Vilageidiotx

Reth's All-Inclusive Church

The inventor of the theory himself admitted it was wrong.

This story is interesting, actually. It was made up by a woman who wrote a religious column (if I recall right) in the late 19th century. She claimed that she had been with Darwin on his death bed, and that he had recanted and got hella into the Jesus and all that. In reality, she hadn't actually known Darwin, let alone did she ever have a chance to be with him at his deathbed. She drew quite a bit of fire from his estate for it, but there were enough people reading and publishing her claims that is spread. Didn't help that there wasn't a Snopes at the turn of the century.

If we evolved from monkeys like what evolution is taught, then why is our DNA closer to that of a mouse?

Is it mice now? When I was growing up the lies all the old ladies kept trading back and forth was cats. I suppose you gotta change it up or you get caught.

What you are mixing up is the fact that we are genetically similar to mice. Not more similar to them than monkeys. Just more genetically similar to mice.

If we evolved from monkeys and birds from dinosaurs, then why are there still monkeys but not dinosaurs?

Well, first off this isn't a video game. Its not like evolution works by clicking a button on a tech tree and watching as everything just sort of moves to the next level simultaneously. Populations that are permanently divided do not usually follow the same path, partially because their needs are different and partially because there was so many other variables involved. Dinosaurs were big. They required more of everything to thrive. When the Cretaceous Cataclysm put a whoopin' on the Earth, they couldn't survive the squeeze for resources that followed. The birds and proto-birds did manage to thrive. Those birds had descended from previous dinosaurs. It wasn't like the Cataclysm happened and all of the dino's panicked and sprouted wings. We are talking about millions of years of shit going down, after all.

If what you are saying is true, then how did fossils form? Because the ONLY force capable of burying dinosaurs alive and forming fossils would be the flood. Honestly, try to form a GENUINE fossil on your own. Don't carve it or make some indention on a piece of clay like you do in elementary school. Seriously sit down with an animals skeleton and lots of dirt and see if you can get that to form a fossil. A fossil has to be formed quickly, not over an extended period of time, under massive amounts of pressure which would not be available any other way.

Because fossilization isn't as simple as "Put something in a lot of dirt and check on it right before you go to bed."

And yes, scenes from bad water-world fanfic are not the only thing that can quickly pressurize something. You got yourself some landslides, some earthquakes regular type floods that are violent enough to bury... there are a few options.

If we think about the world being created in the sense of what the Bible says, we don't have to worry about the silliness of something like a temperature snap or membranes touching and forming the universe. Besides, without matter, isn't it impossible for temperature to exist? And if time didn't exist when the Big Bang happened, then how could membranes move?

Metaphysics. This isn't something where scientists actually have a lot of guidelines written up because, as of now, scientific inquiry is stuck investigating the physical world because that is all we can interact with at this point. Time, space, and the current rules of physics as we know them are defined by each other within the universe. Before the big bang, these things didn't exist, and neither did the laws. There is no way to know what came before. Could it be a creator? Yes. It seems more likely, in my opinion, to have been something weirder, but when we are dealing with metaphysics even the nature of what an intelligence is becomes muddled. There are a lot of people hypothesizing about how we can break past this barrier, but to my knowledge we haven't been able too.

Hell, who knows, if we do manage to break out of the universe we could go do something completely wild. If there is a God, we could go kill the bastard. That would be fun.

Also, I will be describing soon how Biblical prophecy is coming true. Don't believe me? Read about the Four Horsemen (starting in Revelation 6:1) and the Olivet Prophecy (starting in Matthew 24:3). These signs are here. All of them, rather than just some. And you mean to say that the Bible doesn't have any legitimacy? Earthquakes, wars, false prophets claiming to be the returned Jesus or a Messiah. They're here. Killing by plague? Ebola. Don't know what it does? Rots you alive and turns your innards to soup. Not fun. Killing by the beasts of the earth? How about the recent rising of shark attacks and brown recluse bites? Not in the sense you'd think, but they're still scientifically in the Animal Kingdom, correct? Disrupted peace? Flip on the news. Crime is on the rise. 'Nuff said.

The problem is that these things have been going on fairly regularly since as far back as there have been people ( at least). Earthquakes are sort of a fundemental force of nature. Wars go back at least to ancient Sumeria, probably further than that. If anything, we've been dealing with less wars recently. We've went seventy years without a full-scale war between major powers. That might just be a record. Plagues, likewise, are not only old-news but also rather calm now. Ebola has killed a handful of people in Liberia. The Black Plague wiped out 30% of Europe.

And... rises in shark attacks are so rare that they would make a poor herald to the end of the world. You get a couple a year, maybe. I would expect an apocalyptic animal attack to look like Dawn of the Planet of the Apes, but nothing that cool has happened. Just a few brown recluses giving people nasty sores. This is the God that flooded the entire world so badly it drowned the unpopular fish! This is the God that parted the Red Sea with nothing but a stick-wielding jew and a little chutzpah. I gotta see that pizazz before i'm sold, man. Lions wielding lances from cattle-back! A whale with an Uzi and a bone to pick! THAT might put the fear of god into me. All the brown reculse thing does is put the fear of sheds into me.

Also, crime isn't the same everywhere. In the US, it has been (per capita at least) on the decline since 1980. Nancy Grace drumming up a wailing and gnashing of teeth every time a little white girl sneezes funny is what has been on the rise.

How much more do I have to describe? I hope I've gotten my point across. This stuff's real, and it's happening. Just know that when Jesus returns, though we do not know the day or the hour, it WILL BE MADE KNOWN. All the sources of light in the sky will fall dark and the sign of the Son of Man will appear in the night. But by then, it will be too late for the inhabitants of the earth who have not followed Jesus. Then in an instant the vials will be poured out, and these are not fun. The earth will be destroyed by the presence of Jesus with the vial/bowl judgments, as the Bible says that heaven and earth fled from His presence. Then a New Heaven and a New Earth will be made and those taken at the seventh trumpet will reign for 1,000 years, during which those who refused to repent will live out their sentence in the lake of fire.

The thing is, this is what unsells your beliefs more than anything. There is no real-world reference for any of this. The streetlights go out, a big neon "J" appears in the sky, and all of a sudden the few people on earth who still use vials are suddenly inconvenienced. And then we all blow up and everybody except for Kirk Cameron and Billy Graham are tortured. That... just... isn't going to sell. Not to competent people in the twenty first century.

Now, if I do recall right, Jesus did at some point in time say.when addressing his buddies, that "“For the Son of Man is going to come in the glory of His Father with His angels, and will then repay every man according to his deeds. Truly I say to you, there are some of those who are standing here who will not taste death until they see the Son of Man coming in His kingdom.“

This seems to suggest that he's late. Or did he addressed the reader while giving a speech? Because that would seem... awkward, for Jesus to have a Frank Underwood moment. Or, perhaps one of them are still kicking it? That would be sort of cool I guess, a two thousand year old man who looks at the calender and sighs, hoping that today will be the day that he has been waiting for all these years, holding on to that last shred of hope in the back of his mind only to swallow two thousand years worth of sadness every night before he goes to bed.

But, if we are to assume that the Christian mythos did take place, the future still looks bleak. Like, it sort of looks like God forget about us. He got busy making Christina Hendricks and it slipped his mind. Maybe he figured he would let us keep going because we keep making such awesome stuff. I could see God up there, thinking "I'll... I'll send in the horsemen after GRRM finishes A Dream of Spring. Or... maybe when the TV show is finished." I dunno. I wouldn't blame him. End of the world means he has to spend the rest of eternity socializing with all the really dull people who are in his fan club. Sinners seem to do all the cool stuff that would be worth watching from the heavenly seat. I dunno.

... or maybe Nietzche did manage to kill him.

Exile: A Sci-Fi RP On an Untamed World

gorgenmast said
The bitch is back.

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

Ethiopia can't send tanks. Will send this guy instead.

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

Sevan, Armenia

The drums set the beat. Trumpets shouted, and when they went quiet there was a fast, but folksy, clarinet solo. Two singers took the stage. One was a man with a salt-and-pepper beard, grinning and hopping to the beat. The other was a woman, taller than the man, with an olive-complexion and bushy hair reaching past her shoulders. Sahle watched the rest of the room nervously. The attack in the Dead Man's Den had him on alert, even after Vasily had mysteriously taken care of the problem. Vasily was with them now, on the other side of their table, but Sahle couldn't rest. He held tightly to Aaliyah's hand and spied on the other patrons.

They were watching the show. They were laughing, and talking, and flirting. Some drank, others paid more attention to dinner, tearing into their lamp and popping stuffed grape-leaves in their mouths. None of them looked Egyptian, but it was difficult to tell. The room was full of people who could pass for Arabs. Some were. Others were Persians. Most were Armenian, but many of them looked Arabic.

Everything in the room was a deep red. It was only the stage, with its heavy blue curtains hanging to the side, that looked any different. The floor was red shag-carpet, the tables draped in red cloths. Lamplight glowed orange and cast everything in a Gothic light.

"I am thinking Oziryan will be liking you." Vassily warbled. "He is smart at this business, you are knowing. Smart at this business more than the old man Horasian."

"Will we be doing shows here, friend?" Yared asked. His wiry beard was wet with champagne. Vasily had insisted they all wear suits, and when he discovered that they didn't own any, he had them outfitted. Yared and Marc looked ridiculous. The neatly pressed, pristine black suits did little more than accentuate how unkempt they were. Why Vasily had not insisted they shave and rein in their hair Sahle did not know. It occurred to him that, though they did not know it, their "Samel" was the only one who had any real experience with the trappings of wealth.

"Maybe, if you be wanting." Vassily answered. "Oziryan will be wanting favors, but I am not thinking that he means your work. Entertainers are not hard to find in Sevan, you friends."

Sahle glanced up at the stage, at the prancing singers smiling like they were mentally unhinged, and hoped he was a better entertainer than that. He looked at Aaliyah.

She had covered her eye-patch with a lacy veil that only covered the one lost eye. Perhaps she hoped it would be mistaken for high fashion. Since they were sitting at the Owner's table, it was possible that it would. She was wearing a dress of pure white silk, in a way that made her look like she was ready for a wedding. In the deep bloody red of the club, she stood out like an angel suspended in hell. To Sahle, she almost seemed to glow.

"I apologize." a young voice said. Sahle looked up and saw their host as he sat down. He was young. Younger than Sahle. Seeing him now, a pale skinned boy of a man with grease-slicked hair, Sahle couldn't believe that he could help him.

He was followed by two other men who wore pistol holsters over their shirts as if they were carnations. A woman was with him as well. Though she looked older than Oziryan, she was young. A blonde-haired European, with a sequin studded red dress that caught the light and glittered. She looked at him in a way that Aaliyah only ever did, as it made him suddenly aware of how slender her hips were, and how excellent her breasts must be beneath the tight-fit of her dress. Thinking about another woman's breasts was not infidelity, he reasoned. It was involuntary, and completely natural. Surely Aaliyah thought about how fat other men's dicks were, or whatever it was that women looked for in a man. Perhaps she was thinking about Oziryan's fat dick? That made him feel jealous for a split second before he realized his hypocrisy. He put it all out of his mind.

"I was talking to a friend in the foyer." Oziryan said. He sounded strong and sophisticated, much more than a man of his age should be. Sahle considered that maybe he himself was getting old. He had never truly considered old age. It was always in the future, and the future was too far away to worry about. Now that he might be reaching it, it started to worry him. He had been the Emperor of Ethiopia at a younger age than Oziryan was now, after all.

"Apparently the Chinese are approaching Omsk." he explained. "I am curious how Russia will take it when the Orientals rule them."

"They will be appointing Red Russians, I am thinking." Vasily said. "And Omsk is a long away. I am thinking that Russia will not be easy. She is not a girl who spreads her legs to the mongols"

"Siberia has, it would seem." Oziryan added.

"Siberia is a floozy, I am thinking. Her vagina is wide open like the sea. She has had that many sailors too." he chuckled to himself, and then bowed his head. "I am apologizing to the ladies for my foul joking." he warbled.

"So, Samel." Oziryan said. Sahle felt a shock go down his spine from the way the Armenian talked. "What are your thoughts on Omsk?"

Sahle paused. "I don't know much about it, to be honest." he struggled. "Vasily is the only Russian I know."

"Oh." Oziryan said. "Well, did you know that Vladimira here is Russian."

"Finnish." she corrected bitterly.

"Finnish." Oziryan repeated. "That is right. She worked with Viktor Laine and Juhani Mikhael, right up until the end."

"I was their driver." she explained. Sahle could hear the empty yearning in her voice. "They were revolutionaries."

"Yes." Oziryan replied. "That is an apt way to describe people who fight in a revolution." he paused for a moment to pull a cigar from his vest. "They have done good by me, anyway."

The upbeat Armenian jazz cut away and was replaced by a quavering Russian cello. The bandstand was moved to reveal a painted plywood scene of snow and pine-forests. Dancers took the stage, dressed like Russian boyars and Tatar warriors. The lighting dimmed and the room darkened, and the den of crimson reds was obscured by shadow so only small patches of velvet purple stood out near the flickering lamps. Across the table, Oziryan's face was lit up by the burning glow of his lit cigar.

"I am in the business of security." he explained. All at once, he sounded twenty years wiser. "It is not my primary business, but it is one of the many. I am told that you are being hunted by people from the south. I can stop this, but you have to come under my wing."

"What does that mean?" Yared asked.

"It means that when I need your services, you will comply." Oziryan answered. The singing intensified, proud military horns joined the cello. The dancers were leaping, and there was a cool smoulder in Oziryan's eyes. "I am in many business, as I have said. My brother and I started as weapons smugglers. My country helped me to become rich. Smugglers are important people. You come from Africa, you know this. The Emperor's of Africa have been Smuggler-Kings since Iyasu. Yohannes, Yaqob, Sahle..." he paused, and Sahle felt a shock go down his spine again. "I have bought guns from the last two. I have bought from Persia, and Canada and Spain. And I have sold plenty as well. I have the resources to make your problems go away. I have the resources to let you come in orbit around me and become rich because of this. You only need to answer."

"I still don't get it, friend." Yared said. "What services? We aren't smugglers. Or killers."

"No." Oziryan paused. "But there are many ways to serve."

"How do we know this isn't, like, a hoax, brother?" Marc spoke.

Oziryan smiled and pulled a small bag of white powder from his pocket. He slipped it over to Marc. "You have some blow." Marc said. Sahle could tell that had been enough to buy him, but the Armenian continued.

"I have a friend who procured this. There is an island of the coast of Venezuela that is owned by the person of Alfonso Sotelo. The very same man who is Prime Minister of Spain. The island exists solely for the purpose of growing his personnel supply. He has hired the best drug chemists he can find. He has men from Africa, from Columbia, even an American from the state of New Mexico. Their purpose is to distill a product so pure that it can feed his purported addiction. You are only allowed to reach the island on a single steam-powered paddle boat, a boat slow enough that hijacking it to flee would be futile. The hand-pick their smugglers, doing their best to check for any inconsistencies that would lead them to believe theft is in a smuggler's repertoire. They have armed guards, several private jets dedicated entirely to this venture. They do all of this, but what I have just handed you is his product. Sotelo's own cocaine."

Marc stashed it in his jacket. Sahle had his doubts, but the thought of snuffing Sotelo's own snow was strangely exciting. He looked forward to it.

"Even if you doubt my claims, it still remains that you need help. If I can help you, you would do good to accept my offer. If I can't, you would owe me nothing."

Sahle nodded.

Exile: A Sci-Fi RP On an Untamed World

Name - Kartago
Location - Link.
Leader - Admiral Mansur Hariri
History - Kartago is a reclusive state existing outside of the protection of the International Union's planetside sphere of control. Originally founded by Lebanese refugees angry at the early IU in the wake of the Beirut Scandal, an event that sullied the IU's handling of the evacuation of Earth during the Listener Invasion, Kartago became a haven for those trying to flee the safe zone states for any reason. They have accepted political refugees, adventurers and explorers, pioneers, the marginalized and many more groups that have an interest in the world outside of IU jurisdiction. Their reputation, however, is based on the more unsavory people the Kartagoans have attracted. Criminals, rebels, deviants, pirates, slavers... there are few better places for these sorts on Brahma.

The Admiralty of Kartago is a loose dictatorship that has thus far, in it's short life, been inherited along bloodlines. The Government of Kartago is more interested in protecting the settlement from outside threats, making sure to obey IU Communication Restrictions so that the IU has little reason to crack down on them. They have also made alliances with Surrounding Tkai states, treating them as equally as they treat the human states. This alliance, combined with the common knowledge that the Kartagoans are well armed and are well acquainted with the southern jungles, have played part of the reason why the IU have let them be.

Several smaller communities have began to pop up in the area surrounding the small wilderness state. The government of Kartago, not organized in a way that makes them capable of running a full-fledged nation state, has made no significant attempt to govern them. In some ways, the presence of these smaller bases have turned Kartago into an anarchic mockery of the metropolitan cities of the Safe Zone.

CHARACTERS

The Paladino's

-Lazarus "Laz "Paladino. Young skirt chaser and IU employed Guard. Abducted by pirates. Description/Information

-Joao Paladino. Laz's father. Cooks stuff.Description/Information
-Fay Paladino. Laz's mother. Throws showy parties. Description/Information

-Marcus Paladino. Laz's cold brother. Intelligent Agent for the IU. Cuckhold. Description/Information
-Marissa Tallport Paladino. Marcus' wife. Laz's sister-in-law and lover. Emotional wreck. Description/Information
-Nina Paladino. Marcus and Marissa's five year old daughter. Knows that Broomerpurey is a gas planet.Description/Information

-Caesar Paladino. Paladino patriarch. Grew up on Earth. Got a cool gun.Description/Information
-Stieg Paladino. Laz's bear-sized uncle. Description/Information
-(Unnamed Female Cousin) Paladino. Stieg's daughter. Laz's cousin. Had sexual encounter with Laz in early teens.Description/Information

The IU

-Eurydike "Eury" Florin. Scientist who worked at Shiva station. Abducted by pirates. Whereabouts unknown. Description/Information
-Captain Kgosi. Self-described intellectual. Kang-Chai native. Killed by pirates. Description/Information
-Unnamed Maniac. Contracted Orbital Madness while at Indra Station. Cannibal. Description/Information

Kartago

-Talos Carpenter. Space-Pirate. Putinate Enthusiast. Description/Information
-Kessler Reyes. Former Brother of the Bucket. Currently a prisoner of Kartago. Description/Information
-Unnamed Cyborg. Full-body Cyborg. Several centuries old. Has the Slowness. Description/Information
-Unnamed Asian Hovercar Driver. Big dude. Rumor has it he came from a citadel. Description/Information

POSTS

1: Laz has a going away party. He also screws his sister-in-law.
2: Laz flirts with Eury. Is in space.
3: Laz flirts with Eury more. Escorts crazy guy.
4: Laz hangs out with Eury. Pirates attack and capture the ship.
5: Pirates take prisoners to Brahma. Fights monster.
6: Pirates arrive in Dogpatch. Learn they are in Kartago territory.
7: Night at Dogpatch. Laz talks to Cyborg, decides to learn the fate of Eury.
8: On the way to Kartago. Meets a brother, fights a Mayura.

Exile: A Sci-Fi RP On an Untamed World

Dogpatch, Somewhere on Brahma

In the corner of the bar sat a lonely cyborg. He was huddled beneath the low blue glow of an ancient neon sign. It cast his slate-tinted body in a cold light, leaving only the liquid-silver of his flesh-metal face in shadow. It was a surreal thing to see, Laz thought. Cyborgs like this one - full cyborgs, with nothing human left of them but the organic brain they were born with, were rare, and they were always prouder than this one. Very few people ever went through with the procedure that replaced mortal flesh with steel and technology. Very few could afford it, and those that could didn't always want it. It was a painful thing, to extract a living brain. And even when it was safely in the comfort of its new mechanical host, it was not immortal. Entombed in cold steel, its humanity was excised and the brain began a century-long journey of slow death. Seeing this one now, Laz heard the voice of his history professor say, in the clinical way that he had spoke. "The Transhumanists suffered from severe psychological problems after their surgeries. We humans love our bodies. Even the ways we hate our bodies are forms of love. Our brains were made for flesh, and when you replace that flesh with mechanics you lose a major part of your humanity."

Laz couldn't help but stare. If the Cyborg could see him, it did not react. It must have saw him though. The liquid-silver of its face, the flesh-metal... those were nanobots, each one capable of every human sense. It could, effectively, see through the entirety of its face. It could smell the same way, and hear and taste and touch. Flesh-metal meant an expensive design. It had been invented in the later years of the twenty first century, used to give faces to the ailing leadership of the Putinate as they chose the cybernetic option. The following centuries hadn't made it any easier to reproduce, and the collapse of humanity's interstellar network had made it near impossible. Each nanobot was an intelligence of its own, capable of transcribing large amounts of information to send to the brain while linking with the rest of the facial network in order to coordinate all of the information they took in. It also moved moved as a network, working together to 'Make Faces'. Every human facial expression was at the command of the cyborg, and they looked almost human. Human rendered in liquid silver.

The pirates had walked them to Dogpatch. It had only taken a couple of days, but Brahma had turned every kilometer into a feat. They had walked along the thick trunk-vines that crisscrossed overgrowth of phosphorescent fungi and draping plants, feeling the breath of the wet, warm Brahman wind against their skin. It carried with it the pungent scent of citrus, rot, and musty smell of stagnant water all blended together in the humidity. Deep in Brahma's jungles, it felt like being inside a living creature. It was overpowering. He knew that below them, in the loose marshy soil, the Tih-Tukrut and their biological relatives hunted for food. Above the canopy of fernroots and fungal trees, the Mayura patrolled. The middle layers of the Brahman overgrowth was not entirely safe either. Their entire road was organic, made from branches that had been teased together by native Tkrai who made their home there. It weakened in some spots, and hosted nesting creatures in others. He heard the pirates mutter about fungi-like sludge moss whose spores were hallucinogenic to the Tkrai. It caused humans to lose consciousness. Their nights had been dark, Brahmapura's twilight glow absent in the sky as the moon faced away from its mother-planet. The sounds of the night had kept him awake. These were new sounds, not like the ones he knew in the safe zone. Here, on the other side of the planet and outside of the safe-zone. Here, it was thumping and screams. He could hear hunger in every howl. Only his enemies kept him safe.

He hated his captors, and he hated how he relied on them. There was no escaping, not in the wild here. They had stolen him and the others. They had killed. They talked of other prisoners, and left Laz and his companions to wonder which of their lost shipmates were still alive and which were dead. But they were his protectors. They treated their prisoners like comrades, boasting about the drinks they had drank and the food they had tried. They laughed bawdily after telling sex stories and bantered about celebrities. It was as if they were simply on a hike in the safe zone. There were brief moments where Laz allowed himself to believe it. It masked the frightening uncertainty of everything, but he couldn't hide from the animal rage that shocked through his core when he thought of the battle in space, and of Eury. He had to fight the rage. He knew in the back of his mind that he relied on them now. He hated himself for that, the necessity behind this helpless cowardice that brought him to see his wardens as his protectors. In some ways, he had more hate ready for himself than he had for them.

Arriving in Dogpatch, the prisoners found it to be a desperate outpost rather than any sort of true colony. It was built into a small crater-turned-sinkhole, one-third the size of larger sink-towns like Kang-Chai and so shallow that only of of Kang-Chai's levels could have fit inside. The top of the hole was lit up by a knitwork of green high-powered laser beams, under which a net of metal wire hung from a web of catwalks. Below that was the town. Its slipshod buildings were built from scrap metal and hastily poured cement. Half of the metal came from salvaged space vessels. The cliff walls were pocked by holes, each a window or entrance into the cave system that surrounded it. In the center of it all was a small puddle of a pond, its water stagnant and brown. The entrance had been through a cave. From there, they had made their way to this bar.

The red-bearded man climbed onto a table, his weight causing the rusted iron to creak. They had learned more about the pirate leader during their journey. Talos Carpenter's career had started on the deck of cargo ships. From there, he had turned smuggler. From there, pirate. Laz had never heard of him before now. Piracy was no secret to those who lived in the safe zone. He had heard of Ruwai, who's recent capture and death had incensed people across the IU. And there was Cylla, the madwoman who commanded a fleet of ships but managed to slip the authorities at every turn. He wondered if he would meet her too.

"New friends." the red-bearded man boomed from on-top a table, his voice distracting from the lonely cyborg. "We cannot let you leave here free men."

Laz felt like spitting at the green-cloaked pirate captain. He held himself composed behind a steely face. If he was going to survive this, he would have to play by their rules.

"We would like you to join us. You won't bring the heat on us that way, you see." the pirate Carpenter tugged at his beard thoughtfully, "But we have a custom in this part of our new world. Our patron has accepted captives as soldiers. He has a way. And he accepts brave men as tributes from him. That is where we are going."

It was silent at first. Laz could feel the collecting tension. A lack of answers had left him and his fellow prisoners in limbo, unsure how to act and what to do. Their futures had not been told to them. Not until now, and now that they knew their fate, the seed of rebellion was nourished in each of them.

"Where did she go?" one of the prisoners shouted out. Laz thought of Eury. What had they done?

"Where did my mother go, you gangrenous cunt." the man completed.

He expected a slap. Maybe a reprimand. The pirates, however, did not react. They did not seem to care.

"I don't know all of this." Carpenter answered in a chilly voice. "You might find out when we get to our destination." Before anybody could speak up, Carpenter hopped off his table with a startling thud. Laz flinched. He realize he wasn't sure what was going to happen next. The pirates hadn't acted predictably at all. They were friendly as far as violent criminals went, but every word they said was laced with a subtle poison. Betray us and we will let you die.

"We will stay here tonight." Carpenter explained. "For now, you can stay in here and have all the grog you want." he pounded a fist on the table. Laz felt the binds around his ankles. They felt heavy. The promise of grog - the computer-produced replicator version of alcohol - did not interest him. Laz wanted to sleep, and to wake up somewhere else.

"Tomorrow." Carpenter said . "We head for Kartago."

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

There he goes again, that ding-danged Ron Paul.

Exile: A Sci-Fi RP On an Untamed World

TheEvanCat said
So they spend all their time hooking and shit?

Precipice of War - We Write Under The Sign Of The Goat

The Civil Rights movement has been mentioned, though i'm not sure where it stands after we toyed with the canon. In the original sporum RP, Florida underwent a rather quick civil rights movement that started to make progress, but wehr mentioned that many blamed the bloated malaria outbreak on the blacks. Tempest and I also talked about this, but he focused a lot of a civil rights movement for Mexicans. I don't really remember the details we worked out.

As for the Jews, I believe Hugs was trying to tackle it at one point but was uncomfortable with the subject. As for feminism, I'm assuming that second-wave just hasn't happened yet. At the same time, several of us have alluded to a slightly more liberal approach to the subject. We see women in government. In my case, its an unrealistic oversight caused by me treating this all as some sort of writing practice. Aaron and Googer have also mentioned quite a few women in important positions. In Aaron's case that would be expected considering that China is communist. In Googer's case... maybe it suggests there is some sort of quasi-feminism in Spain? That's where you would expect the western feminism analogue to start, anyway.

Exile: A Sci-Fi RP On an Untamed World

I think that warm feeling you are getting is called an infection.