The Assembly (pt. 2)

The Universal Assembly shares its teachings of enlightenment with other faiths – in fact, it grew out of a tradition of enlightenment which it, indeed, universalized – but the structures it developed are its own.

According to the Assembly, self-attempted enlightenment is possible, but highly unlikely, and wont to result in harm to self and others, while contained traditions such as the one which gave it birth fail to provide enlightenment to any but a small handful at a time. For all these reasons, it instead demands one to submit to a hierarchic collective which, if taken part in on a regular basis, can in due time deliver its lessons and practices to a largest possible number of people. In this way, it claims, everyone can take their first steps on the path at a safe pace, those ready for fuller devotion offered to join one of many monastic communities. Good relations with authorities allow for logistic support and fewer organizational troubles. This, as well, leads the Assembly to spread over the world, its missions and monasteries forming footholds after which the rest of the structure follows.

A painting of St. Francis Borgia, by Alonso Cano (1624). An amusing little detail about him is that he was a great-grandson of pope Alexander VI.

Although few attain such level, a top-rank practitioner of teachings of the Assembly is said to leverage their attunement to the inner workings of the cosmos to such extent that they free themselves from the limits imposed by reality, allowing them to levitate, appear in multiple places at the same time, and other impossible feats generally only claimed as possible by wizards and charlatans.

Levitation of Mariana de Jesús, by Víctor Mideros (ca. 1926). St. Mariana de Jesús de Paredes is a 17th Century Catholic saint from what is now Ecuador. I wanted the Assembly to be less about mace-wielding spellcasters and more like weird enlightened mystics with otherwordly powers. Generic role-playing Clerics never quite worked in this manner, for some reason.

Exactly how many are these few depends on who speaks, for ecclesiarchs of the Assembly have at times expressed contradictory opinions; the doctrine is supposed to make it available to all, yet many popular claims are dismissed as unsubstantiated follies of the simple minds, and even among their ranks many are themselves too pressed with administrative tasks to fully devote themselves to meditation. However, it is also said that even at low levels one can tap into these teachings to ease one’s mind and strengthen their resolve.

That said, there are many who contend the Assembly’s claims. Many simply doubt them, preferring free thought in search for truth to old mystic traditions, which they see hide-bound and backward, no longer suited to the new times and ideas. But even among those unwilling yet to outright dismiss the claimed enlightenment, traditions contesting the Assembly continuously arise. Of these, some merely build independent structures of their own, while others entirely do away with anything but intimately personal meditation. Beyond the sea, the Assembly maintains specialized investigators to limit the impact of these deviant teachings.

In the colonies, however, it is still spread too thinly, which only incites more of these dissidents to come.

The Assembly (pt. 1)

The great powers share something between them, be it a splinter or dissident path. It still informs the game of politics between powers, even in the colonies, where such issues of importance have, until recently, not normally reached. In the Colony, the Vice-Regent and great landowners may hold the titles to it, but they all pay their respect to the Universal Assembly.

A Jesuit from Brazil, 18th Century. (I have not found any further info, save for a note that it’s public domain.)

When first explorers arrived upon new shores, they carried with them members of the official structures of the Assembly, and likewise they accompanied the conquerors on their inland raids, soon moving from merely administering to their fellows to spreading their message to the native inhabitants, willing or not were they to listen. It is no surprise that when the City rose, the cathedral was among the first stone buildings to rise. Ever since, the Assembly remains looming over colonial society.

A drawing of the ruins of the church of Holy Trinity in Caracas, by Ferdinand Bellermann (ca. 1842-1845). The church was destroyed in the infamous earthquake of 1812 and replaced in the 1870s by the National Pantheon of Venezuela, which is also a nice example of the kind of Spanish colonial or Spanish colonial-derived architecture which I imagine.

The Assembly’s missions and monasteries guide the daily life of many native settlements and outlying towns, in a manner which, at times, can be more literal than not. Its cathedrals dominate the cityscape. Its ecclesiarchs remain an important voice among colonials even when surrounded by their lay siblings and cousins, who just as well know the game of politics and court posts, for even if the hierarchy is settled by money and influence they speak with authority beyond their personal importance. Others, lower in their standing, see themselves primarily as tenders to those under their care, and are among the few who will stand up in their name to powers that be. The quest for enlightenment is, for them, not a personal calling but foremostly a mission to serve.

But the game of politics is not what the Assembly, whatever its members may, has on its mind as a whole, for it is bound to concerns beyond the mundane. The lords may rule the bodies of the colonial folk, but the Assembly holds sway over the minds. To those who wish for a change, it may as likely be an ally as the most vehement enemy.

A portrait of Cipriano de Medina y Vega, by an unknown artist (1628). Cipriano was a clergyman from colonial Peru whom I wished to include on the basis of how he gazes at you from this portrait. Behold the ecclesiarch staring into your soul, you infidel.

Some musings on orcs

Before I begin: as it happens, of recent I have precious little time on my hands that can be devoted to random personal projects. Which, in my case, includes blogging. Quite unfortunate if you’ve just taken it up, but, oh well.

So, orcs. Over the last few years there’s been a lot of talk about the orcs being racist. In case you missed it: usually, the claim was that their depictions, sometimes in gaming, sometimes in sources which inspired it, are a reflection of a bunch of really outdated depictions of non-European peoples. (One longer essay on the topic can be found here; at the moment I can’t find all the blog posts on it that I have read back in the day, and which I surely could find if I spent an hour digging through browser history, and… oh, yeah, right.) Anyway, my point here is not to comment on it; much has been said, and I don’t think I can add anything meaningful to that conversation. But I had some musings that were tangential to it.

See, I’ve been reading some articles on the evolution of sapience, the Neanderthals, and the similar. And it’s like, it’s not always described as an increase in intelligence, per se. Sometimes it’s presented in terms of unlocking some sort of capacity for abstract thinking, or ability to track social relationships, or even articulated speech, although that last one is hard to dismiss if we want to depict a functioning society. (But for small bands of monsters in some dungeon, though…)

Yeah, it got me thinking. I was like, a part of the claim about the orcs’ inherent racism is that the orcs are depicted as stupid because the real peoples which the orcs are meant to ridicule, were perceived or depicted as stupid, right? But, it’s specifically about stupidity, isn’t it? What if, like I’ve been reading, there’s more to intelligence than just smart and stupid?

So I had that idea: consider a possibility that you live in a society where everyone but you has some sort of savant skills. You may not be able, say, to instantly give the exact count of toothpicks in a pile or multiply three-digit numbers in your head, but does that mean that you are dumber? Now, conversely, imagine a society where nearly everyone has dyslexia. How would it look like? Would it rely on visual aids, oral memorisation? Whatever form it would take, it wouldn’t be that they are dumb. What if the stereotypical -2 to INT was about that kind of stuff?

I began to visualise it in my head, too. “See that orc warrior over there, squinting over these few coins in his palm, trying to count them again and again, he’s not dumb. Don’t make that mistake. Sure, he’s got a problem with his letters and numbers, but ask him for directions, and he’ll tell you of every blade of grass between here and the place you want to get to.”

And then, as I was typing that, it hit me. First, that I’m just reinventing INT and WIS. Kind of a downturn, but no big deal. And then, the big deal. What if I’m just moving the goalposts, or how do you call it. If I’m merely picking the orcs from the “racist stereotype” box and moving them to “neuroatypical stereotype” box.

Yeah, I probably was.

And that’s not even mentioning the awkward feeling that I might just accidentally come off like it’s all fine to give -2 INT to your homebrew fantasy race that coincidentally happens to look like some disenfranchised minority, as long as you sprinkle it with a bunch of vaguely neuroscience-sounding terms.

And so, my hopes for gloriously becoming the new darling of the world of fantasy roleplaying and fiction were dashed against the rocks. Oh well. But still, perhaps somewhere in there lies an opportunity for some interesting storytelling.

North – The Islands (pt. 2)

Slave traders know the islands well, for the profits drawn from slave plantations are way too high to be dismissed by mere concerns of morality. Owners of plantations and mines drive their slaves to death, knowing that under such risks as are common in the islands, only in this way they may turn a profit off their investments. Thus, slaver ships are common in these waters.

Slaves cutting the sugar cane, from “Ten Views in the Island of Antigua”, by William Clark (1823). Seriously, writing this post took me so long because I really wanted to find this picture first. (And a few others, but at some point I had to my cut losses.)

For the enslaved themselves, this is a dire fate, for so far from their homes, sometimes not even successful escape will provide solace. On the mainland at least, there remains the chance to flee into the jungle. But the islands are not as vast.

There is an island which used to be a supplier of saltpeter and sulphur to the entire archipelago, and exported back over the ocean lines for much profit. For some reason, birds from all around the sea came to roost here. The piles they left over centuries on the mountainous coasts was a greater wealth than any cash-crop plantation that could take hold there. Sulphurous springs found in the island’s interior welcomed those willing to set up powder mills, iron seams called for blacksmiths. Soon, though the island lacked a good port, and so all trade had to pass through a small, secluded cove, slaves were worked hard for either. They did so, until they chose no more.

Battle of San Domingo, also known as the Battle for Palm Tree Hill, by January Suchodolski (1845).

Now, the island is written off, spoken of in tones hushed by memory of terrors, and a different flag flies over the cliffs. A black one, with a cannon over crossed chains. Ships steer clear of the island, for there are no warning shots. The island’s forts are watchful, its cannons do not want for powder, and its people do not waver for mercy.

It is rumoured, though, the locals might stay their hands, if the right offer is given. A pound of powder for each ten slaves set free. A cannon for a governor dead. A crate of pistols for a plantation burned to the ground. Time will see if there is one to give it. The guns of the island reach far. All that needs to be done is to come close enough to be heard.

Citadelle Laferrière in Haiti, as photographed by Rémi Kaupp in summer of 2006. Additional details here.

North – The Islands (pt. 1)

The great powers all have their colonies, for sure, maintained as pawns against each other, for matters of prestige and trade.

To the north of the Colony lies the sea, linking everything together. Out there, but upon the shores of the New World, lies a multitude of islands claimed by many of the great powers, used for plantations, and as regional bases to project power from, and they change hands often. As many as they are, the powers all maintain the same policies: trade and import laws, prohibiting the colonies from trading with each other, and often even contacting their neighbours. Imposed upon all the colonies, these laws are aimed to benefit the mainland beyond the ocean, and venturous nobles and merchants whose voices are heard in the halls of power. But closer by, those who benefit the most are the smugglers and pirates.

A painting of 1741 British attack on Cartagena de Indias, by Luis Fernández Gordillo (1937). It’s mostly public domain, so in case of doubt, the Wikimedia Commons entry contains a discussion of its legal standing.

The competition is harsh, and conditions cruel. Between earthquakes, volcanoes, and hurricanes, the very nature seems hostile to the colonials, and many slip through the cracks. Smugglers capable enough to evade patrols can quickly grow rich on illegal trade, which is not always even of rare and precious commodities, but of quite basic foodstuffs as well. Not every station or settlement is self-sufficient, and none when threatened by starvation is in position to dictate prices to them. In doing so, they provide supplies to those who are loyal to needs of their own bodies more than to distant sovereigns, but do not quite wish to turn their lives around.

A drawing by an unidentified British soldier depicting boats of HMS Hornet attacking a pirate fleet in 1857.

As for those who are willing to take a step beyond, entire islands at a time can slip out of control and turn into pirate bases. Many pirates are just content enough to assault passing-by ships by small boats; but ambitions and appetites grow along with means, and once in a possession of a ship, soon they set their sights on cities rather than mere ships. So it goes until one of the great powers – not always the same – deigns to notice their predations, and often such a pirate base is conquered itself mere months later. And once that happens, a wave of sea reavers who fled the conquest spreads forth in search of new places to hide in or plunder.

Peoples of the Colony, themselves, are not by disposition a sea-faring nation. Metropole takes steps to assure of that, for her colonies to be more easily contained and exploited. Things may be changing, though. There are rumours, slipping into colonies through royal sailors’ infrequent shore leaves and smuggled leaflets. Smugglers and their contacts on-shore grow ever more defiant, and pirates as well, which in turn forces the colonials to rise to their own defence when forces of Metropole do not. But to see a real change to come to affect the colonies as well, would require much more than just that.

Metropole (pt. 2)

Metropole is not the only kingdom out there, for there is plenty of space for a realm in the Old World, and yet the kings are never sated with the land they have.

It is surrounded by a slew of others, all different to each other, yet in the end so much alike. Kings compete against each other for an objective which is never made all clear. Colonies and countries are little more than mere pawns and tokens to be used or bargained for in this undending game of power and prestige. The royal courts, of which those of colonial Vice-Regents are pale simulacra, swarm with nobles and great commoners vying for positions and basking in royal splendor, competing for favor of their suzerains. Top-ranking officials of the Universal Assembly variably use, help, and squabble with the kings for their own interests, too. Great powers all nominally follow its teachings, and masses certainly do, yet it would almost seem as if the differences in doctrine which rile them up are merely an outgrowth of national policies.

“Port maritime”, by Charles-François Grenier de Lacroix (1773). This is a fictional, imaginary port, which is all the better for our purposes.

But then, the colonies. The great powers all have them, for sure. All are maintained as pawns against each other, for matters of prestige and trade, and the latter is why harsh trade and import laws are imposed upon the colonies, all to the benefit of smugglers and pirates.

The Colony, too, is surrounded by neighbors in various states of subservience, to Metropole and to other powers as well. They too deserve to be discussed, for whatever the policies of the kings beyond the sea might be, it is the peoples of the New World who will have to live through their impacts.

Metropole (pt. 1)

The Colony lies beyond the sea, far from Metropole, that many of its inhabitants think not of it as anything but a realm on its own. And yet, most are aware of the shadow the distant Metropole casts over their homeland. For if there is a colony, there must be a mother country as well, whether or not colonials rather see it as a wicked stepmother abusing its wards, out solely for their rich inheritance. For the Colony, it is Metropole.

This portrait of Louis XIV by Hyacinthe Rigaud is about the right kind of image that I wanted to convey here.

Metropole is an ancient and noble kingdom of repute, sprawling over many lands, boasting a history which is long and rich in events most worthy of recording for posterity. Ups and downs, ignoble treasons and heroic selflessnesses, missed opportunities, golden ages, glorious victories, harrowing defeats. Trades and philosophies. Neighbors in ever-shifting alliances, rivals and partners. Memories of ancestors, lost and recovered legacies of the Ancients.

None of that truly matters in the colonies, save for one thing: the conquest. Ever since, the fortunes of Metropole are tied to the wealth brought forth from the colonies, and the colonies’ own fortunes are tied to it. Ports of Metropole grow rich on wealth brought forth by tribute ships.

Things may be changing, though. There are rumours, slipping into colonies through royal sailors’ infrequent shore leaves and smuggled leaflets. But it would require much more than just a change in discourse for a real change to affect the colonies as well.

The Western City

The mountains and jungles divide the colony, but before the land on the other side becomes too distant for the Vice-Regent to maintain control, there is a caldera, set between the mountains on close side and unbroken jungle on the far.

Within that caldera is where an odd sort of town has arisen. Against threats coming from the open sea, it is shielded by a narrow strait, and a lightning storm which seems to have broken out shortly after the arrival of the first explorers, to the bafflement of scholars of mundane and arcane alike.

Lightning over Lake Maracaibo, photographed by one Fernando Flores.

A traveller to pass by boat through both – for indeed, to arrive at the western city, any route but by boat would be an excess of labor and time – would enter a maze of mangroves opening into a large, lake-like basin, then to see how the stilt-houses of the frogs coalesce into a settlement of a clearly urban nature. This, rightly, is the western city of the colony, in submission to the Vice-Regents, yet aside in many ways. The city itself was founded by settlers, but these early ones had more in common with recent migrations than with the settled folk of the colony, though by now that would be hard to tell. Frogs live there in great numbers, but even frog people here are not like those further east, urban, and boastful, and rash, instead of rural and composed. There is no star-fort to protect the city, and some of these traits have been surmised to be a result of that, a need to stay on the lookout and a readiness for combat. Perhaps, for these issues are always much debated.

“The Pitch Lake”, by Michel-Jean Cazabon (1857). This is a depiction of a natural deposit of asphalt, specifically the La Brea Pitch Lake, in Trinidad and Tobago.

The city lives off trade, and much of it is a typical trade of plantation wares, and some of the produce of the mines which lie closer to this side of the mountains, but not all, for there is great wealth in the tar, and oil, and pitch. Swamps around the lake abound in tar pits, and the oils secreting from below the ground are drawn out by buckets and by hand-pumps. With so many crafts drawing benefit from it, the demand for rock oil is always high, and the oil flows through the city in open drains, from the pits to the distilleries and to the port itself. The locals often find uses for it that elsewhere would demand for a different kind of oil or fat, and the city is lit with rock oil lamps. For now, the export fees are paid.

The same pitch lake as photographed in 2016, by one Grueslayer @Wikipedia, CC BY-SA 4.0. The properties of pitch were well-recognized by the Indigenous peoples long before the Spanish came.

This apartness protects the city from the wider colonial politics, but a sense of coming change is in the air. Already the tar pits are beginning to see visits from foreign mining experts, ever more frequent, and agents of companies owning the mines uphill are flocking to them. Miners from abroad, or even just from the mining towns of the mountains, are supplanting the locals in the pits, methods ever much distinct to the old way are suggested to improve the production. For now, it is gradual, but a sense remains that the standard operating modes are about to change.

The Coast

If the river is the lifeblood of the colony, the artery binding the interior to the seats of power and through them further on to Metropole, then the coast should perhaps be likened to the skin and fingertips, the first to be touched by the external world, for all good and ill that may come with it.

“Fishermen and their craft on the Rio Guarico”, by Fritz Melbye (ca. 1850).

The coast is shielded by many islands, of which most are too small to be discussed on their own. In some places, they obstruct the way towards the mainland, elsewhere they provide a measure of protection, against both the storms that strike the coast and the sea monsters, to whom open seas appear a preferred environment. These waters are sailed by fishermen, often from native villages plying their trade only slightly changed by the arrival of the colonists; trader ships and treasure fleets carrying away the colonial goods back to Metropole or bringing in luxuries, troops, and basic utilities not produced in the colonies for want of materials or legal permits, often with a local pilot at the helm anyway to best avoid the dangers; and finally, frequented by pirates.

For the islands at the coast merely herald those further out in the sea. Out there, a multitude of islands large and small rise from the waters. Colonial powers variously claim and fight for them in an eternal struggle for control of trade routes and national prestige alike, and amongst them swarms a multitude of pirates and freebooters, in nominal allegiance to either power or plying the seas independently of any, benefitting from and preying on the trade. They deserve to be spoken of separately.

“View of St. Thomas harbor in Charlotte Amalie”, again by Fritz Melbye (1851).

Once the mainland is reached, often the first sight will not be the beaches, but the mangroves obstructing the sight and complicating the passages; of inhabited polaces, one may encounter a stilt-mounted settlement of frogs, or a village of natives or colonials, who more likely than not diffuse among each other freely here, or a small colonial town or a minor plantation if the conditions are favorable. Pirates are an enduring threat here, perhaps more than seasonal storms which often do too destroy livelihoods and lives, for neither Vice-Regency nor Metropole does always have warships at hand to spare for patrols. Towns thus exist where they are easily defendable, or hard to reach, or when the wealth of the town has not yet raised the interests of the sea. Plantations, alike, have arisen where the good they produce takes too much bulk space to be a worthwhile plunder, or if their absentee lords can write off the losses as acceptable part of the enterprise. The latter is more common.

On the other hand however, proximity to the scum of the sea creates an opportunity for smuggling, for export fees are high and restrictions on import many. The authorities fight it, but patrols aren’t always frequent. For many though, this is by design, as a good few colonial fortunes have grown out of illegal trade. Woe to them, if a vessel of Metropole catches up and her captain is incorruptible; in any other case, the only trader in smuggled goods who needs to fear is the one who lacks contacts in the high city. Nevertheless, the middle city owes much to smuggling, as do all its alikes, but it imports where the high city exports. It is a rare printing shop, a library, or an industrial enterprise, which does not benefit from contraband wares. Almost all muskets in the colony which are not in high city’s hands came from smugglers’ holds.

“At the Orinoco”, by Ferdinand Konrad Bellermann (ca. 1860). Technically it’s yet another picture of riverside life, but it’s not obviously so. And as for the people, it’s not like these people must necessarily be mere fishermen, is it?

As a result of these tribulations, only one city in the colony is truly large, safe in its estuarial bay where star-forts ward off hostiles and pirate attacks, the river trade flows ever through, and the way is open to the bountiful plains.

And so, if there was one to rival it, it would be the western city. But, by the same virtue, it deserves a few paragraphs of its own.

The Mountains

The colony is partially separated in two by a mountain range which, going further south beyond the colonial borders, reaches only ever higher. Here, it is not yet as tall, but it provides an obstacle and a boon to transport, in varying ways at the same time. As the elevation rises, the woods grow thinner and trees shorter, until they stop altogether. It is a cold clime, the more so when contrasted with hot humidity below. If a road is run through high meadows, it provides for a convenient route for those willing to pass it, but only in a few places it can be followed smoothly. In some places, rope pulleys and bridges allow for contact over gorges and between peaks. Small shrines to all kind of saints and deities and spirits of the land dot the fog-covered landscape, enough to serve as a guiding measure for travellers.

People who live here are not as numerous as those in territories to the south, beyond the borders, but are a faithful and honest lot, ready to work hard, some of them native, many other recent arrivals. The former live mostly off animal husbandry, not cattle as upon the plains, but woolen animals, and travel often between the peaks alongside their herds. Of the rest, many hail not from warm Metropole, but other nations, lying further where the weather is harsher and the soils less forgiving, for whom mountains resemble home more than ever would the lowlands. The Vice-regents encourage this, in hope that loyalty the arrivals provide will be unmarred by ties to natives and other colonials. Often, they receive it.

“Hut in a mountain landscape, Galipan”, by Camille Pissarro (1854).

There is a wealth to develop for sure, for the mountains hide ores much desired by industry, even when they are not of precious metals. By official policy, cheap land is offered for those who would come and develop it. Indeed, small settlements abound. Of these some, where the native people were accommodated, look as a lively eclectic mix of the local and the distant, many other as if the viewer was suddenly transported thousands of miles away. More often than not though, and not without quiet approval of officials up to the Vice-Regent himself, these grants of land seem to go to those who are great landowners already. Often only then is the land re-sold or lent out, for the settlers to learn of it only after their arrival. But it also happens that a merchant company opts to develop the land in their own fashion, setting up towns according to the plans of company engineers, and only then settled by hired laborers.

The newcomers are not all menial labor, though. Mavericks come of curiosity, refugees arrive to leave their old life behind. There are educated people amongst them, doctors to administer to the crowds, experts to study the land. A traveller in remote corners may stumble upon a study of a wizard from a distant land, wishing to find privacy in remoteness and peace to research upon domains which others would prefer left be.

Talking about wizards and mavericks, the Knoche Mausoleum in Venezuela. Nothing like a reclusive German zombiemancer and his bird-talking witch assistant to spice up your colonial setting.

On the western side, the mountains roll down back into the jungle, lower and swampier than it was to the east. There, though, is a boon less common on higher ground, for the swamps abound in tar pits. But the western regions are their own thing.