s a good deal of brute force in her,” Marcelene said.
“She also summoned a troll last time I faced her,” I said.
“Too sunny for that today.”
“How are we going to get up there without being squashed, skewered, or seared?” Lenz asked.
“I can keep the missiles and the magic off of you,” Marcelene said, “The rest is up to you.”
“Lenz, Soren, Vinzent, Dietz, make sure you have lances. You four get to take out the ogres. Johan, keep anyone from getting close to Lady Marcelene. The rest of you, screen us from the infantry. I’ll deal with the sorceress.”
The cramped confines of a city put cavalry at a distinct disadvantage, but we only needed to get to the plaza at the end of one street. Besides, we were blocking the gateway that the infantry needed to enter the city. No one wanted to be in that roadway as we built to a gallop. Tons of horseflesh, rider and steel pouring like a cataract down the narrow ravine of the street sent them scurrying for any alleyway, doorway, or window they could scramble into. Despite the calls of a commander for a spear wall, none materialized as iron horseshoes sparked on stone setts. The archers on the palanquin redirected their attentions towards us, but their shots deflected from a translucent globe of pale azure energy. Bursting into the plaza where the platform was being carted forward, my troop split in twain, trying to get our designated lancers in position to strike at their targets. I charged straight ahead, climbing out of the stirrups and rising to stand on the saddle.
Just before Graymire galloped under the palanquin, I leapt, rolling between the pavises and into a flurry of desperate parries. The platform lurched as the first of the ogres was struck with a spear. The shift wrong-footed the men at arms, but I’d practiced on so many ships of late that I used the unexpected motion to regain my feet. Almost twirling in place, I parried and cut, desperately trying to dismantle the defenses of half a dozen men at once. It was another lurch from a wounded ogre that bought me the opening I needed, and blood began to spray. I danced through the death as I dealt grievous injuries and decapitated the sorceress’ defenders.
A wash of flame flooded the air. Though the heat roiled around me, I was spared the brunt of the broiling burst. It bent skyward, scorching the scarlet canopy to cinders. Knochenmus’ rage-filled gaze snapped to where Marcelene rode in the lee of my banner. Knochenmus hurled several quick blasts in an effort to buy time, but my magical guardian sent them spiralling away from the fray. In two strides, I crossed the gap. Lady Knochenmus’ slender neck barely offered any resistance to my blade.
She looked more surprised than anything else.
[68] This is not exactly true, but without going into a treatise on orchetto bloodlines, this is as close as one can get.
If you want your own copy, the whole book is available from Amazon in eBook, Paperback, and Hardcover variants.
“Every little thing she does is magic…” 😁
Ooo…. Sparkly
“She’s a Black Magic woman, trying to make a Devil out of me.”
Fun fact – mention hasn’t appeared in any existing stories, but in-world, someone wrote a song about the cavalry charge in this chapter, that Kord hates. He intitued a fine on anyone caught playing it (I know, not ideologically pure for this site), so musicians would play it faster to get it done before the guards came, eventually getting compeditive about who could play it fastest.
That’s a fun idea. Setting, but a great chance for character development, if warranted. I strongly approve.
*Strings ukulele
From the ded-thred, Ted sez
We would have a much better moral stance to condemn any Russian interference if we hadn’t been hip deep in fucking around there ourselves. The ethnic Russians of Crimea held a referendum and expressed the preference to be a part of Russia vice Ukraine. I suppose that holds no validity for you given the deep historical ties of Crimea to the current Ukraine (and yes, that is sarcasm). Ukraine as it exists, exists only because those borders were drawn by the Soviet Union. What a source of legitimacy.
And the other ethnic groups most likely would have voted to stay in Ukraine. I know the Tatars have claimed that since Russia came in and took over, they’ve been treated very badly.
The whole argument reeks of “My country’s government is being beastly, so I’m not going to criticize any other country’s government — not only that, but I’ll say it’s a good thing the interference those other countries are doing.”
I may be wrong, but I don’t think anyone is arguing that Russia is an innocent in all of this. I certainly wasn’t. But Russia being guilty of a war of conquest, and abusing minorities doesn’t make Ukraine innocent of pogroms against ethnic Russians, epic corruption, and dictatorial government, or the U.S. innocent of instigating a revolution against the prior Ukrainian government, or widespread corruption and diversion of aid to Ukraine. The history of the region is that every bit of land there has belonged at one time or another to a whole list of nations, empires, tribal federations, and rulers of a dozen ethnic strands. Putin picks one set of dates and facts and argues that parts of Ukraine are Russian. His arguments are true, but incomplete. The Ukrainian historians argue another set of dates and facts and argues the opposite, also true, also incomplete. Hell, for a long period the whole thing belonged to Poland and Lithuania. My entire point is that the U.S. has no business there, has contributed to the mess there because our ‘elites’ hate Putin for not going along with their global vision, and is not saving Ukraine by prolonging the war, just racking up casualties on both sides. If the rest of Europe wants to keep the thing going let them, but we should stop.
JFC Ted, why don’t you go hang at the Bulwark with that kind of shit. I’m sick of Wilsonian interventions/crusades and that is just their bag over there.
NATO ceased to have any purpose in 1990, but we’ve kept pushing it east with the exception of one country – and then we accuse them of being paranoid.
How dare anyone disagree with the orthodoxy around here!
Yep, that’s me – chief constable and high priest of orthodoxy.
I’ll shut up if you can answer one question – what is the vital American interest in Ukraine?
Ted S can’t answer that question and refuses to acknowledge any American fuckery in Ukraine. It all boils down to Russia bad baaaaaah.
Like 50 different people around here have acknowledged Russia isn’t innocent in all of this arguing with him. He will not and never will do the same. He’s 100% anti-Russian.
A couple different ethnic groups have been fighting over this ground for about 1200 years.
There is no right answer to the modern problem of Ukraine vs Russia.
All I know for certain is that this is not our circus; not our monkeys.
I’ll bet you wouldn’t say that about the DRC.
There I was, there I was, there I was… in… the Congo.
I’ll even say the same thing about Northern Ireland even though granddad’s granddad was born in what is now Northern Ireland.
Not our circus; not our monkeys.
Sure, there are people in those countries who dislike their rulers and sympathize with the West. But their protests won’t be successful if they don’t have infrastructure: they need tents set up in a central square, a stage for non-stop entertainment consisting of political speeches and music performances, symbols and branding (orange color in Ukraine, jeans in Belarus, flowers in Georgia). All of it is provided by various US and European NGOs: National Endowment for Democracy, International Republican Institute, National Democratic Institute, USAID, various George Soros organizations, the German Marshall Fund. They’ve been doing it successfully since at least 2000 in Serbia where they succeeded in removing Milosevic from power. The same activists who participated in successful color revolutions later share their experience with activists in other countries: Belarus, Ukraine (both in 2004 and in 2013/14), Georgia, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan. Once you see it, you can’t un-see it.
I’ve been reading Scott Horton’s book Provoked. It goes over all these protests/revolutions in much detail. Maybe too many details and thousands of citations.
I would love to hear your further insight on… all of it, really. I read the news but don’t know who/what to trust. (I do assume everything is in the half-truth realm, perhaps at best.)
I was still in high school in ’04, and in ’05 was roommates with a great guitarist, first-gen Serbian, tho I don’t recall the exact details, IIRC his dad, some sort of scientist I think (they were quite wealthy in La Grange, IL), and had to flee in secret. I assume late 80s. I’m especially curious about your thoughts on Kazakhstan. When I was there, locals (correctly) complained about how fake Astana was, just a Soviet-manufactured capital. It was just a dead-eyed place. Not empty but kinda-sorta mostly.
I toed into Vladivostok for a 4-day weekend once, and it had character, I spose, but dreary. I went into an old Soviet submarine, still displaying Stalin’s portrait in the captain’s office. I also had a rather shady, embarrassing and bumble-fuck stupid encounter, as well, when I [REDACTED}. Some banging on my hotel room’s shared wall may have occurred.
As for now, Dad’s being a pleasant patient and Mom’s thrilled.. He’s sleeping on the couch. 나이스
Wow! I was in Kazakhstan just last month. In Almaty. I went to the park with the Panfilov monument (and an awesome wooden Russian Orthodox cathedral) and saw the phrase you asked me to translate many years ago. Russia is large but there’s nowhere to retreat: Moscow is behind us. And I thought about you.
My mom was getting her US immigrant visa in Almaty and I went there as well for support. The US government stopped issuing any US visas in Russia in 2021, a year before the “unprovoked” Russian invasion of Ukraine. So Russians have to travel to foreign to get any US visa.
OOOOH, you remembered me! (Kinda-serious gush. Thanks!) YES! God, I loved Almaty. One of the most gorgeous places I’ve ever been.
“GOOT!” <– That (over-expensive) cabbie was great. He was worth it. Love him. He also fuckin' Top-Geared my ass up that mountain to get there on time. I missed the cable car or something. That monument! Thank you so much for translating that, so long ago. Panfilov was fucking imposing. I love Soviet art, and that one still stands out. Intimidating, yet haunting.
I hope everything went well with that fucked visa process. I'm sorry you have to go through that shit. Thank you again, in so many ways. Always a pleasure.
How was the shoot, UCS?
https://www.glibertarians.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/02/Quals.jpg
I failed my personal challenge.
I passed the qualifications with flying colors, but I didn’t get them all in the bullseye.
Only Four yeards and I missed that badly.
🙁
Your average LEO wouldn’t top that.
Congrats on being allowed to exercise your inherent rights! (MA is only marginally less bad)
What were you shooting?
Four yeards
shoot dogs, Uncle Jed! *
* literally: good enough to be a cop
dagnabbit
@Kinnath – It was a Sig p320 (9mm, striker)
@Slumbrew – Oh, the process is far from finished. I haven’t even gathered all of my paperwork, let alone filed it, let alone had the unconsitutional permission slip issued. The process from here can take anywhere from 1-2 YEARS.
Cool
I have a harsh review of it that I plan to include in my write-up of the process.
Good lord, 1-2 years?!
I take it back, MA is much, much better by comparison.
If I lived across the river, it would only be four months.
If I lived in one of the rural counties, it would be even quicker.
Albany is viciously Hoplophobic.
The wife and I rented a lot of pistols back when we were deciding what to buy. I generally did not like any of the striker fired pistols, but found the Springfield XD series and S&W M&P series to be pretty good. I have no real memory of the p320, although I know that was one of the pistols we tried.
In the end, we went 1911 family. Springfield EMPs and Sig p938s.
Looking at the target, I’m glad you are on our side…
If you move to Texas, you can just go buy a gun and wear it out. Constitutional carry. Now you will sweat a lot most of the year. I know that annoys you, but you will be freer overall.
Huh, I’m very surprised it varies by county.
I shudder to think about the barriers my county imposes.
Apologies the UCS for stepping on his post, but if you want to be included in next Mondays “What are we reading” send your reviews, synopsis, and or critiques to whatarewereading25@proton.me by, Oh.. lets say Wednesday. Thank you and have a good evening.
Sounds fascists
Damn it! I forgot to promise to fire anyone who doesn’t respond. I’ll never be a big time executive.
Some of us remembered.
I just ordered about a dozen books from Hamilton, I’m kind of scraping the bottom of my literary barrel. Stuff I’ve had for 15 years or so that I was given.
So what kind of freak coalition will Germany form to freeze out the AfD?
Do they need a total of 50.1% to form a government?
They need 316 of 630 seats. AfD won 151 seats. The CDU/CSU won 208 needing either the AfD or left-wing parties.
Whatever it is, it will fail just like the last one, and it won’t stop until their people force the issue. It will not end pretty, and surely the world will blame Trump.
Probably their equivalent of Dems and GOP again (only their GOP is much closer to the Dems than ours is).
And yes it will fail spectacularly as the populace is getting sick of their shit.
Nitpick: “ample coffers hurt” I would have phrased it differently.
“the shallow contour of its bottom”
The same situation kept Medina-Sidonia from being able to quickly embark the Duke of Parma’s troops. This lengthy delay contributed to the defeat of the Armada.
“had abruptly given up on that approach.” Kirchner got word of Kord’s coming and commenced a direct assault before he was trapped between an army and a wall.
“With a grunt and a growl, I hauled myself over the embrasure and onto the battlement.”
Isn’t it nice to be wearing armor that gives one superhuman strength?
Nitpick: “I ducked the swing of a pollaxe” I think it’s spelled poleaxe. Blame Word or whatever spellchecking function you have. You should see what spellcheck does to botanical names.
“They might have been more light of foot if not for the platform they bore on their shoulders.” Very well-trained monsters, to stay together under their load even under attack.
“Ooh, there’s a good deal of brute force in her” Turns out she’s not the only one with a goodly supply of brute force.
There are multiple valid spellings of pollaxe, I intentionally chose that one. The same way I picked the more archaic serjants-at-arms over the modern spelling sergeants-at-arms
Mornin, all you mighty fine peoples.
☕😄
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=s29fcv5E52Y
🎶🎶
Good morning, Sean, U, Ted’S., and Stinky!
Morning, How goes?
Very well so far. Things sometimes slow down a bit at the end of the month at work, so other than payroll, I’m hoping for a relatively quiet week. How about you?
I have my fingerprinting tonight, after which my form only needs me to attach the photographs, then get it signed and notarized. After that I need only get Not A’s form (We have a tentative appointment on Saturday 1st) at which time I can file and the long wait begins.
Once it is out of my hands, I can hopefully turn my attentions to other things. (The process really is the punishment)
They did power maintenance at the office, so I’m still opening up the stuff I keep open (email, etc)
Trump firing people caused measles in Texas.
My tv said so.
Raw milk turns you into a Nazi.
True story!
Breast milk is raw.
Do you know who else drank breast milk?
Q?
Everyone who drank milk?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ML-P1eLE_-Y
Elon’s email killed babies!
He should have aborted the little shits instead.
“FBI Freak Out As Dan Bongino Named Deputy Director”
https://www.zerohedge.com/political/fbi-freak-out-dan-bongino-named-deputy-director
Can’t say I know much about the guy other than he hates the federal law enforcement apparatuses, or what they’ve become at least (not ideal but I’ll take it). Between him and Patel this should be interesting.
TT listens to Bongino’s shorter video clips, though not his full-hour podcast. He thinks this appointment will be very interesting indeed.
Could not have made a better pick.
Good morning all.
Mornin’, All y’all.
Did not go below freezing last night, first time in about 6 months. Snow is in decline.
Free at last, Free at….
So, ready for bug season?
I think he’s already purchased the bees.
They don’t do much against the mosquitos.
I need a reference internet. One which doesn’t get filled up with normie HGTV nonsense when I try to do research.
I want to know about industrial premodern vinegar, not artsy-fartsy DIY projects to impress your suburban neighbors.
I assume you’ve already seen this: https://womersleyfoods.com/pages/a-short-history-of-vinegar
A “Musk for President” bumper sticker would get some reaction.
The personal attacks would be hilarious
“Honk if you love Musk!”