The only Good Jews are the Jews who are self-sacrificing, who will go willingly to their deaths for the salvation of others. The Good Jew, who will willingly undergo torments unto death, is the only Good Jew.
The Good Jew will absolve their murderers. The Good Jew will 'turn the other cheek'. The Good Jew will write "I still believe that people are good at heart" when being persecuted. The Good Jew will lay down and die for the comfort and education of others.
But for all other Jews who fail to attain such lofty standards?
They are betrayers, corruptors, colonizers, genociders, child murderers, blood drinkers. Capitalists and communists. Sexually depraved and yet sexless, where even the Jewish men are emasculated. They are White, yet also still Other. They are rootless cosmopolitans, from nowhere, yet told to go back where they came from. Their mere presence is a taint, and yet they hide among the disciples of the Good Jew, waiting for their chance to betray and sell out.
The only Good Jew is a Dead Jew who goes willingly to die, on the cross of the Romans or from the knives and guns of terrorists. All other Jews, who refuse to lay down and die, who dare to say "Am Yisrael Chai", that the Children of Yisrael Live, are therefore innately evil and irredeemable, and must be shunned for daring to cling to life.
Player: "I'm upset that [NPCs who sprung an accidently fatal trap for thieves] are dead, but I'm more upset that [NPC, antagonistic] is trying to guilt us over it."
Player2, Resident Moral Compass: "Yeah!"
We’re already a decent large group, but due to over arching plot, three players recent brought back their old characters from a previous campaign for a storyline. Bringing us to nine players.
DM: “Okay, so we have a few ideas on what to do. What first?”
Paladin: “I have some contacts coming to meet me, so I think I have to do my down time here.”
Sorcerer: “We need to got to Halrua and Waterdeep. I’m the only one who can teleport, so guess I’m doing those.”
DM: “Wait, are we finally splitting the party?”
Monk 1: “I also need to do a ritual to attune to the moonblade.”
Cleric: “I can teleport to Waterdeep, I just can’t get back.”
Sorcerer: “I can pick you up at the end of the week!”
Monk 2: “I wanna go to Waterdeep!”
DM: “…okay. Three way split. Not ideal, but–”
Monk 1: “I need to go to the forest for my ritual.”
DM: “Four way split?”
Artificer: “I need research in Candlekeep. We still have that invitation, right?”
DM: “Okay…five way split.”
Bard: “Six, technically. I’m on another plane.”
I been having way too much fun with one of the Rider-Culture’s many non-war-games, goat-pulling! Inspired by the game of the same name played by many cultures of central Asia throughout history and still popular today! Though because the ‘horses’ in this case have a little more opinion and propensity for wrasslin’ it’s more like football than the real world counterpart. It’s a very popular game with the Rider centaurs as it combines their two other favorite pasttimes- racing and wrestling, depending on who has the goat!
In more organized games the goal is to take control of a stuffed goat/sheep-skin and keep control long enough to get it into the possession of a family/herd mate that’s on the sidelines watching (or doing something else when they get pelted by a goat-pillow) though most casual games wind up just being basically keep-away until everyone’s wore out. There’s two ways it usually winds up going, giant wrestling pile free-for-alls like shown above or all out races after whoever has the goat at the moment, depending on how good the grip the Riders have. While wrestling is usually what it comes down too, a frequent winning strategy is just waiting for your opportunity, having your Rider cling on like a koala and running like hell. Using one of your littlest rider cousins is recommended for their light weight and killer grips, much to the auntie’s dismay.
Map of New Zealand in Mario-ish style.
by TheGeographyPin
If you can’t reblog this, unfollow me now.
Cockatoo socializing with veterinary staff.
Best author ever
pratchett will write an entire book about the grim reaper pretending to be santa claus while the grim reaper’s granddaughter goes about hunting down the dumbass who decided to kill santa, and then right when you think you’re done and the oddly pointed shenanigans are winding down he hits you with “humans need fantasy to be human. to be the place where the falling angel meets the rising ape,” and knocks you into next wednesday