“But then Ocasio-Cortez spoke, followed by Bush, and I saw something
truly terrifying. I saw just how easy it would be, were I less involved
and less certain of our nation’s founding and its history, to fall for
the populist lines they were shouting from that stage.
I saw how easy it would be, as a parent, to accept the idea that my children deserve healthcare and education.
I
saw how easy it would be, as someone who has struggled to make ends
meet, to accept the idea that a “living wage” was a human right.
Above
all, I saw how easy it would be to accept the notion that it was the
government’s job to make sure that those things were provided.”
You guys, the Daily Caller just published the funniest thing I have ever read in my entire life. It is literally an article where a conservative is just terrified to death that they nearly felt empathy and love.
This article is like the biggest proof I have ever read that conservatives are just pathologically afraid of kindness.
There’s… not even a punchline. Like, the article concludes just a few lines after the quoted section, with no suggestion for why anyone SHOULDN’T support things like universal healthcare. Not even a token “but, you know, the money,” or “but you have to EARN it.” It just ends.
I guess the audience is expected to fill in the blanks? Like “gosh, I almost cared about an unrelated human being, but CLEARLY the very concept is absurd.” Which is… pretty sad, honestly.
(This story is set very shortly after the Siege of Lordaeron.)
Vaknosh Blackwolf didn’t care much for having to hobble around. In fact, he didn’t care for being in these casts at all. However, such was the state he was in that they remained on. For now, at least, until his wounds mended. So, for now, he had to hobble about with his leg cast when trying to get anywhere.
And tonight, he was hobbling, slowly but surely, towards a small cave on his property.
It wasn’t much of a cave. It did not go deep into the ground nor far into the hills his estate rested on, right on the Ashenvale-Northern Barrens border. It was a soft, gentle slope into the earth, just long enough to block out all external light from the Barrens, even on the brightest days, and all noise as well, giving it a serene quiet. The air was always warmer in here, as well, which Vaknosh – an orc who grew up inside an active volcano – always appreciated it.
As the somewhat shambling orc entered the cave, torches came alive with his presence. It was a small trick, just a tiny bit of elemental magic. The orc smiled and spoke a brief thanks to the elements in kalimag.
On the alternate Draenor, separated from the Kor’kron Legion on their suicide mission into the Dark Portal, he had met an older orc named Rarlko, a friendly Burning Blade Blademaster and blacksmith who had been exiled for speaking out against the Iron Horde’s extremist ways and tainting of his clan’s culture and ideals. In the months that followed, Vaknosh had begun on the path of the Blademaster under Rarlko. By the end, he had become the most familiar with the elementals of fire, naturally. But his knowledge was incomplete – Vaknosh was no shaman, not a proper one anyway, and most of what he knew about calling upon the elements and spirits tied directly into battle, lightening his steps with the spirits of air or empowering his weapon strikes with fire.
Finally reaching the main and only chamber, the remaining torches came alive, giving the inner chamber a soft, bright glow and a warmth that Vaknosh always found comforting.
In the middle of the cave chamber was a small pillar of stone that had been carved away by the orc so that its surface was relatively flat. This acted as a small altar, with various offerings placed upon it as a means to honor and please the ancestral spirits that watched over all orcs and the primordial and powerful but ever-fickle elemental forces of Azeroth.
Vaknosh placed his waraxe Ruvok’s Rage alongside the altar – he rarely went anywhere without it, even in his own home. And from a pouch, he took some incense and herbs and placed them in a small bowl on the altar. He held a hand towards one of the torches, and embers from the flame flowed off it towards the orc, who guided the small fire into the bowl, igniting these ingredients.
After a few moments, as smoke began to pour into the cave chamber, the orc kneeled to the ground and breathed the smoke in deeply. This was meant to ease his mind, open it to greater awareness, and allow him to do what he came here to do: see beyond the veil of reality and death, to see what visions were offered by ancestors and speak with those who wished to honor him with their presence.
Vaknosh did this rarely, and he could count the number of times on one hand. But recent events – this war, his torture, a new mate, a child on the way – had now left him looking for… something. Something personal and important to him. He wasn’t exactly sure what he needed, yet he knew he sought something to help him spiritually, something to perhaps ease his mind and set him on the course again.
So, he now turned to shamanism and to the ancestors and the elements. He knew they could offer wisdom and guidance he sought, something beyond what mere words fellow shaman or farseers could offer him. Something far deeper to help heal his hurting soul.
And so, Vaknosh Blackwolf bowed his head.
Ancestors, heed my call. I come before you, humble, weary, and in need of guidance. I… I seek… something to ease my heart and mind, to give me clarity. A blessing… a vision… know not what I truly need… but I know I am in need. And so, ancestors, I call upon you to… aid me in my troubles.
Vaknosh Blackwolf's Refuge 