Valentine's Advice for a Friend.

I wrote this in a response to a friend's question of what to do for her husband on Valentine's Day. She is eight months pregnant and he wants sex. She wants to know if sex is the answer, if he'll like it with a preggo woman, and if it'll improve his mood. Here's what I wrote...


Sex is always nice. Food is good too. Food and then sex would be best. Without kids. Leave the kids with someone else for the night. Surprise him by doing it on a diff day then Valentines. Make sure that you have the car that day (to pay bills, go grocery shopping, ect.).

Clean the house (just the places that he'll see, you don't have to make the place spotless), make it smell good (vanilla spray works for me). Put the thinnest, silkiest sheets that you have in the bed, satin and silk both work well.

Now clean you. Take a long hot shower and clean yourself thouroughly. Then take a long hot bath and luxuriate. Use the vanilla bath beads, salts, and anything else that you have as long as it has the same scent.

Put your hair up in a simple way that leaves your face open and is easy to let loose. Leave wisps of hair framing your face, wisps are good.

Wear something sheer and thin. Something long that covers you completely but hints at everything. I prefer a long silk or satin nightgown, with the jacket part. You should use one in his fav color, as long as it compliments your coloring.

Put on low music, something slow and romantic, preferably without words. Use candles instead of electric lights, but make it bright so that he can see how good you look. Make sure that you have everything lit before he gets in so that he doesn't wait while you light them. (you might want to have someone pick him up or send him on an errand. I'd have someone else pick him up).

Make his favorite dinner that is snack-like and can be reheated. Finger food is best, like the nuggets from Chick-Fil-A. Something that doesn't weigh him down or make him feel bloated. No Italian food! Do not let him talk about work. Talk to him about something that he loves and is passionate about. Subtly guide the conversation towards something at least slightly romantic. Vacations, new sheets, how good he looks with a beard, etc. Let him do most of the talking. This is his night. Be the attentive listener.

You are very pregnant, but sex can still be fun. Strip him butt nekkid. Give him a lite massage, just gently stroking him. Use massage oil, preferably one that heats up. Do not take off the nightgown. He will take it off for you when he is ready to. (do take off any jacket piece that you may be wearing). Do not talk during your first bout of sex. Gently shush him if he tries to start up a conversation. Groans of pleasure, giggles, and gasps for air are all exceptable.

Start on his lower legs (his feet are too ticklish) and work your way up. Start on his backside and work your way around to his front. Save THAT part for last. Make sure that you get everything, including his face and sides. Try not to tickle him!!

Use your nails, your knuckles, you finger tips and your palms. Use long smooth strokes. Kiss him every now and then near the area that you are massaging.

When you get THERE, use your nails more. Lite ticklish strokes on the insides of the thighs, lower stomach, testes, and base. Use your breath. Hot breath on the testes.

I do not know your feelings on oral sex. If you have objections to oral sex then please skip the next part!

Flick your tongue out, lite quick licks to his testes, his base, and shaft. Combine this with the hot breaths and tickling. Tease him. Do not touch the head, save that for last. Slowly increase the use of your mouth. Add kisses to the flicking tongue, mix in longer licks. Work your way up and down his shaft. Lick his testes. When it seems that he cannot stand it anymore put him in your mouth. Fit as much of him in as possible without straining yourself or gagging. Pull him out, lightly dragging your teeth along his shaft and head. BE GENTLE!!! Combine the hot breaths, tickling, kissing and licking with increasingly more full mouth sucking. DO NOT LET HIM PEAK! When it seems that he is on the verge of peaking stop! Go back to the massage.

Bring him as close to peaking as you can. Back off and massage him some more. Do this at least once. Most men cannot handle more than two or three times. When he is good and ready, lower yourself onto him. This part will be a little difficult as you because of the pregnacy.

Ride him using long slow strokes. Mix in a couple of quick thrust every now and then. When you get tired climb off. Lay next to him and stroke his chest. Kiss him. Get your strength back.

When you're ready roll onto your side with your back facing him. Have him enter you from behind (spooning with penetration). This is the easiest position to have sex while pregnant. He should finish here if he's lasted this long. If he does peak before this, it's perfectly o.k. It just means that you are doing a good job.

Once he is done, cuddle up to him and start up the massage and kisses again. Make sure to tell him that you love him. Do not wish him a happy Valentine's day. You did this because you love him, not because you were required to for a holiday. You can wish him a happy Valentine's day tomorrow morning.

Depending on his level of fitness, stamina, and length of time since his last encounter, you may get two to three experiences with him. Don't rush things and give him plenty of time to recover between bouts of passionate love making. Have him take a bath using your stink good bath stuff. Let him soak for a while.

From the journal of Sir Deimos of Ironhold

Week two, month of the Wolf 1453
The war seems everlasting. We have been fighting almost constantly for a little over three years now. It seems as though childhood was a distant dream, or maybe a story told to me once long ago. The battle rages outside as it has for the past few months. It is night now and the orcs always fight harder at night. Some say it is because the darkness of the night speaks to the darkness in their soul. This brings the question to the mind; do orcs have souls? Are they too, considered God's Children? What happens to the soul when God's Children go to war?

Ishta, please forgive me for the slaughter that I have brought upon your Children. My soul weeps even as my heart rejoices in battle. The thrill of combat is an addiction of the soul. My addiction has grown strong over the past few years.

My father has told me that I will be in charge of the last ship to leave port. It is my duty to protect the last of the refugees and to deliver missives to the King of Gien and to the Cardinal Bishops in Harmonia. We will leave when it is obvious that the castle will fall soon as the information to be sent needs to be as accurate and up to date as possible. Father estimates two weeks at most before it becomes time to leave.


Week Four, month of the Wolf 1453
Sir Heart fell in battle ten days ago. He lives but barely, clinging to life in much the same manner as he clings to the ideals of the Church. Two days ago I began my ritual of fasting and prayer in preparation of the Knighting ceremony. I am to be Knighted for my performance on the battlefield.

Sir Heart and Sir Viscious agree that I am ready for Knighthood. Because this is a battlefield promotion, I will not have to go through the Knighthood Trials and I shall have senority in battle and on the field due to my three years of warring experience.

After fasting and praying for a full day and night, I was ritually bathed and blessed by the King's Bishop to wash away my past sins and to make me pure again. A rebirth if you will. Staying awake was much harder than I imagined it could ever be. Imagine standing watch for an hour after a full day of battle. Now multiply that by three years and then try to stay awake with nothing to do besides meditation and prayer. Good luck...

By Ishta's Grace I did manage to stay awake the entire time. I prayed a lot, mostly pleaing with Her to strengthen my will enough to stave off sleep. I meditated and daydreamed a lot. Mostly memories of my fallen brother Mathew and dreams that Tomas still survived and would show up at the head of a large army and lead us all to safety.

The Knighting Ceremony itself is sacred and I will not divulge any of it's secrets. I have been Knighted and will now be known as Sir Deimos.


Week Four, month of the Wolf 1453
Well now... The day after I was Knighted my Father placed in my hands the family sword, Adina. Before the King and Sirs Heart and Viscious, he made me the heir of Ironhold. I don't want to be the heir of Ironhold. That was Mathew's honor. I know he's dead. But Tomas may still be alive. I was given to the church. That is my life. I have no need nor want to take what should by right be my brother's. I pray that Tomas will appear and take this burden from me. Ishta, you continue to forge me in your smithy, please let it be for some grand purpose. Please don't let all of this be in vain! That burden I could not bear...

Sir Heart gave his last breath during the night. He was attended by Sir Viscious, the King, my Father, and Myself. The King's Bishop gave him the Last Rites.


Week One, appropriately enough, the month of the Fish 1453
Today we set sail. I watched the city until there was nothing to see but a collumn of smoke rising into the heavens. I weep for my Father, the King and Sir Viscious. They will die when the castle falls. It cannot take for then a few days at most. I pray that they die quickly in battle and do not suffer. They are fine men and the world will be a lesser place without them.

Among the passengers of our ship is a small woman named Areana. She is a scout or guard for the Merchant's Guild and hails from Gien. She barely stands to my chest and weighs less than an average twelve year old boy. However, she has the mouth of a common borne soldier and the attitude of a spoiled child. However, because she is a Guild member, given the responsibility of escorting two merchants, one of whom is sick, back to Gien, I must treat her with a minimum of respect.

The soldiers that I have under my command are the dregs of the army, near to useless in combat except as fodder to detract enemies from those more able to fight. Strange that they survived so long in a nation at war. Stranger still that they would be allowed to leave while other, better men must stay and die. There seems to be little or no justice left in the world. Ishta, how can you let this be? Why do the great men die while fools like these are allowed to live?


Week two, Month of the Fish 1453
We dropped anchor today in a small cove with a stream. I left the girl Areana in charge of the ship, stationed in the lookout's roost as she is the best archer that we have. I left her with one soldier, a dullard who will follow her orders without question.

I led the party inland and stood guard with the only other soldier who could use a missle weapon, a man named Garron who had a smallish crosbow. The other soldiers loaded barrels of water and carried them back to the ship. Garron pointed out a footprint in the mud in the stream. I'm no tracker, but even I could tell that the footprint was fresh. The stream moved swiftly and even as we watch sand began to fill it. The footprint was unshod and small, either a small woman or large child. We seperated and kept a vigilant watch.

I had a viscious suprise waiting for me when we returned to the boat. Areana was in the other boat and was beaching it even as we came out of the forest. Her story was that the two merchants under her charge, including the one who is so sick that she must be carried everywhere, had somehow left the ship, without a boat, and made their way to the beach. Of course, she had no cooberating evidence like footprints and no one else witnessed the event. Both merchants were on the ship when we returned to it and neither merchant was wet, which they would have been had they swam to shore and back.

I took the idiot girl off to the side and explained to her that the safety of everyone on the ship was my direct responsibilty. I explained that she had endangered everyone by running off for no reason. She tried arguing with me, stating that her responsibility was the two merchants, not anyone else. I informed her that in times of war, which we are in, abandonment of post, which is what she did, is a terminatable offense and by all rights I could have her executed for what she had done. She seemed much more angry than chastened.

I don't know how to deal with this. I don't want to kill her out of hand. She really does seem naive rather than stupid or lazy. Apparently, merchants don't train their soldiers. I cannot blame her for someone else's dereliction of duty. Whoever hired her should have seen to her training.

Another week or two and I'll be rid of her and back where things make sense. I can't wait.


Week one, month of the Dove 1453
We finally made landfall in Gien today around midmorning. The soldiers found themselves absorbed into the army of Gien, which was preparing to march into the rear of the orc army. Thank you Lady Ishta, for showing me that there is still justice left in the world.

The rest of us were given one night's stay in the King's Castle. During the day I made arrangements for my journey to Harmonia, procuring a horse and supplies from the church. The bishop recommended that I travel with a small caravan headed in the same direction that left on the morrow as it would be much safer than traveling alone through bandit infested roads. I agree and will meet with them at the merchant's guild in the morning.


Still week one
I should have known. Among those traveling in this little caravan are six merchant guards under the command of that girl, Areana. It seems that I cannot be rid of her. Also in the caravan are threee guards, members of the city watch transporting a prisoner in a box. One of the Guards is an old Seargent named Caston. Caston is in charge of the caravan and is the sole driver of the wearing bearing the prisoner.

Under Caston are a brother and sister. Kevin and Kiva are twins, and they are both blonde, with blue eyes, fair skin and a smattering of freckles for each of them. They are young too, about my age, and quiet. Kevin seems to be a but obsessive in checking his gear.

Also joining the group is one Lou Siffer. He is the King of Gein's blacksmith and chemist, whatever that is. Somewhat addle-brained, he as a minder, much as a small child or someone soft in the head would. His minder is officially called an apprentice and has his hands full dealing with Master Siffer.

The church has also added a couple of members to our group. One is a large young Knight fresh out of the Trials. His name Thomas Whitemane. He is the tenth generation of his family to serve in the Knighthood. That is quite an honor and a tremendus burden. He bears it well though, always cheerful and helpful with whatever needs to be done.

Bishop Reynolds is a chubby little man that keeps mostly to himself. I haven't learned much from him at all. There is also a mercenary in the group. He's a rough looking older gentleman who says that he is searching for his missing wife. I'll keep an eye on him for now. I don't trust him much. Forgot his name too.

The day started well enough but soon disinegrated into a mess. The lack of dicipline shown by everyone in the group outside of the Church is astounding. I understand that the cream of military prowess will be with the army, however these people wouldn't know military discipline if it ran them through the gut.

Caston is a Seargent because of time spent in service rather than any leadership qualities that he may have possesed. All three of the Guardsmen have kept their bright red uniforms on even after we have left the city, making nice bright targets for any bandit archers that may be in the future.

The Guardsmen are naive in the uniforms, but the merchants are much, much worse. They are merrily laughing and carrying on as if they hadn't a care in the world. Telling stories of drinking, whoring, and gambling until I have to restrain myself from dirtying my blade with them. Their "leader" couldn't care less. She just keeps to herself, like she hasn't a care in the world, just like her compatriots only quieter. Her men are drinking from flasks, at least one of them is noticeably drunk.

The King's Smith or whatever he is as much the empty-headed child that I feared he would be. He wanders off picking flowers while the caravan travels on without him. The mercenary has taken it upon himself to be the fool's watchdog, now he has two minders. That doesn't stop him from wandering off though. He's even worse than the girl.

This is inecuseable. I do not want to die because of these people's incompetence.

I spoke with Caston and pled with him to establish some form of discipline in our troop before we all die in the first ambush that we stumble into. He dumped it into my lap and said that he was too busy to deal with it. I almost ended his miserable life right there on the spot but Ishta flooded me with mercy and stayed my hand.

I did gather up all of the liquer and stowed it on the wagon. I let the merchant guards know that they will remain dry for the rest of the trip and that they will get their booze back once we reach our destination. Surprisingly enough, I received the most trouble from Lou Siffer! Bastard doesn't even drink alchohal and he wants to argue with me in front of everyone because I refuse to have drunks guarding my back. I should leave them all to their deaths. If there are bandits in the area, their incompetence would be an open invitation to attack. The fools.

Alas, I can't leave. The chest full of missives is too heavy and bulky to carry on a horse. I need the wagon. Hopefully, I can whoop these sorry excuses of troops into shape before we get attacked. Maybe it'd be better if we were attacked, then maybe then these people would pay better attention, or they'd be dead. Ether way would be an iprovement...


Week two, month of the Dove 1453
I have started sparring with some of my fellow traveler's each night before it gets too dark. Thomas is exactly what he appears to be. He's powerful and fast, but not as skilled as I'd hope. He would be a very dangerous opponent in a battlefield. His weapon of choice is a double bit ax. A big bulky thing that he swings with relative ease. It's too slow and bulky a weapon though. I can get past it fairly easily and land a telling blow.

The young Watchgirl Kiva has also decided to take me up on my offer of sparring partner and teacher. She is quick, but has very little training. With time she could be a quite accomplished swordswoman. Her sword is a matter of no small interest. Both Thomas and I agree that is looks suspiciously like a Paladine's Blade. Yet a Paladine's Blade can only be used by the Paladine who made it as their life's blood is used in the forging. I wonder if a close family member, a sibling or spawn could use a Paladine's Blade? There's a question to ask once we get to Harmonia.

The blade has magical powers, of that I'm sure. When my sword strikes it, frost gleams on my blade and the grip turns cold. She got in a lucky hit once and I had frost on my armour where the blow landed. I have given her a plain blade to pratice with. A prolonged duel with her other blade may cause my sword to shatter from the intense cold.

I enjoy sparring with Kiva, though she is a bit distracting. It's hard to concentrate on swordplay when your partner is as attractive as she is...


Still week two
We discovered an empty town today. There were minimal signs of violence, some disturbed furniture and the like. The only bodies were found burned and dropped into the town well. To many tracks in the area around town to find survivors. I shall be even more careful from now on.

On a brighter note, Lou Siffer was dumb enough to climb down into the well to examine the dead bodies. He came out retching and looking VERY unhappy. Highpoint of my day...


Still week two
We were attacked by bandits this evening. It was very exciting. Most of the members of our little caravan accounted themselves well. The only real injury happened to be Lou Siffer. Poor fool stuck his head out at the wrong time and got his chest laid open.
At least nobody has to take up his slack now that he's too injured to do anything...


Week Three, month of the Dove 1453
We arrived at Harmonia today. The Council of Bishops have ordered Thomas and I to investigate the dissapearances that have been happening to the north. Apparently, the town that we had discovered was the only one.
I have received an allowance to recruit others to help with the mission. I have decided to include Kiva and Kevin for help in combat and because I enjoy Kiva's company. Areana will come with us as a scout. She's not much, but she's a better option than anyone else that I can get. Lou Siffer and his two companions will join us. Siffer can speak the Elven language and the mercenary thounks that the people kidnapping the villigers may be the same people who took his wife.

I have secured horses, gear, and supplies for the trip. We leave in two days.


Still week Three
We have set out on our journey. Things are finally looking up. I am indisputably in charge, so now there is order and no lack of discipline. Without the bad example set by others, even Areana and Siffer are behaving well, at least for them.

We still spar every night and we all take turns standing watch except for Siffer, he can't be trusted. I'm having a much better time than I did before. Even my nightmares aren't as bad.


Week Four, Month of the Dove.
We were attacked last night by large man-sized bat-like creatures. We tore them up pretty good. Lou Siffer suffered a pretty deep chest wound and got his face mangled by the beast's claws. Kinda improved his looks I think.

Areana also got a pretty deep gash in her chest. Seems worse than it is because she's so small. Since I'm the acting medic here, I took care of her wounds. This required me to open her shirt, exposing her breasts. I can't seem to stop thinking about them. Especially when I see her nearby and her shirt gapes open at the neck. I wonder how they feel and I feel dirty for thinking about it, but excited too.

I wonder what Kiva's breast look like. That makes me feel horrible and dirty but horney as a stud horse with a hot mare. Than I feel guilty about it. Ishta help me... I'm a dirty, dirty man...


Week One, Moth of the Horse
And here we are riding our horses. Nothing has happened of note except that Kevin has been acting funny for the past coupld of days. He's been standoffish and quiet. When we spar, he seems to fight with anger and swings to hurt. Luckily he isn't skilled enough to hit me. He seems to get angrier the nicer I act towards him. I'm starting to think that maybe I should give him a good thrashing to settle him down.

I wonder if he's jealous of the time that Kiva and I spend togetehr. He is somewhat overprotective, but that's just silly. No one else seems to notice and Kiva either ignores it or tells him that he's being an ass.


Date and month unknown...
We have been poisoned and imprisoned by an old witch. First we gave battle to brigands chasing one of the local Duke's messenegers. The bandits managed to kill the messenger before we could engage them, but we made up for it by slaughtering all but one of them. That one escaped.

I took an arrow through my left wrist and another one in the same arm up by the shoulder. There was a small cabin nearby, the home of an old kindly looking woman. She bade us come inside and helped bandage the wounded, including myself.

She served us dinner and drink, gave us bandages and beds. I stood first watch but the poison that she had fed us hit and I lost consciousness before I could give an alarm.

I was shaken awake by my father in the chapel where I liked to sleep during the war. I dressed for battle in my battle-scarred scalemail armour, it used to be Michael's when he was younger. Father orders me to suit up, the orcs are attacking soon. I accept what is happening as only someone who has been dealing with flashbacks and nightmares before this can, as if everything was real. I doesn't stop and question things.

I met up with the king, my father, and Sir Blood. Along the way I glimpsed his brother getting onto a ship and making ready to cast off. I start questioning things at that point. I remeber getting into that boat. I could even see Areana leading the two merchants aboard.

I start questioning Father aboyut what was going on. I knew that my brother had died almost a year before when Caspian fell. My Father, short-tempered and frightened, told me to stop whining. He said that I was acting like a coward and a fool and dishonoring our family name. I shut my hole.

The King posted us at the castle's main gate. We knew that it couldn't withstand much more of the orc's battering ram. They would break through today.
We arranged ourselves and a semi-circle twenty yards inside the courtyard. I put three arrows between my finger and knocked a fourth. I didn't nother bringing more, I doubt that I'd get a chance to use all of the ones that I had.
The gate didn't break, it shattered. Wooden shrpanel wounded several men, I heard a piece whine past my head but I was too busy to pay much attention. My first three arrows hit spot on, killing three of the brutes right off the bat. My fourth arrow dissapeared into the crowd. I dropped the now useless bow pulled on my sheild and drew my sword just in time to meet the orcs' charge.

I fought with the grim confidence of one who knows that he is going to die. I slashed about me with my sword, severing arms, opening up throats and gaping wounds with every swipe. A short while into the battle, just when I was getting fully warmed up, I was grabbed from behind and pulled from my horse.

I landed hard and struggled to my hands and knees. Something kicked hard and I went flying into a wall that I don't remember being near. I grabbed my sword and staggered back up to my feet. For some reason all the orcs in the area near me were leaving. I soon found out why.

Striding towards me was an awesome specimen of orcdom. Standing fully thirteen feet tall, this bastard-child of a hill giant wore human leg greaves on his arms, a breastplate, and some kind of skull thing as a helmet. He carried a double bit axe one handed and towered over me.

I knew that I had no chance against this massive beast. Sir Heart's voice came into my head, a random memory from my early years of training. It said, Fight with Honor and you will win!

I decided to fight and die with honor. I made an obscene gesture at the beast with my swordhand that the orcs typically make at us during battle. He responded with a lazy slow looking swing of his ax. I tried pulling my hand back but couldn't move quick enough and watched in horror as my fingers and went flying away in a spray of blood and pain.


I threw my shield at the beast to buy me some time and drew my spare short sword. I dived forward and swung hard at his achilles's tendon. The sword bit but it didn't seem to faze the creature. I stabbed upward into it's groin but the cunning bastard had a metal codpiece that appeared to be made of someone's old stewing pot under his loincloth.

I swung my sword with all my might as he reached down for me. My blade bit deep into the back of his unwounded leg, severing his hamstring. He fell forward, to his knees, and I stabbed him in the kidney. The sword went in to the hilt. A quick slash opened his throat and I found myself lying on a dirt floor.

I got up and looked around. I was in a small room dug into dirt with a shabby looking door. The door was locked, so I kicked through it. I had on my cloths, but I ws missing my weapons and armour. I found myself in a long but extremely narrow hallway. Doors lined either wall. I found my companions behind different doors and set about freeing them. They appeared to be caught up in some sort of nightmare, even though most of them were standing with their eyes open.

They lost consciousness once they left the room and it took several minutes for them to recover. I wonder what they saw? Did they have to fight some sort of creature as I did? Were their dreams based on past experiences? Why was I the only one to wake up? Was it because they were defeated? If so, then why are they still alive? What was the purpose?

There were other people here besides my group. Weird travelers with tattoos and an elf. I freed them as well with the help of Areana. She is finally starting to prove her worth.

I feel kind of sorry for her in truth, she got her nose broken while helping me free Thomas from his room. For some reason, she blames me for her injury. It was her hesitation that allowed him to hit her.

We left by way of stairs and found a closet with most of our gear inside. The only thing missing was my father's sword. Smoke was starting to fill the stairway. It turns out that the old bat was a witch and she had two hellish hounds with her. These hounds stood waist high and had poisonous snakes for tails. They also had flames for eyes and flames crawling along their bodies.

Apparently the old witch had learned of our escape and set the house on fire. We fled the burning hut and fought her and her beasts. During the fight I killed both hounds with the help of Siffer, but was wounded in the fight.

The others kills the witch, fighting her even after she turned into a mansized bat-thing. The entire group fought with Honor and Courage. I'm starting to have some hope for them yet.

Kiva applied first aid to my wounds. Her hands were gentle and soft. She has a quiet beauty about her that grows the longer I am near her. I have feelings for this girl, but I know that her brother wouldn't agree. I don't even know if she'd agree.
I asked my father once how to know when you have found your mate. He told me not to worry about it. Someone would tell me he said. Either he would or the girl would. Either way I should just accept things. I wouldn't have much of a choice in the matter.

I wonder if Kiva would ever choose me?

On a different note, some of the Duke's soldiers arrived, just after the nick of time. They had enough horses for each of us. Their leader stated the the Duke's Seer had sent them for us. I wonder how he knew.

I write this in the comfort of an inn. My wounds have been tended to by physicians, I have bathed, and I have eaten my fill. I am content. Exhaustion weighs heavily upon me.

Later the same night
Kiva came to my bed this night past. Despite my wounds and our exhaustion, we made love. It was the most beautiful experience of my life. I will not talk more of it until later. I have to get back into bed. I hope that her feelings for me are as strong as my feelings for her... Thank you Ishta!

Orders in my world that I've stolen from books.

Green Riders are the King's messengers. They are magically called to their duty and cannot for long ignore this call. They are given a magical golden brooch, shaped like a winged horse, the emblem of the Green Riders. It is actually the brooch that calls them. The brooch is heavily shielded, only other Green Riders can see it as it truly is. Others just see a guady trinket of little apparent worth.

As their name implies, the Green Riders wear green cloaks as part of their uniform. The are allowed a lot of leeway in regards to their clothing otherwise.

Each Green Rider carries a brooch. Each brooch is atuned to a specific rider. Each rider has a small magical ability granted to them by the brooch and their calling. The use of this power is highly draining and can only be sustained for limited periods of time, causing headaches and exhaustion that rapidly gets worse.

The Green Riders also a horses especially bred for endurance, speed, and intelligence. The horses are renown for their intelligence and some believe that they are almost on the level wih a dull human. Each Rider has a specific horse that they own. The bond between a Horse and their Rider is extremely strong.




Sniffers are an order of women with a gift that they trained and enhanced to detect magic and lies. Sniffers can smell magic, thus the name. Each bit of magic smells different. For example, a evil magic mace used by Theroneus the Dark would smell of sulpher, rotting flesh, cold, and pain. They can also tell unerringly if someone is lying.

The Order of White are like a nunnery. It's members may marry, but many choose not to and live the vast majority of their lives in monastery-like secluded grounds near the King's Castle. These women wear white habits and gowns.




The Crimson Legion is the Church's Order of Knights. They wear crimson cloaks and their symbol is a white sword, point down (forming a cross), on a red field. They are ordained ministers and perform all required rituals (marriages, last rites, etc.). They are also fully trained and capable knights. They are the churches military arm and an answer to those who attempt to threaten the church or intimidate it through a show of force.

Some Knights of the Crimson Legion may become Palladins.

More Great Quotes

What you've just said is one of the most insanely idiotic things I have ever heard. At no point in your rambling, incoherent response were you even close to anything that could be considered a rational thought. Everyone in this room is now dumber for having listened to it. I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul.
Billy Madison

You know what mom? You know what I'm gonna get you next Christmas? A big wooden cross, so every time you feel unappreciated for all your sacrifices, you can climb up and nail yourself to it.
The Ref

The ability to speak does not make you intelligent.

Weren't you scared back there?
You bet.
You don't act like it.
Well, I was scared then, but I'm not scared now. How long do you want me to be scared?
Get Shorty

You think we watch any of your movies, Harry? I've seen better film on teeth.
Get Shorty

There's no earthly way of knowing
Which direction we are going
There's no knowing where we're rowing
Or which way the river's flowing
Is it raining?
Is it snowing?
Is a hurricane a-blowing?
Not a speck of light is showing
So the danger must be growing
Are the fires of hell a-glowing?
Is the grisly reaper mowing?
Yes, the danger must be growing
'Cause the rowers keep on rowing
And they're certainly not showing
Any signs that they are slowing!
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

Upon reaching the New World, Cortez burned his ships; as a result his men were well motivated.

I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A bird will fall frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.
G. I. Jane

This is your life, and it's ending one minute at a time.
Fight Club

I have not slept for fear I would wake and find this but a dream.

I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair;
I hate the way you drive my car, I hate it when you stare.
I hate your big dumb combat boots,
And the way you read my mind.
I hate you so much it makes me sick;
It even makes me rhyme.
I hate the way you're always right,
I hate it when you lie,
I hate it when you make me laugh;
Even worse when you make me cry.
I hate it that you're not around,
And the fact that you didn't call.
But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you;
Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.
10 Things I Hate About You

Searching for a boy in high school is like searching for meaning in a Pauly Shore movie.
Clueless

Anything happens to my daughter, I got a .45 and a shovel, I doubt anybody would miss you.
Clueless

Mel: You mean to tell me that you argued your way from a C+ to an A-?
Cher: Totally based on my powers of persuasion. You proud?
Mel: Honey, I couldn't be happier than if they were based on real grades.
Clueless

Until mankind is peaceful enough not to have violence on the news, there's no point in taking it out of shows that need it for entertainment value.

Wash: Yeah, but psychic? That sounds like science fiction.
Zoë: You live on a spaceship, dear.
Wash: So?
Firefly

Inara: What did I say to you about barging into my shuttle?
Mal: That it was manly and impulsive?
Inara: Yes, precisely. Only the exact phrase I used was 'don't'.
Firefly

A diplomat is a man who always remembers a woman's birthday but never remembers her age.
Robert Frost

Vince Lombardi Pre-Superbowl Game Speech

Vince Lombardi

"Winning is not a sometime thing; it's an all the time thing. You don't win once in a while; you don't do things right once in a while; you do them right all the time. Winning is a habit. Unfortunately, so is losing.

"There is no room for second place. There is only one place in my game, and that's first place. I have finished second twice in my time at Green Bay, and I don't ever want to finish second again. There is a second place bowl game, but it is a game for losers played by losers. It is and always has been an American zeal to be first in anything we do, and to win, and to win, and to win.

"Every time a football player goes to ply his trade he's got to play from the ground up — from the soles of his feet right up to his head. Every inch of him has to play. Some guys play with their heads. That's O.K. You've got to be smart to be number one in any business. But more importantly, you've got to play with your heart, with every fiber of your body. If you're lucky enough to find a guy with a lot of head and a lot of heart, he's never going to come off the field second.

"Running a football team is no different than running any other kind of organization — an army, a political party or a business. The principles are the same. The object is to win — to beat the other guy. Maybe that sounds hard or cruel. I don't think it is.

"It is a reality of life that men are competitive and the most competitive games draw the most competitive men. That's why they are there — to compete. To know the rules and objectives when they get in the game. The object is to win fairly, squarely, by the rules — but to win.

"And in truth, I've never known a man worth his salt who in the long run, deep down in his heart, didn't appreciate the grind, the discipline. There is something in good men that really yearns for discipline and the harsh reality of head to head combat.

"I don't say these things because I believe in the "brute" nature of man or that men must be brutalized to be combative. I believe in God, and I believe in human decency. But I firmly believe that any man's finest hour, the greatest fulfillment of all that he holds dear, is that moment when he has worked his heart out in a good cause and lies exhausted on the field of battle — victorious."

Great Movie Quotes

Never date a guy who knows more about your vagina than you do.
City of Angels

I'd rather have one breath of her hair, one kiss of her mouth, one touch of her hand than an eternity without it. One.
City of Angels

What if I told you insane was working fifty hours a week in some office for fifty years at the end of which they tell you to piss off; ending up in some retirement village hoping to die before suffering the indignity of trying to make it to the toilet on time? Wouldn’t you consider that to be insane?
Con Air

Yvonne: Where were you last night?
Rick: That's so long ago, I don't remember.
Yvonne: Will I see you tonight?
Rick: I never make plans that far ahead.
Casablanca

Well, I attended Julliard, I lived through the Black Plague and had a pretty good time during that. I've seen The Exorcist about 167 times and it keeps getting funnier every single time I see it! Not to mention the fact that you're talking to a dead guy. Now what do you think? You think I'm qualified?
Beetlejuice

Some cultures are defined by their relationship to cheese.
Benny and Joon

When you first entered the restaurant, I thought you were handsome... and then, of course, you spoke.
As good as it gets.

Something has to be done, but nothing too original, because hey, this is Hollywood.
L. A. Confidential

I admire you as a policeman, particularly your adherence to violence as a necessary adjunct to the job.
L. A. Confidential

Dick: I got a hot date.
Bud: Who is she, and what did you arrest her for?
L. A. Confidential

All right, people, what are you waiting for? Breakfast in bed? Another glorious day in the corps! A day in the Marine Corps is like a day on the farm. Every meal's a banquet! Every paycheck a fortune! Every formation a parade! I love the corps!
Aliens

Milo: Just once, I would like to hear you scream, in pain.
Hallenbeck: Play some rap music.
The Last Boy Scout

The sky is blue, water is wet, women have secrets.
The Last Boy scout

Yes, I was in Fickle's room. It's quite pleasant if you're Hannibal Lector.
Ace Ventura: Pet Detective

You're a creature of the night, Michael. My own brother, a goddamn shit-sucking vampire. You wait 'til Mom finds out!
Lost Boys

That's not fair!
You say that so often. I wonder what your basis for comparison is?
Labyrinth

What you know you can't explain, but you feel it. You've felt it your entire life, that there's something wrong with the world. You don't know what it is, but it's there, like a splinter in your mind, driving you mad.
Matrix

The key test

You are a stone key, and you unlock old and magical

secrets. What you have to offer is powerful

and difficult for many to understand, but

invaluable to the few who can truly grasp it.

Give the things you have carefully and

wisely, because not everyone will use them

for good.


What sort of key are you and what do you unlock?
brought to you by Quizilla

Things that make you go "eh".

My friend Dawn wrote a review of the King of Torts by John Grisham. She summed the book up with an eloquent "eh". Obviously, this book didn't do very much for her.

Being a somewhat voracious reader myself, I have stumbled across dozens of books that left me going "eh", sometimes leaving me with a sour taste in my mouth. Books that have so much promise that you get all giddy and excited, only to finish it and end up wishing that the author had at least consulted you before ruining such a promising story.

The Last Man Standing by David Baldacci is such a book. This book started off so intriguingly with an elite swat team getting ambushed and all but one of them dying. But then it delved into a stupid revenge plot, bad coincidences, and horrible Bag Guys. Here is the description of the plot:

"It took ten seconds for Web London to lose everything: his friends, his team, his reputation. Point man of the FBI's super-elite Hostage Rescue Team, Web roared into a blind alley toward a drug dealers lair, only to meet a high-tech, custom-designed ambush that killed everyone around him. Now coping with the blame-filled words of anguished widows and the suspicions of colleagues, Web tries to put his life back together with the help of his psychiatrist, Dr. Claire Daniels. To do so, he must discover why he was the one man who lived through the ambush -- and find the only other person who came out of that alley alive... a ten-year-old boy who has since disappeared.

Web's search leads him from inner-city Washington, D.C., to the rolling hills of Virginia horse country -- while people connected to him are violently silenced. Acting on his instincts, Web believes he knows where the killer will strike next. Only this time, he may not survive the attack. Last Man Standing is an explosive psychological thriller about a man desperate to find answers -- from the secret terrors he has kept from himself to his unbearable guilt. His fight to save himself and those he cares for will come at a high cost... and threaten everything he has grown to believe in. With vividly realized characters and a breathtaking pace, this is another spellbinding novel from David Baldacci, one of today's best storytellers."

See? It sounds good, right? Wrong. This plot is so lame that even a movie producer would turn it down. What's worse is that this is the same author who wrote the novel Absolute Power which was later made into a movie starring Clint Eastwood. Both the movie and book version of Absolute Power are excellent. So what happened?

I don't know. I know that a lot of prolific authors seem to lose steam as they get older. Maybe the fountain of ideas just dries up and becomes a stagnant puddle of fly specked water. Authors whose earlier works I love like Dean R. Koontz, Michael Crichton, R. A. Salvator, Robert R. McCammon, and Tad Williams, seem to have lost something over the years. Their work have become preachy, as is the case of Koontz, or stupid, like Salvator's work. Williams seems over reaching while McCammon has become boring and unfulfilling.

This is not a case of me the reader becoming jaded or looking back fondly at old stories through rose colored glasses. I have reread each of these authors over the past year and the old books that I loved so much are just as good today as they were when I first read them. Newer works by these authors still suck.

This is the case with John Grisham. His early works were good stories, as evidenced by the number of high quality movies that have been made off of them. His recent stuff is crap.

Jurassic Park was a great book, but Michael Crichton left a lot to be desired with the Lost World.

My wife says that I'm too critical. She thinks that I see flaws in everything. The fact is that the better the story is, the less that I have to be critical about. The movie Shawshank Redemption and the novella that it was based on, Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption by Stephen King, were flawless. They are powerful stories masterfully told.

Phantoms, the novel by Dean Koontz, was also a masterpiece. The movie sucked ass. Why? Because they cut out so much of what made the book great. The script was bad, the casting was worse, the acting was horrible, and the movie flopped as a result.

The movie and book industries are suffering huge losses in the past few years. Why? Because they, for the most part, provide popcorn fluff entertainment that have a one time lifespan. A good book or movie is something that you'll want to take down and read or watch every now and then.

When I was in 4th grade I read Rambo: First Blood Part II by David Morrell. That book is so good that I still have that original copy. I didn't even really like the movie.

I guess that I wish that authors and those who make movies would take more time to make quality stories rather than a quantity of not very good ones. Please take your time. Don't leave us going "eh".

Eric's NPCs for our fantasy game:

Kiva and Kevin Silverberg - The Two City Watch Members traveling with us,

Kiva is 5ft 8in with blonde hair that goes just past her neck. She has blue eyes that sit just above a thin line of freckles. She has an athletic build, pale skin and a fairly pretty face.

Kevin is 6ft and has the same color hair as his sister which he keeps trimmed close. He also has blue eyes and the same pale skin. Kevin has a very narrow but muscular build and his nose looks crooked from fighting. He is a handsome person but becomes frustrated very easy when things are not going his way.

They are both orphans since the age of 7. Their father was a Paladin and war strategist for the church. Shortly after the two were born their father was killed in battle. One of the soldiers that survived the battle returned to their mother in Harmonia and gave her their father’s sword stating that it was his dying request.
After the death of their father they moved from Harmonia to small Village in Gien. They lived with their mother, Aunt and Uncle on a farm. Neither one of them will talk much about the incident but their family was killed somehow.

They were picked up by a soldier from Gien who took them in and raised them. He taught them to fight and when they were old enough he helped them both get jobs in the city guard. They are still fairly new to the job, only having been at it for 6 months before being sent out with you.

Kiva loves to learn and seems to be quite the curious person, wondering off to investigate anything that peaks her interest. She is much more discipline about it then Luc (Jeff) and stays near the group while traveling.

When not training she is usually exploring the area or reading one of the few books she brought with her. She is very quite and keeps mostly to herself. The only time she really opens up is after sparring with Deimos.

Kevin on the other hand, enjoys telling stories. Most of which are obvious bullshit. He keeps a close eye on his sister. He prepares her horse every morning, wakes her and brings her breakfast. In combat he is never far from her side. She does not seem to mind his constant presence, either that or she is just used to it.

Kevin is a perfectionist and kind of OCD. Everything must be checked 2 or three times and his equipment is always clean and well kept. He seems to avoid Deimos lately for some reason also.


Thomas Whitemane - A newly minted Knight of the Church.

Thomas comes from a long line of respected knights. He is the 10th generation in his family to serve the Harmoian knights and is very proud of that. He is 24 years old, 6ft 1in and has well kept brown hair which he combed back into a small ponytail. His eyes are a dark brown and his skin is tanned dark. He loves to tell stories about the deeds and heroics of his family.

But more then anything he talk about his “true love” Anna. She is a rich merchant’s daughter from Harmonia and as soon as he returns he plans to marry her. He seems to always be in a pleasant mood even when things are at their worst.

As is custom for members of the church Thomas prays every morning and night. He is almost blindly loyal to the church and willing to lay his life down for any good cause. Thomas also has an instrument he enjoys playing for everybody. It’s called an ofyune and it looks kind of like a guitar but it’s rectangular and lies across his lap. It has 10 strings.


As written by Eric Ballard. Edited by Calamar.

Sexual Predators Scare Me

I like scary movies. I like gory things and I'm an extremely lenient outgoing sorta guy. There is one thing that scares and infuriates me more than anything else. Sexual predators.

I'm not worried about myself or even my wife. Someone would get seriously hurt or killed trying to prey on my wife or myself. Neither one of us is weak and we can get pretty viscious.

My kids are another matter. Ever see the movie "A Time to Kill" or read the book of the same name? Exactly. I could easily kill, probably with a good amount of torture thrown in first, any motherfucker stupid enough to lay their hands on my children.

My sister was raped twice in parties while going to high school. She didn't let me know until the people involved had moved away because she didn't want me in jail for assualt.

You wanna try something really scary? Log into a chatroom, pretty much any chatroom will do as long as it is public, as a thirteen to fifteen year old girl. Make sure that your profile matches what you say about yourself. Within minutes of your joining the chat the conversation will have degraded into foul language and explicit sexual advances from guys and gals.

What's really sick is what they say and how they say it. They don't say, "What's a cute girl like you doing in a place like this?". They say things that even I don't feel comfortable reprinting, not least because I'm writing this at work.

I know of a cop down in Colorado Spring who poses as a 13 yr old girl on the internet. He waits for people to solicit him for sex, arranges a meeting with them, and has them arrested when they arrive for their prearranged sexual encounter. So far he has helped arrest over one hundred people. We need more people like him.

I believe that sexual predators should be imprisoned for a first offense, castrated and branded for a second offense, and killed for a third offense. A serial predator is someone with three or more offenses. A serial rapist has raped 3+ women, for example. Someone like this would be castrated, branded, serve their 5 to 7 years in prison, and then be executed.

I think that would be enough to satisfy the victims, don't you? Of course, as a father I'd like private visiting rights for the prisoner so that I can explain further the error of their ways. That'd be real nice.

Imagine how the Catholic church would react?! Boy would they be pissed!

Now I feel better.

Denver's Money Woes...

The past few years here in Denver we've seen the city cut funding to schools, services to low-income families, lower level city employees and employee benefits, the Police and Fire Departments, the Department of Transportation, and a host of other programs designed to help us and our families live and prosper in Colorado.

These cuts in funding are the result of financial shortages caused by natural disasters, greedy politicians, bad finacial managing, stupid lawsuites, war, and the financial lashback caused by the terrorist attacks of September 11th, 2001.

The Governor of Colorado, Bill Owens, and the mayors of the various cities within the Denver Metro Area including the City and County of Denver, Lakewood, Thornton, Westminster, Golden, Wheatridge, Arvada, and Aurora have tried various methods of reducing their city's financial strain by implementing cuts that hurts the people that they are sworn to represent. These knee-jerk reactions have had very little financial benefits, all short-term, while giving birth to a whole new generation of problems that will have severe financial repercussions in the near future.

Cutting power to street lights in suburban areas and cutting the snowplow services in side streets does save some money for the city but creates a dangerous environement that will cause traffic accidents which will result in the loss of life and limb and end up costing the city thousands of dollars in lawsuites. This is a plan that the city of Lakewood is implementing.

The City of Denver reached an agreement with the Fire Department's Union cutting their pay raises, benefits, promotions, and new hires for the next few years. The Denver Police Department refused those cuts but is unable to get the funding to hire new officers, something that they desperately need to do.

Meanwhile, fines for overdue library books, the cost of public transportation, heating bills, and taxes have all increased in order to offset our cities financial burden.

One thing that Governor Owns and the horde of various Mayors fail to understand is that knee-jerk reactions almost never work. Making life harder for the people who live in the city is a program doomed to failure as these same people will either move to another city that is less financially strapped or will be forced to seek financial assistance from the city. Either way, the city suffers. How does that solve anything?

What Colorado and the various cities in the Denver Metro Region need to do is to take some fiscal responsibility and fix our city's budget. Instead of cutting funding to the Police and Fire Departments, cut the Governor's yearly income in half. Instead of raising taxes, increase the minimum fines for crimes like DUIs, DWUIs, Assualt, Domestic Violence, Speeding, Reckless Driving, Impersonating an Officer, Cruelty to Animals, Child Abuse, Spousal Abuse, and Hate Crimes. Make the people who break the law and endanger other people pay for the rest of us to have a safer environement.

Why not take it a step further? Instead of sitting in jail and getting free room and board along with perks like a fitness center and cable television, why don't we make criminals work off their debt. If we had convicts doing construction along I-25 under the supervision of the Sheriff Department and the Department of Transportation than not only would they be learning a trade skill that they could use after they are free, they are also saving the city and state of Colorado millions of dolloars of money spent in manpower.

Imagine if a person were drinking and driving. They get pulled over and receive a ticket. They are found guilty at their trial and have a three thousand dollar fine imposed on them. They are given thirty days to pay the fine, assuming that they don't get caught drinking and driving again, and can't do it. They are convicted and sent to hard manual labor that pays five dollars an hour. By the time they have paid the rest of their debt, they will have been completely dry for a month or more!

Take away all the perks that people in prison and jail receive. Provide them with decent shelter, a mat to sleep on, food and water. A phone to call their lawyer. Some time outside for health reasons. Books. That's it. No tv, no gym, no socializing. Nothing. Make the prisons and jails a place to avoid instead of a rough vacation.

Fines and punishments would be carefully monitored for abuse and situational circumstances. They would also only be for crimes that already have a negative effect on their job, their families, or are a danger to other people.


We can merge departments within the city. Instead of the Denver Police and the Denver Sheriff's Department being seperate entities with seperate departments overseeing them, we can have them overseen by one department, one that could also oversee the Fire Department and other departments that serve a similar function, thus saving on the money spent on upper management.

Why not have one person responsible for the city's budgeting and compose quarterly audits with that person accountable for the city's spending? Give that City Accountant veto power over spending programs so that they can be held accountable. Add in some serious legal repercussions for someone who falls short of the quarterly accounting or abuses the veto power. That way departments cannot overspend and the Accountant cannot shift blame to someone else and becomes lagaaly liable for fiscal errors.

Bring back banned entertainments like the Ultimate Fighting Championship which brought in almost a BILLION dollars in three short years before Denver asked them to leave for "moral" reasons. Whose morals? Who gets to decide crap like that anyways?

These are just a few simple yet effective ways to save money while still providing needed services to the people in the city. God I wish I were in charge!

"Guiltless Grill" written by Maddox

I was looking over a menu in a restaurant the other day when I saw a section for vegetarians; I thought to myself "boy, I sure am glad that I'm not a meat-hating fascist" and I skipped on to the steak section (because I'll be damned if I'm going to pay $15 for an alfalfa sandwich, slice of cucumber and a scoop of cold cottage cheese), but before I turned the page something caught my eye. The heading of the vegetarian section was titled "Guiltless Grill," not because there were menu items with fewer calories and cholesterol (since there were "healthy" chicken dishes discriminated against in this section), but because none of the items used animal products. Think about that phrase for a second. What exactly does "guiltless grill" imply? So I'm supposed to feel guilty now if I eat meat? Screw you.

What pisses me off so much about this phrase is the sheer narrow-mindedness of these stuck up vegetarian assholes. You think you're saving the world by eating a tofu-burger and sticking to a diet of grains and berries? Well here's something that not many vegetarians know (or care to acknowledge): every year millions of animals are killed by wheat and soy bean combines during harvesting season. Oh yeah, go on and on for hours about how all of us meat eaters are going to hell for having a steak, but conveniently ignore the fact that each year millions of mice, rabbits, snakes, skunks, possums, squirrels, gophers and rats are ruthlessly murdered as a direct result of YOUR dieting habits. What's that? I'm sorry, I don't hear any more elitist banter from you pompous cocks. Could it be because your shit has been RUINED?

That's right: the gloves have come off. The vegetarian response to this embarrassing fact is "well, at least we're not killing intentionally." So let me get this straight; not only are animals ruthlessly being murdered as a direct result of your diet, but you're not even using the meat of the animals YOU kill? At least we're eating the animals we kill (and although we also contribute to the slaughter of animals during grain harvesting, keep in mind that we're not the ones with a moral qualm about it), not just leaving them to rot in a field somewhere. That makes you just as morally repugnant than any meat-eater any day. Not only that, but you're killing free-roaming animals, not animals that were raised for feed. Their bodies get mangled in the combine's machinery, bones crushed, and you have the audacity to point fingers at the meat industry for humanely punching a spike through a cow's neck? If you think that tofu burgers come at no cost to animals or the environment, guess again.

To even suggest that your meal is some how "guiltless" is absurd. The defense "at least we're not killing intentionally" is bullshit anyway. How is it not intentional if you KNOW that millions of animals die every year in combines during harvest? You expect me to believe that you somehow unintentionally pay money to buy products that support farmers that use combines to harvest their fields? Even if it was somehow unintentional, so what? That suddenly makes you innocent? I guess we should let drunk drivers off the hook too since they don't kill intentionally either, right? There's no way out of this one. The only option left for you dipshits is to buy some land, plant and pick your own crops. Impractical? Yeah, well, so is your stupid diet.


Even if combines aren't used to harvest your food, you think that buying fruits and vegetables (organic or otherwise) is any better? How do you think they get rid of bugs that eat crops in large fields? You think they just put up signs and ask parasites to politely go somewhere else? Actually, I wouldn't put that suggestion past you hippies. One of the methods they use to get rid of pests is to introduce a high level of predators for each particular prey, which wreaks all sorts of havoc on the natural balance of predator/prey populations--causing who knows what kind of damage to the environment. Oops, did I just expose you moral-elitists for being frauds? Damndest thing.


A number of people have pointed out that the amount of grain grown to feed animals for slaughter every year is greater than the amount of grain grown for humans. So I guess the amount of grain grown for human consumption suddenly becomes negligible and we can conveniently ignore the fact that animals are still ruthlessly murdered either way because of your diet, right? Not to mention that the majority of grain grown for livestock is tough as rocks, coarse, and so low-grade that it's only fit for animal consumption in the first place. Spare me the "you could feed 500 people with the grain used to feed one cow" line of shit; it's not the same grain. Then there are the people who jump on the bandwagon with "you could plant billions of potatoes on the land used for cows"--good point, except for the fact that not every plot of land is equally fertile; you think farmers always have a choice on what they do with their land? Also, many vegetarians don't know (or care to acknowledge) that in many parts of the United States they have "control hunts" in which hunting permits are passed out whenever there is a pest problem (the pest here is deer, elk and antelope) that threatens wheat, soy, vegetable and other crops; this happens several times per year. Then some of you throw out claims that "we are trying to limit the suffering." How about you limit MY suffering and shut the hell up about your stupid diet for a change; nobody cares. Even if the number of animals that die in combine deaths every year isn't in the millions, even if it's just one, are you suggesting that the life of one baby rabbit isn't worth saving? Are you placing a value on life? Enjoy your tofu, murderers.

Read what PETA has to say about this article.

Sources:
TIME Magazine, July 15 2002, Pg. 56

Steven Davis, professor of animal science at Oregon State University (at least one study has shown that simply mowing an alfalfa field caused a 50% reduction in the gray-tailed vole population):
full article http://web.archive.org/web/20041107084521/
http://eesc.orst.edu/agcomwebfile/news/food/vegan.html

Least Harm Principle suggests that Humans should eat beef not vegan.
http://www.wildlifedamagecontrol.com/animalrights/leastharm.htm, first published in the Proceedings of Third Congress of the European Society for Agricultural and Food Ethics, 2001

PETA stands for People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. Let's ignore for a moment that their name implies there exists a universal set of ethics, and instead let's focus on the meat of this email: PETA is "primarily concerned with preventing the suffering of living animals." Oh really? As opposed to preventing the suffering of dead animals? Good thing they clarified because I was confused and couldn't infer that when they said "animals" they didn't mean dead animals. Glad we have that cleared up, let's move on.

So what exactly constitutes as "prevention" of animal suffering? The moral vegetarians (not the ones who do it for religious or health reasons) love to chant "we're trying to limit the suffering." What the hell does that mean? If you eat wheat or soy, you're not limiting anything. Unless you plant, grow and pick your own crops, you're not doing everything you can to "limit" the suffering. You know deep down that you could help limit a whole lot more suffering, but you've chosen not to. You've chosen not to because your lifestyle is too convenient, and you'd have to give up too much, but nevermind that--you have a conscience to feel good about, and you can't let a little thing like millions of violent deaths of field animals get in the way of your moral trip.

Limit the suffering? That's like me saying I'm going to eat meat only 364 out of 365 days of the year in an effort to "limit" the suffering, I'm doing my part to prevent suffering. "BUT MADDOX, YOU COULD LIMIT A LOT MORE SUFFERING BY NOT EATING MEAT AT ALL!!!1" Exactly, and vegetarians could limit a lot more suffering by planting their own crops, but where do you draw the line? You claim to have compassion for animals, but just as soon as it gets too inconvenient you decide to call it quits? Cowards. You're no better off; not in my book. A murderer who kills 10 people is no better off than a murderer who kills 20 if the murder is avoidable. Of course, from the perspective of a suggestible young vegetarian I'm sure being responsible for half as many murders as the next guy means you're off the hook, right?

I keep getting email from moral vegetarians saying "HEY MADOX WE FEED MORE GRAIN TO ANIMALS AND IF YOU EAT THE ANIMALS YOU ARE KILLING TWICE AS MUCH." No shit? The only difference is that I'm not protesting at street corners about other peoples' diets--I'm not the one with a mission to prevent "the suffering of living animals." This email I received, and many like it is the whole reason I wrote the article in the first place. My opinions are kept to myself on my personal web page. I don't remember asking anyone to read a damn thing on my website. When you open up your inbox, you don't find it full of my opinions, and if you do I didn't send them to you. I'm not standing on the street corners protesting, I'm not putting fliers on your car and I'm not putting ads on TV and in magazines. I'm not shoving my agenda down your throat, don't shove your agenda down mine. All you dumbass activists need to get bent already.

Fun with facts: vegetarians love to boast outrageous figures like "it takes 5,000 gallons of water to produce one pound of beef and only 20 gallons to produce one pound of wheat." I've heard figures ranging from 2,000 to 5,000, and vegetarians will be damned if they include a source so we'll take the mean (that means "average") and go with 3,500. The average person consumes 1.5 million gallons of water every year (it takes water to grow and produce the food you eat in addition to the water you drink, quit emailing me you morons). Why isn't PETA protesting overpopulation of humans on the street corners? Why isn't PETA passing out free condoms or throwing javelins in your cock when you walk down the street if they really cared about water consumption? It's not like that water just suddenly disappears. The earth has had about the same amount of water for 2 billion years. So if a pound of beef takes 3,500 gallons of water, what difference does it make? How many vegetarians drive a car? To make a car (including tires), it takes about 40,000 gallons of fresh water. That's not including the gas it takes to run the car, the electricity to run the gas station, the water used to create the boat that brought your precious oil, the water used to create the pavement you drive on, the destruction of toxic chemicals that went into creating your clothes, and the electricity you use every day to send me stupid emails over the internet. Every year you are directly responsible for the consumption of billions of gallons of water. There are 26 million people suffering preventable brain damage from iodine deficiency, and another 1.5 billion people at risk. Nevermind that, you have animals to save. By driving your cars, you pump billions of tons of poison into the atmosphere and you're slowly killing us all. The computer you use requires 250 watts of electricity, let alone the billions of computers required to keep you on the internet. All consuming energy. All contributing to pollution. Let's just ignore those minor hypocrisies. Someone wants to enjoy a burger and you'll be damned if you're going to let them.

What makes you think that animals suffer in slaughter houses anyway? I think it would rule to be raised for slaughter. Get all the free steroids you want, free meals and plenty of good company--hell, you have it made. Then when you're at the prime of your life, you get your head generously chopped off so you don't have to live through the suffering of old age. Not only that, but you can die with the satisfaction of knowing that somebody is going to enjoy eating a burger made out of you. What's more humane? Being slaughtered for meat or having to spend 8 hours a day, 40 hours per week in a cubicle for the rest of your life with assholes who listen to shitty music without headphones, then retiring and withering away with old age and cancer as your obnoxious kids grow up and treat you like shit? Slaughter please.

maddox@xmission.com

Sir Deimos and writing

Well, I'm too busy to read, so I might as well write. That may seem a bit weird to you as it is generally easier to read than it is to write. You see, I work in a call center-type environment and I take calls from students every few minutes. Right now calls are coming in 15 to 50 seconds apart. By the time I pick up my book and start reading I can get maybe a page in before I have another call. Then I have to put the book up so that I can handle the call which can last anywhere from a few seconds up to three minutes. This gets old real fast when trying to read.

Writing however, is easier. When I get a call, the needed screen pops up blocking my writing. When I'm done, I just click on the tab, the screen with my writing pops back up, and I continue where I left off. I can even write, in limited form, during a call if I need to finish a word. Writing this way is a little hard, especially on things like spelling. But it's how I've written everything on this blog. I just have to proofread a bit more.

I get to roleplay tonight! Yeah!! I'm playing a young battle hardend knight of the church named Deimos of Ironhold. Deimos' background story was written by me, but the GM is the one who decided that I was a young knight of the church. He also decreed that the kingdom that I was from had been destroyed by a massive, organized, Orc army. He also wanted the characters to start on a refugee boat. I had to fill in the rest...

The name Deimos is straight from Greek mythology, he was one of the sons of the Greek god Ares. Also, a moon of Mars bears this name. The name Deimos means "terror" in Greek.

Deimos (the character) is the third son of Laban, Baron of Ironhold, a small but ancient family with distant ties to the King. Laban's 1st born son Mathew stands to inherit the barony and the second-born Tomas has used his wealth and family name to secure the rank of officer within the prestigious light horse Calvary, the Borderlanders, where he serves with distinction and honor.

In a show of piety as is customary, Deimos was given to the church at the age of 5. The monks quickly discovered that they had something of a prodigy in their young pupil. Deimos was quick to pick up on the importance of reading and writing, soon becoming well versed in both. He studied the classics, different languages, and the histories. His passion for knowledge led him to study the rise and fall of nations, various races both human and otherwise, medicine, and sociology. He was fascinated by the military aspect of the histories. He learned and played various games of strategy, quickly grasping the rules and defeating his opponents. Soon, only the older monks could keep up with him.

He was also very energetic. He enjoy physical games as well as mental ones and had a hard time during activities that required one to be still or quiet such as meditation or prayer. The monks soon decided that his energies and intellect would best serve him and the church if directed into different channels. They applied for Deimos to join the Crimson Legion, the church's knights. He was accepted on his 9th birthday and traveled to the city of Caspian where the order had their training grounds. There, Deimos was taught by monks academic skills like math, heraldry, medicine, and theology. He was also started on weapons training, mostly broadsword, bow, staff, and lance. He learned to ride and care for horses, and to maintain the weapons, armour and tack that came with his calling. On his 11th birthday, he was given to Sir Thaddeus Heart.

Thaddeus was an older knight, having served the church for almost thirty-seven years. He was craggy and lean, battle scarred and rugged. He had fought in several wars and campaigns, had received multiple honors, and had lost everyone who had ever been close to him. He decided that he wanted to pass on his legacy to another. Having no children of his own he requested to pick his successor from the children serving as apprentices. He chose Deimos due to the intelligence and physical aptitude that the boy displayed.

Deimos soon found that his training had only just begun. Sir Heart started by having the boy take care of all of his gear, usually while reciting lessons, listening to lectures, and being quizzed. Deimos thrived under Thaddeus' tutelage. Over the next 2 years he grew in both stature and intellect, quickly outstripping the other squires his age.

Sir Heart received orders to investigate some disturbing rumors coming from the borderlands regarding an orc uprising. He took his young squire with him and left the next day. At first everything was wonderful. They woke in the morning, prayed, broke their fast and cleaned the camp, traveled throughout the day (even eating their lunch in the saddle), stopping an hour or so before twilight, setting up camp, sparring with swords until dark, cooking dinner, and maintaining their gear (all the while continuing with their lessons), and then going to sleep.

Then they arrived at the borderlands. Orcs had already destroyed the villages and smaller towns in the region. Refugees packed the walled town of Falconshead, the largest town in the area. Sir Heart was in council with the mayor of the town, the local Bishop Father Gabriel, and a few prominent members of the citizenry within a few short hours of his arrival.

Their news was grim. Someone or something had united the orcs, hobgoblins, and other creatures that live in the wild lands. They formed an army, devastating in their strength and numbers. Several skirmishes had been fought already. The humans had lost most of these. Sir Heart interviewed several of the militia and local foresters. According to them, the enemy host numbered in the thousands. Sir Heart knew that the town would soon fall and determined to save as many people as he could. He dispatched a messenger to the King and the Bishop with the grim news; the borderlands are lost.

Sir Heart took command of the town and all who dwelled within it. He made the mayor and other local prominent men his lieutenants and set about organizing the people. He started evacuation plans immediately. He had all the old, infirm, and those otherwise unable to walk loaded into wagons and carts. Whatever space was left was filled with food, water, and bandages. People who wanted to bring valuables with them had to carry them on their backs.

Thaddeus organized the foresters under a woodsman named Lucian and set them to scout out the enemy and to harass them should they approach the town. The local militia and those men physically capable he made guards for the caravan of refugees. Those with experience he made into the rear guard as that is the place most likely to be attacked.

They headed south as fast as they could travel. They averaged almost 12 miles a day over pretty rough terrain. The woodsmen under Lucian fought bravely, leading the enemy into ambushes and traps, killing them by the score. But there were too many of them and the men could not halt their forward progress. Lucian had to withdraw his men completely when the orcs went after them with Warg Riders. Instead of harassing the enemy and killing them, they became the hunted.

The main army attacked Falconshead only to discover that everyone had left a week beforehand. Enraged, they marched after the refugees. After a few days it became apparent that the orcs could never catch the refugees because the army moved too slow, so they dispatched 200 hobgoblins, larger and able to travel much faster than their orc brothers, to destroy the refugees.

The refugees had almost two weeks of travel behind them when the hobgoblins attacked. The hobgoblins were smarter than Sir Heart had hoped and attacked the caravan in the flank instead of the rear. They withdrew quickly, only to attack again a short time later at the head of the caravan. Men, women, and children died in each attack. Thaddeus knew that if the caravan stopped, the main body of orcs would catch up and no one would survive. He dispatched several riders requesting military aid from the local Baron, who happens to be Deimos' father. Laban of Ironhold personally led his mounted horse, 200 strong, to the caravan's rescue. The hobgoblins were intimidated by the show of force and retreated back to the main army.
Laban soon discovered that his son Deimos was one of the people whose lives he had just saved. He also discovered that his son, who he had given to the church, had found his way into the knighthood. This made him extremely proud and happy. He escorted the caravan to his home and put up as many as he could into the fortress of Ironhold. The others were given rooms, food, and medical aid in the town, all expenses paid by the baron.

Sir Heart explained the situation to the baron and advised the baron to remove all non-combatants to a safer location. Laban was slightly skeptical, after all, this wasn't a small frontier town. He did give all those who wanted to leave an escort of 50 mounted soldiers.

Laban sent out criers to draw up the local militia and sent scouts to find the enemy army. He also outfitted his son Deimos with scale armour sized to fit him that used to be his brother Mathew's and required very little adjusting.

Sir Heart decided to stay with the baron. He wanted a good look at the enemy before sending any further reports. Deimos was excited to be heading into battle, he had missed all of the fighting that had occurred earlier. The attacks had been so swift that neither Deimos or Sir Heart had a chance to join battle before the attack was over. Deimos would also be fighting alongside his father and older brother. He was determined to make them proud. Sir Heart bowed to Baron Laban's leadership, but made Deimos his second. Deimos responded well to this and soon impressed people with his leadership abilities. So much so, that when his father decided to include him in the war councils, he was welcomed warmly by all those present.

The scouts returned within a few days time and reported that the enemy army would be upon them within the week. They also reported that the army numbered in the tens of thousands and included several races and tribes that hated each other. There seemed to be very little infighting and the hopes that the army would fall apart over time gave over to the hope that they would survive the battle.

Laban evacuated all non-combatants at this time and fortified the town gates and walls. He assigned leaders to various sections of the defense. After conferring with Sir Heart, he even assigned a small contingent of men to Deimos with orders to hold a small side gate that lead out to the river.

Deimos had twenty men under his command at the age of 13. They were farmers, untrained and undisciplined. In the four days that he had them, he made sure that they all had shortsword, spears, shields, and knives, and taught them how to use the weapons. He also taught them simple formations and roleplayed out several combat situations. As busy as they were with other preparations, Laban, Thaddeus, and Mathew were all very impressed with young Deimos' preparations.

Deimos also gathered up as many caltrops as he could and ordered his men to do the same. Each man kept a large pouch full of them on his belt. During the hobgoblin attacks Deimos had notices that the evil humanoids had no footgear...

When the army attacked, it was without strategy or tactical thinking. The orc army was so huge that its sheer numbers beat down the defenders. The humans were able to hold out for several hours under the onslaught, but eventually had to fall back under the pressure. The orcs climbed over their own dead to scale the walls. Once inside, the slaughter began.

Sir Heart, Baron Laban, and Mathew each fought and killed as they retreated. Deimos stayed longer as he played out trap after trap against the enemy until finally, his loses were too much and he also had to retreat. They made it to the castle and sealed the doors.

They watched as the orcs destroyed the town and listened to the screams of the men that the orcs had captured. The orc army kept coming from the forest to the north, steadily growing in size and strength. A few days of this passed and those inside the castle lost all hope of being able to withstand the attack on the castle when it came. They decided that retreating was the only option left. They mounted their horses and charged out into the horde. Baron Laban of Ironhold, his sons Mathew and Deimos, and Sir Heart led the charge. The orcs were taken by surprise and put up a token resistance. Still, three quarters of the men died in the charge. The others all made it to safety, although some of them died because of injuries sustained during the ride.

They arrived at Caspian battle-scarred and weary. Mathew stayed behind with the troops as their leader. He also spoke with the mayor, town council, and those nobles and prominent townsfolk as was deemed necessary. Baron Laban, Deimos, and Sir Heart pushed on for the capital.

Deimos' first trip to the capital was a hasty affair. Dead tired from traveling so far in such a short time, he was given very little respite. After an audience with the king, they were shown to their rooms. The next day they met with the king and his advisors. Plans were made and discarded. Finally, the king made his decision. As Baron Laban of Ironhold had lost his barony, the king placed him in charge of the northern army and ordered him to hold back the orc horde. Meanwhile, the king dispatched Messengers to the neighboring kingdoms, the navy, and the Eastern Army, advising them of the situation and asking for assistance.

Laban took his new troops and headed back north. Sir Heart and Deimos made their report to the Cardinal and awaited further orders. The Cardinal took Sir Heart's report with a large grain of salt and dispatched fifty knights, over half of whom had squires, and including Sir Heart and young Deimos, to Caspian. Sir Heart was second in command to Sir Vincent Blood.

Sir Blood was an extremely seasoned campaigner who Sir Heart knew by reputation. He quickly commanded Sir Heart's respect and proved his worth by debriefing Sir Heart and Deimos and planning thouroughly before setting out for Caspian. They arrived at the northern capital just before the orcs did.

Baron Laban fought a losing war of attrition against the enemy over the next year. Within that time the King sent his entire Northern Army, half of his Eastern Army and his Borderlanders to battle with the orcs. The humans battled orcs and other creatures that numbered in the millions. Eventually Caspian fell and the army retreated back to the Capital. The King called in the rest of the Eastern Army and the Southern Army. Due to his hard earned military expertise, Baron Laban was officially declared the Grand General of the combined armies, the first in over three hundred years. The King used the navy to help move troops and harass the enemy. Sir Heart and Deimos fought and led on every front.

The king commandeered the merchant ships and private vessels in the bay for the evacuation of the refugees and the transportation of supplies. Soon, it became obvious that the city would fall. The King stayed, keeping his court with him. But all too soon, all that was left was the a desperate remnant of soldiers, both men and women, who had been fighting for the last two years. They retreated to the King's Castle and fought bitterly.

Deimos' eldest brother Mathew fell at Caspian. Of his brother Tomas, there is no word. He is MIA and assumed dead as well. General Laban made Deimos his heir instead. Sir Heart assumes command after Sir Blood falls. General Laban and Sir Oak knight Deimos on the last night before the castle falls after Sir Heart dies in battle. Sir Deimos is given command of a small boat of refugees and ordered out of the castle. He is to take with him written documents detailing the fall of Caspian and the capital, tactics, strategies and other intelligence gathered on the enemy, and the journals, letters, and wills of those who had died or didn't think that they would make it to give to the Vatican.

Sir Deimos had been on several raids using the naval ships and has a rudimentary knowledge of sailing. A few of the refugees also had knowledge of sailing and navigation. Together, they made their way across the bay and out to open water. They stared back at the city as the wind drew them further away. The horizon glowed red and could be seen for miles as the city burned...


At this time Sir Deimos of Ironhold is almost 16 years old. The last three years have been in almost constant combat. He is tall and strong, standing 5'10 and weighing in at about 190 lbs. His shoulder length brown hair is cut raggedly as if by a knife (it was) and his blue eyes have seen far too much of battle. He has several small scars but has never been seriously wounded in battle. Sir Heart tried to teach him as much academic knowledge as possible, but Sir Deimos has been very unfortunate in that regard, having spent the last few years at war. After seeing so many good people die and seeing eveils creatures like orcs win, Deimos is starting to question his faith. He is confused and emaotionally scarred but he has taken a vow to see these missives delivered to the Council of Bishops and to the well being of those few left under his command. He has also vowed to regain the lands stolen from his family by the orcs. He looks forward to seeing his mother and sister in the emperor's city.

"I Have A Dream" by Martin Luther King, Jr

Delivered on the steps at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington D.C. on August 28, 1963. Source: Martin Luther King, Jr: The Peaceful Warrior, Pocket Books, NY 1968


Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of captivity. But one hundred years later, we must face the tragic fact that the Negro is still not free.


One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land.


So we have come here today to dramatize an appalling condition. In a sense we have come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir.


This note was a promise that all men would be guaranteed the inalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation.


So we have come to cash this check -- a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to open the doors of opportunity to all of God's children. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood.


It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment and to underestimate the determination of the Negro. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights.


The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges. But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.


We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. we must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.


The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny and their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom.


We cannot walk alone. And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" we can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.


I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.


Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair. I say to you today, my friends, that in spite of the difficulties and frustrations of the moment, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.


I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal." I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slaveowners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood. I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state, sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice. I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream today.


I have a dream that one day the state of Alabama, whose governor's lips are presently dripping with the words of interposition and nullification, will be transformed into a situation where little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and brothers. I have a dream today. I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together. This is our hope. This is the faith with which I return to the South. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.


This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring." And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania! Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado! Let freedom ring from the curvaceous peaks of California! But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia! Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee! Let freedom ring from every hill and every molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.


When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"