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Doctor Who? Don't. Just don't.
It's like you're waiting for the nurse to stick you with a needle and instead she punches you in the stomach.
See you next week, Andy!
_____
As a diversion, here's some more fiction from my Sorrows setting. Not really any rules in this, just some color to give the Citadel atmosphere. (I have worked out most of the rules, so I may be able to organize and offer them soon.)
_____
Harrowell loved the engineering of the Citadel. Though many others found these meetings of the planning council dreadful and boring, sending surrogates in their stead, he saw the demolition and construction as a marvelous puzzle.
The Councilman's chambers were piled high in paper and dust. The huge room was dominated by a long, high table with reams of notes, curling maps and plans and thick books covering its surface, layers deep. The high bookcases that lined the walls stood half-filled with disused texts and rolls of paper. Piles of split-backed books and loose pages moldered into scraps on the floor.
The Citadel had changed so much, and the courtiers so little that most records were forgotten or useless.
Harrowell took his usual place at the table and pushed back the tide of papers that had drifted or settled toward the open space in front of his chair. He swiped the dust away with a handkerchief and rolled out a fresh map of District 18, an area that had been hit in the latest shelling by the enemy. Elise, one of the only others to take an interest in the workings of urban planning sat to his right and gave a prim, wrinkled smile. She was apt; always knew the details of the Citadel's current status, but Harrowell would rather she were a subordinate than a supposed equal. She would talk too much if he didn't interrupt her.
Other courtiers who made up the council drank quietly and played cards.
"We needn't reinforce the conscript housing in that district. It has never had a strong enough population to justify re-opening."
Elise nodded with vigor. "Probably because that district's recruits are slated to join the ranks of Lady Eleana's forces. I expect a poor man would rather walk half-way across the city to get to work. Better that than to be awoken out of bed one night and told to report to the barracks for those brutes she calls generals. Have you seen the attrition reports? I think they might've forgotten that it's the enemy that need killing, not our citizens."
"Were there many fatalities when the shell hit?"
"Well, it was a change in work shifts. Most of the men and women had just returned from labor duties. Children had been dispatched to school-"
Ah-ha! Harrowell smiled. "A large number of the survivors were children? Orphans now?"
"Yes. Most were just kept in the school houses over the night. Some were sent home to relatives or neighbors. Obviously the youngest weren't out at school when the attack took place so-"
"How much of the neighboring block was damaged?"
"One or two collapsed houses. Just superficial damage beyond that. I suppose they were the lucky ones. Their neighbor's homes a smoking ruin, while they just need to sweep the glass away and throw kindling on the fire. It was-"
His smile spread. "That's enough I think, to condemn the other buildings on that block."
"What? But why? I just said it's superficial damage. If you are doubting the report of my investigators, and have some other source of information, I demand you bring such evidence forth-"
"No doubts. But we'll need a full two blocks to house an academy."
"Oh. I see."
Harrowell was lost in his vision; he did not notice the terse response. "The new construction will serve the dual purpose of housing the orphans of that district, while preparing them for conscription when they are of age." It would be a marvelous structure. Multi-tiered training halls, basement barracks, parapeted classrooms to study the enemy from afar. "Perhaps the deaths of family will also serve as greater motivation for their morale as they yearn to strike back against the enemy!"
Elise sighed. "Do you know what the current age of eligibility for conscription is?"
"No," Harrowell cocked an eyebrow.
"It's just as well."
It's like you're waiting for the nurse to stick you with a needle and instead she punches you in the stomach.
See you next week, Andy!
_____
As a diversion, here's some more fiction from my Sorrows setting. Not really any rules in this, just some color to give the Citadel atmosphere. (I have worked out most of the rules, so I may be able to organize and offer them soon.)
_____
Harrowell loved the engineering of the Citadel. Though many others found these meetings of the planning council dreadful and boring, sending surrogates in their stead, he saw the demolition and construction as a marvelous puzzle.
The Councilman's chambers were piled high in paper and dust. The huge room was dominated by a long, high table with reams of notes, curling maps and plans and thick books covering its surface, layers deep. The high bookcases that lined the walls stood half-filled with disused texts and rolls of paper. Piles of split-backed books and loose pages moldered into scraps on the floor.
The Citadel had changed so much, and the courtiers so little that most records were forgotten or useless.
Harrowell took his usual place at the table and pushed back the tide of papers that had drifted or settled toward the open space in front of his chair. He swiped the dust away with a handkerchief and rolled out a fresh map of District 18, an area that had been hit in the latest shelling by the enemy. Elise, one of the only others to take an interest in the workings of urban planning sat to his right and gave a prim, wrinkled smile. She was apt; always knew the details of the Citadel's current status, but Harrowell would rather she were a subordinate than a supposed equal. She would talk too much if he didn't interrupt her.
Other courtiers who made up the council drank quietly and played cards.
"We needn't reinforce the conscript housing in that district. It has never had a strong enough population to justify re-opening."
Elise nodded with vigor. "Probably because that district's recruits are slated to join the ranks of Lady Eleana's forces. I expect a poor man would rather walk half-way across the city to get to work. Better that than to be awoken out of bed one night and told to report to the barracks for those brutes she calls generals. Have you seen the attrition reports? I think they might've forgotten that it's the enemy that need killing, not our citizens."
"Were there many fatalities when the shell hit?"
"Well, it was a change in work shifts. Most of the men and women had just returned from labor duties. Children had been dispatched to school-"
Ah-ha! Harrowell smiled. "A large number of the survivors were children? Orphans now?"
"Yes. Most were just kept in the school houses over the night. Some were sent home to relatives or neighbors. Obviously the youngest weren't out at school when the attack took place so-"
"How much of the neighboring block was damaged?"
"One or two collapsed houses. Just superficial damage beyond that. I suppose they were the lucky ones. Their neighbor's homes a smoking ruin, while they just need to sweep the glass away and throw kindling on the fire. It was-"
His smile spread. "That's enough I think, to condemn the other buildings on that block."
"What? But why? I just said it's superficial damage. If you are doubting the report of my investigators, and have some other source of information, I demand you bring such evidence forth-"
"No doubts. But we'll need a full two blocks to house an academy."
"Oh. I see."
Harrowell was lost in his vision; he did not notice the terse response. "The new construction will serve the dual purpose of housing the orphans of that district, while preparing them for conscription when they are of age." It would be a marvelous structure. Multi-tiered training halls, basement barracks, parapeted classrooms to study the enemy from afar. "Perhaps the deaths of family will also serve as greater motivation for their morale as they yearn to strike back against the enemy!"
Elise sighed. "Do you know what the current age of eligibility for conscription is?"
"No," Harrowell cocked an eyebrow.
"It's just as well."
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