Arbor 'Woodsy' Gottfried's page

My chosen subject, fellow citizens, is slavery.

I shall see this day and its popular characteristics from the slave's point of view. Standing there identified with the bondman, making his wrongs mine.
I do not hesitate to declare with all my soul that the character and conduct of this continent never looked blacker to me than on this day!

Whether we turn to the declarations of the past or to the professions of the present, the conduct of our nations seem equally hideous and revolting. Avistan is false to the past, false to the present, and solemnly binds herself to be false to the future.

Standing with the God Of Man and the crushed and bleeding slave on this occasion, I will, in the name of humanity which is outraged, in the name of liberty which is fettered, in the name of our constitution and our holy texts which are disregarded and trampled upon, dare to call in question and to denounce, with all the emphasis I can command, everything that serves to perpetuate slavery, the Great Sin and shame of Avistan!

I will NOT equivocate, I will NOT excuse; I will use the severest language I can command; and yet not one word shall escape me that any man, whose judgment is not blinded by prejudice, shall not confess to be right and just.

What, am I to argue that it is wrong to make men brutes, to rob them of their liberty, to work them without wages, to keep them ignorant of their relations to their fellow men, to beat them with sticks, to flay their flesh with the lash, to load their limbs with irons, to hunt them with dogs, to sell them at auction, to sunder their families, to knock out their teeth, to burn their flesh, to starve them into obedience and submission to their masters? Must I argue that a system thus marked with blood, and stained with pollution, is wrong? No! I will not. I have better employment for my time and strength than such arguments would imply.

While ever a single man, woman, or child toils in bondage, our celebrations are a sham; our boasted liberty, an unholy license; our national greatness, swelling vanity; our sounds of rejoicing empty and heartless; our denunciation of tyrants, brass-fronted impudence; our shouts of liberty and equality, hollow mockery; our prayers and hymns, our sermons and thanksgivings, with all our religious parade and solemnity, are, to the Gods above, mere bombast, fraud, deception, impiety, and hypocrisy; a thin veil to cover up crimes which would disgrace a nation of savages.

And that is why I cast my vote, for Tiller Credence.

(with thanks to Frederick Douglass)

"...the Halfling Rogue. This dapper fellow is based off of art from the Hell's Vengeance Adventure Path, and was a member of the Bellflower Network."

Well, of course he is. Good fellow!

I think the hat makes him look swell. His outfit's a bit drab, but sometimes you have to dress down, to do the dirty jobs, like taking out the trash (in every sense of the term).

The only thing that would make this guy indispensable is a lute, preferably silver-stringed, wrapped in red devil leather.
Nothing that couldn't be cured with a cocktail stick and a blob of Milliput.
But of course, that would mean he was rare, as in 'unique'.

What about a "Small" issue focused on the small races of Golarion: gnomes, halflings, goblins, & kobolds?

Sounds like the perfect issue, for me, Cleaver and Doodlebug.

Are you sure you're ready for so much tightly-wound righteous fury?

Throw off the shackles of the lumbering gigantocracy!
Lop the longshanks down to size!
Vive le Galt!

If anyone's got a guitar, and wants to take a crack at the songs, I'd love to hear it. <cough>sutter<cough>

Oh, why must these posts taunt me, and tug at my heartstrings, so?

I am forced to view these missives, on my Scry Pad, from a foxhole in Nirmathas (or am I? Cannot say more, remember "Careless yak means a knife in the back!", as our Halfling Free State Prime Minister Millstone Church-hole likes to say).

The care package was much appreciated, and the postcard of Enora has done wonders to raise the lads' morale.
It made me pen a little ditty to our Forces' Sweetheart.

I'm profoundly in love with Enora,
Her eyes, and her cute button nose.
I'm confounded by how much I adore her,
From her head, to her fuzzywuzzy toes.

That's enough from the front for today, and remember, burrow-brothers;
DIG FOR VICTORY!

I'm also curious, if this cosplay is going to be to 1:1 scale.
Because if so, I would be honoured if you would reserve a place for me on your dance card.

We don't get enough of normal-sized people represented.
Down with freaky-longshanks-privilege!

Got an earworm working its way back into my brain. A tune I had rattling around from last year, has started suggesting new lyrics.
It whispers to me, in the rare moments of silence...it must be free...

I'll need to find the original source, though. I suspect (hope?) it's public domain, since it's from a folk song about the Levellers.

"How do halflings know where these safe havens are?"

Oh, they know, all right. They know. We make sure of that.

Bellflower Road

(to the tune of 'The Ghost of Tom Joad')

Men bein’ whipped along a beaten track
Road map carved in the scars on their backs
Foreman and his thugs watchin’ from the ridge
Cold gruel for a banquet under the bridge
New meat brought from over the border
“Welcome to the Hellknight Order”
Families missin' their kin, from East to West
For them, there is no peace, no rest

The highway is alive tonight
With tales and songs, from the ones we’re taking home.
I'm writin’ this song by the wayfinder light
Ridin' on the Bellflower Road

Garik tells me he came from Andoran
“I did honest work with these two hands.
I built the alms houses for the old folk in need.
The Thrunes made me build temples to their greed.”
“I was a nurse to their squalling brat.
Wiped their arses, when they were too fat.”
“I cooked for a man, of unnatural lust,
I left him a eunuch, in the dust.”

The highway is alive tonight
With people returnin’ to the places they need to go.
I’m sittin’ here in my covered hide,
Guardin' along the Bellflower Road

Now, before you call anyone ‘slip’, Mister, you best think.
Could I have ‘slipped’ a little somethin’ in your drink?
When you’re shaved, could a razor ‘slip’ from ear to ear?
Before you beat a child, better check if I’m near.
You can spend your life, in fear, lookin’ over your back,
Chained to your sins, on your own rack,
Or you can accept people’s right to be free,
Do the right thing… before you see me.

The horizon is a welcome sight
As we wave our new-found friends to their lands and homes.
I watch them a while in the pale moonlight,
Then set off back down Bellflower Road.

Better tell your 'friend' to watch his back, for the rest of his miserable life.

Nowhere is safe for those who consider us chattel.

<strum>
In honor o' this here 'reconvening',
<strum>
I thought it right to play a song.
<strum>
So we all can keep in mind the meaning,
<strum>
Of why we first signed to belong.

This song I'm gonna play is to the tune of some old tune I heard, some twenny years back, went by the name of 'The Ghost of Tom Joad'.
Whoe'er old Tom was, he must of made quite the impression, since this has been played a lot, even by the young'uns, with their lightning-powered geetars, (which sound like a horde o' banshees to me, but you gotta love 'em for havin their hearts in the right place).

Anyway, those who know it, sing along, those who don't, try to flap your ears and not your mouth while it's playin' and you'll probly learn something.

Bellflower Road!

Men bein’ whipped along a beaten track
Road map carved in the scars on their backs
Foreman and his thugs watchin’ from the ridge
Cold gruel for a banquet under the bridge
New meat brought from over the border
“Welcome to the Hellknight Order”
Families missin' their kin, from East to West
For them, there is no peace, no rest

The highway is alive tonight
With tales and songs, from the ones we’re taking home.
I'm writin’ this song by the wayfinder light
Ridin' on the Bellflower Road

Garik tells me he came from Andoran
“I did honest work with these two hands.
I built the alms houses for the old folk in need.
The Thrunes made me build temples to their greed.”
“I was a nurse to their squalling brat.
Wiped their arses, when they were too fat.”
“I cooked for a man, of unnatural lust,
I left him a eunuch, in the dust.”

The highway is alive tonight
With people returnin’ to the places they need to go.
I’m sittin’ here in my covered hide,
Guardin' along the Bellflower Road

Now, before you call anyone ‘slip’, Mister, you best think.
Could I have ‘slipped’ a little somethin’ in your drink?
When you’re shaved, could a razor ‘slip’ from ear to ear?
Before you beat a child, better check if I’m near.
You can spend your life, in fear, lookin’ over your back,
Chained to your sins, on your own rack,
Or you can accept people’s right to be free,
Do the right thing… before you see me.

The horizon is a welcome sight
As we wave our new-found friends to their lands and homes.
I watch them a while in the pale moonlight,
Then set off back down Bellflower Road.

This seems the best place as any, to highlight THIS here slice of aural pleasure, from one o'my heroes. If you like what you heard in this issue, this'll be right up your street. Hope the threadjack don't offend none.