#i think i have a different version of this in my drafts

[morgana-lefay]

Gotta agree with you! Till has just the perfect amount of body hair! Not too much and not too less! Just perfect!

Hello, Anon! :) I had this sitting on my drafts since April! 😱 Apologies! But I think it's never too late to discourse over Till and his hairy chest and so I decided to finish my answer (I ran out of image space back then). So let's go. First of all, glad to meet another "the perfect amount of body hair" appreciator (for some context, it came from this post) and thank you for bringing this subject to me, which allows me to expand my research further more (meaning, I now have an excuse to post more glorious topless Till 🤷🏻‍♀️. As if an excuse was needed for that in this house, but anyway...). Let's start from the beginning. Our guy seems to have always been a hairy one and, thankfully, 90's Rammstein were ever so naked, so we can appreciate it evolving.

1994...the beginning of it all. Till sports a muscular, hot as hell, body (but again, not too much, just the perfect amount) and a fairly distributed body hair between chest and belly. 10/10, would put my hands all over it. [Bonus look: 1994 Till, just casually hanging around backstage, half-naked, with suspenders on. I accept and embrace this look 👇🏻.]

1995, the year it all disappeared...(for a breef while)

If the information was correct, first one is from November 3rd and second one from December 10th. I guess in the second photo he had already shaved for the Seemann music video, which leads us back to this:

(side note: this post, by @tipsywench described this video hilariously on point. Also open the second picture for chest close-up, where we can see it's not 100% shaven/already growing back).

Seems it was short lived, as in December 19th, hairy belly and chest peeking out again, so back to our regular program.

1996, the happy trails continue.

1997-1999 - Sehnsucht Era

Not sure if it's because of the light in the photos, the water and sweat or if he actually shaved a bit at times, because in some he looks hairier than others.

2000-2002 / Mutter Era There's a lot of changes in the hair department in this Era, but more in haircuts than the rest (but that's subject for a different post).

2004-2005 Reise, Reise Tour (or the Era where everyone looked incredibly hot in their BDSM/Gothic looks)

2009 - 2011 | LIFAD Era (another personal favourite of mine)

Boobs are changing and it looks like there's more hair in the belly area.

2011-2012 Made In Germany

Turning 50, our guy seems to have become more shy on stage and the MIG Era was the last one he graced us with a full shirtless version, unfortunately.

From 2015 on, we got very rare occasions to appreciate his hairy chest, now turned grey.

What is also important to notice for our "perfect amount of body hair" research, is that there's no back or shoulder hair.

(I don't know if it's the image quality, but it actually looks like he shaved his legs in that fishing one)

[starzzmissthesun]

i think you should totally drop whatever hc/ideas you have lying around honestly...i would love to see more into ur brain...pls <33

:DD

Hi!!!! Sorry this is a little late, I got so distracted with an animatic im working on(😈) and then a stupid essay😭😭 being honest rn... Almost all of what I've been thinking about is my fic.. 😔

But!! I can still go a little into that without spoilers. I've finally figured out The Perfect ending for this story that I feel fits with the overarching themes I wanted to tell. I've been making sure that every little detail fits with the themes I wanted to show, I wanted it to overlap Regulus and barty's characters and their overarching themes with PD. I also didn't want to just replicate PD cause I feel like that doesnt have the depth or commentary I want to out into it. Idk ive always thought it's super fun to put everything as some sort of symbol or metaphor or foreshadowing. I'm like literally so close to being done drafting and then I can actually talk about it a little more😭

Anyways! I've also been thinking about barty post regs death 😔(when am I not) But more specifically how every memory he had would almost be tainted, everything now would have an air of questioning and unsureness. Even memories where Regulus isn't there, just wondering where was he? What was he thinking? Am I remembering this right? What could've I changed? What was the domino that caused all of this to happen? Eventually finding it hard to accept the way it really was, having the "I guess it was" and feeling it, but overintellectualizing it. His logic and reasoning is his downfall in this situation, that's what makes him go crazy. (Side note I NEED to make a little post about his intersection between intelligence and madness) Hes doing a complicated version of when there's a task that seems so simple that you think it's a trick, but it's not, it's just that. What happened with Regulus was just that.

Also, I've recently self reflected and realized that a lot of my barty characterization is similar to how I think of Leonard Cohen's art(who I LOVE LOVE LOVE) Idk if you've listened to him or read any of his work, but I HIGHLY suggest it, it's perfect for fall. Anyways, a lot of his songs and poems carry themes of having a twisted self image, not completely self deprication though it may seem, but something else. It's closer to understanding and knowing that you are. Different. And unconventional. It's an uncomfortablility he has with himself. Being soemthig twisted from what you should've been. A lot of his stuff is also to do with tragically losing someone, out of their own choice, and still feeling very loyal yet bitter. Also of loving something so much that it turns dark, or it goes too quick, it spirals. Also his love songs are very barty's perspective on bartylus to me. And like, obvious war mentions. I could give some specific recs similar to barty or them if you'd like.

Another thing is of Regulus and his relationship with his dad. Though I see it completely reasonable if his dad was just kind of, not there and neglectful, it could give very interesting implications to his character, I like it the other way around. Orion seeing what a more carefree attempt at raising a child does and keeping Regulus even closer than he did before. I think Orion always liked Regulus more, despite him being the second, because he was a model son. I don't think he wanted this life or even to have kids, so Regulus being so complacent and in line with what he was supposed to be as a pure blood made him the decided favourite(as much as he could have one). He was always keeping a close eye on Regulus and he could feel it, but he didn't do anything out of place anyways. Orion could tell when he was even thinking something he wasn't supposed to. I believe that, no matter how much she tried, walpurga was too caught in her own head about her duty as a mother to see S+R as anything other than Her Kids, as property that she was supposed to care for and tend to, she obviously loved them, but couldn't see through them. But Orion was there around every corner looking through regulus' eyes into his soul to search for any thing out of his perfect kid.

Anyways.... That's all I can think of rn😭 but if you have questions about ANY of them lmk!!! I love yapping about my little thoughts 😁😁

[forbiddentaako]

more monochrome practice I suppose

[twocutlines]

anyway

[gio-cosmo]

Throws this @ you and runs away in terror

Sketch versions. I really prefer drawing on paper tbh.

[nevada-wrytes]

Chapter 5 - A Black Heart Laced with Neon Green Ribbons

Content Warnings: mentions of violence, cemeteries, and death

Link to the previous chapter and link to the next chapter

Part Two: Curses

There was only so long one could ignore a growing pile of “jobs” and “responsibilities” and “duties” before someone came in and pushed the stack over.

Raven was met with such a situation as he powered on the obsidian tablet that most citizens of the Underneath used to communicate (because cell phones, as they say, were for losers). Immediately, message upon message began popping up, most from annoyed clients who demanded a discount for late services. He ignored them all, even some warbled garbage sent by an unknown sender, but stopped when he got to one name in bold.

Boss (derogatory): Come see me.

A time and place were not specified, yet Raven knew exactly what it meant. He had no desire to go back to the Underworld, much less the City of the Dead, and he definitely did not want to meet with him.

With an weary sigh, Raven took a sip of his drink, finding comfort in the puffs of steam that curled out of the teacup.

Usually, cafés were uncomfortable places filled with too much noise and movement, but this one was nice. It was owned by an old friend, although she wouldn’t like to be called that, who took pride in preserving the ancient space as it had been a hundred years ago in the midst of the Roaring Twenties.

Raven liked the effect that the dark furniture and dim lighting cast, it felt both mysterious, edgy, and easy to disappear in. Among the swamping leather sofas and bursting bookshelves, he was just an ordinary guy enjoying a cup of tea. Maybe he’d pick up a book or put on a record. Life was simple, it didn't matter that Dahlia was dead. It didn’t matter that she was the fourth girl (along with two other guys) who’d met an untimely demise all because they decided to fall in love with the wrong person. Him.

Maybe it is a curse. Maybe he accidentally pissed off some deity and is unknowingly passing the misfortune on to some poor mortals. The fortune teller from before did seem especially ire with him...

Whatever. Now was not the time to genuflect. The glowing red text on the obsidian tablet in his lap provided an excellent distraction.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he muttered to the air as he stood up and dusted himself off. He stuck a wad of cash under his used saucer and turned to leave.

And was met with a very dirty, very prickly, broom to the face.

"Heyyyyyyyyy Margie," he casually said, emphasizing the nine Y’s at the end of ‘hey’ to prove his casualness.

The woman behind the broom, an older lady that looked like she was straight out of a boxing match, stared him down. She was taller than him, larger than him, and had biceps that looked like they bench pressed willowy teenage boys just like him.

If it wasn’t for the affectionate tilt of her mouth and the crow’s feet around her eyes she would have given even him a scare.

“Get the hell out of my café you rat." Although there was no real anger behind her words, Raven put his hands up, and backed away slowly.

“I mean no harm, Margi— I’m just stopping by— love what you’ve done with the place by the way.”

“Hmp.” Margi folded her huge biceps over her chest. “Am I s’posed to assume all of that’s true?”

“Ughhhhhh..”

Raven needed a way out of this conversation that contained the least amount of fists to his face. Luckily, Margi saved him the trouble of formulating some brain dead reply.

“What do you want.” A statement, not a question. “You know I don’t serve any criminals no more.”

Raven tried a laugh fit for a guilty man. “Criminal? Who— me? Pfftt..”

Margi gave him a Look.

“WELL ANYWAYS,” he began, as if being louder would erase the awkwardness of the subject, “ignore the details— do you, by any chance, still exchange demonic currency?”

៴

Like every other heartbroken teen, Raven had spent the past few days wallowing into tubs of lemon sorbet and Tinkerbell reruns. He didn’t actually cry, but just the thought of it was enough to make even the most waterproof mascara run.

However, just like any coming of age film, there has to be a point where enough is enough, where maybe the best friend comes in to pull the protagonist out of their moping by the hair and gets them to snap out of it. Unfortunately, Raven has to be his own best friend in this case, and pulling yourself together was much more difficult alone.

Regardless of if he enjoyed it or not, there was work that needed to be done, so he slapped on some kick-ass eyeliner and put on some kick-ass boots to go thlunking through the cemetery— because that was a normal thing to do.

Raven had a complicated relationship with cemeteries. He appreciated the lengths people would go to honor their loved ones, maintaining graves even generations later when there was no one left alive to remember the kind of person the body in the ground used to be, but grave sites also brought about a sort of stillness within him that he absolutely hated.

Even the air was calm, despite it being night and definitely much creepier when the corroded angel statues looked at you with weeping eyes. He felt like he could breathe again, for the first time since— Mother knows how long.

And if he could stay and recharge for hours, Raven felt, with no doubt, he would have enough will to charge into Hell itself and bring back Dahlia, and Rose, and Martin, and River…

Maybe he hated cemeteries because they reminded him of the people he lost. If he looked around, how many of the graves were there because of him?

His chunky boots slammed into the hard packed earth as he walked, a comforting thump in the silence. It had stopped raining ages ago, but the grass was still wet and now that the coolness of the night set in, condensation seemed to hang in the air like wet laundry strung out to dry.

The place was silent, not a rustle of wind or chirp from a cricket to break it up. That was why the voice boomed across the mossy gravestones like an uppercut.

"Oh my my! Don't we have a special guest here tonight!"

A young girl appeared out of the fog as if xe was a hallucination. She sat on top of a giant mausoleum in the center of the cemetery, swinging xer stockinged legs freely. They made hollow thumps when they hit the stone, giving the impression she was moreso a wooden doll come to life rather than a person.

And she did look like a doll, with a tiny figure and ruffled dress consisting of only the colors black and neon green. However, what xe lacked in intimidation factor, xe made up for by carrying a huge metal club that was also swinging at her feet.

Raven stepped closer, near enough to see her delicately painted face.

"Hello, Arcane. Still on gate duty I see."

The girl opened her mouth in what could have been a grin, if someone learned how to smile by listening to instructions of how to move your face muscles rather than seeing the real thing happen in person. Xer teeth were black as coal, and so was her tongue.

"Oh you would like that, wouldn’t you~” She started in a sing-songy voice, but then, after Raven raised a brow, xe cleared her throat, cheeks flushing.

“Nah, I'm just filling in for this Jack kid. Heard you were coming back and just couldn't wait to see ya."

She pushed off the building and dropped down next to him. Or.. not quite right next to him, because she was floating in the air a short, safe distance off, something that requires way too much energy just to remain on eye level with him.

Raven snorted, spirits and their vanities, and tossed her a sack of newly acquired gold.

Arcane snatched the gold out of the air before he had so much of a chance to blink, and began counting the coins. The next few moments were silent, other than the sharp click of metal being dropped back into the bag.

Although Raven really hated his job, one of the few benefits was learning how to read people— and finding a way to use that to his advantage.

Arcane was a wrathful entity— a spirit given flesh with the promises of cold revenge— or something else along those lines. What that meant was she had a passion, but unfortunately xe also had a big, big contract with some Guardian of Death in the way of that passion. So, the sooner she paid off xer debt, the faster she would be freed into the world to wreck as much havoc or despair as she so pleased.

And that, friends, is a very good bargaining chip.

“How many do you have patrolling the perimeter?” In less than a moment Raven had reclaimed her spot on top of a mausoleum as if it were his throne, forcing Arcane to turn quickly if xe didn’t want xer back to him. She looked stricken.

“What? How did you- how did you know that?” The wobble in her voice betrayed her as she clutched the sack of money to her chest like a shield.

Raven tilted his head. “You think I wouldn’t know? Come out, come out, wherever you are, demons.”

A shadow condensed in the corner, spitting out a humanoid beanpole who began frantically signing to Raven, some stuff about begging for mercy which was complete overkill since it’s not like he would actually kill any of them.

“Ah, just Neroli? I was expecting a bigger army for my visit.” He began signing too, now that he needed them both present in the conversation.

Raven didn’t know much about Neroli other than the fact he was some sort of low-tier entity like Arcane, but he did know that the two of them together had a special affinity that he so desperately needed.

"I want a quiet entrance into the Underneath, one that doesn’t appear on any radars, and I know you two can do it. I’m willing to pay handsomely, by the way.”

Arcane sniffed at the ‘handsomely’ part. Xe’d already counted the money and knew it was jack shit compared to what others would pay. That's why Raven was very much counting on his fear factor to get him what he wanted.

"Can't you already portal directly into the City-" Arcane began the accusation with an irritating huff, but was cut off by a warning nudge from Neroli.

The boy looked ready to lay his life on the line for Raven, probably as a thank you for not ending it so soon. (Again, Raven wasn’t going to, he needed them both alive, or, in whatever in-between state they were in currently.)

"Will you open the gate or not?" He forced his voice to sound terribly bored with this conversation, regardless if his entire body was screaming for them to say yes. If he wanted things to go smoothly in the City of the Dead he needed to get in (and hopefully out) quick.

Luckily, neither of them sensed the urgency, and after a private conversation, Arcane begrudgingly agreed.

"Fine, we will. But don’t spread the word that we can be bought for cheap, ya hear?"

Raven agreed with a polite smile, and once the deal was brokered, they all eased back into comfortable familiarity. Arcane switched back to her haughty personality and Neroli poked fun at xer whenever he got the chance. Raven, too, joined them as if they were old friends, enough to keep everyone laughing and chipper until he was through the gateway and in the bleak gray lands of the Underneath.

Tag list: @thebonecarver @victorfrankingstein @confused-as-all-hell @iambecomeyourvillain @brekkercookie @fallen-from-olympus @purpl-cryptid @reyyya @thecurlychameleon @naz-yalensky @thesexypanda-boo @kazoo-the-demjin @twelve-kinds-of-trouble @crime-mastergogo

[gaypiratebrainrot]

writing rough drafts of original stuff is the hardest thing for me bc my perfectionism will cut me off at the knees but i am doing so good at it right now and well on my way to achieving my goal of being a shitty first draft machine which is great bc once i am drowning in shitty first drafts i can turn the perfectionism back on and just make everything better

[inlovewithaspiderguy]

where are you old skip westcott centered marvel oneshot of mine

[crossbackpoke-check]

do you really believe in him? is he a good kid? no problems? you're gonna love him. you're gonna love him.

[runawaycarouselhorse]

The fun part about characters' names being written in katakana is obscuring the meaning or being able to be interprered many different ways. For example, Brock's Japanese name Takeshi, could be written as bamboo-will or rock-mountain depending on which kanji you use.

We know that Bashou and Buson take their names from haiku masters and we know Buson's named for his loyalty and devotion to Bashou, but Buson's high rank, design, and military aesthetics suggest a different possible meaning and kanji spelling, which might also explain the dub's choice of Attila and Hun...

Poet Bashou took his pen name from the banana tree, gifted to him by a pupil. His hermitage at the temple was shaded by the banana tree, so it became known as the basho-an.

it fell into disrepair by Buson's time. Buson spent money restoring it and built a monument to Bashou there, even asking to be buried next to it, a request that was honoured, and his own disciples were buried around him.

Poet Buson's name is written with the characters for turnip-village. He was also calked Yosa no Buson, Yosa taken from the name of his mother's birthplace. Buson was born in Tennoji, which was then known for its turnips, so Buson is turnip-village.

Another way to write Buson is with these kanji:

武尊

Meaning:

武 Strong and courageous. Strong-willed. warrior. soldier. Battle. War. Military. War potential. Weapons. Overcome. Surpass.

尊 Respect. A high value or rank. A word expressing respect. A title of respect attached to the name of a deity or noble person.

So, that's 武 (bu, same as in bushidou) meaning “martial, military, warrior, arms” and 尊 (son) which is a mark of respect and used for nobility and deities.

Attila the Hun, a famous warlord, dubbed the Scourge of God, therefore feels fitting.

'Attila (pronounced: “atilla”) is a modern transcript of the name of the Hunnic ruler of the 5th century AD. Its origin is debated, either a Germanic exonym (meaning “respectful father”), or Turkish (in this case it means “father of the earth”) or Mongol (it can mean simply “ruler”).'

Both names are war-like, befitting a warrior, soldier... and a weapon. They also suggest lofty rank, fitting a high ranking agent who tries to capture a Legendary Pokemon (and later succeeds at capturing another!)

... this one is probably simply serendipity, but Buson being based on the tanuki archtype (contrasting with Bashou's kitsune archtype*), tanuki having a weakness for wine and women, and Attila the Hun's mysterious and shady death on his wedding night to a woman who asked for his help to be freed from an unwanted marriage (she sent him a letter and a gift and he either misunderstood or willfully misinterpreted it as a proposal to him, so went to war ostensibly for her sake) was either assassinated/somehow poisoned by his wife or the bleeding was caused by his drinking problem.

[lesbovalentine]

i have to be honest guys i can't be humble anymore i am good at what i do know and i know this. i'm not saying every drawing i make turns out incredible or even that i have a single drawing i wouldn't change SOMETHING in but i'm, like, good at it. i'm pretty good at analyzing media too tbh. pretty good at making amvs. i've got a good singing voice even if i'm not a technically good singer i like my voice itself and i like the act of singing. i like drawing and i am good at it. okay thats all

[itsamenickname]

So good news and bad news:

The bad news is that I don't think I'll be able to upload ch. 17 tomorrow due to me having a lot of difficultly writing out the second half of the chapter in the way that I like it (the first half is fine, but it's this second half that's just giving me so much trouble).

The good news is that while I may not be able to upload ch. 17 tomorrow, I will upload something else in honor of the Mario movie final trailer. However, due to...specific reasons, this said surprise won't be uploaded until after the mario movie trailer (don't worry, this should hopefully make a lot more sense once you see the actual surprise).

[heyheycaitalin]

Not to sound like a weirdo or anything but

How do you know when someone genuinely likes you? Platonically.

Not like they just like me as a coworker because I'm dependable and a hard worker and "phenomenal at customer service". They're not just being nice or polite. They just like me as a person.

How do I know they like me enough to talk to me and stay friends with me even if I live 8 hours away and they might only see me a couple times a year? He doesn't have social media. But I want to be close enough friends where I can visit for his birthday next year. I want to know if I take a vacation and visit for a week, he'll honestly be excited to see me.

[wingsforthewicked]

Woe, my passion project be upon ye-

And that's it! For Now!!

Thank you so much for reading and i hope it comes in handy for any of your wingies needs :3 This took me... a While, more than it should've, but is finally here! And maybe i've been slacking a little on the tagging for this blog specifically, but i recommend besides reading all of this, to go check my Guides tag, as i'm missing a few little things here and there that i couldn't for the life of me find a way to explain, and i've already re-done this Way too much for my liking o(-(

But you can also just go around this blog to get some inspiration :o I got a Lot of different wing styles here, and again i gotta go back to tagging (and fix my blog web theme, don't worry about it—) but other than that, you're free to explore this lil blog of mine

Two last things—First, i did all of this for free, i want it to reach as many people as possible (which is why soon-ish i'll translate the entirety of it to spanish and add image descriptions to both versions, i need a break....), but if you liked this enough and would like to leave a lil' tip on my kofi (@/rainbowpinyata), i would appreciate it a lot... Second, my inbox is always open if you or someone you know is in need of a more in-dept explanation on any of the parts of this, as i had to resume most of the info, or just needs a little bit of advice. I'm gonna explain wings Much more than i already have on the next part, but that... is going to take a bit, so...

Anyways, many thanks to my friends for always being there for me, i don't think i would've gone past the first draft or the many others after that without their encouragement, suggestions and general help with keeping me going. It means everything to me.

Also, click for better quality pls, the pages are pretty big but... this site....

[jadevine]

Preindustrial travel, and long explanations on why different distances are like that

Update March 1, 2024: Hey there folks, here's yet another update! I reposted Part 2a (the "medieval warhorses" tangent) to my writing blog, and I went down MORE of the horse-knowledge rabbit hole! https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/741423906984951808/my-post-got-cut-off-so-i-added-the-rest-of-it Update Jan 30, 2024: Hey folks, I've posted the updated version of this post on my blog, so I don't have to keep frantically telling everyone "hey, that's the old version of this post!" https://thebalangay.wordpress.com/2024/01/29/preindustrial-travel-times-part-1/

I should get the posts about army travel times and camp followers reformatted and posted to my blog around the end of the week, so I'll filter through my extremely tangled thread for them.

Part 2 - Preindustrial ARMY travel times: https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/739342239113871360/now-for-a-key-aspect-that-many-people-often-ask

Part 2a - How realistic warhorses look and act, because the myth of "all knights were mounted on huge clunky draft horses" just refuses to die: https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/732043691180605440/helpful-things-for-action-writers-to-remember

Part 3 - Additional note about camp followers being regular workers AND sex-workers: https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/740604203134828544/reblogging-the-time-looped-version-of-my

--

I saw a post on my main blog about how hiking groups need to keep pace with their slowest member, but many hikers mistakenly think that the point of hiking is "get from Point A to Point B as fast as possible" instead of "spending time outdoors in nature with friends," and then they complain that a new/less-experienced/sick/disabled hiker is spoiling their time-frame by constantly needing breaks, or huffing and puffing to catch up.

I run into a related question of "how long does it take to travel from Point A to Point B on horseback?" a lot, as a fantasy writer who wants to be SEMI-realistic; in the Western world at least, our post-industrial minds have largely forgotten what it's like to travel, both on our own feet and in groups.

People ask the new writer, "well, who in your cast is traveling? Is getting to Point B an emergency or not? What time of year is it?", and the newbies often get confused as to why they need so much information for "travel times." Maybe new writers see lists of "preindustrial travel times" like a primitive version of Google Maps, where all you need to do is plug in Point A and Point B.

But see, Google Maps DOES account for traveling delays, like different routes, constructions, accidents, and weather; you as the person will also need to figure in whether you're driving a car versus taking a bus/train, and so you'll need to figure out parking time or waiting time for the bus/train to actually GET THERE.

The difference between us and preindustrial travelers is that 1) we can outsource the calculations now, 2) we often travel for FUN instead of necessity.

The general rule of thumb for preindustrial times is that a healthy and prime-aged adult on foot, or a rider/horse pair of fit and prime-aged adults, can usually make 20-30 miles per day, in fair weather and on good terrain.

Why is this so specific? Because not everyone in preindustrial times was fit, not everyone was healthy, not everyone was between the ages of 20-35ish, and not everyone had nice clear skies and good terrain to travel on.

If you are too far below 18 years old or too far past 40, at best you will need either a slower pace or more frequent breaks to cover the same distance, and at worst you'll cut the travel distance in half to 10 or so miles. Too much walking is VERY BAD on too-young/old knees, and teenagers or very short adults may just have short legs even if they're fine with 8-10 hours of actual walking. Young children may get sick of walking and pitch a fit because THEY'RE TIREDDDDDDDDDD, and then you might need to stay put while they cry it out, or an adult may sigh and haul them over their shoulder (and therefore be weighed down by about 50lbs of Angry Child).

Heavy forests, wetlands and rocky hills/mountains are also going to be a much shorter "distance" per day. For forests or wetlands, you have to account for a lot of villagers going "who's gonna cut down acres of trees for one road? NOT ME," or "who's gonna drain acres of swamp for one road? NOT ME." Mountainous regions have their traveling time eaten by going UP, or finding a safer path that goes AROUND, so by the time you're done slogging through drier patches of wetlands or squeezing through trees, a deceptively short 10-15 miles in rough terrain might take you a whole day to walk instead of the usual half-day.

If you are traveling in freezing winters or during a rainstorm (and this inherently means you HAVE NO CHOICE, because nobody in preindustrial times would travel in bad weather if they could help it), you run the high risk of losing your way and then dying of exposure or slipping and breaking your neck, just a few miles out of the town/village.

Traveling in TOO-HOT weather is just as bad, because pushing yourself too hard and getting dehydrated at noon in the tropics will literally kill you. It's called heat-STROKE, not "heat-PARTY."

And now for the upper range of "traveling on horseback!"

Fully mounted groups can usually make 30-40 miles per day between Point A and Point B, but I find there are two unspoken requirements: "Point B must have enough food for all those people and horses," and "the mounted party DOESN'T need to keep pace with foot soldiers, camp followers, or supply wagons."

This means your mounted party would be traveling to 1) a rendezvous point like an ally's camp or a noble's castle, or 2) a town/city with plenty of inns. Maybe they're not literally going 30-40 miles in one trip, but they're scouting the area for 15-20 miles and then returning to their main group. Perhaps they'd be going to an allied village, but even a relatively small group of 10-20 warhorses will need 10-20 pounds of grain EACH and 20-30 pounds of hay EACH. 100-400 pounds of grain and 200-600 pounds of hay for the horses alone means that you need to stash supplies at the village beforehand, or the village needs to be a very large/prosperous one to have a guaranteed large surplus of food.

A dead sprint of 50-60 miles per day is possible for a preindustrial mounted pair, IF YOU REALLY, REALLY HAVE TO. Moreover, that is for ONE day. Many articles agree that 40 miles per day is already a hard ride, so 50-60 miles is REALLY pushing the envelope on horse and rider limits.

NOTE: While modern-day endurance rides routinely go for 50-100 miles in one day, remember that a preindustrial rider will not have the medical/logistical support that a modern endurance rider and their horse does.

If you say "they went fifty miles in a day" in most preindustrial times, the horse and rider's bodies will get wrecked. Either the person, their horse, or both, risk dying of exhaustion or getting disabled from the strain.

Whether you and your horse are fit enough to handle it and "only" have several days of defenselessness from severe pain/fatigue (and thus rely on family/friends to help you out), or you die as a heroic sacrifice, or you aren't QUITE fit enough and become disabled, or you get flat-out saved by magic or another rider who volunteers to go the other half, going past 40 miles in a day is a "Gondor Calls For Aid" level of emergency.

As a writer, I feel this kind of feat should be placed VERY carefully in a story: Either at the beginning to kick the plot off, at the climax to turn the tide, or at the end.

Preindustrial people were people--some treated their horses as tools/vehicles, and didn't care if they were killed or disabled by pushing them to their limits, but others very much cared for their horses. They needed to keep them in working condition for about 15-20 years, and they would not dream of doing this without a VERY good reason.

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UPDATE January 13: Several people have gotten curious and looked at maps, to find out how a lot of cities are indeed spread out at a nice distance of 20-30 miles apart! I love getting people interested in my hyperfixations, lol.

But remember that this is the space between CITIES AND TOWNS. There should never be a 20-mile stretch of empty wilderness between City A and Town B, unless your world explains why folks are able to build a city in the middle of nowhere, or if something has specifically gone wrong to wipe out its supporting villages!

Period pieces often portray a shining city rising from a sea of picturesque empty land, without a single grain field or cow pasture in sight, but that city would starve to death very quickly in preindustrial times.

Why? Because as Bret Devereaux mentions in his “Lonely Cities” article (https://acoup.blog/2019/07/12/collections-the-lonely-city-part-i-the-ideal-city/), preindustrial cities and towns must have nearby villages (and even smaller towns, if large and prosperous enough!) to grow their food for them.

The settlements around a city will usually be scattered a few miles apart from each other, usually clustered along the roads to the city gates. Those villages and towns at the halfway point between cities (say 10-15 miles) are going to be essential stops for older/sick folks, merchants with cargo, and large groups like noble’s retinues and army forces.

Preindustrial armies and large noble retinues usually can’t make it far past 10-12 miles per day, as denoted in my addition to this post. (https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/739342239113871360/now-for-a-key-aspect-that-many-people-often-ask )

[thegoddesswater]

Teeth!

Teeth: share a snippet that was difficult for you to nail down/required a lot of revisions.

Okay this has been sitting in my asks forever (or at least it feels like forever) And honestly, the scene this is from is probably the second most rewritten scene from Miadhachain Legacy since the story began.

Zaria frowned at the man who’d been brought before her, her expression unchanging as the guards forced him to his knees. He looked up at her, jaw set in that defiant jut that she’d seen on so many who had come before him. How long would the bravado last this time? Certainly not long enough. It never did. He blew his hair out of his face, revealing the purpling bloom of a bruise along his right cheekbone and the ghost of a grin on his lips. “Finally punched my own card, huh?” he asked, his tone far more conversational than Zaria had expected. “Always knew it was probably just a matter of time. Almost surprised it took this long.” Zaria folded her arms over her chest, squaring her shoulders as she surveyed him. This uncultured mutt's cheery act would not unbalance her. She leaned forward, just enough to lock eyes with him. “You crossed a line.” “Yeah. Figured that out when your goons arrived.”

From this ask meme!