An excerpt containing some interesting information lifted from the article Why we are Marxists by Alan Woods:
"On a world scale the results of globalised “market economics” are horrifying. In 2000 the richest 200 people had as much wealth as the 2 billion poorest. According to the figures of the UN, 1.2 billion people are living on less than two dollars a day. Of these eight million men, women and children die every year because they do not have enough money to survive. Everybody agrees that the murder of six million people in the Nazi Holocaust was a terrible crime against humanity, but here we have a silent Holocaust that kills eight million innocent people every year and nobody has anything to say on the subject"
Red - Chapter One: Near the end, near the beginning
December 25, 2011, 02:42:pm
I've continued a story of which Victorian Age Everlasting can be considered the prologue. The following is the first chapter:
Near the end, near the beginning
The faint light that is starting to creep into my cell tells me we are close to dawn. Since it will be my last I wished I was able to get up and admire a final sunrise. Unfortunately my captors have already strapped me down into a box. Yes a coffin before death, there will not be one after my execution. How I got into this predicament is a long story. I shall start at the very beginning, my childhood. My name is Allison Gladstone, I grew up on the Victory III, a military spacestation in orbit around Mars. It primarily served as a home to officers in the British army and their families. My mother had to raise me there alone, she was a young widow. I never knew my father, he died shortly before my birth. He was Captain of one of those giant walking warmachines, of the heavily armoured Scarab type. Apparently not armoured enough. During yet another skirmish over rich Red Coal deposits a German Drache warmachine killed him and his entire crew when the enemy vessel’s artillery succeeded in completely devastating their controlroom. The woman he just recently married was heartbroken. As long as I have known my mother she hasn't worn anything but black dresses and she never sought the intimate company of any man ever again. The lack of a father figure coupled with the fact that she spoiled me rotten made me into a somewhat rebellious child. I became the girl other children were forbidden to play with by their parents. Which left me no choice but to seek the company of other wayward youths. Those were mostly female, cause boys who didn’t quite behave as they should had quite a high chance to be sent away to military school or such. At the time these people were all my seniors, I learnt a lot from them. But certainly not good manners! They taught me how to truly rebel against the rule of the Zombies, as we referred to the rich and powerful that had undergone the Frankenstein procedure. We noticed that thanks to these monsters our society hadn’t got a chance to really evolve since the start of the century. Certainly our the technology had progressed. And some argued that the emancipation of woman had slightly improved as a result of having a female monarch for over a 120 years. But at the same time when it came to the plight of the lower classes the clock had been turned back. That is how things are now, either they haven’t changed or they’ve even regressed a bit. Lets for instance take fashion, what most people are wearing now never really differs from what was fashionable at one point in the 19th century. How else could it be when the rich and powerful who seem to be everybody’s rolemodels are that ancient? Every year what the shops sell, what we wear still changes. But they are always designs that were popular at some time during the Zombie’s younger years, they don’t want it any other way. They probably need corsets to keep their bodies from falling apart. And they certainly wouldn’t showing more skin to become fashionable. How else would they hide those horrid scars that they have all over? Those people that try to dress in a less concealing manner or in any other way that significantly differs from the norm are arrested for indecent exposure or at least risk a severe beating. The bad boys and bad girls of the Empire like me still found ways to push the envelope without provoking much harassment. The most popular method was spicing up your style with elements from the indigenous cultures our nation wiped out, coupled with some of our own creative ideas. This led to extravagant hairstyles in shocking colours and in many cases quite a bit of tattoos and piercings. Numerous young women also kept wearing little girl dresses as it allowed them to show more of their legs without legal repercussions. The illusion of innocence seemed to work quite well for those that wanted to show the boys a little more, it was not to my taste though. I dressed in a manner that was considered quite conventional for a girl my age. Blouse and long loose skirt, smart and practical, the typical Gibson Girl look was what I preferred. However with one major difference. One day when I was about 13 I took an old razor that once belonged to my father and shaved my scalp until it was silky smooth. I done so almost every morning since then. This was my way of rebelling against the Zombie fashion dictate. Once I was a few years older most people hardly remembered what my hair colour was. Our particular group was about a lot more than just appearance however. Thanks to Douglas we were all introduced to a booklet that would change my life, The Communist Manifesto by Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels. Douglas was one of the older boys among my friends, I was quite fond of him. He looked quite striking with his green Mohawk. He had taken the Manifesto from his father’s things, he in turn had confiscated dozens of copies of the banned pamphlet during a raid on the planet below. It had been illegally printed there by Marxist dissidents. Together we read the text and discussed its content. This certainly convinced me that replacing our Capitalist dystopia with but an illusion of democracy, with a free genuinely democratic Socialist society should be our goal. We were going to prepare humanity for the revolution. We could however not do this alone we realized. This made us decide to become members of the Progress Society. You undoubtedly heard of them, but probably not in any positive light. The authorities label them dangerous extremist and somehow try to associate them with every single terrorist attack. Not that I can’t sympathize with those Anarchists who blow up military installations or end Zombies permanently, by shooting them in the head. But this is not our way! The Progress Society abhors individual acts of violence. Our tactic is to educate and organize the masses until they are ready to rise up as one whole against the oppressive regimes. Which is exactly why those regimes consider us all that more dangerous to their reign. If you somehow not heard of this organisation you certainly know their symbol, the cogwheel. Every other Communist symbol had been banned from use by the time the Progress Society was founded. Surprisingly this symbol has never been forbidden since, maybe such ban would have been difficult in a world where gears are in almost every device. Unfortunately something worse has happened with our sign since then, it has become fashionable. First every wilful youngster started wearing a copper or brass gear somewhere on their person, only half understanding what it represented. After that it somehow became popular with everyone, even a couple of Zombies have been known to wear gold jewellery with a cog motif. This trend could really anger me. I remember back on Victory III when this prissy girl Felicia, the perfect obedient young woman started wearing it. I already hated her before, but I when I saw that shiny copper gear decorating her hat I went berserk. Still she only had a few bruises, a torn skirt and a smashed hat to show for it. I on the other hand spent the next six months detained at a strict boarding school in the Scottish Highlands learning the error of my disruptive ways. I did not enjoy my first visit to Earth all that much. Still when I got back I was all the more motivated to help overthrow this repressive system. I started by confronting my friends with the fact that we still hadn’t really done anything.
As always we met at our secret headquarters, an abandoned sleeping cabin in a rarely used part of the spacestation. The Victory III living quarters had never been filled to full capacity. For those who needed solitude there were plenty of places to find aboard our space station. Most were however quite rundown, entirely covered in dust if not filled with garbage and occupied by vermin. Yet our little sanctuary had been kept quite neat over the years. There were always plenty of volunteers among our friends in order for the room to get cleaned at a weekly basis. So the room was always clean, nevertheless it was still quite Spartan. We always were seated on mattresses, the only furniture present in the room. And the only decoration was a single portrait of Queen Victoria, an outdated one even. It showed her earlier incarnation, her third body, while it was still only middle aged. Our resident artist Marlin had spiced the painting up a bit. The Queen now appeared to have been branded with a large cogwheel on her forehead. That same Marlin was one of the half a dozen present that day. Our very own Progress Society cell only consisted of the six seniors, myself included, among our band of subversive youngsters. So they were the only ones present when we discussed subjects of such import. In that way we hoped not endanger our friends or jeopardize ourselves even more. The meeting had a slow start, since some had not seen me since I was sent away to Scotland. So first I was welcomed back to my position as a Victory III outcast. After that we still couldn’t immediately get down to business since there was amazement about my hair, that is the fact that I had hair. I hadn’t been allowed to shave it for the last six months. But once that moment of levity was past I finally was able to address our inactivity in activism. “But what can we do” asked Helena, the little girl of the group. With her 18 years of age she was actually the second oldest girl among us. However since she was always dressed in a white pinafore covering a knee length frilly dress, pink today, it was easy to get a different impression. “Except us, nobody on this station has any interest in change.” Sometimes I doubted if even she had this interest. “Obviously we will have to leave the station now and then” I replied. “The proletarian masses are right below us, our presence needs to be felt on the surface.” “You are right of course” Douglas started, my green haired friend and I often thought alike. “But they don’t let just anyone wander around on Mars, especially not us. Don’t forget we are all still minors until one of us turns 21.” “But that is only a few months away for you right?” I reminded Douglas. “True” he admitted. “Still they don’t allow anyone who doesn’t have business there, on the Martian surface. Even if I joined the military, which I have no intention of doing, I’d lose my Hawk, my father would ensure that I didn’t get anywhere near danger the first few years. I’d end up staying here filling my days with paperwork.” “But I bet you’d look quite handsome in those uniforms” I joked. It got at least a smile if not a giggle out of all those present. In truth I preferred his current style greatly over any army uniform. With his black suit and white shirt under it, unbuttoned to just such an extent that a perceptive viewer saw a hint of the corset he wore beneath. “I know how we can get to Mars” Louise interrupted our levity. In her huge, all covering bellshaped gown she looked odd among our countercultural bunch. In many ways she was the most conservative among us. And with us I don’t just mean our little group, but anyone of our generation on the station. Maybe not surprising if you consider her origin, Louise was the oldest daughter of Colonel Charles Bancroft, the senior officer on the Victory III, a prominent member of an even more prominent family. She had been raised accordingly and chose to respect her parents edicts entirely when it came to behaviour and dress. Also she was the most convinced Marxist among us. “Really, you know how to get us there?” I actually I wasn’t all that surprised. In the past she had shown that she could and was willing to use her high station to help our cause. I wouldn’t like to know what my punishment would have been for attacking Felicia if Louise hadn’t been my friend. “I can Allison, I know how” she assured me. “My father has a great interest in Martian culture and history. He frequently sponsors digs and explorations of Martian ruins. He’s also quick to encourage the same interests in young people. Just ask Beyza.” “It is true” acknowledged Beyza. She was the only one among us who wasn’t full blood British. Her father, who had died just like mine had, was an Ottoman. Her skin was no more brown than ours, but she was raised a Muslim, except for her mother the only on the station. As a result her hair was always completely covered by a colourful silk headscarf. The rest of her attire was otherwise not unusual, a simple dress with a tight waist. “I’m the only one of us that ever set foot on Martian soil, and Colonel Bancroft is the reason why.” The interest in Martian civilisation she had in common with the good Colonel was well known to us. “With some help from Louise it should be possible for all of us to be given permission to visit a Martian site.” “But will this give us access to the workers” questioned Douglas. “I believe it can Douglas” answered Louise. “Most human settlements are close to where the Martians worked and lived before.” “Hmmm, this could work” Marlin agreed. Probably the only other man on the station more flamboyant than Douglas. His long black hair with shaved sides was fairly tame in comparison. But his use of heavy make-up on his face had gotten him into trouble many times. Fortunately for him he was agile and proficient in defending himself. But what most protected him was his lordly title, nobles were excused certain eccentricities more than any other people. “We only need to feign interest in a site most suitable to our agenda, close to some major mine I would think.” “A major mine is not such a good idea Marlin” Louise corrected him. “Those types of settlements are the most closely monitored by the authorities. Most dissidents tend to avoid such locales and so should we, certainly at first.” “What sort of place would you suggest” I asked. “Allison I believe our first visit to Mars should be to a workers settlement with the smallest possible military presence” responded Louise. “From what I heard from my father these places are usually small mining towns close to the borders with the German Mars territories. The most peaceful of frontiers the British colonies have on this planet.” Exactly the area where my father died. His death had been the last of its kind along that border. Since then the relations with the German Empire had improved a great deal. “So there will be a strong Marxist presence there?” “I’ve heard there is” confirmed Douglas. “They even operate almost openly in that region. I suppose there is no better place to cultivate ties with such organisations.” “Let me do some research and I’ll find the right place” offered Beyza. “Locating some interesting Martian remains in that area near a mining town should be easy enough.” “And I shall talk to my father” said Louise. “I’m confident that I can make a strong case for us going on an archaeological expedition to the surface. Even if it means he will have to bend the regulations a bit.” “Are you really sure of that?” Helena had just been listening until now. “No matter what region you’d like to visit, Mars is still a very dangerous place. I don’t see Colonel Bancroft letting any of us just wandering around there, certainly not his beloved daughter.” “I have thought of that Helena” Louise was clearly unimpressed with her objections, maybe even a bit irritated. “Ofcourse he will not let us go unchaperoned, I never claimed he would.” “We can’t achieve anything with soldiers watching our every move” said Helena. “So why would we even bother.” “Simple Helena” explained Louise. “I’ll ask Corporal Ruskin and some handpicked men to guide us there.” She had a subtle satisfied smile on her lips. Jason Ruskin was a good friend of ours. A former member of our group before he joined the military. Since then his image had changed dramatically, he was an obedient soldier now, well liked by the senior staff of the Victory III. But he still shared our beliefs and had always remained willing to help us out when necessary. That was about the end of our meeting that day. Everything of importance had been talked over. Then it was up to Louise and Beyza to arrange our trip to Mars. I did not concern myself with this. At that time I was trying to settle back into my former life at Victory III after my extended absence. This for instance included removing six months worth of hair growth from my scalp.
One week or so later I was taking groceries from our station’s supply store home to my mother, on a boring afternoon. While I was passing through yet another corridor of which all sides were made up of similar steel plates, black with a hint of rust, I saw Beyza walking towards me from the opposite direction. She was wearing a dark grey dress with a tightly corseted waist and as always a headscarf was covering her hair, dark red in a chaotic pattern which included flowers, zebra stripes and less definable things. “Well good afternoon Allison” she greeted me. “I see your hair has finally been taken care of, how are you doing?” “Compared to that Scottish prison, Victory station is like Heaven, and I’m certainly not referring to just our altitude. So I am quite all right I suppose, I hope the same for you?” “In general I would be” Beyza responded, she frowned. “If it weren’t for the fact that I hadn’t been called a ‘filthy heathen’ just now.” “I’m sorry you had to hear that yet again.” I knew many denizens of our space station had little tolerance for those of another religion, culture or race, certainly not in such close proximity. Beyza and her mother had much firsthand experience with these people. They heard insults on an almost daily basis. And if not that, someone tried to convert them to the ‘true religion’. Her mother had learned to live with such behaviour a long time ago, Beyza herself however still could not help it ruining her day. “It’s no problem, I can take it” she assured me. I knew that wasn’t exactly the truth, her face showed the emotional turmoil. “I hope so, I fear they are not going to change any time soon” I told her. “So if those comments make you unhappy why did you never consider stop wearing those scarves? You aren’t really that religious anyway.” “I wear this...” Beyza took the corner of her headscarf that was draped over her throat between two fingers. “For the same reason that Louise wears those gigantic hoopskirt dresses – which I believe come with a lot more difficulties than my clothing – out of respect for my family and their traditions. I don’t want to hurt my mother.” “I understand that” I explained. “But I don’t want you to be hurt either.” “Those individuals who need to voice their small-mindedness are not going to win from me” Beyza’s mood seemed somewhat restored, I heard that fighting spirit in her voice. “They really are the only downside. I like wearing these, just like Douglas likes his Mohawk, they are soft and pretty. Besides I really, really can’t stand my hair.” “I don’t actually think I ever seen your hair” I remarked. “And with a little luck, you never will” Beyza smiled. “Likewise” I replied. “I’m not planning to ever let it grow back.” “It certainly suits you” Beyza said. “In theory no hair would be an alternative to covering my hair, I’m too stuck in my habits however. Although to be honest I have in the past experimented with bonnets. I wasn’t so swiftly recognized – and harassed accordingly – as a Muslim in public and my mother didn’t mind. But they are a lot more cumbersome and look very inappropriate when indoors. However such a hat might be appropriate for our trip to the surface, it might be safer not to stand out as somehow foreign down there.” “Maybe” I said. “How are you and Louise doing with the Mars excursion?” “Good, but it hasn’t been easy” Beyza answered. “Colonel Bancroft is not quite obsessed enough with the Martian culture to risk endangering his eldest and her friends.” “Who’d have thought” my ironic reply. “Nevertheless you were able to satisfy the Colonel’s concerns?” “We were” said Beyza. “I found a secluded mining town that answers to all our criteria. And it had the added benefit of a nearby military base, which secured Bancroft’s approval.” “Hmm...” this didn’t sound all that ideal to me. I had hoped Louise and Beyza could have found something better. “To bad that there will be a sizeable military presence, but I’m sure it was the best you could arrange at this moment.” “Oh, don’t worry about those soldiers” Beyza clearly noticed my lack of enthusiasm. “I’ve consulted our close army friend on that place. On paper it looks like a well equipped, decently sized base. Jason had firsthand experience however, according to him it’s a mess. The troops there only leave their barracks when they want to spend their wage on drinking and women. They are not the least bit interested in hunting Marxists.” “Well done!” She had done very well indeed! I couldn’t help putting on a broad smile, which Beyza’s mouth immediately copied. “So where is it exactly?” “We are going to the Tharsis region” Beyza informed me. “Only a days journey from the capitol Trinity. The town itself is called Son's Slope.”
This is a prologue of sorts to an ongoing Steampunk story I'm working on at the moment:
Victorian Age Everlasting
When I awoke that morning in a private clinic I was quite startled. This was not the appearance I remembered having. Not even if I had chosen to ignore the manifold stitched scars crisscrossing my body. I was given an even bigger shock when the woman who was supposedly my nurse told me the year was 1977. I remembered nothing beyond my time as a young woman in 1897! And although my current physique was unfamiliar I still appeared to be a youth, not a crone moving towards her hundredth year. The nurse seemed alarmed by my puzzlement at this state of affairs, a doctor was soon called. He explained to me that he’d performed an elaborate rejuvenation surgery on me. The doctor was forced to admit that something had gone awry, my memory was apparently severely damaged. The fact that my body was different from that of my younger years was however considered quite normal after such a procedure. The physician assured me that the chances of me regaining my memory were however not hopeless, but in fact quite likely in such a case. He promised to help hasten my mental recovery by informing me about the course history had taken since the time my memory had failed me. From my talks with him I first learnt that there was a major upheaval in England in the year 1898. Our home soil had been dishonoured by a massive invasion. This was not the product of some scheming foreign power, but an extraterrestrial force from Mars! As their military might and technological ability seemed far superior to ours it seemed at the time likely that these creatures would succeed in subjugating the British Empire and later even the entire world. Fortunately this was not the fate of the human race. Our salvation came from an unlikely place, simply bacteria. That which was mostly harmless to us were deadly diseases to them. The Martian military force quickly died off almost entirely. The devastation of our nation was of enormous proportions. The short brutal war did not come without its advantages however. The engineers and scientists of Britain had much to study with all these Martian devices left behind. There was so much that could be learnt from the failed invaders for the benefit of human kind. It was discovered that the machines of the invaders used an advanced form of our own steam machinery that could be of use to better our own technology. However we would be unable to fully utilize their techniques without also using Martian fuel, the so called “Red Coal”. Fossilized Red Weed more potent that any known earthly fuel. If we weren’t to be stunted in our technological progress we were to find access to this resource. In 1900 a massive invasion of Mars was planned powered by the extraterrestrial technology we already converted to our own. In the chambers of our royal family quite different plans were being made. Our monarch Queen Victoria was feeling her time was coming to an end, just at a moment when her nation needed her leadership most. The Queen took her chances with an experimental medical process in an effort to lengthen her reign. A procedure based on the techniques first pioneered by the brilliant Doctor Victor Frankenstein. Her brain, her consciousness was placed in a freshly created body consisting of the remains of several young women executed for murder. Our queen was made sixty years younger and would be able to rule us for many years longer. I was surprised to hear that she was still alive today, now occupying her fourth body. As you might have guessed by now this is the same rejuvenation surgery I had been subjected to. Since our Queen’s successful transformation this technique became steadily more popular among her subjects. But only among the upper classes, to this day it is still a quite expensive procedure. As the first venerable Britons took their initial steps towards immortality the Mars invasion began. Our newly built spaceguns propelled ships filled with soldiers and weaponry towards the Red Planet. The 1901 conquest of the Martians went quite smoothly with few human casualties. Most of their military had already been wiped out on earth. And again the Martians were no match for our world’s smallest inhabitants. Earthly diseases spread like wildfire through the Mars population. Only a small minority had such a good health and strong immune system that it allowed them to survive. It has been speculated that as little as one Martian in ten thousand survived the initial colonization. These survivors chose to retreat into the vast wastelands of their planet subsisting on hunting the dying Martian fauna and raiding the occasional human settlement. Most of their offspring still choose to survive the same way today. According to some urban myths there are still Martians living in a similar way on earth, descendants of the few invaders who managed to survive. They are rumoured to be inhabiting the underground forgotten places of our cities only appearing at night to hunt humanity for food. It is a ridiculous notion if you ask me, with no reality outside the pages of a Penny Dreadful. The British invasion of Mars was an unqualified success. Unfortunately the planet was much too large to colonize completely before other European powers arrived to reap the Martian bounty. Today a third of the planet’s surface belongs to the British Empire, the rest is divided among the Germans, the Dutch, the Belgians, the French and a few others. Mars might have been devoid of much life but it had a great mineral wealth, every possible ore was available in great quantities. But especially the Red Coal we found there en masse delivered the incredible technological innovation that mankind hoped for. Steam powered machines became faster, more elaborate and more powerful than ever before. We soon had trains of which each rail car was double decked and the size of a small ballroom. They could cross the country from south to north in but a couple of hours. Airships took to the skies. Walking machines nearly the size of houses could both plant and harvest fields much faster than any group of field labourers ever could. Similar vehicles took over the mines from the miners and drove the lumbermen from the forests. Factories almost became machines onto themselves, making any but the most skilled workers redundant. A marvellous age that came with one great predicament you may already have noticed. Much of the lower classes had become obsolete. The new technologies had made much of their former occupations extinct. These idle hands coupled with empty stomachs made them a dangerous force. The 1910s brought with it many riots and uprisings. If it weren’t for the new weaponry now available they might even have been successful in toppling the rightful rulers of society. Eventually a solution was found. There was still one place where labour was in high demand; the great mines and factories of Mars. All those that were unable to support themselves on earth were relocated to the Red Planet, where they were offered a more productive life. Although working conditions were a bit less pleasant as those they took for granted on their home world, disobedience was a thing of the past. Our Mars colonies were heavily dependent on food shipments from earth. Which meant the only alternative to a functional life was starvation or an even harsher existence of living like a native in the savage Martian deserts. A new age of prosperity descended on Great Britain and by extension also the rest of Europe. But in it grew the danger of a flamboyance and decadence that became increasingly common with our rebellious youth. Fortunately those that have ruled our society so well over the last hundred years are still with us to keep our moral values from derailing. This is the everlasting age of Queen Victoria, a beacon of firm stability that even shines through the thickest coal smog.
A Night At The Museum You’ve came here looking for answers and I can give them. Something is happening to you, isn’t it? You’ve noticed a change. What is it, a couple of scales on your chest or a couple of horns protruding from under your hair? Maybe a change in teeth? Yes it’s all very familiar to me. Only a couple of years ago I started developing in a similar manner. But I fear there is no simple manner to explain what is happening to you. At least not without me sounding absolutely ridiculous. So I think I’ll start with a little history lesson first.
How it all ended, how it all began Humanity is not the greatest life form this world has brought forth. Not even by a long shot! Millions of years ago the earth was ruled by the reptilian creatures you know as dinosaurs. These weren’t just the gargantuan animals everyone thinks they were. Humans are much more deserving of being considered just animals than they. Cause the dinosaurs did not only match today’s humans intelligence, they had a level of development the latter species will never reach. They were master of both earth and sky without the need for primitive tools. Their bodies overflowed with mystical force and by the late Cretaceous period they had mastered this gift absolutely. This proved to be the undoing of this grand race. The dinosaurs were swiftly losing all restraint they once had in using their terrifying powers. A war erupted like none had ever seen or will see ever again. As the different factions unleashed the greatest forces of nature on each other they destroyed much of the planet they were fighting over. Once the great asteroid was called down the fate of them all was sealed. Not only did they all die, the forces they had meddled with punished the entirety of dinosaur kind with a dreadful curse. None of those who died during or after the war would ever be able to go to their final reward. There would be no heaven, hell, reincarnation or anything like that. Their spirits were doomed to wander the earth for eternity. And so they did for millions of years. But less than a 50.000 years ago everything changed. A new hope had come from the most unlikely of sources. From the few rodents that survived the great dinosaur war a new race had evolved. Still quite primitive compared to their mighty predecessors. But more advanced than anything that had come into existence since. The lost dinosaurs had finally found a creature that could accommodate their spirits; Homo Sapiens. Over the course of the earliest human past more and more dinosaur souls finally found a destination within a human host. If humans indeed have anything like a soul theirs was driven away or destroyed by the more powerful invader. These spirits may have been but shadows of their embodied selves they were still quite potent. They changed the bodies they inhabited. These were no longer frail humans, they were supernaturally tough, they knew no disease. Although they still grew older, old age would never claim them. But most spectacularly of all, their bodies were very slowly physically changing into those of their former dinosaur selves. It all started small, with but a single scale for instance, it gradually went on from there. Sound familiar?
The new you, the old you Yes that was quite a fantastic story. You don’t have to believe me, but you don’t have any other explanation for what’s happening with you, now do you? This is real, why else do you think so many of the supernatural beings humanity has believed in throughout the ages have been equipped with scales, horns or both? We were the dragons, but also the many demonic, divine or fairy creatures. In recent times we’ve even been considered aliens. The fact is that you’ve never been truly human. In spirit you have always been a dinosaur, you were born that way. If I were to check your lineage in our records I will surely find that you are just the latest in an entire lineage. Plenty of your ancestors went through exactly the same as you, going all the way back to the dawn of human kind. Apparently even the first dinosaurs to inhabit human bodies had no problem procreating with your supposed species, at least as long as they were physically capable. The human descendants where the blood of their breed was most pronounced attracted a dinosaur soul themselves when they were still in the womb. Some families are even so full of dinosaur blood that their children are born with scales. That’s not the case with you however. You are already in your early twenties now that the first signs of your true nature are showing. The later you manifest the less of our blood is to be found amongst your kin. Someone like you will only be born every couple of generations at most within your family. And don’t worry the changes come very slowly. Just look at me, don’t I still appear human? The physical transformation to anything close to a full dinosaur takes centuries. You can probably pass for human for another couple of decades if you take the proper precautions. An entire human lifetime even of you make good use of the Bone Arts.
Arts of bone Part of our curse is that we’ve lost all our supernatural might. It was a part of our original bodies, not our souls. So in theory we have no access to our former powers in our current forms. But we’ve found a way around that as well. Our original bodies still exist. Just look around you, this museum is full of them. And they all still have some remnant of their prehistoric power in them. We can harness this power to great effect, these are the Bone Arts. An illusion in order to let a still humanoid dinosaur appear truly human is relatively easy. Another use helped us find you. Through a Bone Rite the stars can tell us when and where we can find someone who just started transforming for instance. With the proper bones there is little we can’t do. Why do you think I work here? I need to keep an eye on all these potent relics for my Court.
Ancient society Yes, my Court. Our kind has an elaborate secret society which goes back millennia. We’ve always had the need to stay both close and hidden from mankind. Humans are our primary breeding stock, but when revealed they tend to fear and hunt us as monsters. And even at those times and places when we were openly revered as gods some subtlety was still appropriate. Balancing these interests required us to get organized. This is how the Courts came into existence. A system of government that presided over the dinosaurs and their interests in a given area. To this day at the head of a local Court still stands the eldest of the local dino’s, a king or Rex as we refer to him or her. Together with the other seniors –of which the physical transformation is usually long since complete– he rules the rest. At least in theory. The fact of the matter is that much younger members of a Court can gather quite a bit of power too. Cause unlike their older kin they are usually still capable of interacting with mankind. A function that is instrumental to any Court’s survival. Those that acquired great wealth or power in the human world can be as influential in ours as any Rex. Such individuals tend to be part of old money families where dinosaur blood is rather the rule than the exception. You no doubt heard of some of these families, among their number they have no small amount of presidents, billionaires and royalty. Johnny Rotten was on to something when he sang “God save the queen, she ain’t no human being”. So I suppose we could claim that we secretly rule the world. Still there are those that oppose us.
Dino dangers Some humans know about us and most don’t like us one bit. Not surprising since the carnivores among us still don’t make much distinction between the meat of a human and any other animal. The most prominent faction to oppose such practices and our race in its entirety really is the ancient Order of Saint George. They are Catholics that are inspired by their legendary dragon slaying saint. These Georgians have been hunting our kind for centuries. They apparently believe that we are demon spawn. Young ones like you are an easy target to them, their favored victim. So I advise you to be very careful when you know them to be hunting in the area. And these aren’t even the only mortals you should watch out for. Others are familiar with our existence as well. Most prominently UFO nuts and similar conspiracy theorists. Yes they think we are of extraterrestrial origin. They are quite common but usually not dangerous themselves. But they could lead more lethal foes right to your door. In the past cryptozoologists posed a similar problem, especially to the fully transformed among us. We used to count on the wilderness to conceal us from humanity. But as the wilderness got sparser rumors of our kind grew louder. The consequence being that at least since the 19th century researchers have gone out to gather evidence of our existence. They are the greatest threat to our continued existence. I doubt humanity as whole would accept our presence. And today they have the weapons to wipe out our entire society. But that’s just the big picture, not an immediate threat to your existence. That role is reserved for your own people. I’m afraid you are entering a quite violent society. Courts are constantly at war with each other over their domains and resources. However do keep in mind that if you die you’ll just be born again, as you’ve already done countless times before throughout history. So nothing to worry about really.
Andi Sexgang - Arco Valley CD € 10 Andi Sexgang – God On A Rope CD € 10 Bauhaus – In The Flat Field CD € 15 Black Ice - Myopia CD € 15 The Breath Of Life – Lost Children CD € 15 The Breath Of Life – Shining CD € 15 Brillig - The Plagiarist CD € 15 Cemetary Girlz - Smoke My Brain CD € 10 Cinema Strange – Quatorze Exemples € 10 Cinema Strange – Tenth Anniversary € 10 Collapsing New People - Collapsing New World CD € 15 The Cure – Bloodflowers CD € 10 The Cure – Disintegration CD € 10 The Cure – In Concert CD € 10 The Damned – The Peel Sessions CD € 15 Dead Guitars - Airplanes CD € 10 Death Cult - Ghost Dance CD € 15 Dies Irae – Dogma CD € 15 Dr.Arthur Krause - Before and After CD € 15 Dreadful Shadows – Cycle CD € 10 The Deadfly Ensemble - A Seed Catalog… € 10 Dreadful Shadows - Beyond the Maze (2CD) € 15 Eat Your Make-Up - First Dinner CD € 10 Eva O. Damnation/Salvation CD € 15 Eyes Of The Nightmare Jungle – Innocence CD € 15 Funhouse - Flames of Love CD € 15 House Of Usher – Inferno CD € 10 House of Usher - Radio Cornwall promo (2CD) € 15 Ikon – Lifeless CD € 10 Ikon – The Shallow Sea CD € 10 Love And Rockets – This Heaven CD € 15 Mephisto Walz - Insidious CD € 15 Mission - Blue CD € 10 Mission – Children CD € 10 Mission - God is a Bullet CD € 10 Mission - Masque CD € 10 Mission - Neverland CD € 10 Sex Gang Children – Medea CD € 10 Sex Gang Children – Dieche CD € 10 Sex Gang Children – Collection Volume 1 CD € 10 Sex Gang Children – Collection Volume 2 CD € 10 Sex Gang Children – Shout & Scream CD € 10 Sex Gang Children - Welcome to My World CD € 10 Shadow Project – Shadow Project CD € 15 The Sisters Of Mercy – A Slight Case Of Overbombing CD € 10 The Sisters Of Mercy – First Last And Always € 10 The Sisters Of Mercy – Floodland CD € 10 The Sisters Of Mercy – Some Girls Wonder By Mistake CD € 10 The Sisters Of Mercy – Vision Thing CD € 10 Siouxsie And The Banshees – The Best Off CD € 10 Siouxsie And The Banshees – Nocturne CD € 10 Siouxsie And The Banshees – Tinderbox CD € 10 Siouxsie And The Banshees – The Rapture CD € 10 Siouxsie And The Banshees – The Scream CD € 10 Siouxsie And The Banshees – Once Upon A Time CD € 10 Siouxsie And The Banshees – Kaleidoscope CD € 10 Sixteens - Into the Goldwave of Future Non Rip-Off CD € 15 Spear of Destiny - Grapes of Wrath CD € 15 Spear of Destiny - One Eyed jacks CD € 15 Star Industry – Iron Dust Crush CD € 10 Star Industry – Velvet CD € 10 This Vale Of Tears – Exceed CD € 10 Two Witches – Bites CD € 15 The Usherhouse – Molting CD € 15 Wasted Youth - Wild and wandering CD € 15 Whispers in the Shadow - Into the Arms of Chaos (CD+DVD) € 15
Books
Sur La Muraille (Indochine, FR) € 15
Guide To The Sabbat (Vampire: the Masquerade) € 20
Road Of Heaven (Dark Ages Vampire) € 15
Yeah I know the prices ain't in dollar. But if any Americans are interested you'll easily find the current exchange rates online. As for payment I accept both bank transfers (for within the Eurozone) and Paypal.
