Alternia's military organization is best understood less as a separate institution and more as the skeletal framework of Alternia as a whole. It is very human not to realize that the distinction between civilian and military society is largely cosmetic for Alternians. It cultivates a population from which soldiers, officers, laborers, colonists, executioners, and expendable bodies may be harvested as needed. Naturally, this process begins well before conscription. Consider School Feeding. You may be imagining a rather charitable little program in which growing children are provided adequate nutrition so that they might learn algebra without fainting into their desks. How sweet. Alternian School Feeding is more accurately understood as the rationing of education, both literally and metaphorically. Nutrition is standardized according to caste, developmental expectations, projected occupational use, local resources and scarcity, and whatever physiological traits a troll may happen to possess that are considered desirable to the Empire. The young troll does not merely receive lunch. They receive a dedicated meal plan determined according to their precise needs and expected utility. The principle is quite simple. It extends beyond food as a metaphor for educational paste, although it remains a rather apt one. What is learning if not consumption by the mind? You would not feed a future siege animal as you would a clerk. Why, then, would you educate them in the same manner? This education goes beyond cultivation. A young troll is presented with the information they are expected to consume, in the quantities deemed appropriate, until they are useful enough to be released into society. Literacy. Numeracy. Imperial history. Occupational competencies. Caste etiquette. Combat instruction. Civic obligations. The limits of acceptable curiosity. One does not educate a young troll so that they may discover what sort of person they would like to become. One informs them what sort of troll the Empire requires. Of course, one of the earliest and most personally relevant recipients of this philosophy was our very own Handmaid. A caste destined for technical labor requires one sort of instruction. A troll marked for command receives another. Certain subjects are expanded, others restricted, and still others are presented in such a way that the student never realizes there was anything more to learn. The curriculum itself therefore becomes an early form of military organization. Long before the uniforms arrive, trolls are being sorted according to function. This works in tandem with antisocialization. Where most civilizations aim to socialize their young, Alternia instills in them that trust is conditional. Dependence is dangerous. Weakness attracts exploitation. Cooperation is permitted, certainly, but preferably beneath a hierarchy in which every troll knows who is entitled to give orders and who is expected to receive them. The Empire does not require every troll to hate every other troll. That would be far too inefficient. It merely requires that they never become so attached to one another that their loyalties begin running sideways instead of upward. This produces precisely the sort of population from which an Alternian military can be constructed. Not friends. Units. Military organization simply formalizes relationships School Feeding has already taught them to recognize. Superior and subordinate. Specialist and support. Officer and asset. The ranks give names to instincts that have been cultivated since wigglerhood. From those ranks emerge your specialized forces. Consider the Archeradicators. They solve the problem of distance. The average troll is quite accustomed to solving interpersonal disagreements through claws, fangs, horns, blunt instruments, and whatever other implements permit them the satisfaction of confronting their opposition personally. The Archeradicator abandons that intimacy. Their role demands patience, accuracy, target recognition, and a willingness to reduce combat to distance, trajectory, and timing. They belong to one of the nobler echelons of the imperial forces, at least according to the sorts of trolls who place great importance upon such distinctions. School Feeding identifies those aptitudes. Antisocialization makes the emotional distance easier. Military organization turns them into an asset. The Threshecutioners occupy a different niche. They are among the most lethally acclaimed soldiers Alternia produces, sickle-bearing members of an imperial force with a particularly distinguished history of conquest. It would therefore be rather unimaginative to view their usefulness as ending when the battlefield does. Where an Archeradicator can make death distant, a Threshecutioner can make it educational. Execution on Alternia is not merely punishment. It is instruction accompanied by a visual aid. A deserter is killed, so a soldier learns the price of desertion. A rebel is killed, so every citizen learns precisely how far rebellion is permitted to proceed. An officer is killed, so everyone beneath them learns that rank is not immunity. When employed in this capacity, the Threshecutioner stands at the intersection of warfare, law, and School Feeding. They continue the education of the population en masse. The Ruffiannihilators are rather more direct. Their defining qualification is exactly what their name implies: overwhelming physical strength. Where subtler formations solve problems through precision or mobility, the Ruffiannihilator is what one deploys when the Empire has determined that brute force is not merely sufficient, but preferable. An empire often produces riots, mutinies, strikes, colonial uprisings, and unscheduled gatherings of performative wisefolk. These are problems for which overwhelming force has historically proven quite persuasive. In such circumstances, Ruffiannihilators are exceptionally well suited to intimidation, suppression, crowd-breaking, and the conversion of collectives into individuals suddenly possessed of a very healthy survival instinct. Antisocialization assists enormously. A population trained to distrust its neighbors is considerably easier to scatter. It is difficult to build solidarity when every troll has spent their formative years learning that the person beside them may be either competition or informant. Then there are the Cavalreapers. Mobility made manifest. It is one of war's more elegant little obsessions. If you cannot cross the stars, then you must cross seas. If you cannot cross seas, then continents, plains, streets, corridors, and so on until we arrive at the most miniature of measurements. The Cavalreapers preserve that philosophy through mounted and jousting combat. They close distance, pursue, flank, exploit openings, and turn momentum itself into a weapon. The mounts change. Eventually they are replaced, supplemented, or rendered quaint by machines, aircraft, and spacecraft. The military principle does not. Violence is most effective when it reaches you before you have finished preparing for it. Which brings us neatly to biotech. Alternia has never been sentimental about the distinction between organism and equipment. Its reproduction is biological infrastructure. Its lusii participate in social infrastructure. Its medicine, transportation, architecture, weaponry, and communications have all had ample opportunity to incorporate living systems. So naturally, the military does the same. Biotech is one of the methods by which the Empire ensures that the biology of its subjects remains useful to its future. An Archeradicator can be given better vision, steadier musculature, superior spatial processing, or a nervous system modified for precision. A Ruffiannihilator benefits from strength, resilience, pain suppression, reinforced tissue, and whatever other improvements allow one troll to remain standing while several others cease doing so. A Cavalreaper benefits from reaction speed, endurance, sensory integration, and biological compatibility with whatever unfortunate creature or living machine they have been assigned to ride. Even the Threshecutioner can be optimized. One should never underestimate the demands, physical or otherwise, of ceremonial murder. And once again, I must emphasize School Feeding. It identifies. It measures. It sorts. A student who demonstrates unusual visual acuity may become an Archeradicator candidate. One displaying exceptional aggression and physicality may be directed toward the Ruffiannihilators. A troll with the appropriate temperament for ritualized authority may find themselves quite naturally suited to the Threshecutioners. Another with unusual balance, coordination, and spatial instincts may be prepared for the Cavalreapers. Then biotech exaggerates what education discovers. Military organization assigns what biotech produces. Antisocialization ensures that the resulting soldier understands their comrades primarily through duty, hierarchy, and function. You see how pleasantly circular it becomes. The Archeradicator, Threshecutioner, Ruffiannihilator, and Cavalreaper are not isolated military traditions. They are outputs. Specialized products of the same machinery. How do we remove someone from a distance? Make an Archeradicator. How do we turn killing into spectacle? Make a Threshecutioner. How do we apply overwhelming physical force? Make a Ruffiannihilator. How do we place violence somewhere faster than the enemy can adequately respond? Make a Cavalreaper. Alternia's true military strength was never that it possessed so many ways to kill people. Any sufficiently inventive civilization can accomplish that. Its strength was that every institution preceding the military had already been designed to make military organization seem natural. The school categorizes you. Society isolates you. Science modifies you. The military names you. By the time an Alternian is formally assigned their place in the imperial war machine, the question of what they might have become instead is generally so remote that they no longer think to ask it. Which, of course, is the point.
666--> W3lcom3 to h3ll, fuck3rs. 3njoy1ng th3 v13w?
I very much so enjoy my view from my coriander-tinted mansion-shaped ivory tower.
I'M INTERRUPTING MY STINT IN THE TORMENT NEXUS TO RECHITT THIS. NOT OUT OF ANY SORT OF BEGRUDGING, BILE-MARINATED RESPECT FOR THE BREAKDOWN (WE BOTH KNOW THAT YOU'VE HAD THE ENTIRE LIFESPAN OF MY SPECIES TO SUCK YOUR OWN METAPHORICAL SLUG OVER WHAT AN EFFICIENT SYSTEM YOU PUT INTO PLACE), BUT SO THAT THE HUMANS WHO STILL DON'T FUCKING *GET* IT CAN HAVE IT EXPLAINED TO THEM LIKE THEY'RE FUCKING TWO. FURTHERMORE. AS A "COMMUNITY NOTE" FROM AN ESPECIALLY INVESTED MEMBER OF THE COMMUNITY, LIKE IT OR NOT. HERE'S THE THING ABOUT THRESHECUTIONERS. ANYONE CAN BE A THRESHECUTIONER. THAT'S NOT ME SAYING THAT IT'S FUCKING *EASY* BY *ANY* STRETCH OF THE IMAGINATION. THAT'S ME SAYING THAT IN A HIERARCHY WHERE EACH SPECIALIZED FORCE HAS A LOOSE, ALBEIT CONSISTENT PALETTE OF CASTES ASSOCIATED WITH IT, THE THRESHECUTIONERS ARE A FUCKING SHOTGUN SPRAY. THEY CAN AND DO COME FROM ANY CRACK OR CREVICE OF THE HEMOSPECTRUM, HIGH OR LOW OR ANYTHING IN-BETWEEN. SURE, ALTERNIA'S FOREMOST SHITHEADS IN THE FIELD OF BIOESSENTIALISM WILL TELL YOU THAT A TROLL WITH A LOWER CAPACITY FOR PITY WILL CROP UP FROM THE COOLER HUES AND ROYALLY WRECK ASS WHEN PUT AT THE FRONT OF A FLAYSQUAD. YOU MIGHT ASSERT THAT IT MAKES ABOUT AS MUCH SENSE TO INVEST ALL THAT TIME AND TRAINING INTO A RUSTBLOOD AS IT DOES TO START STUFFING FRESHLY CULLHARVESTED ORGAN TRANSPLANTS INTO YOUR AGING, DETERIORATING GRANDLUSUS, BUT THAT'S NOT THE POINT. THE POINT IS THAT A THRESHECUTIONER, AS YOU'VE SO *SUCCINCTLY* PUT IT IN THIS VICIOUS, SHIT-EATING RANT YOU'VE COOKED UP FOR THE SAME ILLITERATE PEONS WHO ARE WAITING FOR THE NEXT EDITION OF "ALTERNIAN INFRASTRUCTURE FOR DUMBFUCKS III: NOW WITH PICTURES," IS MORE THAN A SOLDIER. MORE THAN AN EDUCATOR. MORE THAN A DIRECT HAND THAT SERVES THE EMPRESS. A THRESHECUTIONER IS A SYMBOL. WHAT, YOU THINK THE NET AND TRIDENT COMBO GOT SHIT OUT OF THE FIGHTING PITS BECAUSE IT'S THE PREMIERE META-STRAT OF ASS-WHOOPERY? FUCK NO. THRESHECUTIONERS WIELD THE SICKLE BECAUSE IT'S THEIR JOB TO CULL THE RANKS. AND LIKE THE NET AND TRIDENT, IT'S A DECEPTIVELY GOOD WEAPON. A SICKLE IS HARD TO GUARD AGAINST. BLOCK THE VERTEX OF THE BLADE, AND THE POINT HAS LIKELY ALREADY SUNK THROUGH YOUR PRONG. IT MOVES AROUND THINGS. IT SUBVERTS EXPECTATIONS. AND THE FLEET'S SPECIAL FORCES NEVER PICK THEIR WEAPONS JUST FOR SHOW. THE REASON WHY ANYONE CAN BE A THRESHECUTIONER, REGARDLESS OF WHAT COLOR THEIR PUSHER IS PUMPING, IS BECAUSE THE MOST IMPORTANT ASPECT OF A THRESHECUTIONER IS *IMAGINATION.* HOW DO YOU REINVENT YOURSELF, WHATEVER PATHETIC SHITSCUM FROM THE GUTTERS, THE ALLEYS, OR THE CRENELLATED FUCKING RAMPARTS YOU ARE, AS A *SYMBOL* OF THE EMPIRE'S WILL? WHAT DOES AN OLIVEBLOODED THRESHECUTIONER LOOK LIKE? WHAT ABOUT A TALL THRESHECUTIONER? A SMALL ONE? A FAST ONE? YOU DECIDE. YOU FIGURE IT OUT. YOU IMAGINE DEATH FOR THE EMPIRE'S ENEMIES IN WAYS THAT WOULD MAKE MOLTED ADULTS CRY LIKE WIGGLERS, AND YOU, PAINTER HOLDING THE STEELY, BLOOD-SOAKED BRUSH IN YOUR WHITE-KNUCKLED PRONG, DEFINE WHAT MAKES YOU AN ARTIST WORTH SPARING THE CULLBEEF GRINDER. BUT IMAGINATION IS A DANGEROUS THING. IMAGINATION CAN CHURN OUT PUBLIC GOREFESTS AND SICKENINGLY ROMANTIC EXECUTIONS ALL DAY LONG. BUT WITH IMAGINATION COMES THE ABILITY TO WONDER IF THERE'S MORE TO LIFE THAN THIS. IF YOUR ROLE AS A CULTURAL CURATOR, AS A CULTURAL *LEADER,* IS ONE PAINTED ONLY WITH BLOOD. THAT'S WHY THRESHECUTIONERS SIT AT THE TOP. IF THE EMPIRE DIDN'T MAKE IT WORTH THEIR WHILE, THEY'D START GETTING ALL FIDGETY ABOUT IT. THEY'D START IMAGINING QUESTIONS. THEY'D START IMAGINING *FUTURES.* SO TO ANYONE OUT THERE WHO HAPPENS TO BE READING THIS (UNLIKELY FOR THE VAST MAJORITY OF YOU SMOOTHSPONGED FUCKWITS, WHICH IS THE ONE AGGRAVATION THAT MY RESINOUS SHAME GLOBE OF A BOSS AND I HAPPEN TO SHARE) WHO IS A THRESHECUTIONER, WAS A THRESHECUTIONER, OR HAS EVER THOUGHT FOR THE MOST FLEETING FUCK OF A NIGHTDREAM ABOUT A FUTURE WHERE THEY BECOME A THRESHECUTIONER. YOUR IMAGINATION IS MORE THAN YOUR BEST WEAPON. IT'S THE ABILITY TO DECIDE WHO YOU ARE. WHO YOU'LL BECOME, AFTER THE SORTING AND THE SCHOOLFEEDING IS SAID AND DONE. YOU STILL GET TO MAKE THAT CALL. MAKE IT A GOOD ONE.