Here we are, rowing along a coast. There is not a breath of wind else we'd have the sails set. We're not for speed just now so the rowing is an even rhythm for long use; there's a Hortator keeping the beat. The vessel is that same one I've been aboard of late; the Captain seems to have a secret addiction to mad excursions into less than welcoming waters.
We have begun carrying a compliment of warriors with us; hard troops in maille armed with a variety of weaponry from spears & swords to bows and slings; firearms are kept in the armory and issued only when absolutely necessary. Ammunition in all its parts is getting harder and harder to come by so preserved for real need. In some places it has become the medium of exchange for barter and purchase.
I'm amused as my detached self watches my dream self; the influences of things becomes rather clear when I'm in this state. I'm clothed in a belted gap-sleeved blue-green linen dress with a sheer pleated robe of creamy silk wrapped about it and ritually knotted at the breasts. It is High Summer and the weather is very warm. I am wearing a menat and my face is painted in Egyptian fashion. Dolphin earrings, rings and finger rings, and several glass bracelets complete the gaudier aspect of things. On my head is a simple straw hat held in place with a silk scarf. A chatelaine of simple items is hooked to the belt and a shoulder bag holds my other necessary items.
From the masthead flutters the white banner with the golden dragon...but the shields along the bulwarks sport the dolphin & trident insignia of the troops aboard.
While the influences of my waking pursuits are clear in the clothing and insignia, it stops beyond that for what is around us is no desire of mine. We are beyond the surf line of a coast; ruins are scattered about and it is obvious they extend under the water. Indeed, I can see them through the clear water below us; jumbled and broken and well covered with sea life already. Our ship draws a shallow draft but we keep a wary eye out anyway. We no longer cruise closer to shore; the debased ones have made everyone very cautious.
Other changes include my not being allowed ashore until a landing party has first determined it is safe enough for me to do so. It is an irritant but I haven't any choice in the matter; as a Priestess they've decided I need protecting. In truth my appearance shows at least some acceptance of this state although my detached self bridles a bit. I see the lynxes are all present, as is the hawk; the crew doesn't pay them the slightest mind any longer. I see my kinswoman in her armor and feel a flash of envy. The entire crew has become familiar to me beyond just the friends that are part of it.
Exploration of the coasts continue and each ship that goes out to look around carries a compliment of troops, a cartographer, and a scribe or priest/ess of some sort with them. Sometimes all four. Sometimes there are passengers but not usually on exploratory excursions. Since we are dependent on wind and manpower to make things go these days exploration takes a lot of time, energy and people. It is however, necessary.
I look aft and see the cartographer eying up the shore and sketching madly; the speed with which he can create maps and drawings is astounding but I know that's part of what is expected of them. He has compass and a surveyor's glass nearby. From the masthead and the quarterdeck binoculars scan the shore for any sign of life of any kind. Nothing at all stirs to my eyes, and if that is the same in the eyes of the glasses then it is not a good sign; animals shy from places for a reason.
I gaze at the catapulta in wry amusement. Back to these torsion-powered throwers of large spears in essence, although ballista too can be mounted and they can toss pots of sticky fire. In an earlier time this would have been a powered vessel with automatic weapons in the service of some navy or other. So different now.
The decision is made not to land here and the rowing beat is increased as we angle out for a bit more distance. A fearsome scream of hatred and hunger echoes from the ruins as we do so. The decision was a sound one. On we go...
*****
The willful delusion that makes up current attitudes just leaves me wrung out. As a result I've begun to accelerate the process of separating myself from all of this. I suppose all the stuff I'm doing for reenactment is a kind of escapism but it is also preparedness. I'm more than bothered by assumptions that we'll simply start living at an early 20th century level, or 19th century. We aren't accustomed to anything like those levels of living, not in any real sense. The entire culture surrounding the technology of the time was different...more so the further back one goes. I think 'industrialism' will wind up being a scattered, pocket like thing very localized. Most places won't even have it, more because they don't know how to work with something that isn't electrically or fuel powered. Certainly not on a daily basis.
In earlier times when things went down the tubes our species could move about. Sure there were wars but the populations were smaller and there was a lot of land empty of people. These days we're rather locked up in many ways; any migrations taking place will be ugly affairs as there is no longer a lot of empty land.
This aspect is one reason I like immersion style reenactment; actually living the life as best I can, using the tech and tools available at that time only. That is also a reason I insisted my forge be 18th-19th century at most; no electricity, entirely hand or foot operated tools. Granted I could, if I had the right place, use water, but I can't count on that. I also adapted to using charcoal for a variety of reasons, not least the pollution aspect of coal, but also the renewable aspect of charcoal.
That latter thing is a worry however; the biomass power plants here are being resisted and now there are concerns that there is enough biomatter to fuel them in the first place. There are very valid worries about the complete deforestation of the state as the government/people attempt to preserve things. It nearly was complete at one time in the 19th century. Desperate people do crazy things.
Hold onto your hats.
Bright blessings.
Cyfnos Gwynt /|\
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