Celendil scribbled vigorously, trying to get every last detail. He looked up for a moment to the player across from him. Both were sitting in ornate chairs of the Elven fashion in front of a large desk. Celendil’s entire office was of that same fashion. Despite having no windows, there was a soft, ambient glow, an achievement of the design by choice of paint and placement of the candlelight. Peter Jackson would have been proud, or at least that’s what Celendil thought the first time he walked in.

“You don’t have to wait for me,” he noted. “This is your time, so use it. We’re getting a lot done today.” He looked backed down.

“Right, I’m sorry,” the other player replied, wiping his recently shed tears. “So, I don’t really know what to do now. I want to tell my wife about it. Do you think I should?”

Without looking up again, Celendil said, “As you know, Kenneth, I can’t decide what you should do, but I can help you think it over. Why do you want to tell her?”

“I don’t know if I want to. I just thought about it.”

“Do you think it would accomplish anything?”

“Maybe,” muttered Kenneth.

“I’d love to hear why.”

“Well,” Kenneth began, “I never told her any of this. I never told her about how my father abused me. Maybe she’ll understand why I’m like this and forgive me.”

Celendil nodded for a few seconds before replying, “Maybe she will, but she might not. Can you accept that?”

“I don’t know. If, umm, if I share that part of me, it feels like…like she should do something besides that.”

“I understand, but she’s already decided to go through with the divorce. She might be comfortable with that decision now.”

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t.”

Celendil shook his head. “As I said, I’m merely pointing out that there’s no set of magic words to bring her back. You had almost three years of marriage to get on relatable terms with Cheryl, and that didn’t happen. That doesn’t mean it can never happen, but winning her back is a different task than how you originally courted her, and if you’re going continue to grow, you need to be prepared for that. We’ve been doing these sessions for close to a year now. One of the things we’ve discussed is how you isolate yourself from painful truths, and this also causes you to isolate yourself from pleasant things that are right in front of you. If you hide from the possibility that she may refuse to take you back, it could lead to much greater disappointment.”

“But I’m not trying to hide from things. That’s why I want to tell her.”

“Yes, and it’s good that you had the idea to be forward and honest about it. But if being honest about the truth of your abuse means denying the truth of her feelings, you’re not really moving forward in that regard. What you think she should do in response to confessing your past is different than what she thinks she should do. Telling her this truth can be a great next step in your life, but it does depend on what your goals and expectations are.”

“What do you mean? It sounds like telling her is a bad idea but also a good idea?” He wiped his face again, still wet from before.

“Exactly. You don’t know how she’s going to react. It may be positive. It may be negative. It may be a positive that becomes a negative. It may also be a negative that becomes a positive. It all depends on how you respond to it. When you met her, you didn’t know she was going to become your wife. When you married her, you didn’t know she was going to become your ex-wife.”

Kenneth recoiled. It was subtle, but Celendil had looked up from his notes, as if expecting this reaction, and saw it. He nodded again and then added, “Have you noticed that you won’t call her your ‘ex-wife’?”

“Yeah. It hurts to say that.”

“It does, but she is your ex-wife now, not your wife anymore. If you’re not comfortable enough to say it, can you be comfortable enough to reunite with her?”

“I’m not sure.”

“That’s why it’s good to think about it. You can win her back and keep her, or you can win her back and lose her all over again. It’s clear to me that you want to keep her, but she is her own person in all of this. She left because she wanted something that you weren’t giving. Maybe she will give you another chance out of sympathy for your pain, but that won’t change why she left you and why she might leave you again.” Celendil let it soak in for a moment. “Basically,” he continued, “my point is that if you tell her about this without making deeper strides toward self-improvement as well, you might not keep her. If you want her back as soon as possible and are okay with the increased risk of losing her again, I won’t tell you not to do it. If telling her is what you truly want, whatever the consequences, it’s the correct decision, and I’ll support you in it.”

“I don’t wanna get her back and lose her all over again. You know I take the idea of marriage very seriously. I don’t think a lot of people do that anymore. That’s why it hurts so much to say ‘ex-wife.’ Everyone else seems to treat it like a rite of passage, but that’s not how I feel. I take it very seriously.”

“Yes, and I think that shows something very kind and sincere about you. I think it’s why Cheryl agreed to marry you in the first place. She saw that in you, just as I see it, but the real question she may ask is: How much are you willing to prove that? You can say you take it seriously, but can you take steps to show it? Will she get to have more intimate conversations with you? Or more sexual intimacy?”

“That’s hard.” Kenneth looked to his left. “I don’t know how to be that kind of man.”

“But you’ve done a lot already. I mean, look at us. Have you told anyone about your abuse with your father before?”

“No.”

“What about your first experience with your high school girlfriend?”

“No, I didn’t tell her about those either.”

“See, you’ve established a kind of intimacy with me, between patient and therapist. You told me about deeply personal things, and you’ve become increasingly comfortable with each conversation. I’ve seen it happen. I don’t have any reason to believe that you’re not also capable of this with Cheryl. The fundamental thing is that you trust me as your therapist. Do you trust her too?”

Kenneth looked back at Celendil. “Yes! Of course I do! She’s never given me a reason not to trust her.”

“But that might be why she left. Obviously we can’t read her mind, but the lack of intimacy probably indicated that you didn’t trust her, and if she was as good to you as you say she was, that probably hurt her quite a bit.”

“You’re right,” Kenneth quivered. He began weeping again, his face in his hands. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“Kenneth, you’re one of my more intelligent patients. I’ve had many throughout my life, and even the smartest among them made honest mistakes. The ones who got better and found happiness were the ones that came to terms with their lives and then made good decisions. I think you can do the same too.”

“Does that mean I should tell her, though?”

“Hmm, we’re coming to the end of our time,” Celendil remarked. “It’s going to be a few more weeks before you see her again, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we have our next session in two weeks. Perhaps you can think over what we discussed today, and then you can decide what you want to do next time?”

“Yeah, I like that.”

“Good.” Celendil made some finishing touches to his notes. “Is there anything else you want us to have in mind for next time?”

“Uhh, no, I don’t think so,” said Kenneth.

“Then we’ll take care of it then.” Celendil rose from his desk. Kenneth followed, and they both made their way to the door. “We got some good stuff done today, and I am very honored that you shared this with me.” He opened the door for Kenneth and then gave him a pat on the shoulder. “I’ll see you in two weeks, okay?”

Kenneth wiped his face dry one more time, smiled, and said, “Okay,” before stepping out.

Celendil gently closed the door behind him and then sauntered back to his desk. A few more ideas popped into his head, as he resumed writing with his quill and paper, adding them to discuss with his patient next time. After a minute or two, he finished and filed them away with his other cases. Then he heard a firm knock at his door.

“Coming,” he said, arranging some things. He walked back to the door and opened it. In the doorway he saw a man, dressed in flowing, white robes and silken, blond hair, and as deep into his character as anyone could be in the Elven Union.

“Deputy Chief Sindar,” Celendil began. “I wasn’t expecting you, please come in.”

“I hope I am not interrupting any pressing work.” he said as he entered. He looked around the elegant, yet sparse room.

“No, I just wrapped up with a patient. What did you need?” Celendil’s hand guided Sindar to the same two seats that he and Kenneth had used just a moment ago.

“I am here to do a spot-check of sorts.” Sindar moved to the chair that Celendil had used earlier and took a seat. Observing this, Celendil proceeded to his desk instead. Besides, it didn’t seem Sindar was looking for a session. “I see you’re still taking patients,” he continued. “I believe I saw him. Gloomy-looking fellow. Didn’t strike me as particularly Elven either.”

“No, he’s not big into the roleplay.”

“I thought not,” hummed Sindar. “Chief Noldor, as you know, is devoted to a highly Elven vision. Is it proper for you to set time aside for subjects who aren’t similarly committed? Does it not interfere with your ministerial duties?”

It was clear to Celendil that this was more than a casual visit. Was the Chief cleaning house so quickly with his return from the war? While this interrogation was unexpected for tonight, he promptly answered, “As Minister of Healing, I set expectations for all of our personnel to maintain strong relationships between patient and caregiver, whatever type of healing it may be. As you know, mental health is my specialty. It keeps me focused on what the mission of healing is, in a way that pure administration cannot. I only keep two patients, one of whom you saw. It’s a small investment of my time that I think has a big reward.”

“Certainly,” noted Sindar. “Many of our brethren come home from war, whose avatars survived but were wounded. What is your vision for these elves?”

“I have worked closely with Minister Giliath. Our conquests in the previous two wars gave us forestland with ample healing herbs. It took some time to work out the logistics, but they are being shipped to our houses of healing and will be ready for the long-term care and recovery their avatars will need. I have a report ready for the next Cabinet meeting, but you can see it now if you like.”

“That’s appreciated but not necessary. Is there anything else worth noting?”

“I monitored the casualty rates closely, and they were unfortunately higher in this conflict. I suspect the Smashers were better prepared than our previous adversaries.”

“You would be correct,” Sindar noted, “but they were vanquished all the same.”

“Of course. Chief Noldor is a talented commander and a noble warrior. Nevertheless, I doubled our staff in light of this. Thankfully we were able to make more use of our highest-level and best qualified healers by adding more nurses and other assistants. Minister Eolthain and I will need to plan the development of a medical school before we can seriously expand our force of healers.”

“How much is mental health part of your vision then?”

“How do you mean, sire?”

Sindar’s torso smoothly perked up, and he turned more directly to Celendil. His face was inscrutable to Celendil’s eye. “Mental health is peculiar among the Elves. We compose lamentations for our grief, rather often. Our passions are strong, yes, but so is our mastery of them. In working with Minister Giliath, I am sure you realize that there is always a limit on resources, and our Chief does not wish for them to be wasted. Many would like the luxury of mental health service, but a luxury it does appear to be.”

Once again, Celendil did not hesitate to answer. “I look at the wisest of the Elves, and they have always welcomed others to their counsel. Elrond and Galadriel were revered rulers who shared their wisdom freely with their guests. Our realm can also allow for the intercourse of our wisdom. The true benefit of therapy is to help us live an examined life, through good counsel. Our Chief takes his name from the Noldor of legend. Imagine the destruction Fëanor and his sons could have avoided, with more introspection.”

Sindar raised his eyebrow. This was perhaps the only hint at his thoughts that he would give. It was a bold statement, certainly, to criticize the namesake of the Chief, and Celendil knew this. “I think the Chief may yet be intrigued as well.”

Celendil had not expected that response. For a moment he wondered if he was about to be sacked, but did Sindar have different intentions? “What would intrigue him?” he asked.

“The Chief believes a member of our government is in need of your therapy. If the Elven state is helped, so too is the whole Union. This would make it worthwhile, in his eyes.”

“Anything for the success of our Cabinet,” said Celendil. I can get you the best I have at my department — ”

“When I said ‘your therapy,’ I meant specifically that you must be the one,” Sindar interjected. “No one else can be trusted with this task.”

“Well, then, who will my patient be? Would it be Giliath or even Eolthain?”

“No, it will be the Chief himself.”

Celendil now found himself without a ready answer. He thought over his words carefully, before saying, “It will be a pleasure and honor to do this.”

“I’m glad you agree,” said Sindar. “This is a condition for you maintain your mental health program. You will take on Chief Noldor as your third patient, with all the same confidentiality that any other would have.”

“Yes, sire.”

“You must also cease to call these acts therapy. ‘Counsel’ is a much better way to describe it, so use that. Until Minister Eolthain succeeds in teaching Elvish to our people, we can at least be more delicate in our use of the Common Tongue. ‘Mental health’ is a term worth replacing too. You know your history well, but the Chief and I are both aware that you do not take the roleplay as seriously as you could. We did not fight three wars so that we could be less Elven, after all, and that includes you.”

“I understand my duty,” Celendil affirmed.

“Good. I’ll let you enjoy the rest of your evening, then. The Union appreciates your great work, Minister.” Sindar rose from his seat.

“It is my pleasure to serve our nation.” Celendil rose from his seat as well. He opened the door to his office for the Deputy Chief, but he did not pat him on the shoulder.

“Goodnight,” was all that Sindar had left to say as he exited, shutting the door himself. Celendil stood still a moment before retreating to his desk. He leaned against it and turned to his right. Against the wall was a pedestal and a silver pan, and next to it a pitcher. He grabbed it and slowly poured water into the pan. As it settled, a sharp reflection could be seen.

Peering into this mirror, Celendil checked his own appearance. He had a smooth face, grey eyes, and a long, dark mane, but minor lines down his cheek indicated his age apart from other players. Any older looking, and he might have been too “Mannish” to make the Cabinet. His hair was also messier than he expected. He had likely fiddled with it throughout the day. It bothered him that the Deputy Chief had seen this, but at least the meeting didn’t end in disaster. He’d need to work on that habit, however.

He returned to his desk and slumped in his chair. He ran his hand across his hair before catching himself. Instead, he sat up, nodded, and said, “At least I get to have a third patient now.” Then he reclined in his seat as best he could, propped his legs on his desk, and opened his menu screen. Navigating to the LOG OUT option, he returned to reality.

He simply didn’t want to answer the door again.

Assurances (Part Two) was originally published in cosgrrrl on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Victory! The capital city rejoiced at the news. The Elven Union had accepted the formal surrender of the Smash Republic, with its government dissolved and territory now under occupation. The triumphant army was welcomed with a lavish parade through the streets of town, with the Chief of State, Arronder Noldor, leading the procession. He was the first and only Chief in the Union’s current history to lead armies personally in battle, and despite the risks, it had paid off nicely. People cheered and chanted, “Long live democracy!” as Noldor strode with his troops back to their quarters in the city, before returning to the Chief’s Mansion himself.

In the nine-year history of Mercuria, this had proved to be one of its largest wars. Unlike many of the others, it was also widely discussed in the normal world, as though the conflict had concerned actual nations. Observers were, perhaps, not wrong to view it this way. Having achieved global popularity, there were an estimated forty million regular players of Mercuria, each carving out something for themselves in this virtual reality.

Absent from this celebratory occasion and discussion was Minister Eolthain, a newly appointed member of the Cabinet. He was young, only about twenty-five years of age, but he was busy at his new job already, setting his first policies as head of the Ministry of Lore and Wisdom, which some might translate as “Department of Education.” Rather than partake in the merriment, Eolthain wished to make a good impression on his new boss, for he had not met Noldor before, and surely the Chief was expecting nothing but good news going forward, with the Union’s greatest enemy finally subdued.

His appointment was made on the recommendation of his party’s leadership, which Noldor had signed while still on a campaign against the Smashers. When he would return to civilian leadership the next day, Eolthain’s diligence would be sure to prove that he was fit for the job.

This meant that Eolthain had some appointments of his own to make. Some of his overtime labor could also be attributed to necessity, as qualified candidates for the position of his secretary had proved scarce in his first three weeks. He had finally found someone for the role, a Mr. Randir, who was arriving for his first day at this very moment. It was here in Eolthain’s office, away from all the hoots and hollers that greeted the Elven conquerors, that Mr. Randir would meet his own new boss.

“Come in,” replied Eolthain, to the knock at his door, which was already wide open. In walked Mr. Randir, slowly and shyly. “I trust you’re my new secretary?”

“Yes, sir, that would be me,” said Mr. Randir.

“Great.” Eolthain rose from his desk and shook his hand. Seeing him, Eolthain could tell that he was much younger than his secretary, with some early streaks of grey in his auburn hair. Nevertheless, there were not many young people seeking a role like this in Mercuria. Meanwhile, Mr. Randir saw a modest but neatly dressed young man. Eolthain’s gown was well made but lacked intricacies or any kind of flair. His hair was neatly brushed and tied back, but it was not braided.

“Your desk is over here,” Eolthain resumed, pointing to the corner near the door “I already have some tasks laid out for you. The first thing I need is my itinerary for next week.” Both men took their seats and began working.

“I’m glad that you still managed to arrive, despite the party and stuff outside,” Eolthain continued.

“Well, I take work seriously.”

“I hope you can talk and work.”

“I think I can.”

“Then I guess ER was doing its job. So tell me, what brought you here?”

“Well, my brother and nephew both like to play Mercuria. With a job here, I can fund some of our hobbies on the weekends.”

“It’s funny how a game has become actual work for some of us.”

Mr. Randir smiled. “Yes, it’s a bit odd,” he began, “but then most of the classic MMORPGs back in the day had a lot of grind to them. At least here it feels like work that I want to do.” He ruffled through some documents. “I take it Cabinet meetings get priority?”

“Yes.”

“Right.” Mr. Randir paused. “So, why do you take your job seriously?”

Eolthain looked up and set down his quill. “I was a public policy major. Graduated a few years ago, but apparently, nobody cares about that major or even my degree. Had to spend a year delivering pizzas, and then self-driving cars and unmanned drones put an end to that. But I’d already played Mercuria a bit and saw the potential to put my education to work here. Since people trade real money for things in the game now, I can actually pay my bills by playing full-time as a Minister. It may be a virtual world, with a medieval setting,” he said as he tapped his wooden desk, “but most of the skills I learned in school still apply.” Eolthain then picked up his quill and began filling out forms again.

“Yeah, the stipend I get for this certainly helps, and it does feel like a normal job. I guess it’s not that surprising that CNN was talking about the end of the war this morning.”

“Oh, were they?”

“Yeah, like it was an actual war that had ended, the way they talked about it. I guess if the jobs feel pretty real to us, the wars would too, especially since dying in the game does have consequences.”

“This is another reason why I like Mercuria, to get away from that bullshit. There’s just something cringe-worthy about CNN discussing our war with the Smashers like that.”

“Well, I thought they had a lot of interesting stuff to say.”

Eolthain cocked his head. “Like what?”

Mr. Randir paused and thought for a moment. “Well, I think they have a point that this was pretty significant in gaming history. There were an estimated 2 million people involved in this war. That’s a pretty large scale.”

“That’s a good point.”

“A bunch of experts were also talking about how this could serve as a case study for geopolitics in the real world.”

“I guess, but how?”

Mr. Randir paused again. “I guess, I’m not sure.”

“Well, I think it could be,” Eolthain began.

“Oh?”

“Yes, but I doubt anyone that CNN gives airtime to would have a good take on it.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it’s CNN.” Eolthain rolled his eyes and set down his quill once more. “They don’t even know that the Elven Union isn’t actually a bunch of elves. There are only human characters in this game. We just call ourselves elves. Everyone who actually plays Mercuria knows that, but CNN doesn’t. If there’s anything to be learned from the war, CNN isn’t about to teach it.” Eolthain then sighed and resumed his work.

“One of the people had a good point about something, though.”

“What was that?” Eolthain asked, eyebrow raised.

“Usually in real life, democracies don’t fight each other. That’s, like, almost a given in history. In Mercuria, the Union actively attacked the other major, democratic nations, like the Smash Republic. We’re the only one left, but we haven’t fought any of the nations that have chosen to stick to the medieval style and use monarchy as their system.”

“This is why the news outlets won’t have anything useful to say. It’s really not that weird that the Elven Union attacked democratic nations in Mercuria, ’cause we’re not a democracy.”

Mr. Randir grew silent and gave Eolthain a grim stare. He seemed a child who had just learned the truth about Santa Claus. “What do you mean we aren’t a democracy?” he asked.

Eolthain did not answer right away. “You’ve finished my itinerary, haven’t you?” he delayed.

“Yes, sir.”

“While in conversation, too. Very efficient. Again, I can see ER was doing its job. I get the feeling you think the files on that shelf could be better arranged, though?”

“Yes.”

“Right. You can see it’s a mess. I’ve been working on memorized piles, and you’ve been glancing at them this whole time. Go ahead and set up a new system for those documents.”

Mr. Randir rose and moved to the shelves, which had, indeed, fallen into disorder in the weeks Eolthain had spent without a secretary. The question still loomed in the air. As he worked, Mr. Randir peeked over his shoulder at Eolthain.

“So your attention’s on me now,” Eolthain said with a smile. “You really think the Elven Union is a democracy?”

“There’s an election in a week. Why have that, if we aren’t a democracy?”

“Yes, we do have elections. Which party are you voting for?” Again, this was a delay.

“The Eldar Party.”

“I would have guessed. You wore your elven ears to work, or are those surgical?”

“Yep, I had the procedure.” Mr. Randir ran a finger along the crest of his ear.

“Funny how despite being mostly in the Middle Ages, some Mercurians have worked on things like that. The Eldar Party likes their tradition, after all. They like their uniformity and roleplay. They’re the faction that wants me to establish programs to teach Sindarin and Quenya. Perhaps you were hoping you could nudge me in the right direction by working here.”

“It’d be a nice bonus.”

“So why the Eldar, Mr. Randir?”

“I think you already figured it out, sir.”

“Yes, but why not the Fëanorean Party? Sure, they’re more focused on industry, but they like tradition too. How about Lothlórien? They’re a bit kooky, but they like to dress up too, and their trade deals got us access to silk. Those proper, elven robes can’t be made from flax, you know.”

“I think I’ve decided on Eldar for this election, sir.”

“Oh, I’m not trying to get you to change sides,” Eolthain interjected. “But doesn’t it seem off that we only have three political parties, and all of them are conservative?”

Mr. Randir fumbled his face but could think of nothing to say.

“Doesn’t it also seem off that our Chief of State isn’t a member of any of them? I think he’s always officially been an independent, but he’s pretty conservative too.”

“What are you saying?”

Once again, Eolthain holstered his quill. Mr. Randir could work and talk, he thought, but he was a stiff conversation. This next bit probably wasn’t going to feel any more casual. “I’m saying this isn’t an accident. The parliament doesn’t actually govern. It’s entirely beholden to the executive, which includes you and me. I’m a Minister, and you’re a Minister’s secretary. Your job has more clout than you probably thought it did.”

Mr. Randir turned away from the shelves and thought about everything that was said. Finally, he asked, “So if we aren’t a democracy, what are we?”

“A dictatorship, Mr. Randir.”

“So who’s the dictator?”

“Our boss, Arronder Noldor, Chief of State and head of the executive. He’s going to be here tomorrow, to meet us for the first time. We’d better make sure we get plenty of work done.” Eolthain picked up his quill and continued writing.

“So, umm…” Mr. Randir muttered.

“Yes?”

“How do you feel about working for a dictator that…that invaded and destroyed the democratic nations around us?”

“You know, I’m a pretty liberal guy myself, but I’m strangely okay with it.”

Mr. Randir asked no more questions and said nothing further. While Eolthain wished to chat some more as he worked, he figured that Mr. Randir needed some silence to process everything.

The day continued with little more conversation. As it got late, Eolthain could see that much progress had been made. The office was neater. Many key appointments were booked. Even better, his plans for the Ministry of Lore and Wisdom were finalized and ready to his satisfaction, for Noldor to see the next day. Having accomplished that, he dismissed Mr. Randir and told him to arrive early the next day, so that they could meet the Chief without issue.

After Mr. Randir left, Eolthain grabbed his coat and stepped out, locking the door behind him. He hailed a cab, which briskly brought him to his flat, occupied mostly by members of the government and partisan insiders. The overall building was the first example of what might be considered elven architecture, with an ornate, curved structure that seemed to blend into the garden around it. Its development had been supported by the loot and labor procured from Noldor’s first war, against the Spicy Federation.

The same went for many of the buildings in that neighborhood, appearing as if from the set of a film, drawing heavily from the soft lines and natural themes in the wood and stone of the paths and edifices. Most of the city, however, retained a general, medieval appearance.

After dismounting the carriage and paying the driver, Eolthain entered his flat. The interior was much like the exterior, thorough and in character. Elegant, slender trees (or carvings in the walls to replicate them) appeared to make up the beams of the structure. The walls seemed to be covered in a smooth bark, painted a delicate green. The furniture was all handmade, with curious, spiraling designs whittled into it.

Eolthain ignored most of this scenery — by now the norm for him — and proceeded to his bed, where he laid down, opened his menu, and logged out. In an instant, his eyes were open, and he was back in his real apartment, wearing his VR helmet. Unlike in Mercuria, this was nothing fancy. The wallpaper was old and peeled. Aside from a bed and a futon, it was nearly empty.

He rolled out of bed and, with just a white tee and black jeans, headed outside. He needed to eat something, and he had not had a good burger in a while. Unfortunately, nobody makes burgers in Mercuria, and eating them there would not feed a person for real. VR could only imitate life so much.

He walked along the road, trying to make his way into town. He knew he also needed to move around and could not simply drive. Mercuria could not come at the expense of his physical health, after all. Eolthain hoped he could still rent somewhere closer, after saving up enough, if only to make a stroll less time-consuming.

The road he took went up a hill, one that Eolthain knew well. As he reached the top, the view revealed the Potomac River and, on the other side, Washington. Gazing at the city, he puzzled, how did it never find use in him and his education, when the capital of the Elven Union did? If he got an offer from someone over there, would he even take it now?

He arrived at his usual burger place. Looking around, he noticed it had been renovated substantially. Perhaps he was spending too much time in the game. He sat at a table and ordered the Flaming Devil Burger.

He fiddled with his ear, feeling the cartilage, and wondered if he should wear his elven ears for Noldor’s visit tomorrow.

Assurances (Part One) was originally published in cosgrrrl on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Applying real principles to fictional environments

Minecraft is a game about building. More than that, it’s a game to see what is possible to build.

There’s the stuff that’s directly craftable, and the challenge to make the stuff with the rarest components, to travel and win the necessary treasure. Then there’s the other kind of building: the non-craftable. This is basically manipulating the properties of blocks to devise what are novel inventions in that world, to transcend the limits of the crafting table.

Then there is the third level, to test what is organizationally possible. This is systems building, and the systems will depend on what people can build through crafting and non-crafting. People like larger servers. People like Minecraft when it has the benefits of community and labor at scale.

So much of Minecraft poses common questions such as, “How would you construct a calculator in there?” These uncommon questions are no less fascinating, however. What would we do with such a calculator or any similar kind of complex machinery in the game? What call to higher being would be served with such developments? What feats might Minecrafters be able to share with the world?

One way that we can imagine this would be to look at the context of a large-scale war, where the combative and non-combative elements of Minecraft could be utilized and innovated to their most clever and productive ends. Necessity is the mother of invention, after all. World War II provides a useful example, where entire nations became machines for a singular goal. This will be the example we use to flesh out the greater possibilities of Minecraft.

Since it is a scenario too large to replicate in actual gameplay, we can’t make a YouTube video showing it off, like when someone invents a calculator in the game and makes a video about it.

Thus, we have to write it. Today, we will start with a narrow focus, by examining the context in which the Germans would have conducted blitzkrieg through France.

A quick overview of the concept known as Blitzkrieg, and why it matters

From 1939 to 1943, the army of Hitler’s Third Reich toppled several of Europe’s nations with a method of warfare understood in history as blitzkrieg. Blitzkrieg, however, was not actually a formal concept among officers in the German military, just a term applied to what occurred after outside observers noted the speed by which the Germans won campaigns, compared to the long, drawn out, attritional type of warfare in the First World War.

As an informal term, it has served to summarize a set of disciplines that were distinct to the German military in 1939, which the Allies had to learn for themselves before they were able to turn the tides and achieve victory.

Such principles include:

• Fighting in a context of total war
• Emphasizing maneuver over attrition
• Utilizing smaller forces that have better training
• Achieving quick victory with concentrated assaults on weak points

These features are not insignificant. While many still debate the ethics of using medical facts that the Nazis discovered through human experiments at Auschwitz, nobody debates the ethics of using military facts that Nazis pioneered during the conquest of those they considered sub-human. We just use them. For example, in the Persian Gulf War, the American armored assault into Iraq that cut off enemy forces positioned in Kuwait was straight out of the Nazi playbook (as we will see in a bit).

The organizational methods are therefore tried and true in the real world, but what about in a Minecraft version of the world? If we look at World War II (specifically the Western Front at the start of the war) and imagine it happening in this context, we can wonder exactly what the Germans might have done with the tools available to them in 1940 and how they would have translated the rules and mechanics of Minecraft into a style of warfare that they could understand.

This is actually possible within Minecraft as it currently exists. Accepting that one block in the game is equal to one square meter, a single file can store a surface area equal to five times that of the Earth. This has actually been a feature of the game since its beginning, even though no server has ever been that large. Thus, it is possible to have a true simulation of World War II, in that it spans the whole planet. Again, for right now, we are just going to focus on Western Europe.

Additionally, we are only going to focus on a Minecraft version of our world and not trouble over other dimensions, such as the Nether or the End, so any items that depend on access to them will not be part of the calculations. Just to make things a little easier, we are going to borrow some ideas from Minecraft: Story Mode, namely, that everyone can simply talk to one another in close proximity and that death is permanent.

With that out of the way, the main questions to ask are:

1. In Minecraft, would the Germans have launched an offensive through the Allied center with a breakthrough at Sedan, France (as they successfully did in the spring of 1940)?
2. Would they have then pushed all the way to the English channel to cut off and destroy Allied forces in the Low Countries, before penetrating into the heart of France, thereby flanking the forces of the Maginot Line?

By using this blitzkrieg operation as a baseline, we can begin to imagine what would happen in a Minecraft context and ask: Where would it diverge, and where would it be similar?

Combat options

Let us look at the tools both sides would have had. Combat on land would take three basic shapes:

• Infantry (on foot)
• Cavalry (on horseback)
• Artillery (TNT cannons)

This makes it not unlike the land forces of actual militaries, even those of World War II Europe. Let us analyze what each type could do.

Infantry

Infantry could be all-purpose fighters, but more often they would form lines of defense, fortifying in something akin to trenches or in walled areas built in strategic locations. From there, they could lay down arrow fire or perform other forms of disruption. For example, lava and water could be dumped to block or disrupt movement, possibly inflicting harm. The same could be true of sand and gravel for suffocation. General mining operations could be conducted to disrupt forces on the surface.

Because they cannot move quickly, they would not be great for most offensive operations. Rather, they would be better served by following up the assaulting force and establishing control of the area, while the assaulting force is able to strike elsewhere.

Bows and arrows would be the preferred weapon — along with crossbows that launch fireworks — with shots fired from cover. Swords would be weapons of last resort and ideally not used. Soldiers could deploy “grenades” by rigging small cannons that propel TNT into a battlefield. They could even use TNT to place landmines and detonate them when needed.

Cavalry

Cavalry would function like the armored units of this war (thereby providing the “blitz” of any blitzkrieg). Some of this is supported by the fact that the horse’s own health and armor actually contribute some level of protection in combat, like the plating of a tank. With riders that use enchanted bows or fireworks, their shots could offer similar threats as the rounds that tanks fire. In terms of logistics, horses even surpass the capabilities of tanks. The fastest tanks of World War II could reach a top speed of 24 mph, while the fastest horses reached speeds of about 35 mph in the game, potentially allowing them to conduct a blitzkrieg even more rapidly than the real German panzers did.

Like tanks, horses can cross most terrain features. Unlike tanks, they would not need to refuel, and they only require one person to operate, who could also “repair” their horse by feeding it. This would make them very handy for long-term operations. Since speed and keeping unit cohesion is important, the fastest horses (the ones that can travel at 35 mph) would need to be acquired by the military from the general population, so that all troops could be at a standard. The slower horses would have be used for other purposes, such as local trade and possibly supplying troops.

Artillery

TNT cannons have been possible in Minecraft for years. With the features available in the current version of the game, they are much easier to build and more effective. A recent example seen in this video shows that a round can be launched over distance of about 2500 blocks, which is a little over 1.5 miles. This means that artillery could provide bombardments from tactical distances, much like in real warfare, with a high degree of accuracy. By knowing the exact distance and elevation of a target, the force of each shot could be modified for whatever the standard cannon design is. All the artillery crews would need at that point is a good supply of explosives and the ability to do math.

The main drawback is that these cannons can only fire along a straight line of blocks and cannot pivot or rotate, like artillery guns in real wars. They would have to be constructed directly North, East, South, or West of targets, meaning that they would be relatively easy to locate (by enemies) through process of elimination. TNT also does not have a deadly radius that is anything close to that of an actual artillery round, so they would only be effective against stationary targets. This means that they would probably help very little in a dynamic battle, but this does not make them worthless.

Artillery would likely be most effective in the initiation of assaults on specifically identified locations that needed to be breached or seized. A general rain of TNT by a few guns placed a couple of miles away could proceed for a few minutes, destroying whatever they could hit. With this done, the main attacking force in the area could fall upon the disrupted foes, while the artillery crew relocates.

Dogs

It’s probably useful to discuss the role of dogs in combat. Most soldiers would probably enter the war with several at first, and they would have an easy time keeping up, wherever armies moved. They could play a major role when combat becomes close-quarters, but large numbers of them would make easy targets for artillery, grenades, and even for arrows. Moreover, unlike horses and similarly useful mobs, they are tied to their owners, meaning that individuals would have to maintain their packs and keep them healthy and fed. Since dogs are more fragile than horses and cannot be armored, casualties would be high.

Furthermore, it’s not obvious that players would always have easy access to the meat necessary to maintain large packs, both for breeding and healing, so the role of dogs would probably decline over time.

The roles they could probably serve most consistently over time is to assist in combat in fortified areas or to form a guard force for artillery crews while setting up or firing.

Navies and Air Forces

Because most vehicles that can be crafted are very simple, operations over the water and air would be limited in a Minecraft version of the world. Boats are easy to build and use, but they can only fit two players total. Complex crafts, such as battleships or submarines, would thus not be a feature of this would. Naval encounters would be simplistic and more reminiscent of pre-modern conflicts. Long voyages may run the risk of encountering hostile mobs or being hit by lightning during storms. Unless there were a way to know coordinates, the lack of terrain features or constellations would make precise navigation impractical.

Aircraft do not properly exist in Minecraft, but contraptions that utilize pistons and slime and exploit the physics of the game allow for slow-moving flying machines. One YouTuber demonstrated that bomber planes could be built with little difficulty and drop a decent payload over an area. Another has shown how a glitch can be used to duplicate TNT during a bombing raid. The latter of these is potentially quite deadly because they would never stop and do not even need someone to man them. They could go on an endless flight of destruction into the enemy nation.

To be clear, these machines would not become the main method of warfare. Because they move extremely slowly and cannot go as high as real aircraft, nations would likely have little trouble intercepting and destroying them. Sky-barriers could even be set up along the frontier to catch any that are released sporadically and trap them. At worst, the first few miles of national territory near a border would be very unsafe. Also, since Mojang has usually tried to patch glitches like these, let us also assume that this is a version of Minecraft with such a patch. Still, non-glitch bombers could pose a viable way to batter a city or stronghold, for a land force to overrun.

For these reasons, the more traditional, land-oriented approaches to warfare would still be the dominant methods.

Intelligence and Information

How would large armies that span hundreds of miles coordinate? How would they navigate to where they needed to go? Minecraft is not without options.

Communication

Telegraphs could be developed, using redstone signals over a long distance. While not as ideal as radio broadcasts, they would still get information over great distances instantaneously. Someone on the other end would just need to know Morse Code or be able to build a machine that could decode it for someone to transcribe. This process would still take some time. It would even be possible for telegrams to be sent to multiple areas at once, meaning that a complex set of orders could be sent to separate units, such that they would be able to coordinate efforts.

Those who have seen The Imitation Game may wonder whether or not messages could be encoded, through something like the Enigma Machine. To some extent, this kind stuff is possible. One player claimed to have built this very machine in 2016. It stands to reason that some version of this could be constructed for actual use. Other players claim to have built Turing Machines, which can decode Enigma messages, but these seem to be based on command blocks (which are not part of the normal game) or require an inordinate amount of time to process.

For the purposes of blitzkrieg and conveying orders all the way from Berlin to the front, this is very possible. Once received, orders could be written down with a Book and Quill, each of which can store over 12,000 characters, meaning that extensive information could be physically presented to subordinates with ease, after transmission.

Mapping

Maps are tricky. They are easy to make, chart, and copy. They can also have compasses built into them to show the player’s location, like a constant GPS. The problem is that they do not ever get too large. The widest zoom currently only covers about 1.2 square miles of land, hardly enough to show the terrain involved in a massive operation at the level of blitzkrieg. Some of these maps could be laid on adjacent item frames on a wall, to widen the view a bit more, but even this would be limited and would take up a lot of space, meaning that only a command headquarters could make use of this.

That said, several of these maps would probably exist for all of Europe before the conflict, and governments would probably have them stored. The key would be to produce them quickly and to send them out to units that would need them in a timely manner. Commanders could carry several of them for reference, to determine their exact location at a given moment.

In addition, landmarks and local signage would probably also exist and could be used by maneuvering forces to navigate the terrain. Make no mistake; this would not be unusual. Units have gotten lost and turned around many times in history, while still ultimately prevailing. It is not obvious that uncertainty factors such as these would make a large-scale operation insurmountable, so long as competent unit commanders were maintaining awareness.

Auftragstaktik

In German military theory is a term called Auftragstaktik, which is a system of giving orders and assigning missions that is concise but general. It gives direct instructions that accomplish basic goals and allows leaders down the chain of command to fill in the blanks of the plan with their creativity and their more localized view of the situation. Where there is uncertainty or limits on the information that can be delivered en masse, the Germans would probably thrive in this context more readily than the other Europeans, as this defined the nature of their leadership structures at the time better than it did for other nations.

The Blitz

For rest of this scenario, we can make some easy assumptions about the Europeans. We can assume that World War I would have gone mostly the same and that it would have informed decisions about the war to come. For example, maybe horses, like tanks, were a late addition to the war, as if the game had been updated. We can probably also assume a general scenario where the Allies enjoy an advantage in numbers and quality of weapons. The success of Nazi Germany will depend on prevailing in the operational art of war, through blitzkrieg.

The Layout

The Allies and Germans will have dense fortifications along the Franco-German border (the Maginot and Siegfried Lines). A head-on attack here is out of the question, so the Allies will expect some kind of attack to bypass this area, through the Low Counties (The Netherlands, Belgium, and Luxembourg), as the Germans did in World War I. Because they are focused on thinking in terms of that war, their cavalry units will not form whole divisions but instead will be attached to infantry divisions to provide support, along vast lines of defense. The best troops and materiel will be placed in reserve formations, ready to respond to the main attack. The Germans have to figure out where this will be and how they will be able to encounter the least resistance.

Crucial is the fact that the Allies have better equipment (which might be realized in terms of having more diamond or better enchantments) and are not reeling from the damage of a previous campaign, such as the German invasion of Poland. This means the Germany’s path to victory is solely one of a better imagined and better executed military operation.

The Germans will need to organize their faster horses into cavalry divisions, which can advance through regions at the speed of the horses and not be limited by sluggish infantry. The Allied tendency to use cavalry as infantry support means that there are not unit-level movements that happen at the speed of a horse. The Germans can exploit this and, even with frailer horses, can penetrate deep into enemy territory. They can then surround and cut off enemy units from supply/communication lines, or they could make a straight dive for civilian centers, maybe even Paris itself.

The Winning Move

The main adherent to rapid movement will be river systems. Some of these rivers would stand to be hundreds of blocks wide and quite deep, slowing down travel by horse quite a bit. Boats and leads could be used, but if such a force is accompanied by dogs, mining the boats to pick them back up could result in dogs being hit and fights provoked. Leaving the boats there and placing new ones at the next crossing would mean that many dogs would stay in those boats and get left behind, while also leaving evidence of the invasionary force. Moreover, the crossing would still be much slower, and the forces would be vulnerable while crossing and moving more slowly, especially while landing on the other shore.

Bridge crossings would offer much more convenience, as would avoiding rivers as much as possible. This means that open plains would be desirable. Two targets of the Germans, the Belgian town of Gembloux and the French town of Sedan, offered crossings that gave way to long stretches of open plains. Sedan ended up being the location of the main attack by the Germans in the real World War II. It stands to reason that an attack through the Ardennes into Sedan would offer similar benefits.

The real question is whether or not a feint in the North to lure up Allied units would be in order, so that the main attack could cut South of them and block of their path of escape and access to supplies. There is some merit to this, but I suspect, in this case, a feint in the Low Countries would have the benefit of pulling away the reserve forces and creating a direct pathway to Paris. It is not yet obvious how dire being cut off from supplies in the course of a single military operation would be, since fuel and food needs are not quite as strict in many respects, so trapping these forces in the North might not be the best approach.

For these same reasons, as well the 40% higher top speed of horses compared to the fastest of the German panzers, cavalry divisions could advance almost unimpeded, if the Allies failed to intercept them. The slower rate of communication also means that the Allies would fail to adjust properly to a highly dynamic situation and may resort to panic. Since Paris would be of key political importance and be a major economic center, its loss would be difficult to tolerate. It would lead to the fall of France.

A breakthrough at Sedan, supported by a large artillery bombardment, the deployment of “bomber planes,” and possible mining attacks, would open the way to Paris. Artillery and bomber crews could pack up and follow, to set up for future assaults as needed and to threaten Paris and other key areas with destruction. A surrender could be forced, as the civilian population is endangered.

Infantry units that follow the breakthrough could encircle the Maginot Line and cover the rear of the advancing columns of cavalry. They could also establish redstone lines with Berlin, so that they could better understand the situation and issue new orders. Isolating forces in the Low Countries would deprive them of such a line of communication. Still, knocking out Paris and the leadership it provides would be even better.

If we assume surrender would not occur, if the French still had hope, an offensive to the North after occupying Paris would be in order. With communication lines to Paris cut, it is likely that Allied units in the Low Countries would be caught off guard. Additionally, Benito Mussolini would probably see his opportunity and invade France from the Southeast.

At this point, the collapse of the French government and army is a given, and the surrender would be likely. Even escaping across the English channel, the tens of thousands of Allied troops would be too disorganized to land elsewhere and launch an attack in coordination with military forces that remained on land. The Germans would have all of the initiative and enjoy a great victory (but a tragic one, no less, since we also know what they did afterward).

So that there you have it! That is how the Germans would have done it, if the world were like Minecraft. Do you disagree? If there a tactic or logistical approach I overlooked, let us know by replying below!

How Would Blitzkrieg in Minecraft Look? was originally published in cosgrrrl on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

What “A New Hope” — aka the original film — got right

The first entry in the Star Wars franchise, Episode IV: A New Hope, broke ground in 1977 on several levels and is generally accepted as one of the greatest cinematic achievements of all time. While most of the attention goes to the narrative, the special effects, and the characters, there are other (more subtle) elements of the film that contribute to its enduring, high quality. As we are presently concerned, we observe this in its depiction of warfare, as seen in the third act of the film during the Battle of Yavin.

While I typically discuss political matters, I do have some background in the military which helps to inform my analysis of this battle. I was a member of the National Guard and was an Army cadet during college. I not only learned a lot of the basics of the enlisted man, but I learned some of the higher doctrine and the aspects of operational planning that is relevant to officers. I have also engaged in my my own private studying of military history for years now. As a result, I can see a lot in the Battle of Yavin that other movies with great battle scenes tend to miss. Let’s discuss those.

The Briefing

Right before the battle, the Rebel commander explains to all the pilots what the situation is and the plan to destroy the Death Star. Here, we see the justification for the Rebel stratagem. With the analysis of the Death Star’s plans and other intelligence, they have determined that the Imperials are not worried about small fighters against a moon-sized, state-of-the-art space station with the power to destroy planets. Consequently, they are unlikely to react with their full force, which will make them vulnerable.

Moreover, the Rebels realize that the Death Star is specifically designed for large battles with major spacecrafts, so they are denying the Imperials the kind of battle that they intend to fight with the Death Star. This is a critical step that any commander needs to take. For example, in the the Battle of Gaugamela (Oct. 1, 331 BCE) between Persia and Macedon, Darius fought Alexander on a field that he had cleared out, so that it would be level and ideal for his chariot assaults. Alexander responded by extending his line into terrain with thicker brush, denying Darius the kind of fight that suited his forces. This gave Alexander, despite being heavily outnumbered, an advantage that allowed him to win. The Rebels are using the same logic here.

More puzzling is their instruction that the pilots will have to fly down the trench, parallel to the surface of the Death Star, to fire their proton torpedoes into the exposed exhaust port. While the Rebels might have had good reasons for insisting on this approach, these reasons are not explained like the general idea of sending only small crafts is.

Left out of the brief but proved in the subsequent scenes is the actual plan: Gold Squadron will attempt the trench run to destroy the Death Star, while Red Squadron (Luke Skywalker’s unit) will engage with the fighters and turret defenses and provide a distraction. Overall, this is not a bad plan. The units have specifics tasks in a manner that supports the other’s, allowing the overall operation to be coherent and actionable.

The Battle Begins

As the pilots approach the Death Star, there are several bits that stand out which give the battle a more believable, military feel. We see it with the pilots all reporting in, confirming that their communications and crafts are working and that they had the courage not to fly their crafts away from the battle, giving the squadron leaders an accurate assessment of what their options are. We also see it with the radio discipline. Wedge Antilles, one of the pilots, remarks as they approach the Death Star, “Look at the size of that thing,” to which Red Leader retorts, “Cut the chatter.” Lines like these, from people who are not the main characters, add that extra level of immersion to the battle scenario. The radio system is a tool to win the battle, after all, and unhelpful information and side conversations detract from that. Red Leader’s instruction to Wedge is the kind of mission-first stinginess that I would expect from the actual military.

Soon, Red Squadron begins engaging with the tower defenses on the surface of the Death Star. As the Rebel commanders determined, these towers have trouble hitting the smaller crafts, showing that their plan has some merit to it. The Imperials respond to their tactics accordingly; they deploy some of their own squadrons. We see, however, even when accounting for the limits of what George Lucas had in his budget for the film, that they do not send very many.

Many fans have criticized the Imperials for under-committing in their response, but remember, they do not actually believe it is possible for the Rebels to destroy the Death Star. In their minds, they are sending out a minimally necessary force to deal with what is merely a nuisance. In the real military, they teach unit leaders not to utilize more personnel and resources than is necessary for the completion of a mission, as waste over time can lose the war. If the Imperials are not aware of the severity of the threat, their light and economical reaction is not without reason. Again, the Rebels seem to be betting on the Imperials’ misapprehension.

As the Imperial fighters enter the scene to intercept the Rebel pilots, Rebel Command informs both Red and Gold Squadrons of the changing situation. Star Wars is known for its highly quotable script, and this leads to what I think is a hidden gem in the dialogue, which is sadly overshadowed by more prominent lines. When Command tells the Rebels that Imperial fighters are approaching, Luke responds, “My scope’s negative! I don’t see anything.” Red Leader then pointedly tells him, “Pick up your visual scanning!”

Some fans have expressed their distaste for this line, believing it to be a silly way to tell Luke to use his eyes instead of his radar, just to make it sound “spacey.” They would be wrong. The real military frequently uses odd and formal labels for seemingly mundane tasks and situations. I can imagine a pilot academy in the Star Wars Galaxy giving a lesson in class about different ways to spot the enemy, explaining that good pilots use both radar scanning and visual scanning and that both are needed to give you a sharp understanding of the tactical situation. I can imagine this because I received lectures as a cadet that were just like this. Red Leader’s line is the natural result of such a commitment to military doctrine by officers.

To the continuing credit of the scene as part of a greater work of art, believable military references like this are actively used to develop the general narrative of Luke Skywalker. Throughout the film, we see that Luke is a young man with a lot of potential but little development, having been confined to his moisture farm for his entire (simple) life. He speaks at the beginning about wanting to go to the academy and join the Rebellion, so this means that, unlike me, he was never a cadet, and until that day, he might well have never been in a fight in his life. He might be a talented pilot who can fly a spacecraft well, but he apparently has never had to worry about someone else shooting at him in the process. He is only there because the Rebellion needs every man in a cockpit that they can get on such short notice. Thus, this also shows just how desperate they are, that a veteran like Red Leader is having to teach Luke the basics of dogfighting in the middle of an important battle.

The Trench Run

The fighters engage, and Red Squadron takes some hits while downing some Imperial pilots themselves. It is a tense moment, but it seems to fit into the plan that the Rebels adopted: Red Squadron distracts while Gold Squadron attacks the exposed exhaust port. Gold Squadron indeed begins sending its ships down the trench, in an attempt to fire their proton torpedoes into the target. Since the main threats are from the turrets before them, they shift power to their frontal deflectors.

As they start the trench run, Darth Vader takes notice. Earlier we see that Grand Moff Tarkin is in command of the Death Star and not very worried, so this does not phase him and is the reason why more effort is not made to handle the Rebel threat. Vader, feeling less cocky, appears to have a squadron under his personal command which he decides to use to deal with Gold Squadron himself. This proves to be the right call, and it pokes a hole in the Rebel plan, as Vader slips past Red Squadron and goes right for the trench. Gold Squadron realizes their trouble when the turrets in the trench stop firing at them, prompting Gold 5 to state, “Stabilize your rear deflectors; watch for enemy fighters.” Again, this is a line with depth to it, showing that these pilots are seasoned veterans who critically analyze the ever-changing tactical situation.

As Vader approaches, he gives his wingmen appropriate orders of his own: “I’ll take them myself. Cover me.” The nature of the trench gives Gold Squadron no room to maneuver, and the time-sensitive nature of their mission (the Death Star is minutes away from destroying the Rebel base) means that they cannot simply abandon the attack down the trench to save themselves. They take the risky option of trying to last long enough to launch their torpedoes, but Vader, one of the greatest pilots in the Galaxy, shoots them down before they can even try. Gold 5 alerts Red Leader of the presence of Vader’s squadron, just before he himself is killed.

Prussian military theorist Helmuth von Moltke famously wrote, “no plan of operations survives with any certainty beyond first contact with the main hostile force.” This is a widely taught concept in military training, that even the best plans encounter unforeseen circumstances and require flexibility. Red Leader demonstrates this at this moment. With the first squadron of Imperial fighters down and Gold Squadron taken out, he realizes that Red Squadron has to finish the job of destroying the Death Star, even if they were originally intended to take on the enemy fighters. He understands what is known in military doctrine as “the Commander’s Intent.”

He therefore starts his own attempt down the trench with his own wingmen. Interestingly, he also instructs Luke to head a separate team and stand by, with Wedge and Biggs supporting. Why he gave Luke (who seems the most inexperienced of the lot) this role appears odd, at first. That said, it could be that he figured the one to take the shot should be the team leader, while the supporting wingmen who would deal with enemy fighters should be those more experienced in combat. Additionally, Luke expressed confidence during the briefing about how non-difficult the shot at the exhaust port should be, and if Red Leader believed him, it makes sense the he would want Luke in particular to lead an attack, if his own should fail.

And Red Leader’s attack did fail. He did better than Gold Squadron. His support distracted Vader long enough for him to fire a shot at the exhaust port, but it missed. With Vader on his tail, Luke offers to come in and save him, but again Red Leader understands that the situation has changed again and modifies the plan. While the rest of Red Squadron could save him, time is short, and his survival could mean losing the battle. Like a proper commander, he puts the mission first and, with his last words, instructs Luke to let him die and use what precious time is left to go down the trench and get one more attack in.

With Red Leader gone, Luke follows his orders and enters the trench, as Biggs and Wedge cover his rear. Vader’s squadron appears again. Wedge’s X-wing is hit and apparently damaged to the point that he can no longer contribute to the fight, and Luke dismisses him. Vader, not losing focus and showing his own combat wisdom, tells his own support, “Let him go; stay on the leader.” Biggs is shot down soon after, meaning that Luke has no more cover.

Using his piloting talents (which are assisted by his connection to the Force), Luke has an easier time evading Vader’s blaster fire (something that even Vader notices), but this cannot last forever. When Vader is finally able to out-fly Luke and line him up properly in his sights, the day is saved by the surprise arrival of Han Solo, who is able to fire some desperate shots at Vader’s squadron. They managed to hit one of the Imperial wingmen, catching Vader and the other pilot off guard. This not only disrupts Vader’s aim; more critically, Vader’s wingman panics and forgets his orders: cover Vader. He tries to maneuver and inadvertently collides with his superior, with the momentum destabilizing Vader’s ship and flinging it out of the trench.

This frees up Luke who, with no danger of being shot down, is able to use the power of the Force (and not the targeting computer) to guide the torpedoes into the exhaust port, destroying the Death Star. The mission is a success and a tremendous victory for the Rebellion.

Conclusions

Given the portrayal of combat and the decisions made by the commanders on both sides, it seems that George Lucas and his film team gave serious consideration to actual military concepts and discipline, such that it helped the film for the purposes of immersion. The plans made sense, and good ideas got good results, while errors in judgment (even understandable errors) got bad results. It also assisted the narrative, as Luke’s amateurish role was exemplified by his contrast with the veteran pilots. This ultimately shows the relevance of the Force, as that was Luke’s only trump card, something that the more experienced pilots of Red and Gold Squadrons lacked.

Darth Vader was the only one among the Imperials who took appropriate actions to deal with the Rebels, and it is for this reason that he survived the battle and almost won it for his side. He was not only proved right as a commander, however. His statement at the beginning of the movie that Death Star’s “ability to destroy a planet is insignificant next to the power of the Force” also bore out. Sure enough, it was Luke that proved this point by destroying the Death Star with the assistance of the Force. Tarkin’s overconfidence is therefore not a surprise. He had no way of knowing that someone like Luke Skywalker, Darth Vader’s son, would be the one firing those proton torpedoes. Not even Vader seemed aware of this. Given how the better-trained and more experienced pilots failed in their attempts to destroy the Death Star, the Imperial reaction to the Rebel attack (from the Imperial perspective) makes a lot of sense. Neither side expected Luke to pull off a literal magic trick, and that magic trick was what made all the difference.

Future films which depict warfare, however similar or dissimilar to what we know in the modern era on Earth, can take a lesson from Star Wars. Realism and credibility do not need to be sacrificed in order to make an entertaining product. On the other hand, these traits are probably the very reason that we were all gripping our seats the first time we watched this.

Hope you all enjoyed my analysis.

The Battle of Yavin: Critical Analysis was originally published in cosgrrrl on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

One of the latest, musical genres is Meaningwave, a branch of the wider Lofi style of music. By taking metered speech and mixing it with background hip hop, often of an original composition, we suddenly find that even lectures and famous speeches can become engrossing songs. Invented in large part by Akira the Don, whose works draw from the sayings of Alan Watts, Jordan Peterson, Elon Musk, and many others, Meaningwave allows listeners to get their musical fix while also consuming content that is uniquely informative, intellectual, and inspirational.

Although the genre is fairly novel, Akira has been in the music industry for a long time now. He made his first break as early as 2004, with Akira the Don’s First EP, which featured his famous “Drinking Song” that took the Internet by storm on Newgrounds. He continued his work as a rapper and a DJ, later releasing a collaborative album in 2006 with some of the most major names in the rapping industry, called When We Were Young. Despite enjoying modest success early on, his major claim to fame, over a decade later, is his pioneering work in the genre of Meaningwave.

Consciously or not, Meaningwave draws on multiple stylistic elements, which might be summarized as two parts nostalgic and one part modern. One part of the nostalgia comes from the lofi umbrella itself, whereby the “low fidelity” and scratchiness of the tracks is reminiscent of old tapes, radio broadcasts, and records. This is a kind of perennial nostalgia, something that is felt by the young and the old, holding a place in our collective memory similar to that of the trans-Atlantic accent and jazz.

The other piece of nostalgia is more relevant to millennials who constitute a major part of Akira’s audience. Meaningwave bears a striking resemblance to the old Toonami promos of the late 90s and early 2000s. These were strangely riveting commercials, largely because they were genuine musical tracks assembled with a high degree of professionalism. Perhaps the holy grail of these was Toonami’s Dreams, which, like the other promos, consisted of clips and dialogue from the programming block’s line-up of shows that were deftly weaved alongside a hip hop tune that evoked a pensive, ethereal wonder.

The modern element comes from the explosion of the popularity of podcasts. By drawing on source material from respected, intellectual figures, a full album of Meaningwave is not unlike a standard podcast of long-form discussion. With musical attributes carefully added, speech that might come off as stale or be worth only a single listen can become quite catchy and possess a great deal of replay value. Thus, when people are craving something like a Joe Rogan interview but want a dose of rhythm with it, there is now a product waiting for them. By utilizing so many appealing qualities so seamlessly, Akira has emerged as a new titan of the music world.

Akira credits the rise of media technology to much of his success. He has noted how the Internet’s favorable staging grounds for new creators allows the experimental (like Akira’s work) to reach a large-enough audience to sustain their creativity, bypassing the traditional oligarchs of the big music labels and the mainstream media generally. In a recent interview with his beloved Jordan Peterson, he noted on the irony of it, that even a figure such as PewdiePie, who is the biggest name on one of the biggest websites, is treated as “underground.”

He also attributes the success of his genre to a natural pendulum swing of the times. He senses that the rapid changes in technology, often faster than humans can adapt, has led to a rise in nihilistic thinking. Meaningwave, to Akira, is the antithesis to this, or at least an antithesis to this. Listeners not only get to groove to his songs; they can also ponder bigger questions of philosophy and science in the process. In this sense, Akira has the unusually dualistic role of creator (of his music) and distributor (of his chosen speakers). His fans can escape the usual, low-paying tedium of the post-2008 economy and the social unease of the post-9/11 world and can get a taste of the meaningful “good, ol’ days” that are evoked by the nostalgic elements of his music.

He is not done either. Akira is constantly producing more content, having released another Peterson remix only yesterday. While other artists of comparable fame are yet to be seen emulating the new style of music Akira has put out, it is clear that this Briton of humble origins has made a lasting impact on the musical tastes of this generation. Where the Intellectual Dark Web has typically consisted of traditional academics with Ph. D’s, Akira has instead made his entry into this pantheon as an outstanding artist.

This is the conclusion to ‘For a Taste of Hazel Juice.’ Read part one here:

For a Taste of Hazel Juice: Part One

Slipshade returned to his room, where he lit a candle, grabbed some parchment, a quill pen, and a vial of ink. He sat at his round table, and started writing his report, detailing what had happened and what he had learned along the way. He explained the Jaegers’ recruiting methods, their basic clan structure, and what their intentions were. It then occurred to him that he had not read the letter Mizuroi had given him with his assignment. He pulled it out of his satchel and emptied the envelope of its contents. The letter read:

You have been assigned to be a warrior. All warriors are to gather at the horse pen in two days at 3:00 PM (EST). Make sure you have all three of your play hours ready. New warriors will be broken up into a front guard and a rear guard. If you are reading this, you have been assigned to the front guard. Veteran Jaegers will guard the caravan. Make sure you bring your armor and weapons.

That was not an altogether bad system, Slipshade thought. He updated his report with the details from the letter, but he made sure to leave out any mention of the hooded man or the man in green from just after he signed back in. He blew on the ink feverishly until it was dry. Then he folded it up, put it in an envelope of his own, and sealed it with hot wax. Before he could deliver it, he would need to change his outfit. His current outfit seemed unfitting. Something more casual and plebeian was in order. He fetched a very plain tunic and a similarly bland pair of trousers that he had nicknamed his “peasant clothes” and switched into them. With letter in hand, he headed out.

The Browncoat Army’s headquarters was only a few minutes away from the inn. It was not one of the fanciest structures in the Town, but few clans even had a base of operations, so it was still a powerful sign of their wealth and success. Two storeys high and about a hundred feet wide, it was hardly nothing.

He knocked at the wooden door. A hatch slid open, revealing the eyes of their doorman. “Who are you?” he asked, somewhat curtly.

“A friend of the clan,” answered Slipshade. “I have a message for your commander.”

“I can take it.”

“I can only give it to your commander. Nobody else.”

“Well, you can’t come in without the password.”

“Rise again.”

“Alright.” The doorman closed the hatch and unbolted the door. It swung inward. “Hurry up.”

Slipshade entered and saw the lobby of Browncoats’ lair. Several players were seated at tables, idly chatting and dining. Their clothes were very ornate. It occurred to Slipshade that the Browncoats were not ones for modesty. Their rags were probably made of silk too. Also, they never actually seemed to wear brown coats at all. The door shut behind him.

“So where is your commander?”

The doorman did not answer right away. He rang a bell that was suspended above the door. Then he turned to Slipshade and said, “Our boss will be with you in a moment.

Slipshade tiptoed deeper into the lobby, but he decided not to take a seat. After all, it would be out of line to sit with the clan members as though he were one of them. Nevertheless, he listened, because this was an opportunity to learn. One pair discussed their meal.

“This stuff is pretty good, I guess. Wish we had some Hazel Juice to go with it.”

“Yeah, don’t know why the top brass keeps it all for themselves.”

“Because when we drink it, it’s an ‘unnecessary expense.’”

“Maybe they feel that because they earn the most money for the clan, they get to decide how it’s spent.”

“I don’t know if tricking people is the same as earning money.”

“Either way, it helps the clan.”

“This is true.”

Meanwhile, a group of four, at a big table in the middle of the lobby, discussed news in the game.

“The Sixth Clan Colosseum Tournament is coming up. Who’s your favorite to win?”

“Us, duh.”

“Wait, we’re in that?”

“Yeah.”

“Who’d we send?”

“Mostly new guys, but they’ve got the best gear money can buy.”

Eventually, Slipshade heard a plodding sound, as someone came down the stairs in the corner from the floor above. He wore a green outfit, and Slipshade recognized this as the same man from the horse pen. Now that he could get a clearer look at his face, he saw that it was BestKoreea, the deputy commander of the Browncoats.

“Hello, how can I help you?” he said.

“I have a message for Fireflyfan. Is he here?”

“No, he’s signed out. I can take it.”

Slipshade hesitated. He wondered whether or not he should give the report to Best. Fireflyfan had said that he was worried about moles in the clan. What if this were true of him? Best’s gaze grew increasingly suspicious, as if he were about to ask what was going on. It then occurred to Slipshade that, if Best truly could not be trusted, then Fireflyfan would have probably told him about this in the first place. Moreover, he realized that the brazenness of not giving the report to the deputy commander, while in his headquarters, would probably get him more unwanted attention.

He handed the report to Best, who tucked it under his sash and then asked, “Is that everything?”

“Yep.”

“Great, Fireflyfan thanks you for your business. Our doorman will show you out. Take care.” He returned to the staircase, while the doorman unbolted the exit. He swung open the door once more, and Slipshade returned to the streets. It seemed as though he had been in there forever, but when he opened his menu screen, he saw that only a few minutes had passed.

He continued to think over the circumstances. If the other spy had been at the horse pen with BestKoreea, then he must have been working for the Browncoats. If he were working for the Browncoats, then Fireflyfan must have sent him. If Fireflyfan had sent him, then that meant, as far as Slipshade could tell, that he did not trust Slipshade to do the job of spying on the Jaegers.

What if, however, he were wrong? Fireflyfan mentioned moles in his assignment. What if he had not sent the other spy, and what if that spy had been sent by Best, intending some sort of treachery against him? Then that meant he had just handed a delicate report to Fireflyfan’s enemy. Whatever the situation really was, the implications for Slipshade were pessimistic.

He thought about all of this intently as he walked home. His mission had been to find out what the Jaegers were planning, but this turn of events warranted a similar question about the Browncoats. What were they planning? It probably had something to do with the gold beside the river to the East. As he came to think of it, that was a valuable piece of information that Fireflyfan had shared in the letter of his assignment. Not even the Jaegers seemed to know about it. Mizuroi and Gwenaveer both were under the impression that they were migrating away from the valuable stuff. What did all of this mean?

He arrived back at the inn, but before he entered, he went to the bathhouse across the street. He bought a private room and settled in a cozy, hot tub. It was his first bath in a while, and he needed to get that dust from the horse pen off. Unfortunately, it did not distract him from his situation.

He recalled the conversations in the lobby of Browncoats’ house. That one pair seemed to express grievances about the use of clan funds. The other group implied that the Browncoats were effectively trying to win the upcoming clan tournament by throwing money at the problem. Then there was the fixation on the gold deposits near the river. From Slipshade’s point of view, it all seemed to come back to money and riches. Did the wealthiest clan not have enough?

It appeared that maybe Slipshade had stumbled into their problems most inconveniently. His foggy position with such a successful and powerful group gnawed at him, for the Browncoats were no trifle of a clan. He was going to have to be very vigilant.

He thought awhile about what he should do. Should he go into hiding? Should he tell the Jaegers? Should he confront Fireflyfan? It was hard for Slipshade to imagine any scenario in which these actions would end well for him. Ultimately, he decided that he needed to wait and see what would happen at least little more, before he did anything. It might not hurt to meet up with Fireflyfan and, at the very least, see how he felt about about his report.

He climbed out of the tub and dried off. He put his peasant clothes back on and returned to the inn across the street. There, in the lobby, was another man in peasant clothes, who appeared to be waiting. Slipshade immediately recognized him as Eynak, one of his informants. He seemed unusually unhappy. As soon as Eynak saw him, he called out to him, raising his voice a little: “I have something for you.”

The lobby was empty at that moment, so they made due with a table in the corner. They took their seats, and Slipshade retrieved a silver coin from his satchel and placed it before Eynak. “Alright, let’s see what you got,” he said.

Eynak grabbed the coin and pocketed it, murmuring, “Okay, so this just happened. Silverwolf of the Browncoats is dead.”

“He’s dead?”

“Yep.”

“So tell me, how and why?”

“Apparently he was decapitated. Not sure who did it, but it’s worth mentioning that there have been issues in the Browncoats.”

“Issues?”

“Yep.” Eynak scanned across the room quickly before resuming. It was still just as empty. “I learned most of this over the last week. Basically, with all the money that the clan’s come into, there’s a lot of disagreement about how it’s being used. Some Browncoats aren’t happy with Fireflyfan. There’s talk of splitting the clan, and with the largest pile of gold and silver of anyone in the game, nobody knows who’s gonna end up with how much of that pot. It’s a pretty big deal.”

“Anyone in particular who’s turning against Fireflyfan?”

“Yeah. Their accountant, Azarath, is against him. So are some of their better warriors, like Rickio and Deathswarm.”

Slipshade nodded. “Who’s still with him?”

“The Captain of the Guard is still with him. That’s a big plus for Firefly.”

“What about BestKoreea?”

“That I don’t know. He could go either way. Point is, the most powerful clan is about to crumble, and Silver’s death is probably connected somehow.”

“Is that about it?” asked Slipshade.

“Yep.”

“Okay then.” Slipshade reached into his satchel again and produced another silver coin. “That’s a little extra, for being expedient and thinking of me first.”

“Thanks, maybe now I can finally buy me a bottle of the Hazel. Gotta say, I do love our relationship.”

“As do I.”

With a mutual nod to one another, Eynak rose from his chair and exited the inn. Then Slipshade took a deep breath and rose as well. He was better off not merely sitting around.

After ascending the stairs to the tenth floor and entering his room, he made sure to lock the door behind him. He still had a couple of hours left to play, but Slipshade had had enough for the day. He wanted to catch up on sleep in the real world. Still, before he could do that, he thought it might be wise to prepare some of his effects. He rummaged through his belongings and put what he would need most in a pack, in case he needed to relocate quickly. As he took his satchel, he contemplated putting it in the dresser, but he figured that it might be better to put it directly under his bed, so that he could reach the knife it held more easily.

He hopped on his bed, laid down, and opened his menu screen. It then occurred to him that, should something disturb him in his room, he would actually need to be signed into the game and playing, in order to react. He could not just wake up and go for the knife as though he were sleeping in the real world. It was funny how Mercuria had a way of feeling so real that he would overlook something like this, at least Slipshade thought.

In any event, tomorrow was Friday. Fireflyfan would probably be on in the evening. He would make sure to be on too. Then he pressed the LOGOUT button and exited the game.

Fortunately for Slipshade, he had Friday off from work. He used the free time to do some more casual playing and catch up with the few friends that he had made. Not even he could be a total loner. Being a good spy depended on connections, such as Eynak, either for information or for essential supplies. After wistfully ending the casual play around four o’clock, he signed out, hoping to catch Fireflyfan around seven.

When he signed back in, he headed straight for the Browncoats’ headquarters. He knocked, and the same pair of eyes gave him a grim greeting. “The commander’s not here,” he said. “He does wanna talk to you, though. Said you’d know where to find him.” He shut the hatch again.

Slipshade figured that he probably meant the lobby of his inn. There was no point in delaying, he thought, so he hastily marched home. On the way, he noticed that one of the food shops had a sale on Hazel Juice. “Okay,” he reconsidered. “Maybe I can delay a little. I’m out anyway.” He bought another liter, for only six gold coins! — “only.” Bottle in hand, he continued homeward.

When he arrived at the inn, he soon spotted Fireflyfan in the lobby, seated in the same place as when he gave him the assignment. He looked up and saw Slipshade, his expression unpleasant. Before he did anything else, Slipshade walked to the counter and hit the chime with a small rod. The innkeeper emerged from another room.

“Hey, I imagine it’s time for me to renew?” he asked.

“I believe you’re right,” said the innkeeper. “It is Friday. Ready for another week?”

“Sure am.” He placed eight gold coins on the counter.

“Then you’re good to go,” smiled the innkeeper as he gathered them up, before returning to his small office.

Then Slipshade hobbled over to Fireflyfan. He did not join him at the table. Instead, he remained standing and asked, “So did you like the report?”

“I’d like to ask you more about it,” Fireflyfan said monotonously. “But somewhere less…public.” They looked around. A few people were dining, all well within earshot. “How about your room upstairs?”

“Sure.”

Fireflyfan rose from his chair, and Slipshade led him up to the tenth floor. He pulled out his key and unlocked his door, which he held open for his guest. Fireflyfan entered, and Slipshade followed, shutting the door behind them.

The Commander of the Browncoat Army made his way to the window. It was already dark, and he could see the rest of the Town, along with the moon and the stars, whose faint light was just enough to allow the vista to be not only seen but appreciated. He stood silent for a moment, as if in a trance, while Slipshade took his usual seat near the window and sat down.

“Nice view?” he asked his brooding guest.

“I’ve never been this high up before. It’s very nice.”

“I’m still not used to it myself.”

“Yeah…anyway,” he began. “Let’s get down to it.”

“Take a seat, if you like.” Slipshade lit his oil lamp in the center of the table and pointed to the chair by the door.

Fireflyfan pulled it out and anchored down. He placed his elbows on the table and interlocked his fingers, all while maintaining eye contact with Slipshade. “So,” he began. “It was an interesting report.”

“Was it?”

“Yes,” he affirmed, not blinking. “But I want you to tell me everything. I’m pretty sure there is more to this than you reported.”

“What else could I tell you?”

“I don’t think you told me everything that the Jaegers intend.”

Slipshade squinted. “I told you in the report. The Jaegers just want to build their own town. They don’t even know about the gold. I even told you about the kids talking. One of them is high-ranking. If he doesn’t know, then none of them know.”

“And I’m just supposed to believe that?”

“Yes, why wouldn’t you?”

“Because you’re a spy.”

“Yep, I’m the best there is. That’s why you paid my twenty gold coins upfront.”

“But you’re not in a clan.” Fireflyfan leaned forward a bit further.

“So?”

“So you have no loyalties to anyone, and the Jaegers made a lot of money too. They’re paying their new recruits. Maybe there was a cut of that for you.”

“I assure you, I always keep my contracts.”

“How did you even get into their job assignments last night? Our spy got turned away.”

Slipshade took a cautious pause and then stated, “I don’t reveal my methods.” He popped the cork on his Hazel Juice and poured it into his cup. He filled it without missing a drop, eyes locked with Fireflyfan the entire time.

“Well, you should understand, it looks suspicious. I told you before that there are moles conspiring against me. Then our man that we sent in was turned away because his levels were too high, but you, the greatest spy in Mercuria, didn’t have that problem. If you aren’t working for the Jaegers, maybe you’re getting help from the moles in the Browncoats.”

“I assure you that isn’t true. I would like to know, though, why did you send another guy anyway?”

“If you’ve betrayed the Browncoats, you’ll never be safe,” said Fireflyfan, ignoring his question.

“I haven’t betrayed you,” reassured Slipshade. “I think you’re also being too quick to interpret my actions negatively.” He paused. “Would you like some of my juice?”

“I’m not so rich that I would refuse some free Hazel Juice.”

“Great.” He reached into his dresser and dug through, but as he looked back, he saw that Fireflyfan was upright, brandishing a long dagger.

“But that’s not going to distract me.”

“What are you doing?” asked Slipshade, his voice cracking.

“I’m keeping control of my clan. Now, be a good host and pour me the drink that you so generously offered.”

Slipshade glanced toward his bed. The knife was still there, but there was no way he could reach it safely. Instead, he pulled out two cups and poured the juice into them.

“Alright, now let’s sit.” Fireflyfan pointed his blade toward Slipshade’s chair. They both sat, dagger still drawn. Slipshade placed one of the cups on the table for him. As he brought the cup to his lips, Fireflyfan said, “So tell me, why do you live all the way up here?”

“You still haven’t answered my question. Why did you send a second spy?”

Fireflyfan smirked as he swallowed. “Do you feel safe up here?”

“This is the Town. Safety is its thing.”

“So it is, but clearly we both know that we’re technically in the Wildlands.

A chill ran down Slipshade’s spine. “How do you know that?”

“Why do you think I don’t live here?”

“Because I bought it first.”

“True, but I never tried to buy it from you. Maybe I’ll buy it after you’re dead and just post some guards.”

“So you came here to kill me,” sighed Slipshade.

“That’s right.” Fireflyfan took another sip. It may be that the Jaegers didn’t know about the gold, but since I can’t be sure whose side you’ve been on, I have to assume that they know now anyway. Plus, the waters have been muddied on my side, and I don’t know who to trust. Wherever you stand, you’re a risk I can’t afford to take.”

“You know, my informants often say that you always try to weasel out of paying for things. I guess this is some excuse for you to steal it back. Is that a first for you?”

“Cocky, to the end. I like it.”

“You know, you don’t have to do this. You could leave right now, and maybe cooler heads will prevail.”

“I didn’t come here to negotiate. Any last words before your time in Mercuria is done?”

“Don’t have any. I don’t plan on dying.”

“Alright,” grinned Fireflyfan. “I’ll get this done.” He, however, did not move. His face tensed, and the dagger remained fixed in his grip. “What?” He struggled in place, completely immobile, muscles stiff. “What’s happening?”

Slipshade stood up and finished the last of his cup of Hazel Juice. “The inside of the cup I gave you was coated with a paralytic poison. You won’t be able to move for several minutes. That will give me precious time to slip away.

“You think you can just run from me?”

“Oh, no,” said Slipshade, as he picked up the oil lamp. “I won’t have to, because you’re going to die here.” He threw the lamp on the floor. It shattered, spilling the oil and igniting a large fire. He grabbed the pack that he had filled the night before and retrieved his satchel from under his bed. Then he turned to Fireflyfan again. “You know, I think you and the Jaegers could’ve gotten along. They had one of your rules in their clan too: keep your real life out of the game. Since you won’t live to tell anyone, and since I know you can’t contact your clan again, I’ll tell you how I got into the meeting.” He pulled up his stats screen, for Fireflyfan to see.

“Your stealth level is 1? That’s impossible.”

“Why is it impossible?” asked Slipshade. “All these kids come in here and think that by having a high stealth level, they can be a ninja or something. Espionage isn’t about concealing your noise or visibility. It’s about being smart. The most obvious spy is the guy trying to walk silently in a market square or at a diner. All it shows is that you’re up to something. Stealth ‘skill’ is such a joke, because there isn’t any skill in it.” The fire began to spread, prompting Slipshade to step aside. “This place isn’t very large, so I guess I’d better go.” He began moving toward the door.

“Please, don’t leave me here!” Fireflyfan begged.

“You know, I think you can actually feel the fire. I did burn my finger a few nights ago.”

“Wait! Please! Don’t leave!”

Slipshade stopped. “Good point,” he said. He reached over and swiped a sack attached to Fireflyfan’s belt. He looked inside. “Nice, there’s probably thirty gold coins in here. Thanks.” He opened the door.

“No, you can’t leave me like this. This is fucked up. You’re actually gonna set me on fire?”

“Just so you know,” snapped Slipshade, “you’re no Malcolm Reynolds. He’s honest. He keeps his word. You’re a paranoid snake who thinks the rules don’t apply because you have money, and you stupidly picked a fight with the wrong guy. If you ever come back to Mercuria, after a year, hopefully you’ll have learned your lesson, but I suspect this is going to be pretty traumatic for you.”

“No, please!”

He slammed the door and hurried down the stairs. He threw up his hood and peered into the lobby. The innkeeper was not present, and the other guests present were not paying attention. He hurried outside and took a glance up. He could see light emanating from the windows. He did not stay to take it in. He continued forward, heading for a hotel in the northern side of town.

When he got there, he asked for the cheapest available room. Fortunately, they had a vacancy. It was not as luxurious, but it would do for the night. He got a room on the third floor and began unpacking his possessions. He had to leave some things behind, but the money he swiped would be more than enough to replace it. At least he saved the juice.

He looked out the window. In the distance, he could see a tower, glowing red at the top. Fireflyfan was surely immolated by now. The Browncoat Army, the most powerful clan in the game, had lost its leader. The Browncoat moles, whoever they were, had just received a free service, courtesy of Slipshade.

Word would spread quickly, he realized. He would have a little time to adjust, since people could assume that he had died too. The other Browncoats might still look for him, though, especially those still loyal to Fireflyfan.

He needed to plan carefully. He figured he could tell the Jaegers about their plan to ambush them in the Wildlands, if that was still going to happen. Thankfully, he had not reported the conversation between BestKoreea and the other spy. They did know that he knew. He could also call in some favors to trap and kill the other leaders in the Browncoats. It was going to be a tough next couple of days. He would not be able to do any casual leveling until it was done. It was a little frightening.

More than that, it all felt so strange. Here he was, trying to do his job, and he got caught up in some clan’s politics and nearly died for it. It reminded him of that time he got fired two years ago, all because he agreed with his manager’s project proposal at a board meeting. He had no way of knowing that his manager was in deep with a certain clique, nor did he realize the president was in with the other side. No matter how how many informants you have, and no matter how much you pay attention, there was always something you do not know, Slipshade thought.

It also seemed that people act in Mercuria like they do in the real world, except here there are no rules. Anything is possible, even murder. Surely Fireflyfan was a fairly ordinary guy in real life. He wondered what could push someone that far.

He uncorked the bottle of Hazel Juice again and took a swig. He swallowed and sighed with a smile. Maybe this was it. He noticed that people talk about this juice a lot. Everywhere he went, it was, “Hazel Juice, Hazel Juice, Hazel Juice,” and only people with a lot of money could drink it. Those teenage Jaegers like it. People on the streets were saving everything for it. Even Fireflyfan seemed excessively enamored by it. Was he — Slipshade — any different?

He continued staring out the window into the nightly scene before him. The flames of his old room reflected in his peaceful eyes. He took another sip and then said to himself, “It’s amazing what people will do, for a taste of Hazel Juice.” Then he corked the bottle and set it on the table.

He made sure the door was locked, even though he was no longer in the Wildlands. He threw himself onto his new bed, notably lumpier than his old one. Then he opened his menu once again and eyed the “LOGOUT” button for a moment, before pressing it. His body drifted asleep, safe and sound until his next visit to Mercuria.

For a Taste of Hazel Juice: Part Two was originally published in cosgrrrl on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

An original sci-fi mini-saga

The best part about being a publisher is when writers drop gems like this story into your net. Having previously focused on investigative political analysis of nerd culture, this piece is Joseph Parrish’s fictional debut— and a damn fine one.

Enjoy.

— Marjorie

“Twenty gold coins,” rasped one man to another.

He placed a sack onto the table and gently tipped and shook it, jostling the coins out. The other man slid each of the coins over, one at a time, counting them. Once he had confirmed there were twenty, he looked up at the man before him. He was somewhat older than most players, perhaps thirty-five years old. He wore a fine, silken tunic, a magenta robe, and an amber sash. He was undoubtedly one of the wealthiest players in Mercuria, by the looks of him. But the other man was already aware of this — for he knew who he was. His username was Fireflyfan, and he was estimated to be the third wealthiest player in the game, depending on how one might appraise his assets.

Still, twenty gold coins were not something anyone, even a man as rich as he, would just drop onto a table in the lobby of an inn so casually. This meant that the contract he had in mind was very valuable to him. It also meant that his expectations for success were high. Who would have thought that, six weeks into the game, he — Slipshade — would have this powerful of a reputation on the streets of the Town?

“Twenty coins is hard to pass up,” said Slipshade, “but you’d better know right now, I’m not responsible if you’re unhappy with the intel you receive. I report the facts, and the facts you want right now may not be worth much once you get ’em, and I don’t do refunds. What you pay now, I keep. Got it? If so, then we have a deal.”

“Alright,” Fireflyfan began, “I’m aware of your skill, so I trust you will do better than anyone else with this job. It’s a deal.” He reached into his robe and pulled out an envelope. “This is your assignment. It has all the details you’ll need. Read it when you’re alone.”

“You got it, Mr. Firefly.”

“You know my name, huh? Guess you are good.” With that, Fireflyfan stood up and began to leave. “That’s all I have time for,” he added. “I’ll see you when it’s done.” He continued past some of the other tables and made his way to the exit. Then he was gone.

Slipshade grabbed the sack left behind and slid the coins off the edge of the table into it. One coin veered and missed the sack, hitting the floor and rolling out of sight. “Damn it,” he said. He got up and started looking around for it, peeking under the nearby tables and chairs. It appeared to have vanished.

“Hey, man,” a voice called from behind. Slipshade turned and saw a teenaged boy, perhaps sixteen-years-old. “Did you drop this?” the boy asked, holding up a gold coin.

“Yes, I did,” said Slipshade, as he started to reach for it, but then he stopped. He noticed how much poorer this boy was than Fireflyfan. He was wearing a basic outfit for Mercuria players and appeared to have nothing else.

“You keep it,” he said. “Not many people would just return a gold coin like that. I admire the honesty.”

The kid smiled and said, “Thanks!” before resuming his business, as did Slipshade, who returned to his table and grabbed the sack with the rest of the coins. He tied it shut and placed it in his belt satchel. Then he grabbed the envelope and stuffed it into his coat pocket. He took a quick glance out the window. It was pitch black; naught was visible. The view from his room should be better, he thought. The lobby was too well lit for him to see outside.

He scaled the stairwell to his room on the tenth floor of the inn — the highest level. Once inside, he shut the door behind him and locked it. He peered around, beholding the faint, white glow that covered the entire space, owing to the moonlight that flooded in from his window.

He took off his satchel and placed it on a small, round table in the center, and he sat down on his lone bed in the corner to remove his boots. Once his feet were freed, he rose and paced to the window. The view was spectacular. He could see much of the surrounding town, with the lights of the other structures flickering through their windows and the faint gleams of torches, borne by players in the streets. Beyond that, he could see the arid plains, silver under the nearly full moon, stretching out into the mysterious East.

The inn was the second-highest structure in the Town, but since you had to pay a hefty price for rooms, it was not hard to find a vacancy, even for a view as nice as this. The truly wealthy players had their own homes by now. While it was just a room, he liked this far better than being crammed into one of the sleephouses with the other players. Many of them stank. Indeed, the realism of Mercuria had its ups and down, from the majestic views to the horrible stenches. He could even feel the wooden floor beneath his feet, cold but smooth.

Suddenly, an alert screen popped up in front of his face, silently flashing red. “WARNING,” it read, “YOU HAVE TEN MINUTES UNTIL LOGOUT.” With that, Slipshade decided that he should go ahead and read his assignment. He sat down at the small table and laid the envelope upon it. Even with the moonlight, it was too dark to read, so he reached into his satchel and pulled out his flint and steel, which he used to ignite an oil lamp.

The flame flared more strongly than he expected, burning the tip of his finger. He quickly recoiled and stuck his finger in his mouth, to soothe it. This surprised Slipshade. He actually got burned, while in the boundaries of the Town, which was supposed to be a safe zone for players. Only in the Wildlands could he get hurt like that. What happened, he wondered?

He paused for a moment, peeking once more toward his window and looking out upon Mercuria. Aha! He figured it out, or at least he had a very good idea. The inn was an unusually high structure in the Town, and he was on the top floor. Thus he theorized that the safe zone only reached so high, and, at that altitude, he was technically in the Wildlands.

Then he paused again, wondering if he were in danger of player killers attacking him, but if he only just found out, how many people would know? Information was his job, after all, and few people ever came up this high. Furthermore, they were unlikely to risk taking damage from anything in an inn, of all places. No, he could probably count on the collective ignorance of the other players.

His mind returned to his assignment. Before he let himself get distracted again, he ripped the seal on the envelope and pulled out the sheet of parchment inside. It read:

First, let me state that I would normally have my own men check this out, but there are rumors of moles in our ranks. This matter is, I feel, too important to risk with potential deceivers. You see, last week my clan found evidence of gold on the banks of the East River, over by a mostly unvisited section of the Wildlands. Generally, no clans make any expeditions in this direction, but recently, one such clan has. You may know of it already. They are called the Jaegers. They won the Fourth Clan Colosseum Tournament. Since then, they have been growing their numbers and making trips within the vicinity of the gold site.

We are not sure of their plans or intentions, but the timing is too curious. Your assignment is the following. Investigate the Jaegers and their doings. Follow them into the Wildlands, if you have to. Determine the cause of their expeditions into the East, as well as any possible connection to the gold on the East River. You have seven days to get to the bottom of this and report what you find.

Here is some more information. The Jaegers often gather in the south district square. Their leader is a man, about the age of twenty-five, with the name Gnightstrike. He is Caucasian, has blond hair, and usually wears blue clothes. That should get you started. Do not divulge any information in this letter. Do not let us down.

• Fireflyfan, Commander of the Browncoat Army

Once he finished reading, Slipshade got up and grabbed a bottle of Hazel Juice. Hazel Juice was a unique beverage, exclusive to Mercuria. It was a juice that tasted like nothing else in the real world. He poured some into a cup and took a sip. He savored it, letting the flavor permeate his mind. It was not apple, orange, grape, lemon, or anything. It was a flavor all its own. How did Mercuria manage to pull it off, he wondered? Not only was he not actually drinking anything — as he was really just unconscious in a VR helmet at this moment — but he could also experience taste, and one that did not exist otherwise. Just how does Mercuria send all of this to your brain?

He gulped the rest of it down and corked the bottle again. Then he thought about his assignment. He was already aware of the Jaegers to a degree. In fact, he knew more than what that letter had told him. He knew that their second-in-command went by the name Ulfrickin and that most of the clan members were Americans. With that in mind, he felt sure that their expansion in membership was probably meant to get players from other time zones who can watch their bodies for them while they are logged out, especially if they want to operate in the Wildlands.

Still, the Jaegers were one of the more enigmatic clans to him. He had been hoping to find an opportunity to look into them more, and here Fireflyfan was paying him to do it — twenty gold coins, no less! Now he would start uncovering their secrets.

The alert screen popped up, signaling that he had one minute left until he would be forced to sign out. Okay, he thought; he would have to start tomorrow. Swiftly, he got up and laid on his bed. He waved his hand, and a menu screen appeared in the air before him. He scrolled through a list of options and selected the one that read “LOGOUT.” Then he shut his eyes and fell asleep, returning to the real world.

The next day, he signed back into Mercuria, ready to start his assignment. He awoke in his bed, unharmed. His finger was still a little sore from the burn, however, but he had been in the Wildlands enough by now to know that injuries heal well enough in Mercuria. With no hesitation, he bounced onto his feet and geared up, donning his boots, his satchel, and a tan, hooded cloak, to conceal himself. A key part of espionage is stealth, after all.

He exited the inn and walked briskly to the south district square. Plenty of players were already there, shopping for various goods. They could be anywhere in the square, but if the Jaegers were planning on trips into the Wildlands, then they were probably going to be around weapons shops. He decided that he would visit The Bronze House, the Town’s premier shop for weapons and armor, and stopped outside of it.

He peeked through one of its windows. About ten customers were inside. Among them was a man, in his twenties, with blond hair and a blue tunic, and blue trousers. He wore a sash with the emblem of the Jaegers on it. It was Gnightstrike.

Slipshade opened the door and went inside. Calmly, he approached an assortment of knives, as if inspecting them for purchase, in order to listen in on his targets. Gnightstrike was in the middle of speaking to those surrounding him. Some were clearly Jaegers already, wearing the same sashes. The others appeared to be potential recruits.

“You can ask the shopkeeper; we’re legit,” he said. “We didn’t build this clan up and win the Colosseum tournament by being a bunch of cheaters.”

“Okay, I believe you, Gnight,” said another guy across from him. “But why go into the Wildlands? If we get killed, we’re out of the game for a whole year. Most of us have only just gotten started.”

“Started with what, exactly? What is there to do in the Town? There are some games and events, yes, but most of the playable game is out there in the Wildlands, and out there we can do whatever we want.”

“So what are we going to do?”

“Look,” Gnight muttered, “even most members of my clan don’t know what the plan is. You don’t go into the Wildlands and publicly announce what you intend to do like that. That’s just asking for thieves or griefers to ambush you. The deal is this: join our clan, we’ll buy you equipment that you don’t have, and then you’ll help us out for the next month in the Wildlands. If you want to stay or leave afterward, then that’s up to you. That’s all I’m gonna tell you for right now. ”

The other guy seemed uncertain. He turned to his two friends. “What do you guys think?” he asked them.

“Well, what level are you?” one of them asked.

“I’m Level 31,” said Gnight.

“Damn, that’s pretty good,” the friend said. “Seems like he’s strong enough to back up what he’s saying.”

“Yeah, I agree,” the other friend said.

“Alright, then we’re in,” said the first guy.

“Great,” said Gnight. “Now what are your names, usernames, that is?”

“I’m Darkwolf45,” said the first guy.

“Gokuxman,” said the second.

“Dragonlord12,” said the last.

“Glad to have you, Darkwolf, Goku, and Dragonlord,” said Gnight as he shook their hands and gave them each a piece of paper. “Those are your invitations. They will have the time and place for a clan meeting tomorrow.”

Slipshade saw that it was time to move. Once those three left, Gnight would probably try to recruit him too, and that was too much attention to be receiving this early in the assignment. He stepped back from the knives and left the shop. The last thing he heard as the door closed behind him was: “Keep this meeting to yourselves.”

He stood next to a clothes shop, just across the street from the The Bronze House and continued watching. Here and there, more noobs entered and spoke with Gnight. Most of them came out clutching those same invitations. A few higher-level players got recruited too. Perhaps the noobs were just easier to convince. After about half an hour, Slipshade decided that it was time to follow two of them, teenage boys, who had walked out with invitations of their own.

He would need to steal one, and this required an opening. It would not be too hard, since they were carrying them in their hands. He would just need a quick misdirection, and then he could swipe one. Sure enough, they stopped at a fruit stand. This was perfect, he thought.

He grabbed a stone off the ground and watched. The boys started talking with the fruit salesman. On the stand was a large stack of apples, almost a pyramid of them. He chucked the stone at the stack, dislodging a couple of apples and causing most of the stack to crumble and spill onto the ground. Immediately, the boys helped out and started picking up the apples. They set their invitations down, right on the edge of stand. Slipshade scurried over and quietly snatched one of them, while the boys and the fruit salesman were distracted. It was too easy.

He did not stick around to be discovered. He quickly returned to his room in the inn, where he read the invitation:

You are invited to join the Jaegers. Meet us at the horse pen in the east district on July 15 at 7:00 PM (EST). Bring the invitation with you, and tell no one.

It was brief, for sure, but it was another lead, and he would have to wait until tomorrow to investigate it. Now seemed a good time to sign out and grab a bite to eat, so he could play more casually later on. He took off his cloak, boots, and satchel and plopped on his bed. He opened his menu and navigated to the LOGOUT button. As he pressed it, he thought again about whether or not someone might harm his character while he was gone. Then he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Slipshade signed in the next day at five o’clock, giving him two hours to set up for the meeting. He sat at his bed, pondering what he should wear to disguise himself. A hood would probably be more suspicious; a lot of spies tended to wear those. His leather helm would probably do the job well enough. He fastened it on. He also took out one of his noob hiking cloaks and wrapped it around his shoulders.

This seemed to be sufficient. He put on the rest of his gear and made his way outside. The Town seemed like it was having a normal day, players promoting their clans, trading goods, organizing games. Indeed, the Town was the focus of most activities. In the first two weeks of the game, a lot of folks had tried their luck in the Wildlands, only to be cut down quick by competitors. Virtually no one would leave the boundaries of the city now, even the higher-level players.

It was telling that the Jaegers would be meeting in at the horse pen in the east district. Being located just on the borders of the Town and the plains to the east, this almost certainly indicated some sort of plan pertaining to the Wildlands. Slipshade had to admit to himself: he knew very little about the plains to the East. Most of the ventures into the Wildlands have leaned toward the North and the West.

He had gathered a trove of information about those places. Even the general public knew a fair bit. Players still, in his view, droned on about the Battle of Iron Hill. He even heard a couple of people talk about it and the clans involved as he trod by them. Most speak of it as some kind of epic clash that has made Mercuria different than all the other VR games out there, but then most only knew half the story. Slipshade, however, had plenty of sources and knew all that there was to know. It was a battle between two clans, the Blue Wolves and the Fat Swords. In total there were maybe forty people present, about twenty to each clan, hardly a climactic struggle.

While most people discuss the fact that the Fat Swords were victorious, only eight of their clan members survived the battle. Some of the deaths were the result of friendly fire, at that. Of those eight, four were killed on their return to the Town. While the Fat Swords were the only ones to walk out alive, both of their leaders had been killed. The four survivors went off to join new clans, meaning that both clans were effectively destroyed by this clumsy attempt. Several clans have since popped up, celebrating their memory, like the New Fat Swords, or the Sons of the Fat Swords. It was a form of commemoration that, in Slipshade’s view, was undeserved.

At last, he arrived at the horse pen. It was about 5:15, meaning that he would have plenty of time. He surveyed the area. There was definitely a pen, but the horses were no longer there; players had carelessly set them loose. The pen was enclosed by a fence about forty yards in diameter. It was definitely a large enough spot to host a gathering of players. In addition to that, there were wagons and carts, some empty, some filled with hay.

He also saw that some logs were laid out in rows. Perhaps there had been some earlier preparation for this meeting. Perhaps someone was already there. While it would not be a disaster to be seen yet, he also did not want to be singled out as the first to arrive. He spotted an empty wagon, well outside the pen, and made his way over to it. He took a seat in the back, figuring that this would be a good place to hide and watch as the others arrived. When the crowd was large enough, he could just trickle in, unnoticed.

It took about half an hour, but two people showed up. One was clearly Gnightstrike. The other was unfamiliar to Slipshade and wore a blue hood. They walked into the middle of the pen and talked for ten minutes, apparently setting up some more things for the meeting. Over the next ten or fifteen minutes, more arrived. Some helped with the rest of the preparations, while one stood by the gate to the west. These had to be some of the core members of the Jaegers, Slipshade thought.

A couple more members arrived, a teenaged boy and girl, rolling in a large wagon, which they placed just before the rows of logs. A gaggle of people followed soon after, but they were stopped at the gate. This was the time to enter. Slowly and carefully, Slipshade rolled off the cart and crept across the dry, grassy earth, without rousing any suspicion.

The other players were talking amongst themselves, speculating the purpose of this meeting. “They probably found some sort of treasure,” one said. “We’re probably going to Iron Hill,” said another, as Slipshade rolled his eyes. “That’s why we’re on the east side of town, to throw people off.” The more he listened, the more Slipshade realized that none of these players seemed to know anything about the plans of the Jaegers. Since they would have nothing useful to say, he once again decided that it would be best not to draw attention to himself, and he avoided directly engaging with them.

After about fifteen minutes of waiting, they were finally allowed in the pen and directed to take a seat on the logs, which took some time because everyone was required to show their invitation first. Once he handed his in, Slipshade casually seated himself in the middle of the third row, giving him a central vantage point. More players trickled in and made their way directly to the logs, and the core members of the Jaegers gathered by the wagon. Looking around, he estimated that no more than fifty people had come. The ambient chatter grew louder and louder, to the point that it was hard for Slipshade to eavesdrop even on the people right next to him.

He could only think to himself, asking question after question. So far, the Jaegers seemed to be running a fairly meager operation, so why did the Browncoats want to know about them? Why did their commander, Fireflyfan, come directly to him with the task? The Jaegers had come into some money recently, yes, and they were also decently organized by the looks of it, but nothing they could do in the Wildlands would pose a threat to them. Did they really want the gold that badly?

As the hour neared seven o’clock, Gnightstrike mounted the wagon before the seated players and yelled, “Alright, let’s start this meeting!” He repeated himself and beat his shield a few times, and the chatter died. “Great, thank you,” he began. “I want to thank you all for coming tonight. You are here because we are looking to recruit members into our clan, the Jaegers. Each of you will have a role to play, and every player will be paid three gold coins per day for a month. Our mission is fairly simple: we want to build the first nation in the Wildlands, and we have determined a location to do just that. We are not going to tell you where it is, but we will provide you with everything you need along the way.

“Fundamentally, the Jaegers believe that Mercuria was created to celebrate human greatness, and the best way to do that, we see, is to form our own society and overcome adversity along the way. If you are looking to do a little more, to do something that will impress people not only here but in the real world, this is where you can do it. On that note, we have some simple rules: One, never reveal your identity in real life, because Mercuria is supposed to be an escape from the real. There is a zero tolerance policy on this. If you tell anyone your name, your address, your phone number, you’re out. Two, look after each other. Human greatness is never a one-man show. We’ve got to work together to succeed. That’s how we won the Colosseum tournament. We worked as a team. Lastly, don’t make a promise you can’t keep. I think that speaks for itself.

“Before we break off and assign roles, I want to make some acknowledgements. Because of his performance at the Colosseum, both in combat and in leadership, we have promoted Mizuroi to Captain of the Warriors. Come on up, Mizu.” Mizuroi climbed onto the back of the wagon with Gnightstrike. He was the same boy that helped roll the wagon into the pen. This was interesting, Slipshade thought. The Jaegers appeared to be comprised mostly of young adults. That a teenager would be given such rank means he must have made a good impression on them.

Quietly, but standing upright and firm, Mizuroi waved to the crowd, who clapped for for him. Some whispers darted during the applause. “Yeah, I was in the crowd that day, and he’s a total badass,” said a player.

“Without his help, we would have lost the tournament,” Gnight continued. “I want you all to know that everyone who can go above and beyond will be rewarded, just like Mizu here.” Gnightstrike gave him a pat on the shoulder and nodded, and then Mizuroi climbed off the wagon, as the leader of the Jaegers continued.

“The second person I would like to acknowledge is Gwenaveer. Where is she?”

“I’m trying to climb this damn thing,” a girl said, struggling to board the wagon. Her accent, strangely, was not American; it seemed to be Scottish.

“Oh, lemme help you,” said Gnightstrike as turned to her and took her hand, hoisting her up.

“Thanks,” she said.

“So yeah, Gwen here is mostly responsible for getting you all together tonight. Some of you might have been recruited by me or Ulfrickin, but she, as our Messenger, did most of it. Thank you, Gwen.” The crowd gave another round of applause, before she returned to the ground as well.

“With that said,” continued Gnightstrike, “we are going to break off into role assignments. Please line up with either Ulfric over there,” he said with a pause to point at the player in the blue hood, “or with 12Sun,” again pausing to point to another player, who wore a blue tunic much like Gnightstrike’s. “You know where to go, so break off, and be quick! Some of us gotta logout.”

Gnightstrike hopped off the wagon, and players rose and began to line up. Slipshade made his way over to the line with Ulfric, managing to become eighth in line. He watched and listened carefully as the first person was vetted.

“What’s your username?” asked Ulfric.

“Orcslayer37.”

“What job do you want?” he asked again as he wrote the name down.

“Warrior.”

“Let me see your levels then.”

Orcslayer37 brought up his stats screen, showing it to Ulfric.

“Yeah, your levels are good enough for that,” said Ulfric. “Go meet with Mizu over there.”

He nodded and scurried over to the north side of wagon, where Mizuroi was. Slipshade would, once more, need to be unnoticeable, and since most of the other players were choosing to be warriors, he figured that was the crowd into which he could blend best. It was soon his turn to step up and be assigned.

“Username?”

“Eggroll14,” lied Slipshade.

“What do you wanna do?”

“I want to be a warrior.”

“Okay, let’s see your stats.”

Slipshade pulled his own stats screen up.

“Hmm, not the highest levels, but it will do,” said Ulfric. He gestured Slipshade to the rest of the warriors. As he walked there, he smirked under his helm. Ulfric could have just checked his real username on the stats screen, he thought.

There were about ten players already there. About ten more arrived from the other lines before everyone was assigned, meaning close to half of everyone who came was a warrior. Clearly, the Jaegers would need some muscle, if they were survive in the Wildlands. When all were finally present, Mizuroi spoke up.

“So I’m your Captain,” he sighed. “We’re gonna keep your job simple. The…uh…current Jaegers are our advanced warriors. The rest of you will…uh…fight in more of a…supporting role. You’ll be broken into three squads and assigned to a squad leader. More details will be disclosed in your assignments, which…umm…are enclosed here.” He revealed a bundle of envelopes. “Everybody take one. Doesn’t matter which. Then you can go home.”

Everybody grabbed one, including Slipshade. It now seemed that he had the special information that Fireflyfan sought, but he wanted to hang back and see what else he could learn. Sticking around, however, would prove conspicuous. He was too close to finishing the job to mess it up now.

“Hey, whaddya mean I gotta leave?” a voice cried. Everyone looked over toward Ulfric. A few players were still being assigned to other roles, but one person had been stopped. He was a tall player in gray hood of his own.

“Sorry, your stats are suspicious,” said Ulfric. “We don’t have a job for you.”

“Suspicious?” the player spat.

“Yeah, your stealth level is 40. Your elixir level is 28. You might be a spy.”

“I’m not a spy!”

“Well, we aren’t taking any chances, so go home, or else.”

“Or else what? You can’t do anything. We’re outside the main buildings, but we’re still technically in the Town. I’m perfectly safe.”

Two Jaegers grabbed the player from behind and held him firmly.

“Let go of me!” he shouted, struggling. “Lemme go!”

“So,” Ulfric began as he drew his broadsword. “You’re right, we can’t hurt you in the Town, but we can easily carry you about fifty meters to the east there, into the Wildlands, hold you down, and kill you. So what’s it gonna be? Leave, or stay?”

Before Ulfric could get an answer, one of the other players, still in the line, lunged at the alleged spy’s captors.

“Silver, no!” he called out.

Two other Jaegers quickly lept upon him, with such swiftness that they almost seemed to have expected this move. They fought and wrestled on the ground, as two more Jaegers came up and helped to restrain him. Then they carried him outside of the pen and toward the plains to the east, as Ulfric followed. With Silver forced to his knees and arms held back, Ulfric raised his sword and, with a clean swing, severed his head. He nodded to his comrades, who immediately carried his remains away.

Ulfric returned to the pen, holding the head of the player’s would-be rescuer and cast it before him. Then he turned to his prisoner and simply raised his brow.

The player frowned. “Fine, I’ll leave.” With that, the Jaegers released him, and he backed away, before turning and heading back toward the Town proper.

“Everyone, get back to your break-outs!” shouted Gnightstrike. “It’s over, he’s gone. Don’t worry about it.”

With little debate, people resumed their group meetings, except for Slipshade. Realizing the gift the Fates had sent him, he had utilized the distraction well and dove under the wagon, hiding inside the discarded straw beneath it. Now he was free to eavesdrop on the Jaegers who remained.

“Okay,” Mizuroi resumed. “Like I said…umm, all the details you need will be in those envelopes. Go home, rest up, and meet us at the designated time and place. See ya.”

The inductees began to shuffle out. The other groups began to as well, once their business was done, which only took a moment. The other Jaegers wasted no time in departing either, to Slipshade’s surprise. Gnightstrike, in fact, was one of the first to leave. Great, he thought. Now he had to stay there, until the coast was clear, especially since a wrong move could actually get him killed. A few Jaegers stayed behind, but they said nothing of importance.

“You bringin’ the food?”

“No, that’s WunPawnch’s job.”

“At least the Browncoats will know who has the food,” Slipshade griped under his breath. About ten minutes went by. He didn’t see anybody, only heard a few noises. Was he hiding from nobody? He could have been back in his room by now at the inn, working on his report, if not for this miscalculation. How much longer did he have until his forced logout? He knew time was short, so he brought up his menu screen and looked. The time read 7:45 PM. Had it really taken that long? He would need to get going immediately to make it back in time.

Footsteps sounded suddenly, growing louder. Slipshade quickly closed his menu screen and froze. Damn it, he thought. Had he just given himself away? A pair of feet stopped by the wagon, right in front of his eyes.

“Mizu!” a voice called. He heard another set of brisk footsteps, revealing another pair of feet.

“Hey, Gwen!” the feet before his eyes replied.

“Do you have it?”

“Yep, do you have glasses?”

“Yep.”

“Great,” let’s take a seat.

Both feet strode toward the log seats, revealing the full bodies of Mizuroi and Gwenaveer, who sat down at the end of two rows, facing toward the East. Mizuroi removed his bag as he sat and placed it to his side. He rummaged through it, and pulled out a bottle. Gwenaveer produced two square glasses.

“Finally, Hazel Juice,” she said. “How much did it cost?”

“Nearly all of my Colosseum winnings,” Mizuroi replied.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

“You could’ve let me go halfway on that. You didn’t even get to buy any new equipment, and I already spent all mine.”

“It’s fine, man. Consider it a gift. C’mon, lemme fill your glass.”

She stretched out her arm, and he tilted the bottle as the golden-brown beverage filled her glass. Then he filled his own, and their eyes met.

“Alright, on three,” he said. “One, two, three!”

They raised their glasses and took a sip. Their eyebrows perked up.

“This is really good,” said Gwenaveer.”

“Yeah, it’s actually amazing. I can see why it costs so much.”

“It tastes like…like…” she began, stumped. They both took another sip and mulled on it.

“It doesn’t taste like anything,” Mizuroi concluded.

“You’re right. It really doesn’t taste like anything I’ve had before. I mean, it’s sweet, but it doesn’t taste like any juice I’ve had before.”

“Guess that’s Mercuria for ya, full of surprises and…and innovations.” Mizuroi’s gaze shifted to the moon, full and bright. “Even the shit they copied from the real world is great. I mean, look at that. That looks like the real moon! If didn’t know this was a game, I’d think we’re actually outside. I’d think this is real juice. I’d be just another sheep in the Matrix.” He took another sip. “Hope we live to get another bottle of this stuff. It was expensive.”

“I’m sorry,” said Gwenaveer.

“Don’t be sorry. You’ve earned it! Look how many people you got here tonight. You did really well.”

“You did really well. You’re the reason we won at the Colosseum. We wouldn’t have all these people here if we couldn’t pay them.”

“Yeah, but,” Mizuroi began with pause. His countenance sagged. “I just got lucky. Like, that’s all it was. If that spear hadn’t been there when I fell — ”

“You think that’s what did it? Mizu, I was there too. There was more to it than that. You’re getting fixated on the wrong thing.”

“But, just…what if I’m not a good Captain? I mean, I’m the youngest guy in the clan.”

“And I’m the youngest girl. Do you think I’d be bad at it?”

“Well, not necessarily, I mean — ”

“And why is that?”

“Well…um…I should at least give you a chance.” He took another sip.

“Right, and we’re giving you a chance. I’m giving you a chance. Gnight’s giving you one. All the Jaegers are giving you a chance, Mizu. Besides, you didn’t have to become Captain.” She tilted her head and gave him an authoritative look. “If you really think you’d be bad at it, why’d you accept the offer?”

“Because, uh…”

“Yes?”

“I don’t know why,” he stammered.

“Jesus, you’re a smart kid, Mizu, but you play a hell of a fool.” Gwenaveer grabbed the bottle and refilled her glass. She turned to face the East again. The gaping, savage plain laid before them, and they took it in for a moment before resuming their conversation.

“What if I get us killed out there?” Mizuroi asked, glass to his lips.

“Then we’ll die.”

“We won’t be able to play for a year.”

“So we better not die.”

“What if only one of us dies?”

Gwenaveer sat up. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Gwen, you’re the best friend I’ve made in Mercuria. If you died, I don’t think the game would be fun for me anymore.”

“Hmm,” she said. “Hmm.” Silence followed. Slipshade’s warning screen popped up, informing him that he had ten minutes until logout. He quickly closed it, as his gut imploded in dread. He thanked God they did not see it.

They finished their glasses and refilled them once more. It was a while before either of them continued talking. Finally, Gwenaveer broke the saturninity. “I’d have less fun if you died too.”

“So,” Mizuroi pondered, “what do we do about it?”

“What can we do?”

“We could try to connect outside of Mercuria.”

Gwenaveer smiled. “You know that’s against the rules.”

“So? We already know some things. I know you live in Glasgow, and you know I’m from Georgia.”

“That’s only because we exchanged those two bits the day before we joined the Jaegers.”

“Man, since when have you been one for the rules?”

“I’m not, but I like Gnight’s vision. I like what he wants to do for the clan and for Mercuria, and I think keeping our real lives out of this is a big part of what will make it work.”

“I see,” resigned Mizuroi.

“Are you mad?”

“No, I can understand that. I like Gnight’s vision too. Not that part of it, but I like what he wants to do in the Wildlands.” Slipshade realized that they were getting close to giving him the information he sought. He had given up on the idea that they were going to say anything useful. It was mostly this teenager stuff, but it proved to be rather entertaining. It reminded him of his own days as an awkward teenager. Here we was, hired by a man who was at least thirty to perform espionage, and these kids were just being kids. There was a certain sweetness to this scene.

“What if we live?” asked Gwenaveer.

“What do you mean?”

“Say we don’t die. Say we make it to the river. Say we’re able to build our own town. We’ll keep having fun, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So do what Gnight says, not break the rules, and keep things going.”

Slipshade’s forced logout screen appeared. He had fifteen seconds left. He saw Mizuroi grab the bottle and drink the last of the Hazel Juice. “Yeah, Gnight’s a neat guy. Most people go into the Wildlands to grief or to look for treasure. He’s the only one who wants to go where there is no treasure.” With that, Slipshade’s logout initiated itself, and he fell asleep under the straw in the pale moonlight.

An hour later, he signed back in. How he wished that federal law did not require Neurospek to log players out after three hours of play. In any event, it would probably prove to be no big deal. As he sat, the visor screen before his eyes showed the view of where he left off. The image synchronized with his occipital lobe, and the borders of the the screen disappeared into a larger picture, as the weight of the helmet vanished. He was back in the game, once again under the wagon.

He immediately heard people talking, and they were not Mizuroi or Gwenaveer. They were both older men. One had a grey hood, and the other wore a fancier, green outfit, both sitting on the log seats, facing each other.

“So what are you gonna do?” asked the hooded man.

“I don’t know yet,” said the man in green. “But, we’re probably gonna have to wait on the other spy to report.”

“He wasn’t here.”

“How do you know?”

“If they wouldn’t let me in because they knew I was a spy, how could he have gotten in?”

Slipshade’s eyes widened. First, he realized that this was the same player who failed to gain entry into the Jaegers. They were right; he was, in fact, a spy. Apparently, someone else was suspicious of the clan and had sent a spy, if only less successfully.

Secondly, what did they mean by “other spy”? He wondered: were they talking about him? How could they have known that he would be there, when his assignment was between him and Fireflyfan? Something was amiss, and it became clear, then and there, that his mission was not quite over.

“You make a good point,” the man in green acknowledged. “I guess we just have to assume the worst. We’ll probably have to organize some sort of ambush. It’s a shame you couldn’t get in, but you were right to come to me as soon as you did. Now that we know where they’ll probably gather for the expedition, we can be ready.”

“Should we head back to base?” asked the hooded man.

“Yeah, better tell the rest of the clan. Besides, it’s not safe to stay this close to the Wildlands.”

“I’m sorry about Silver, man.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll get even.”

They got up and started to leave, casually mumbling words too quiet and incoherent for Slipshade to make out anymore. When they were finally gone, he rolled out from under the wagon and patted all the loose pieces of straw off of himself. Finally, he thought, he could move on, but what did these two men mean? Was there more to this assignment than the Browncoats had let on? Most of all, why did Fireflyfan keep him out of the loop?

End of Part One.

Follow this publication to stay tuned to the second and final part.

For a Taste of Hazel Juice: Part One was originally published in cosgrrrl on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

On the heels of my study about the relationship between political beliefs and one’s side in the Skyrim Civil War, I began a similar effort to find links between one’s Hogwarts House and one’s political beliefs. After over a week of gathering data and analyzing the results, I am ready to share. Before I get into that, I need to discuss the sample and the methodology.

Understanding the Data

A Google form asked participants five questions. First, it asked them to state their Hogwarts House. Then it asked if their answer was consistent with the result that they got on Pottermore. This question served as a filter, in order to anchor the houses to a standard authority, which I decided should be Pottermore, since the test for sorting was devised by J.K. Rowling herself, thereby making it official. About 11% of the participants stated that their house did not align with Pottermore’s results, so their data were thrown out, and everything that is concluded in this study is based on the remaining 89%.

The last three questions asked about political alignment (conservative/right-wing, liberal/left-wing, centrist, libertarian, and none of the above), country/region of residence, and age group. Political alignment is the central focus of the study, and the other two categories aim to identify if factors other than politics also play an influence. The United States, the UK/Ireland, Canada, Germany, and Australia/New Zealand were the only places with enough participants to be considered statistically significant, so while France was an option, its data was included with “Other.”

The Google form was primarily distributed on Reddit, in subs such as r/samplesize and r/harrypotter. Social media and Medium itself played a lesser role in distributing the form. After a week and a half (and after the filter question), the study had 785 total participants. As with the Skyrim study, the predominance of Reddit as a source makes the sample non-random. This means that the percentages of certain political groups or certain houses might be overrepresented, so only cross-sections of the data should be treated as meaningful.

With that said, let us look at what relations we found.

Houses and Politics

Most respondents were Ravenclaws, and the least were Gryffindors. Once again, this does not mean that most people are Ravenclaws, only that most Redditors are. Similarly, most respondents were liberals, but this is also probably indicative of the sample source, not the overall picture.

Going into this, my hypothesis was that conservatives would be more heavily represented within both Gryffindor and Slytherin (G-S), while liberals would be more represented within Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff (R-H). I was less certain about libertarians, but I expected them to gravitate toward Ravenclaw. What did the data ultimately say?

On liberals and conservatives, I was correct. R-H comprised a majority of liberals at 64.2%. When conservatives were analyzed, G-S grew to a majority of 51.9%, at the expense of both Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Interestingly, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw were the most sensitive to this shift. Now, what about libertarians and centrists?

Centrists had an R-H coalition almost equal to that of liberals, at 64.5%. Similarly, G-S libertarians reversed the trend, nearly matching their conservative G-S friends with 50.8%. Unlike liberals, however, centrists drew far more heavily from Ravenclaw, having a majority in that house alone. Libertarians, meanwhile, drew more heavily from Slytherin than Gryffindor. While more libertarians were still Ravenclaws, libertarianism seems to draw out Slytherin traits better than any other house, so I consider my prediction about libertarianism to be incorrect.

While the preceding data might suggest that Hufflepuff is the most liberal house, their highest representation was actually among people who described themselves as “None of the Above” politically, at a whopping 34.8% (but Ravenclaw still led in representation). What does this say about Hufflepuff? How do we interpret these results when the group is as non-specific as “None of the Above?” All that label means is that participants rejected the other labels; its says nothing about their views. Someone who checks “None of the Above” could be apolitical, but they might also be right-wing or left-wing.

We have some evidence to help interpret this, however. In the course of this study, I received complaints that the word “liberal” was paired with “left-wing,” with the consensus among these critics being that this phraseology was more meaningful to Americans. I wondered if — even though left-wing ideology was explicitly stated— people might have still rejected the term “liberal” on this basis, so I compared the data on countries.

Of the American respondents, 5.4% claimed None of the Above, while 63.8 claimed to be liberal/left-wing. Among the non-Americans, 12.9% claimed to be None of the Above, while 61.6% claimed to be liberal/left-wing.

We can see that not being American made one more than twice as likely to say “None of the Above.” The fact that Americans led in claiming to be liberal/left-wing is also telling, because most non-Americans in this study are from first-world countries, and other first-world countries tend to have more left-wing values than America. These data therefore suggest that many in the “None of the Above” crowd are actually liberals (in American parlance) who rejected the term. This means that the liberal R-H coalition is actually a bit larger than 64.2%, and this strengthens the assumption that a relationship between political views and Hogwarts houses exists.

With that said, let us see how where one lived affected one’s Hogwarts house.

Houses and Homelands

In each country/region, there are divergences, but they are generally milder than what we see through the lens of politics. For example, Ravenclaw never fell below 40% in any country or region, and the R-H coalition was a majority wherever one looked. When an area led in house representation, it was often to a lesser extent than political groups. For example, Australia/NZ led in Gryffindors at 20.7%, but conservatives were 25% Gryffindor.

Still, some things did stand out. Canadians were the least likely to be Gryffindors at 9%. Does their reputation for politeness also mean they are less bold? Americans were also the least likely to be Ravenclaws, while they were the most likely to be Hufflepuffs. Aussies and Kiwis were the least likely to be Slytherins, at 10.3%. I suppose they would not have the best relationship with snakes Down Under, so this makes sense.

The most unusual of all were the Germans. They were the most likely to be Ravenclaws, with a majority at 53.1%, narrowly putting them ahead of centrists. They were the most likely to be Slytherins too, as well as the least likely to be Hufflepuffs, making them perhaps the most lopsided of all people.

Houses and Ages

Even across age groups, Ravenclaws led. They were strongest among people aged 36–45, at 60%, the highest of any grouping, and only 3.3% of them were Gryffindors. Hufflepuffs also reached an all-time low with people 18–25 at 6.9%. Despite some lows like that, the R-H majority always held.

One interesting trend of note was that the number of Gryffindors tended to decline with age, while the other houses trended to grow with age.

Conclusions

We can see that political views had an influence on one’s house. That said, broader, cultural influences also played a part, such as country of residence or one’s age. It would be a mistake, therefore, to look at the sorting process on Pottermore as a specifically or primarily political test.

Political views, however, were more impactful than residence or age. For all nationalities and age groups gauged, the R-H coalition held a majority. Only when tested for politics did the G-S coalition form a majority. The margin of change between an R-H majority (for liberals and centrists) and a G-S majority (for conservatives and libertarians) is around 15%. Some might find this to be minor, but try to imagine just how consequential a 15% change in public opinion would be for elections, and the significance is clearer.

Pottermore’s sorting process also has a tendency to group people according to house. Libertarians were about 1.42 times more likely to be sorted into Slytherin than the average participant. Conservatives were 1.8 times more likely to be Gryffindors. Liberals were at least 1.07 times more likely to be Hufflepuffs (higher if we correct for refusal to identify as liberal). Centrists were 1.22 times more likely to be Ravenclaws.

As secondary favorites go, libertarians were 1.26 times more likely to be Gryffindors, conservatives 1.15 times more likely to be Slytherins, liberals at least equally likely to be Ravenclaws, and centrists about equally likely to be Slytherins.

A look at secondary favorites makes Hufflepuff stand out more as, indeed, the most liberal house, while Slytherin could be said to be the most “illiberal.”

Summary:

• Libertarians: Slytherin
• Conservatives: Gryffindor
• Liberals: Hufflepuff
• Centrists: Ravenclaw

When compared to the preceding study on Skyrim, Pottermore seems to be similar in that it causes liberals and centrists to align somewhat, and the same goes for conservatives and libertarians. The relationships in Skyrim are far starker, however, and this may be because the Skyrim Civil War is a more explicitly political scenario, while the house sorting process is a general look at character traits. Nonetheless, one could reasonably surmise from this that Imperials are more likely to be Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs, while Stormcloaks are more likely to be Gryffindors and Slytherins.

Another interesting parallel was that libertarians did better than conservatives with the group that is often considered by fans to be the most racist: in Skyrim, the Stormcloaks; in Harry Potter, the Slytherins. (This does not mean that anyone in those groups is racist.)

I bring up racism because it is definitely the canon in the HP series that Slytherins are heavily more racist. Voldemort’s pro-pureblood agenda found most of its support in Slytherin, and the house had racist tendencies stretching back to its founder (Salazar), to the point that a war was fought over it. Ergo, the canon suggests that one’s house is not wholly irrelevant to one’s politics. Based on the the results of this study, it would appear that Rowling was “successful” in creating an actual process that relates the two, even if it does not gauge one’s attitudes on race.

Still, there were plenty of exceptions. There were conservative Hufflepuffs, just as there were liberal Slytherins. In the books, some Gryffindors ended up supporting Voldemort (even in spite of their friends), such as Peter Pettigrew, while Professor Slughorn, a Slytherin, refused to serve Voldemort.

Some might wonder why Gryffindors and Slytherins tend to align in this study, when the book depicts them as bitter rivals. My best explanation is that the boldness of Gryffindors is actually similar to the ambition of Slytherins, so while they may be written fictionally as adversaries, in practice they have a lot in common.

Final Thoughts

Even though the links are not as strong as with Skyrim, we can conclude that there is a clear connection between one’s political views and their Hogwarts House, as determined by Pottermore. The sorting process must be tapping into some character traits that also influence what we believe politically. What these traits may be, however, is unknown. Another perhaps more qualitative study is required to determine that.

Whatever the case, fictional games are proving to be good predictors of our politics.

Harry Potter Study: Relation between House and Politics was originally published in cosgrrrl on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

I am currently playing my largest game of Civilization V ever. I decided to do the One-City Challenge as the Shoshone on a Huge Continents map, Deity. I have played over 2000 turns and am currently in the middle of an endless war against a Franco-Aztec alliance. You can read more about it here.

The course of the war has caused me to assess the mechanics of the game. Despite having only one city, I am steadily winning a war against the team that owns most of the two supercontinents. Their military is so large that nearly every land tile on the map is occupied by one of their units. What is enabling me to win so far?

Some of you already have an answer: the AI. Rather, the artificial intelligence is not very intelligent. It often does not attack in the most efficient way, and it lacks the ability to form coherent, long-term goals. For example, I raided and destroyed most of my enemies’ coastal cities because it was the low-hanging fruit and would give me command of the seas. The game’s AI simply cannot plan things out in that way.

That said, we should not act like we have never lost a game to an AI, especially when playing on Deity. Occasionally, they prove too powerful to overcome. What might be helpful is to understand military power in this game and the curves that illustrate it.

I imagine military power in a game of Civilization V to follow a general S-curve, where f(a) represents the power of an AI at a high difficulty level and where f(p) represents the power of a human player. If we assume that both are products of a logistic function, then we might get the following formulae:

Let D represent the difficulty level of the AI (we will assume Deity), while I represents the intelligence of the player. Let a and p represent the respective sizes of the militaries at any given level of technological advancement. Meanwhile, k, which usually indicates the steepness of the curve, could represent the rate at which science is gained and perhaps how quickly units are produced. If we assume also that I > D in all cases, then we should get a graph that looks something like this:

You will notice there are two curves, one for the AI and one for the player. While military power is at least partially a function of size, both have different caps. This is because military power is partly a function of intelligence. Since the numerator in a logistic function represents the maximum value of a logistic function, and if the cognitive ability of the AI and the human player are the numerators in these functions, then the human player ultimately has the most potential for military power.

The reasons are simple. Anyone who has played the game long enough should know that the AI are not capable of complex tactics or strategy. This means that the increase in military power that an AI achieves by producing extra units hits diminishing returns sooner. A more intelligent actor can perform more complex actions with more units. Thus, a human army with 100 modern-era units will be more powerful than an AI army with 100 units of the same era.

Where a high-difficulty AI has an advantage is in the early game. You will notice that while the player’s curve has the most potential, the AI grows faster. This is because it is given advantages in science, production, and GPT that allow it to outpace the player, despite a relatively equal starting position. The challenge in the game then is for the human player to survive in spite of their deficient military power, until they are able to catch up.

When they do catch up, human intelligence allows the player to attain higher power than the AI. Of course, there is also an upper limit on human power, dependent on how intelligent a given player is, and even the most intelligent person in the world has finite intelligence. Finite intelligence, in theory, should therefore limit how complex and efficient uses of a military at a given size are, even with human players.

There is certainly more thought that could be put into this, but I think this is a good starting point for how to look at the strategy behind games like Civilization V mathematically. Are there other curves in the game besides that of military power?

Furthermore, what does this say about how we can assess real militaries (and civilizations) mathematically? After all, in 1940, the German Wehrmacht faced a more numerous and better-equipped Anglo-French force. Even the tanks, for which Germans became famous in World War II, were of higher quality on the Allied side. Why then, did the Third Reich defeat its adversaries in the outset and conquer Western Europe? Superior planning is the best explanation. What, then, is the power curve for this scenario?

Civilization V might be easy to write off as fundamentally different from the real word, as essentially a glorified spreadsheet, but so is real life. Everything we think and do is the result of specific and consistent values that pertain to matter, energy, space, and time. Thus, a sufficient simulation of Civilization V can actually teach us more about our own societies than we might expect.

Civilization V: Military Power Curve was originally published in cosgrrrl on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Last week, I announced that I was doing a survey about the Skyrim Civil War and the correlation between the side one chose in the war and their political ideology. The results of that survey are in, and the data have been thoroughly analyzed, so let us see what the results say.

Understanding the Data

First of all, we must discuss how the study was done. A Google form was created that asked five questions. First, it asked which side someone takes in the Skyrim Civil War and split that five ways: strong Imperial, lean Imperial, neutral, lean Stormcloak, and strong Stormcloak. Second, it asked each respondent to give a brief explanation of why they made their choice (for some qualitative data). Then it asked what the person’s political alignment was, with the options of “Conservative (right-wing),” “Liberal (left-wing),” “Libertarian,” “Centrist,” and “None of the above.” The last two questions concerned the person’s country of residence and age.

The primary method of dispersing the survey was via Reddit, through r/samplesize. A few other subreddits were visited, and other sites and social media, as well as Medium itself, brought in more participants. This prevented the sample from being totally random, and it renders the study unable to determine the grander questions, such as whether or not more people support the Imperials or the Stormcloaks. Instead, this study should be seen more as conducting five simultaneous mini-studies of the five civil war positions and/or the five political groups.

In total, there were 374 participants in the study. As the graph above shows, more participants favored the Imperials at 46.8%, while the Stormcloaks sat at 37.4%. Remember, though, since this was not a perfectly random sample, this is not indicative of which side is actually the most popular among Skyrim players. The same goes for the next chart.

The liberals appear to be the dominant group here. Again, owing to the lack of random sampling, we cannot conclude from this that Skyrim players are primarily liberal. We can, however, draw conclusions from the patterns that emerge when the data we have on the sides players chose in the war is compared with the data on their political alignment, and the trends were stark and unambiguous.

Before we jump into that, we need to clarify some language. From this point forward, anyone who was Strong Imperial or Lean Imperial will be included in the term “Imperial.” Likewise, anyone who was Strong Stormcloak or Lean Stormcloak will be included in the term “Stormcloak.” Ones who show no preference will be considered “neutral” (neutral conservative). People who identified as “none of the above” politically who are neutral in the war will be considered true neutrals.

With that explained, let us look at how one’s side in the civil war matched up with their political views.

Matching Politics and Faction

Liberals and centrists were most likely to be Imperials, while conservatives and libertarians were most likely to be Stormcloaks. Using liberals as a baseline, centrists were 1.07 times more likely to be Stormcloaks, while conservatives were 1.73 times more likely. Libertarians were the standard-bearers of Ulfric, as they were 2.29 times more likely to be Stormcloaks than liberals. Conversely, liberals were 1.14 times more likely to be Imperials than centrists, 1.82 times more likely than conservatives, and 3.25 times more likely than libertarians.

While liberals were the primary Imperials and libertarians the primary Stormcloaks, centrists and conservatives still have their own accolades. Conservatives were most likely to take an extreme position (strong Imperial or strong Stormcloak) and were the only group with a majority of extremists at 55.4%. Centrists, as their name implies, were the most tempered (or least extreme), with only 17.5% of their group taking a “strong” position in the war. This did not make centrists the most neutral, however.

Those who identified as “none of the above” politically not only had the highest rate of neutrality, they were also the most balanced, being almost equally likely to be an Imperial, a Stormcloak, or a true neutral.

Overall, most groups took a side. With the obvious exception of “none of the above,” conservatives were the lowest, with only 82.1% taking a side, while liberals were the most partial, at 89.7%.

Understanding Motivations

Understanding why these political groups aligned at the rates that they did is possible by examining the motivations. Participants were allowed to give reasons why those chose their side. Some gave a single reason; others gave many, so some of these are not mutually exclusive. The most common ones were:

• Stormcloak racism
• Anti-imperialism
• Almost being executed by the Empire at the beginning of the game
• Stopping the Thalmor (in terms of the bigger picture)
• Error on both sides
• Religious freedom
• “Skyrim belongs to the Nords”
• Imperials seen as Thalmor puppets
• Role-playing

Some of these terms are clear-cut, while others are attempts to summarize what were often nuanced opinions. “Anti-imperialism,” for example, attempts to coalesce what was a series of interconnected feelings among participants, which included opposition to the Empire’s colonialism, support of self-determination of nations (such as Skyrim), and the view that the Empire was an oppressive, autocratic state.

In that same vein, “stopping the Thalmor” meant that the Empire was the best entity either to defeat or to contain the Aldmeri Dominion, and both statements were usually accompanied by an observation that the Stormcloaks could not see the bigger picture. Whether the hope was to defeat the Thalmor in the future or to keep them deterred, both views are included under this umbrella term.

The Imperials

The leading motive for the Imperials was stopping the Thalmor, at 58.3%. The (supposed) racism of the Stormcloaks was reason #2, with 12% of Imperials acknowledging that both sides had flaws, effectively arguing that the Stormcloaks were simply worse. This overall picture is still not reliable, though, owing again to the sampling bias. When we break Imperial motives down by ideology, however, some more patterns emerge.

Most groups were more motivated by the desire to stop the Thalmor, but liberal Imperials were ever so slightly more motivated into siding with the Empire because of the racism of the Stormcloaks. Conservative Imperials were the least sensitive to racism and the most likely to be interested in keeping the Empire together to defeat the Thalmor.

The Stormcloaks

Here, we see that the main motivation of the Stormcloaks was anti-imperialism, followed by religious freedom. More differences can be found as the Stormcloaks are sorted politically:

Here, anti-imperialism was a big concern, but it was its most major with libertarians, almost as a single issue. Centrists were not concerned about it at all, and conservatives were equally concerned about religious freedom, while more still believed “Skyrim belongs to the Nords.” The extent to which this was said in jest or with sincerity is not possible to determine, but it is nonetheless the case that conservatives were overwhelmingly more likely to express this sentiment.

Conservatives also led in citing religious freedom as a motivation, but this was a fairly common motivation for all groups. Libertarians and centrists were most likely to accuse the Imperials of being puppets of the Thalmor or too easily influenced by them.

Neutrals

A majority of those who took neither side criticized both sides, which might not come as a surprise. As with the Imperials and the Stormcloaks, the sampling bias prevents the overall picture from being indicative of anything. We need to break it down.

The leading reason for the groups was, indeed, the general view that both sides were bad. Liberals were almost alone in citing their concern about the racism of the Stormcloaks and were also more likely to argue against the religious oppression of the Imperials.

True Neutrals

True neutrals were the most likely of any cross-section to criticize both sides on the war. A smaller majority of them were still sensitive to the racism of the Stormcloaks, about twice as much as they were worried about the imperialistic ways of the Empire.

Other Observations

Nationality

Participants were given a list of options to name their country of origin or put “None of the above,” if it was not listed. Except for the United States, no other country provided a large enough sample size to be considered statistically significant. As such, we shall only compare the differences between Americans and non-Americans.

Americans and non-Americans were about equally likely to be neutral. Americans were slightly more likely (about 5%) to be Stormcloaks than non-Americans.

Age

87.2% of the participants were adults aged 18–35. This is almost certainly a product of both the means by which the study was promoted and the fact that a video game such as Skyrim mainly appeals to younger audiences.

Conclusions

Several patterns and consistencies emerged by looking at cross-sections of the data and at the qualitative responses. Imperials could overwhelmingly count on support from liberals and also centrists to a point. Stormcloaks, meanwhile, were dominated by libertarians and, to a lesser extent, conservatives. For those who did not adopt a listed political label, their position was effectively impossible to predict. While the data make it clear that knowing a person’s political alignment does not guarantee which side he/she would take, they showed that there were high probabilities, enough on which to bet money.

A look at the qualitative data on motivations shows that liberal Imperials were mostly motivated by a strictly political impulse: opposition to the perceived racism of the Stormcloaks. While the other groups were mainly motivated by keeping the Empire united to defeat the Thalmor, this is also a fairly political rationale, comparable to the federalism of early American history.

Even liberal Stormcloaks were far more likely to speak ill of the perceived racism of Ulfric and his cause, something that the conservative Imperials hardly even mentioned. Conservative Stormcloaks, on the other hand, had far-and-away the least hesitation in making the race-based proclamation of “Skyrim belongs to the Nords.” One conservative Stormcloak even stated:

The Nords are clearly the best race. All the others suck, especially elves. Actually, I don’t mind Redguards or Bretons.

While other sentiments such as anti-imperialism and freedom of religion played a part, the issue of race was a decisive wedge between liberals and conservatives in the course of the war. Whether this means that conservatives are more racist or if liberals are hypersensitive to racial issues is not something that can be determined.

In summary, there was a very strong, very observable relationship between one’s political views and one’s side in the Skyrim Civil War. Non-political motives such as role-playing or anger over the attempted execution by the Empire at the start of the game took a back seat to questions of individual rights and national security. Certain motivations were more easily found according to political alignment as well.

It is therefore concluded that one’s side in the war is indicative of one’s political alignment, whatever judgments one might make about those alignments. Given that I am a centrist, the point here is not to paint liberals in a more favorable light than conservatives but to speak honestly about the differences that occurred in the data.

An additional conclusion about the Skyrim Civil War is that one can effectively use these fictional environments as a means of testing political scenarios that pertain to the real world. The underlying logic is that people carry the same values that they hold in the real world into the game world. Once we can control for variables such as role-playing and other in-game factors, we are able to predict human behavior in game quests such as the Civil War and understand how the chips would fall in reality.

Want to take part in another study about Hogwarts and politics? Go here.

Skyrim civil war political alignment study: Imperials v. Stormcloaks was originally published in cosgrrrl on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.