Ulyanov
Novice
- Joined
- Aug 21, 2009
- Messages
- 1
Hello, friend. Pleased to meet you. My name is V. V for Vladimir. I am a furry from the land of Tamriel.
I have recently taken to championing the cause of the Underclass. For my efforts, the Empire has accused me of sedition. My books have been burned. I was imprisoned and exiled to the province of Morrowind, where perhaps the Emperor hopes to quell my attempts at a peasant uprising. Little do they know, Morrowind is my ideal province: its enormous peasant population, oppressed indigenous peoples, and built-in class warfare will be a huge boon to my recruiting efforts.
After disembarking from the prison ship, I entered the office of those horrid Servants of the Empire who were charged with receiving me in my exile. Little were they to know what was in store. After receiving my paperwork, I went into the the census and excise office and snuck up behind the guard.
I have become a God of Vengeance for the Noble Cause of the Proletariat. Or I would have, had I actually believed in such fairy tales. Gods are, as we all know, a mere tool of the Bourgeois ruling class to placate the Masses by distracting them from their squalid earthly conditions. I am not a god. I am a furred, clawed beast of the peasantry, and I am ready to strike the first blow of the revolution.
After the first blow, he lays twitching on the floor. I strike again and again, reveling in the irony of our reversal as the blood of the guard is spilled by the prisoner. I wonder how I might later recount this moment. How will I weave it into my tale to make it symbolic of my larger cause? Have I struck both a literal and a figurative blow to the capitalist, exploitative Empire?
As a symbolic gesture, I strip the guard of all his clothes. It is only just that the bourgeoise die with as few possessions as the peasants they oppress.
I continue to do the same with each guard in the village, as well as Fargoth for I hear he is hiding money and goods instead of contributing them to the good of the community. But this is too inefficient. It takes too long to eliminate any individual, much less rid this noble peasant village of the scourge of their oppressors.
I approach Arille the trader. I ask him for a bow and arrows. He does not immediately accede to my request; instead, he demands payment. It has become clear that Arille has been brainwashed to fetishize money and commodities. I hand him the filthy lucre I have relieved of the fallen guards and Fargoth. But it is too late for him; I cannot fight for a man who worships at the altar of the dark god of capitalism. We must wash away the follies of this older generation, and what better way to do it than with a river of blood?
Arille has fallen, and I strip him naked. Yet the rest of the village does not seem thankful! In fact, they are downright aggressive and accusatory. You'd think they'd thank me for performing this task for them. I realize that hope has run out for the village of Seyda Neen. There is only one recourse.
With Seyda Neen no more, I see one last resident: a woman who offers to take me with a stilt rider to Balmora. Yet, she fetishizes money just as much as Arille. But dusk approaches fast, and I must make it to Balmora if I am ever to take on the Empire. I allow her to live for now, vowing to her that I will some day release her from her capitalist prison. She seems unimpressed. It is the tragedy of the peasantry that they seem incapable of understanding the nature of their oppression.
But I finally arrive in Balmora. Perhaps tomorrow a new dawn will shine on my revolution.
I have recently taken to championing the cause of the Underclass. For my efforts, the Empire has accused me of sedition. My books have been burned. I was imprisoned and exiled to the province of Morrowind, where perhaps the Emperor hopes to quell my attempts at a peasant uprising. Little do they know, Morrowind is my ideal province: its enormous peasant population, oppressed indigenous peoples, and built-in class warfare will be a huge boon to my recruiting efforts.
After disembarking from the prison ship, I entered the office of those horrid Servants of the Empire who were charged with receiving me in my exile. Little were they to know what was in store. After receiving my paperwork, I went into the the census and excise office and snuck up behind the guard.
I have become a God of Vengeance for the Noble Cause of the Proletariat. Or I would have, had I actually believed in such fairy tales. Gods are, as we all know, a mere tool of the Bourgeois ruling class to placate the Masses by distracting them from their squalid earthly conditions. I am not a god. I am a furred, clawed beast of the peasantry, and I am ready to strike the first blow of the revolution.
After the first blow, he lays twitching on the floor. I strike again and again, reveling in the irony of our reversal as the blood of the guard is spilled by the prisoner. I wonder how I might later recount this moment. How will I weave it into my tale to make it symbolic of my larger cause? Have I struck both a literal and a figurative blow to the capitalist, exploitative Empire?
As a symbolic gesture, I strip the guard of all his clothes. It is only just that the bourgeoise die with as few possessions as the peasants they oppress.
I continue to do the same with each guard in the village, as well as Fargoth for I hear he is hiding money and goods instead of contributing them to the good of the community. But this is too inefficient. It takes too long to eliminate any individual, much less rid this noble peasant village of the scourge of their oppressors.
I approach Arille the trader. I ask him for a bow and arrows. He does not immediately accede to my request; instead, he demands payment. It has become clear that Arille has been brainwashed to fetishize money and commodities. I hand him the filthy lucre I have relieved of the fallen guards and Fargoth. But it is too late for him; I cannot fight for a man who worships at the altar of the dark god of capitalism. We must wash away the follies of this older generation, and what better way to do it than with a river of blood?
Arille has fallen, and I strip him naked. Yet the rest of the village does not seem thankful! In fact, they are downright aggressive and accusatory. You'd think they'd thank me for performing this task for them. I realize that hope has run out for the village of Seyda Neen. There is only one recourse.
With Seyda Neen no more, I see one last resident: a woman who offers to take me with a stilt rider to Balmora. Yet, she fetishizes money just as much as Arille. But dusk approaches fast, and I must make it to Balmora if I am ever to take on the Empire. I allow her to live for now, vowing to her that I will some day release her from her capitalist prison. She seems unimpressed. It is the tragedy of the peasantry that they seem incapable of understanding the nature of their oppression.
But I finally arrive in Balmora. Perhaps tomorrow a new dawn will shine on my revolution.
