A single letter pinned to a noteworthy board of the Regalian Tavern
"An introduction first. I am the Imperial Silk Trader. A pseudonym, for now, and some context to the rest of my message. I hail from the island of Thessalonikos, once ruled by the illustrious Countess Theodora may her soul rest easy. I specifically procure Tyrian dyes and indigo for various customers across the Empire. I work together with Pannovma Slavery to procure my trade. Pannovma acquires female Orc slaves from Daendroc, I know not the exact source, but Daen slavers and Varran captains provide them. These Orc slaves are brought to Thessalonikon where they are chained and coerced into the birthing of half-Orcs which will equally be slaves from birth. These in particular I buy and raise on the Etikis clam farm off the eastern coast of Thessalonikon as clam divers. The seas near Thessalonikon are rough, they batter the sharp rocks day and night through, which makes the half-Orcs more resistant against the risk of physical harm. Furthermore, their greater breathing capacity means they can stay underwater longer, harvest more clams, and produce more property for me to sell."
"I would estimate that if I didn't have half-Orcs slaves to use, my production quota would drop to 25%. Furthermore, if I had to pay my workers indemnity fees and wages, my profits would sink another 85%. This in turn removes my capacity to pay for capital investment through trickle-down economics. I have less money, meaning I spend less money paying the sculptors to produce me art, less money to pay the weavers who make my brocades, and less money to buy expensive venison. In turn, the sculptor finds less work, cannot pay for the bread from the baker, the same goes for the weaver and the hunter who now has to hunt for self sustenance. The baker in turn does not sell his bread, or simply doesn't have the customers to, which in turn means he buys less grain from the farmer. The farmer still produces the same grain, but unable to sell, most of it simply rots away in a barn until it just dust - rotten dust - the same substance that these self professed revolutionaries are made of."
"This is an appeal against the sad state of revolution in the Regalian Empire. Long gone are the days of the pumpkin rebellion and the Tezari and Crimson Rebellions. Long gone are the days where the would be revolutionaries showed bravery, faced adversity head on and clashed openly with authority without fear. They were heretics, they were idiots, but at least they could be respected for taking their convictions to reality, for praising them as the highest aspiration, and actually dying for such a conviction. And yet, their death meant nothing. They are only faintly remembered as failures of a doomed concept and ideology that simply bears no fruits."
"Jacobinism."
"Nowadays we have plastic idiots like the Red Dawn, no doubt Vampire loving nonces, if they are even plural. Yet, they might as well be a teenager angstily crying out against the city's regime after daddy denied their desire to be with their vampire lover. And Icarus Albatross, a man-child so desperate for the theatrics spotlight that one might consider him a failed circus fool trying too hard at being a revolutionary, constantly needing to remind the good citizens of Regalia that he exists by spewing more nonsense for his would be circle jerk of self aggrandizing fools whenever his last sequence of equally unmemorable words fades from memory. These revolutionaries attempt to veil the emptiness of their rotten message with a vessel of idiocy: Poetry and anonymity. Poetry to add a layer of mysticism, poetry to add a layer of false intellect, and poetry to make the message seem more important than it actually is. They speak of truths and knowing reality as if it somehow makes them more intellectual or of better breeding stock than the mundanes, the people whom they deem in needing of saving from the oppression they so precariously suffer from."
"The people that need saving from the Spirit, the spirit who conjured a purple shield around the Archipelago that held the monsters of doom at bay, that saved our pristine city from annihilation at hands of undeath and other things vile. The people that need saving from the Government, the government who used forced labor and mass production only achieved in these heights with our capital market to produce the Regalian Navy, press ganging sailors into service to protect our fair city. The fair city that was saved from the vile brown skins that laid waste to the merchant districts and burned almost 6000 of our good citizens alive. The people that need saving from the Nobility, who tax quotas on the poor and the citizens of the realm, and hoard a quantity for themselves. These Nobility who are equally patrons of the arts, of music, or (ironically enough) poetry, patrons of every art and craft under the sun not related to, and raising us up above, the most basal forms of existence: Survival."
"And that is truly what all this oppression is good for. These would be revolutionaries spout their nonsense as if there is some sort of secret hidden identity to it all, a profound solution that solves all problems, and a profound conclusion that can withstand any assail. Then tell me, good fair readers, where is their providence? The forces of oppression have achieved, they have saved, they have created. Yet our illustrious poets refuse to actually state the truths they have discovered open and clearly where they can be refuted. They refuse to state the providence they have found, for there is none."
"These are the kinds of people that wish death destruction and all manners of horrific mutilation on the people, which in their ignoramus minuscule self aggrandizing minds is validated, because it is BETTER TO DIE STANDING THAN TO LIVE ON YOUR KNEES. And this is the message of hypocrisy that they convey, that they hide with their lack of words, that they hide with their fancy poetry meant to rope you in until you become complicit to self annihilation. They deny the right of the forces of oppression to choose how you should die, so you should die by their terms and whims. For this truly is all that revolution and jacobism leads to. The collapse of order. The collapse of efficiency. Even if Regalia were to change for their hypothetical better, the world will not, and the world will surely not shy away from utterly destroying us until there is nothing left but salted earth and bones."
"But this is okay, right? Albatross? Red Dawn? Because as soon as people die by your terms, death suddenly becomes romantic and worth it. Deny these fools good people of Regalia. Speak out against them, for if you whisper easy or do not, silence only empowers these fools to decide over when and where you die."
"An introduction first. I am the Imperial Silk Trader. A pseudonym, for now, and some context to the rest of my message. I hail from the island of Thessalonikos, once ruled by the illustrious Countess Theodora may her soul rest easy. I specifically procure Tyrian dyes and indigo for various customers across the Empire. I work together with Pannovma Slavery to procure my trade. Pannovma acquires female Orc slaves from Daendroc, I know not the exact source, but Daen slavers and Varran captains provide them. These Orc slaves are brought to Thessalonikon where they are chained and coerced into the birthing of half-Orcs which will equally be slaves from birth. These in particular I buy and raise on the Etikis clam farm off the eastern coast of Thessalonikon as clam divers. The seas near Thessalonikon are rough, they batter the sharp rocks day and night through, which makes the half-Orcs more resistant against the risk of physical harm. Furthermore, their greater breathing capacity means they can stay underwater longer, harvest more clams, and produce more property for me to sell."
"I would estimate that if I didn't have half-Orcs slaves to use, my production quota would drop to 25%. Furthermore, if I had to pay my workers indemnity fees and wages, my profits would sink another 85%. This in turn removes my capacity to pay for capital investment through trickle-down economics. I have less money, meaning I spend less money paying the sculptors to produce me art, less money to pay the weavers who make my brocades, and less money to buy expensive venison. In turn, the sculptor finds less work, cannot pay for the bread from the baker, the same goes for the weaver and the hunter who now has to hunt for self sustenance. The baker in turn does not sell his bread, or simply doesn't have the customers to, which in turn means he buys less grain from the farmer. The farmer still produces the same grain, but unable to sell, most of it simply rots away in a barn until it just dust - rotten dust - the same substance that these self professed revolutionaries are made of."
"This is an appeal against the sad state of revolution in the Regalian Empire. Long gone are the days of the pumpkin rebellion and the Tezari and Crimson Rebellions. Long gone are the days where the would be revolutionaries showed bravery, faced adversity head on and clashed openly with authority without fear. They were heretics, they were idiots, but at least they could be respected for taking their convictions to reality, for praising them as the highest aspiration, and actually dying for such a conviction. And yet, their death meant nothing. They are only faintly remembered as failures of a doomed concept and ideology that simply bears no fruits."
"Jacobinism."
"Nowadays we have plastic idiots like the Red Dawn, no doubt Vampire loving nonces, if they are even plural. Yet, they might as well be a teenager angstily crying out against the city's regime after daddy denied their desire to be with their vampire lover. And Icarus Albatross, a man-child so desperate for the theatrics spotlight that one might consider him a failed circus fool trying too hard at being a revolutionary, constantly needing to remind the good citizens of Regalia that he exists by spewing more nonsense for his would be circle jerk of self aggrandizing fools whenever his last sequence of equally unmemorable words fades from memory. These revolutionaries attempt to veil the emptiness of their rotten message with a vessel of idiocy: Poetry and anonymity. Poetry to add a layer of mysticism, poetry to add a layer of false intellect, and poetry to make the message seem more important than it actually is. They speak of truths and knowing reality as if it somehow makes them more intellectual or of better breeding stock than the mundanes, the people whom they deem in needing of saving from the oppression they so precariously suffer from."
"The people that need saving from the Spirit, the spirit who conjured a purple shield around the Archipelago that held the monsters of doom at bay, that saved our pristine city from annihilation at hands of undeath and other things vile. The people that need saving from the Government, the government who used forced labor and mass production only achieved in these heights with our capital market to produce the Regalian Navy, press ganging sailors into service to protect our fair city. The fair city that was saved from the vile brown skins that laid waste to the merchant districts and burned almost 6000 of our good citizens alive. The people that need saving from the Nobility, who tax quotas on the poor and the citizens of the realm, and hoard a quantity for themselves. These Nobility who are equally patrons of the arts, of music, or (ironically enough) poetry, patrons of every art and craft under the sun not related to, and raising us up above, the most basal forms of existence: Survival."
"And that is truly what all this oppression is good for. These would be revolutionaries spout their nonsense as if there is some sort of secret hidden identity to it all, a profound solution that solves all problems, and a profound conclusion that can withstand any assail. Then tell me, good fair readers, where is their providence? The forces of oppression have achieved, they have saved, they have created. Yet our illustrious poets refuse to actually state the truths they have discovered open and clearly where they can be refuted. They refuse to state the providence they have found, for there is none."
"These are the kinds of people that wish death destruction and all manners of horrific mutilation on the people, which in their ignoramus minuscule self aggrandizing minds is validated, because it is BETTER TO DIE STANDING THAN TO LIVE ON YOUR KNEES. And this is the message of hypocrisy that they convey, that they hide with their lack of words, that they hide with their fancy poetry meant to rope you in until you become complicit to self annihilation. They deny the right of the forces of oppression to choose how you should die, so you should die by their terms and whims. For this truly is all that revolution and jacobism leads to. The collapse of order. The collapse of efficiency. Even if Regalia were to change for their hypothetical better, the world will not, and the world will surely not shy away from utterly destroying us until there is nothing left but salted earth and bones."
"But this is okay, right? Albatross? Red Dawn? Because as soon as people die by your terms, death suddenly becomes romantic and worth it. Deny these fools good people of Regalia. Speak out against them, for if you whisper easy or do not, silence only empowers these fools to decide over when and where you die."
