- Joined
- Jun 29, 2012
- Messages
- 4,464
- Reaction score
- 34,675
- Points
- 663
- Age
- 33
This Poster is pinned on only a select few boards in town, so as to minimize the costs of printing. A single issue is pinned in the Tavern Notice Board, a single one on the notice board in front of the Azure Headquarters, and finally on the front gate leading into the Dragon Quarter.
Part I. The I, the World, the Now
Part I. The I, the World, the Now
It was on my saturday afternoon walk, that I stumbled upon a piece of parchment most peculiar, and most unusual. A lady of stature as I would have given it no second thought, for all it's crumples, it's downtrodden appeal, and the vague impressions of what one could only assume to be some form of dispensed bodily fluids led one to believe it was a mere rebellious message, some sort of clamor for social reform to the likes of the jacobin plague of Ithiania. A lady in silken dress would have merely hurried along, were it not for the fortune of education and a disposition of heightened curiosity to the state of the world and the fellow man and woman that inhabit it. Were it not for those, the visage of a man's skull without flesh, printed in lacking of colors that had now seeped into the paper with vandalism, might have simply passed by as some unknown scribble. It was from education however, that this piece was recognized as part of a chapter out of my own history, one that I shall share with you, dear reader, in the hopes that it might embolden your views.
The organization that I speak of, or rather the philosophical appeal, is that of Neo-Bulwarkism, an old cry by an old war-bannered, that of the Iron Bulwark, an organization I was so intimate with. It is practice for these opinion pieces to be sub-signed by the writer, but I shall break protocol, and provide my identity to provide context. My name is Annabel Campenhau-Schöngrunn, first Baroness of the Campenhauer Valley in Calemberg, sole daughter of the late lord Wilhelm Campenhau-Schöngrunn, fifth duke of Campenhau-land, and the lady Mirabella Medavinci, thrice removed cousin of the late Duke Giovanni Medavinci, of the long lost Medavinci lineage. As some readers might recognize, my father was but a minor player in the Iron Bulwark faction of the Regalian Senate, and my mother was a thrice removed cousin of one of the more notable members of the political ideology, who was murdered at the hands of non-Ailor deviates in their unholy crusade against any that would speak of racial purity.
I am a daughter raised in the fire and brimstone of the Iron Bulwark, forged with the noblest of minerals of purity to which this Empire is so wealthy, tempered with the knowledge and classics of the centuries before me, and finally baptized in the struggle that follows at the end of all good things, the death of the Iron Bulwark. My father was a fervent speaker for the Bulwark cause, my mother a great thinker of reason far beyond the capacity of any commobred woman of lineage, not to question the patriarchy that persists around us and is the foundation of the order of all things natural, but to deepen the thoughts and principles that permeate within, and to hold the principle of adaptation to the highest esteem.
My mother, and I must confess, also I in some part, laid the foundations to the concept of what we have called race realism. Race realism underlines the belief that empirical evidence exists in the nature of existence all around us that supports the societal and religious divides that we have cast on ourselves and our fellow Alorians that inhabit this world, beyond the savage means of unbridles racism. The Rash Racist, as my mother referred to them, are the ill speakers, the disenfranchised dock worker, the huntmaster whose job was taken, or the soldier who simply hates a scaled deviant for not having fair skin. The Rash Racist is that which she believed to be the single most dangerous animal that seeks to break away the foundations of all we have built, more so than the evil and conniving Dark Elf, more so than the vile and disturbing Snake Man, and more aggressively so than the putrid-skinned Beast Orc Men. But to understand why this Rash Racist, who is so quick to cast evil judgement on all that is not Ailor is so vile, one must first understand the core tenets of Race Realism.
Part II. Existence is all Reason
The core belief behind Race Realism, is to find evidence of racial theory in natural evidence around us, supported in what we believe to be fact of Biology, Astronomy, Mathematics, Architecture and more, but particularly Biology. My mother believed in the divining aspects of the concept of Beauty. We find Beauty in all things natural, we find it in the flowers grown in gardens, we find it in the skies lit at night, in the melodies sung by birds, on the faces of fair maidens and in the prose and poetry of written word. Beauty is the fairest of virtues associated with kindness, softness, delicateness, sensitivity and adaptability, the proneness to all other virtues. The Dandelion in it's simple symmetry, its strong regenerative and reproductive capacity, and above all its survivability. The first to bloom after a forest fire has laid waste to lands. The last to survive in droughts that pillage even fair Anglia, and the brightest of yellow in all matters of springtime. In contrast to the vile bearclaw, a weak and insidious plant that stands on its own, is flowerless, and hurts only others, while lacking the capacity to survive outside of its natural habitat. Take the Nightingale songbird, delicate, small, with a beautiful singing voice, as it travels south at the first wave of cold, and survives from instinct, in comparison to the foul seagull which consumes and consumes and screeches worse than terrified kitchen maids. Its own stupidity and gluttony getting it killed as it attacks the wrong scavenging prey, flies into a building and dies, or simply freezes to death, refusing to leave a particular feeding spot because all it can think of is food.
Take the Butterfly, beautiful in its symmetrical being, a graceful and delicate creature heralding the fresh breath of spring, a companion of a maiden's fairness that has seeped deeply into our culture as a symbol of purity. Take as opposed, the wasp, an ugly creature with insectoid alien-ness, aiming only to steal honey from the noble bee, and to hurt any who would so dare to thread into its realm uninvited. The butterfly lives in stages, it births, it turns into a cocoon and finally spreads wings, adapting to its needs as they arise. The wasp merely dies when the first cold of winter draws close. Take the fair Ailor maiden, delicate hands which many crafts could be performed with, a fair oval shaped face with symmetrical beauty, used like a clean canvas of the most glorious painting classics, and a softness of body and disposition of virtues. Take as opposed the bulbous Green-skin, crooked teeth and bulbous nose and forehead. A dreadful stare, lack of emotions, and savagery that has persisted for as long as the good Ailor people can write, with no end in sight to their never adapting ways.
The more adaptable and beautiful something is by nature, the more likely does it stand superior to the test of time, mettle, virtue and other such universal measures. My mother, and subsequently the belief of Race Realism, is that all races can be classified according to the categories of Adaptability and Beauty. Paramount at the top stand the Ailor, and within measure the Qadir and the Eastern people. To the middle ranges are the Elves and Deser-Dwellers, and on the bottom are the stunted Dwarves, Orcs and other Beast-Races. The underlying benefit of Race Realism, is that unlike the ravings of the Rash Racist is sensible, supported with empirical evidence, and by virtue of logic, strikes a more reasonable tone than the loudness of one's cries that shy away the moderate and the un-impressed.
This latter is also the crime of the Rash Racist. The Iron Bulwark and for all the good intentions it stood for, and for the natural order, the same order which Race Realism fights for that it tried to uphold, died because of the machinations of the Rash Racist. The Rash Racist who is quick to cast crude and vile words on all things non-Ailor, without tact, without fact, and without beauty and adaptability. It is exactly the death of the Iron Bulwark at the hands of moderates and leftists because the message could not change with the times. War permeated the beliefs held by the Bulwarkists and a kind of dark melancholy keeps the message alive by successors such as the Neo-Bulwarkists, but they are all equally doomed to fail because of the un-changeability of their message. It is their message that acts like a torrent or waterfall out of control. It only turns more and more people against their message, until the very act of interracial breeding becomes a protect act purely done to spite them, not by direct intent.
Part III. Rashness in opposition to Beauty
Ailorkind was blessed with the natural state of reason, of adaptability, of free thought unchained by centuries of history, and of free will unchained by centuries of dogma. It is exactly that adaptability and beauty in action that causes Ailor to be truly the superior race, but it is also what causes the downfall of the Rash Racist. The Rash Racist is quick to seize a good Ailor by the collar in the street, and to point at a lizard-man, and to profess his disgust and anger at its existence. The Rash Racist will rant at the ridiculous and disgust he has at the rights and freedoms of the lizard man, and it will spew spittle without reason as one might think he is about to faint given the complexion of red on his face and the veins bearing on his skin, barely keeping up with the need for blood to move. It is Ailor adaptability that reasons with the Rash Racist, and sees not the well intended means of a good righteous man, but the wicked heart of a creature who has let hatred sink so deep into its soul that it by essence is no longer beauty and has been reduced to the savageness of the Green-Orc-Creatures. It is the moderation of mind in Ailor kind that is able to recognize the lack of Beauty in the Rash Racist, and to adapt, and to turn against the very beliefs of the Rash Racist, regardless of their intent, simply because of their inherent ugliness in which they are proposed. Race Realism instead offers Empirical Evidence to support the same notions that the Rash Racist upholds, but with irrefutable evidence, with calm reason, and with adaptable views.
The Orc creature is inferior, because unlike the Ailor, it cannot invent, it cannot move ahead, it can simply destroy things of beauty. The Cat-like man, unlike the Ailor, has no virtues, it steals, it thieves, and it lies and pirates the fair coasts of the western lands, and its fur molts and rots and has all manner of insect infestations and feces clung like mud onto itself. Even the wind Elves are inferior, so nestles in their own childish stupidity that their lack of adaptation has led them to be absorbed into servitude to the equally stagnant horse-Elves who believe so strongly in interracial breeding that the original has simply ceased to exist and the world has lost them to careless historical preservation.
I shall after all, end this monologue with a story my father once told me about our dogs. My mother once bought a litter of Ithanian Sucre Ciens to entertain her, while my father was always fond of the Calemberg Shepherd, a noble bred animal which is strong, loyal, and protective even in later years. He once pointed at both these animals and asked me, what I thought would happen if he were to breed the Shepherd with the Sucre Cien. As I was merely eleven years old, my fantasies jumped to wild conclusions, such as a mop-like shuffling dog with an oversized head, or a Sucre-Cien sized animal with black hairs that stood up straight, like a walking patch of grass. I giggled and told my father I didn't know, but that I did not know it would look funny and weird. My father then asked me what I thought would happen if this Shepherd Cien would be bred with another Shepherd Cien, to which I again did not respond fully, this time not for comedy, but because I did not know what conclusion he was looking for. After a moment of silence, he simply added, that the final end product of such a union would mean the end of the Calemberg Shepherd, the only legacy to such a great and noble creature a laughable and defunct cross-breed that would not incite pride and protection, but comedy and ridicule.
The Orc creature is inferior, because unlike the Ailor, it cannot invent, it cannot move ahead, it can simply destroy things of beauty. The Cat-like man, unlike the Ailor, has no virtues, it steals, it thieves, and it lies and pirates the fair coasts of the western lands, and its fur molts and rots and has all manner of insect infestations and feces clung like mud onto itself. Even the wind Elves are inferior, so nestles in their own childish stupidity that their lack of adaptation has led them to be absorbed into servitude to the equally stagnant horse-Elves who believe so strongly in interracial breeding that the original has simply ceased to exist and the world has lost them to careless historical preservation.
I shall after all, end this monologue with a story my father once told me about our dogs. My mother once bought a litter of Ithanian Sucre Ciens to entertain her, while my father was always fond of the Calemberg Shepherd, a noble bred animal which is strong, loyal, and protective even in later years. He once pointed at both these animals and asked me, what I thought would happen if he were to breed the Shepherd with the Sucre Cien. As I was merely eleven years old, my fantasies jumped to wild conclusions, such as a mop-like shuffling dog with an oversized head, or a Sucre-Cien sized animal with black hairs that stood up straight, like a walking patch of grass. I giggled and told my father I didn't know, but that I did not know it would look funny and weird. My father then asked me what I thought would happen if this Shepherd Cien would be bred with another Shepherd Cien, to which I again did not respond fully, this time not for comedy, but because I did not know what conclusion he was looking for. After a moment of silence, he simply added, that the final end product of such a union would mean the end of the Calemberg Shepherd, the only legacy to such a great and noble creature a laughable and defunct cross-breed that would not incite pride and protection, but comedy and ridicule.
Part IV: Pride and Purity to Benefit
This story has remained with me and will until the end of my days, because I, like the many women and men of the Iron Bulwark, and likely the men and women of the Neo-Bulwark, believe in the pride and purity of our race and our ways and traditions, though we all have different views. My views of Race Realism allow me to point at the Duke Lampero, the half-Orc-Beast and say: Look at the uglyness, look at the darkness of aggression in his eyes, look at the lack of virtue in his act, look at the vileness of his anger at the littles of things. Look at how unadaptable he is, retaining beastly ways, unable to become what he needs to, and unable to change his ways into his new position. I will rationalize. I will convince, and I will prove with Empirical Evidence, to the moderates, and with reason to the leftists, that these things are vile, and will end the Empire if they are left to fester.
But I will also say that while the hammer is crude and ugly, it strikes a nail better than a porcelain teapot, and that we should not crease a hammered tea-pot, and create a mixture of both that is equally worse at the other. Orc Kin are suitable fighters, better so than Ailor, and Ailors are better thinkers, more so than Orc Kin. Let the Orcs be classified with Race Realism to be inferior, but let Race Realism also understand their purpose in life and meaning, and let it come to the conclusion that, like the hammer when kept safely in the tool shed, can be brought out to serve its purpose, like an Orc could. Let us not expel these inferior creatures, but create the conditions in which they can thrive, and in which we can avoid their inbreeding with the fair Ailor to produce things that are really not sufficient at either.
Part V: The Deluge of Reality
It is the Neo-Bulwark, in much the same way of the old Bulwark that would wage war on fellow Ailor for matters that have nothing to do with that of race, such as the class divide, same-sex relations, marriage sanctity, external warfare, divine will and noble right, and other such distractions. Singularity of purpose, the purity of our race, stands paramount and is not related to any of these factors which only exist to provide further detraction and further distancing of the Rash Racist from the moderates and centrists, or even the more softer spoken right wing believers.
I implore the Rash Racists to abandon not their way of thinking, but their appeal and message, and to strike a tone of reason and thought, of realism. I implore other readers who might strongly oppose Neo-Bulwarkism, to heed my message, and to connect on a soul-level with our intentions, and to take-in the realism of present day and present realism. Of Race Realism.
I thank any who have considered and did indeed read my opinionata, and I would implore all, even those who do not agree with my stances, to seek out the beauty they can find in the world around them, and to think hard on what stops them from classifying and ranking those things on beauty, and to conclude that they already do, and to think very hard about why they refuse to do this with the races of our world.
And for those in the Neo-Bulwark who would retain a level of disagreeing with me either partially or wholly, know that at the very least our methods merely differ, and you may consider the Moth of Shönngrunn as an ally.
