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[andrea]

I have to wonder if our inability to produce art is a source of disappointment or sadistic amusement for the GM

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Here is the arkangel, delivering to wreth the most precious thing.

[banelord]

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Produced by my wonderful girlfriend, submission for the Archangel art thingy.

[NAV]

Royal Kasgyr Art Gallery

Spoiler: Kashyyk's Archangel (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: NAV's Viper (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: Banelord's Island (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: Helmacon's Island (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: NAV's Marines (click to show/hide)

Spoiler: Helmacon's Archangel (click to show/hide)

[Tack]

Hmm. Something possibly portentious has happened.

[dgr11897]

Hey would it be ok for me to sign up for spire kasygr?

[Draignean]

Yep, sides are fairly even these days. Kasgyre's discord has been picking up a little recently, but it's still generally slower than Wreth's.

Welcome aboard!

[Wizgrot]

So treaty here. We have make many concessions, as our previous debates in the Discord. We will send you a civilian fleet next turn to pick up the refugees and get them out of your hair.

The Most Polite Treaty of the year 380

Regarding the Massacre of Kasgyrians during the Wrethian assault to Blackstone

I, Natalie XIV, Princess of Kasgyr and Regent of the Empire, see without indifference the utter barbarity effected by Wrethian Marines in their efforts to invade one of our sovereign Spires. Taking into account that, while civilian casualties are unacceptable, the cooperation of all sides is necessary in order to impede further bloodshed of Blackstone´s citizens.

As such, I offer the Wrethians this simple deal, to be reciprocated in kind if we were ever to take on the role of the attacker. All civilians who wish so will be evacuated from the Spire in question. For this purpose, a safe demilitarized channel, of no strategic importance shall be established, guarded by proportional number of troops. This channel should serve as a way for refugees to flee the war. They are not allowed to carry weapons of any kind and are guaranteed by the attacker side food, water and security until the evacuation fleet arrives. The attacker swears do not apply any kind of coercion or subterfuge to the civilians in question, including slipping spies into their ranks, interrogating them or any sort of tactic destined to take advantage of the war refugees in any way. 

The defenders (Kasgyr) will, no later than a year after this exchange, assemble and send a fleet of civilian ships to pick up its citizens. Those ships will be later temporarily given into the control of the blockading forces upon reaching the blockade, they will then be inspected by the blockading forces (Wreth) before being piloted to the Spire. There they will pick up civilians and their luggage, returning the control of the now loaded ships to the defenders once the Blockade has been surpassed. Both parties agree that any of the following are a violation of this treaty;

1.   The concealment of weapons or uninjured combatants in the civilian fleets
2.   The unauthorized redirection of civilian fleets while they are in the control of the blockading forces
3.   The removal or arrest of any individual on the transports, except in the case of proven treaty violation
4.   Firing on or taking action that results in the destruction of the civilian transports

If either side violates the treaty the treaty is void and will remain void until it is renegotiated. The treaty can be invoked by the defender at any time he wants, although it is advisable to do it as soon as possible in order to lessen unneeded casualties.

Both sides agree to install residential districts deeper in the Spire, so they do not become battlegrounds in the case of an enemy invasion. This should prevent many civilian casualties, especially those in the first days of fighting.

Finally, any wounded might be eligible, no matter the side, to board these transports and be evacuated from the field of battle to a friendly Spire. All soldiers evacuated in this manner must have serious injuries and cannot bring any weapons or equipment with them.

[NUKE9.13]

Event thing:

There have been many casualties in this war, each one a tragedy. Yet there is one which outshines the others in its tragicness, the loss of which will be felt for centuries to come. I speak, of course, of the First Bureaucrats' ideals.
The modern Wrethian state was founded by pragmatic idealists, who, having overthrown the tyrants who ruled the spire before, sought to prevent tyranny from ever arising again, by replacing the very concept of leaders with a comprehensive bureaucracy. Per their wishes, there was no one in the spire who did not need to seek the approval of others before acting. Corruption was eliminated by requiring all actions to be documented and verified by so many people that to steal so much as a single coin from public coffers would be woefully impractical. The arbitrary justice of the past was replaced with cold, logical paperwork that treats all equally.
For many years, Wreth functioned as intended. Sure, the bureaucracy could be a little slow at times. Sure, people got thrown in prison for misfiling paperwork. Sure, the cost of all the paper required put a sizeable dent in Wreth's economy. But it worked. The hard-won freedom survived, and the people rejoiced, after filling out the appropriate celebration permission forms.
Everything changed when the Kasgyr nation attacked.
It started out innocently enough. A rush order of weaponry here, a fast-tracked fleet deployment there. But as the war progressed, the checks and balances the First Bureaucrats established started to erode away. Military commanders were given the freedom to make their own decisions, without seeking approval in triplicate. Frustrated designers started to bypass requisition protocols in order to fund their projects. The growing military-industrial complex tore up regulations in order to produce weapons as cheaply and quickly as possible.
The Bureaucracy is not dead, yet. But already the cracks are being exploited. Corruption, once thought banished, has started to creep back into the spire, as unscrupulous figures take advantage of reduced oversight to enrich themselves at the state's expense. Military leaders are ignoring orders, thinking themselves above such things. Failure to file triplicate copies of paperwork is up 347%. Every year the war continues, things grow worse. If it does not end soon, someone might- "for the good of the spire"- seize control, and declare themselves the 'leader' of Spire Wreth.

Wreth has always had an artistic side. Surprising, isn't it? Stuffy bureaucrats surely don't care about unquantifiable art? But it is for exactly that reason that art flourished following the revolution; being unquantifiable, art went (mostly) unregulated, providing a means of expression for those who didn't quite fit in with the bureaucracy. Poetry, sculpture, and mosaics were all popular in the years leading up to the war. A sufficient number of people were enamoured with the resultant artwork that far from trying to supress it, the bureaucracy encouraged it, granting notable artists PPPs (Proxy Paperwork Permits, allowing for duplicate and triplicate copies of forms to be filled out by a proxy from the Department of Proxies) to give them more time to pursue their craft. Though, of course, there was a distinction drawn between art and utility; official documents remained formal and unadorned, and as the war neared, weaponry was produced in practical, efficient forms.
Like most things, the war changed art. Yet, in an odd twist of fate, it has not reduced its influence. If anything, its influence has grown. For as the rigid structure of the bureaucracy was battered by the winds of war, the artistic world, bottled up in high pressure in its little corner, seeped into the cracks. As the resources dedicated to the war effort grew, it became possible for art lovers to direct a portion of their budget to artists, who were hired as 'Morale Improving Adornment Consultants'. The once spartan weaponry started to grow ostentatious; see the Eastern Cave Dragun and its- admittedly beautiful, but entirely redundant- bronze decorations, or the painted prows of the Windriders- unofficial additions by vain captains-, or the uniforms of the Marines (for whom stealth is a wasted effort, given the difficulty of hiding a PLACE).
Likewise, as infrastructure springs up to support the war, the new buildings provide an excellent location for upcoming artists to showcase their skills. 'Human Emotional Efficiency' expenditures rose as budgetmen dedicated their time to military pursuits, with less time to go over the costs of other projects. As a result, newly built offices are filled with statuary, every floor a mosaic.
It is ironic that Kasgyrites bemoan their own flamboyant spire becoming grey and utilitarian, whilst the grey and utilitarian Wreth grows flamboyant.

Let us not fool ourselves; Wreth is not a classless utopia. Though the bureaucracy treats everyone the same, status and wealth still determine one's position in society.
Whilst noble titles were rendered void after the fall of the tyrants, the upper class retained most of their property and connections. They could still afford the best education, earning themselves the best positions in the bureaucracy, as department heads and first-class bureaucrats. Their capacity to abuse this power was greatly restricted, however, which long chafed those amongst them who remembered the old days. They celebrated the advent of war, sending favoured children to serve as officers, to earn the glory and respect they considered their birthright. Attitudes changed when said children failed to return from the front, and whilst they continued to support the war, their attentions pivoted to Wreth's modernising industry. Handing military command to the middle class, they instead secured their positions as captains of industry, buying up land in newly reclaimed spires, sending children to the Khipha University, magnifying their wealth with the profits of war.
The middle class flourished in Wreth, for obvious reasons. Educated men and women were in high demand in the bureaucracy, and their newly secured rights and equality enabled them to grow their businesses without the upper class seizing their property on flimsy pretexts once it became too valuable. Initially hesitant to support the war for fear it would disrupt their security, their fears proved well founded, and they regarded the erosion of bureaucratic ideals with dismay. Some amongst them found oppportunities for advancement in the military, becoming officers, earning themselves wealth and status- creating a new military class who may one day pose a threat to the bureaucracy.
The lower classes... sort of benefited from the transition to bureaucracy? The need for literacy meant that basic schooling was provided to all free of cost, raising the education level of the poorest citizens by leaps and bounds. However, this has not necessarily brought them wealth or happiness. They still work hard for little pay, except now they also need to spend much of their time filling out paperwork. At least the abuses they once suffered under the Tyrants have been (mostly) eliminated, a fact of which they are frequently reminded. The general reaction to the war was one of patriotic fervor, and an eagerness to join the military and teach the evil spiders a lesson. Casualties have been low enough relative to the total population that said fervor has remained steady. The growing and modernising industry has benefited them to a degree, although the upper classes who own said industry have been doing their very best to ensure their employees work just as hard for equal pay, even as they produce more goods than before.

[Jerick]

Kasgyr has changed.

Once upon a time every Kasgyr craftsman would try and imbue the things they crafted with artistic flair and ostentatious decorations. I remember that leading up to the war and in the war’s early years that every building built was made to be a piece of art. I remember how that shaped the people of Kasgyr into a people who loved pomp and grand ceremonies. Our military existed to wear fancy uniforms and march in joyous parades. Once they existed mostly to be an honour guard, to be something looked at and never used. Once Kasgyr was a place of beauty and finery.

But Kasgyr has changed.

War has no need for art. Killing a man has no call for decorations. Kasgyr artistry has yielded to cold hard practicality. The things forged by the tradesmen these days are simple and efficient and are cranked out by the dozen. The buildings built now are cold and grey. They are built for sturdiness in the event of invasion but never their appearance. That cold pragmatism has seeped into the people. Many of the things that once brought the people of Kasgyr joy have been discarded like a teenager discarding the childhood toys they have outgrown. Many ceremonies and events are still held but they have been cut down and streamlined to be quicker and more efficient. They have become little more than passing barely acknowledged nods to the way Kasgyr was before the war and are barely even attended by the public anymore. Our military make few appearances at these events as they are too busy training and preparing to kill. Their fancy ostentatious uniforms replaced by hard to see camo. Everywhere you look in Kasgyr art has fallen to the wayside and been replaced by militarism. It has become fashionable to own and train with weapons. Children receive instruction on the use of a sword from their parents in order to better protect them should them be called to serve.

The mood of the people has shifted considerably in the last thirty years as has the balance of power within the Spire. The aristocracy was never the most powerful faction in Kasgyr but their refusal to act has cost them. They declared that the war would be over quickly and refused to contribute. Decades of war have seen them rendered irrelevant by their choices. Important posts and lucrative contracts and opportunities are awarded most often to those who can have been contributing the most to the war effort. The aristocracy has lost its influence and wealth and in their place the guilds have risen to prominence. The Guilds have eagerly fed the insatiable Kasgyr war machine and grown prosperous in the process. Free of the decadence of the aristocracy the guilds have exploded in strength in the last thirty years. More and more the poverty stricken and down toden are recruited either by the military or by the guilds as they seek to keep up with demand by training large groups of craftsmen. While the aristocracy falls into complete irrelevance the monarchy rises. The Princess’s willingness to partake in wartime resource programs aimed at the common folk has earned her their loyalty. Loyalty which she wields carefully to stop problems before they arise where she can with brief but skillful intercessions. In these trying times she has shown herself to be a great leader and that fact is not lost on the populace. The monarchy hasn’t been as popular with the common folk anytime in the last two hundred years as it is now. The Princess’s name is saluted in bars throughout Kasgyr.

The name of Spire Wreth on the other hand has become hated. They know about some of the horrible things Wreth has done and rumors circulate as to the casualties inflicted on Kasgyr civilians by indiscriminate cannon fire. They know how the paper stamping, ink licking bastards turned down every attempt by their beloved Princess to open a evacuation corridor while they fired cannons at people’s homes and shops and into crowds. There are even quiet whispers of Wrethians feeding people to a monster at the Unfinished. Anger at Wreth has been simmering for so long it has become a tradition but some of their recent actions has sparked fresh outrage. There isn’t even need for propaganda as it is clear to almost everyone that Wreth is evil while the Princess is a force for good standing in its way. If Wreth wins this war they will surely kill the monarchy, beloved Princess and all, and then they will impose their twisted mad system of endless forms on the Kasgyr people. Wreth’s madness must be stopped.

Kasgyr has changed and it will change further. If we win this war what will become of us? Will the guilds grown fat on supplying the war effort ever support peace again? Will the military granted such importance and power slink back into obscurity and surrender the power they’ve been granted? Or will our economy and society become so warped by the act of waging war that it cannot survive peace? Will victory bring an end to war or will it mark the search for the next enemy? After so long at war will our children even understand peace? I fear the future. I fear the present. Is this the beginning of our transition from a peaceful nation into a conquering empire? What are we becoming?

[Wizgrot]

When I was young, me and my friends used to play on the streets of this Spire. We tied a bunch of rags together for our ball and kick it all along the Artisans Avenue. Back then, it was the largest street of the city, a snake that went up and down many floors, filled to the brim with blacksmiths, glassblowers, jewelers and any sort of trade one could imagine. As a young lad, I was apprenticed in a little perfume shop near the docks. Those days, it was the custom for members of the Guild to grow their flowers themselves, so the shop in question had a backyard filled with any you can ever imagine, from the rose to the narcissus, with a cherry tree at its center.

I lack the words to express what that tree meant for me. From its flowers I made the work that would qualify me as journeyman, from its wood I carved a ring and never once he asked of me nothing in exchange. It gave me shade when I was hot, comfort when I had grief and hope when everything felt lost. Under him I exchanged my vows and consummated my marriage with Selina, the master´s eldest daughter, which I had fallen in love with during my apprenticeship.

War seemed distant those days, but nevertheless I applied to conscription when it was due. I was, and am, a patriot at heart and I truly believed on the righteousness of the cause. Of the war I will talk no more. I fulfilled my duty as it was expected of me, met a lot of good friends and buried most of them. At some point, all the things that happened start to blend with themselves and this tribunal can scrounge better testimony of the war other than myself. No, what I want to talk about only regards my home, Kasgyr, for which all the blood was spilled.

You see, every time I came back to the Spire, everything seemed a little bit more off. At first I just thought that my homesickness was playing tricks on me, but once I paid more attention, certain details started to surface. The whole Spire, it was…different. People which had been neighbors all their lives didn´t even greet themselves on the street. Doors of places which had welcomed everyone started to close down, one by one. Old Tom Jones, Lord Siegvald the Mighty, Jennie “the Fold”, street performers which livened up the streets of Kasgyr in my childhood had been exiled from the streets in the endless search for manpower, their jolly laughs substituted by the legion of the crippled which nobody has the heart to take care of. Ancient bronze engravings in the spirestone itself were stripped and melted, substituted by endless posters extolling the glory of Kasgyr and Kasgyrians, each glued over the corpse of another of its brethren. It had taken years and years of war to change the city. But I still was oblivious to the disappearance of the home of my youth. The ignorance was almost a blessing.

It all started around the age my Enriquetta was born. Sudddenly, everywhere in the city, plots of land were “repurposed” for the production of a new kind of wood. As soon as a letter from my wife informed me, I returned to the city, all for naught. When nobody was at home, Guildmen fell the cherry tree as it blossomed, mashing the flowers of the garden under their metal tipped boots. They loaded the tree into a car and carried it with themselves, like thieves fleeing with their ill gotten gains.

They left a bag with seeds and a timetable for the recollection of the lumber. Enriquetta might have been too young to remember, but my spouse and I were livid. Yet we swallowed our anger. There was nothing that could be done to counter an imperial edict, and we both knew that if other people could sacrifice their own lives for the war effort, we could spare a tree and some flowers. Goverment subsidies, offered in newly minted coin, paid to change our old wooden ceiling for a crystal one, turning the house into a hothouse and allowing us to carry on the family business. Yet we couldn´t let go. Every moment we passed near those trees taugth us another the flaw, no matter how little. Their bark sandpaper, their sap rotten eggs, its silhouette grotesque, and so on and so on. The mere sight of them made us bitter and angry, and soon our arguments were only stopped when the time to take arms again resumed. One day, my wife took matters into her own hands, sold the plot of land to a neighbor and erected a fence that separated our home from the bacckyard. For a time, there was peace.

But nothing lasts forever. “We cannot let ourselves be drowned by the tides of progress”, the Guild Masters, the newspapers and the posters said. And so, the tides of progress devastated the Artisans´ Avenue. One by one, workshops started to close down, substituted by by factories in the outskirts of the Spire, each employing dozens of unqualified workers. As hundreds of our prevous neightbors, we received our eviction notice. But this time we weren´t going to give up. We demanded, we begged, we bribed. We used each and every one of our favors and conections to save our home. We were slandered, pictured as uneducated fools at best and Wrethian agents at worst. Rocks flew and crystals broke, but the house withstood it all. In the end, it was us who broke.

As time passed, the papers lost interest with us. The people followed through. Suddenly, we weren´t the talk of the day, just some strange oddity that most had forgotten, like a two-headed dog or an funny shaped turnip. We enjoyed it, for a bit. We had won. No more lies, no more slander, no more paintings on the porch. Things were going to turn out that they were supposed to. We would buy back the backyard and regain the right to plant whatever we liked. We would fill it with flowers, from the rose to the narcissus, with a cherry tree at its center. Our daughter would grow with it and learn to love it as passionately as we had.

But cold hard reality started to seep in. We were the only shop in a ghost street and our customers had been swayed by the flashy displays of the shops in the commercial districts. My pay wasn´t enough to support the business and we could only sell our products for a fraction of the real price in order to compete with the industrial vats. The same shops that had displaced us now reaped the benefits, selling our works to the Princess herself. Our house was infested by rats, cockroaches and buckets for the leaks that we hadn´t got the money to repair. While the fight against adversity gave us strength, now there was nothing to fight for. Only the daily grind.

By this time, it was time for Enriquetta to go to school, the closest one of which was 2 kilometers away. We looked at our finances and saw them dwindling, day by day. For our daughter, we relented. In a week, we had a new house, in the middle of a residential district. My wife found a job in a factory as a forewoman. The deadlock in which my career had been finally lifted. We kept some of the flowers. We even learned to live with the same wood that had started it all. There was no choice, as it was everywhere now. But it was worth it. It had to be. Our daughter got friends her age, a brand new school and a house free of leaks and pests. Yet, we couldn´t shake the feeling that we had left our true home behind.

The years passed. Between tour and tour I saw my daughter grow in spurs. As a good citizen, she was diligent ,untiring and disciplined. Always reminding us to not forget to recycle every bottle cap and old pan. I will never forget when she went and grabbed our entire cutlery to shove it down the scrappers carriage. We had to eat with our hands for a week, but the all the laughs we had at the expense of the little ditz were compensation enough. She stumbled through life like a child only can, and even delivered the speech at her graduation ceremony from primary school, less than a year ago.

I do understand the necessities of war. I also do understand that we have done great things in this thirty years of war. Portents of science and technique unheard of until now have been developed. The production numbers released by the Guilds, although bloated, indicate that we produce more than ever before. Population has skyrocketed, even despite the war. But, what for? All of the resources we got, all the inventions, all the effort have gone to the war. While on our coat of arms it is written “Pride, Honour and Nobility”, we should just replace them with “War, War and War”. We have given up in all in order to feed the machine. Soon, it will be our turn to be its meal.

I consider myself a patriot and I have risen my daughter as one. We believe that a monarchy, aided by the representatives of the people is the best form of government. That upholding our traditions is paramount for our success, not just as a nation, but as human beings too. And that, when things are rough, it is the duty of every honest citizen to bring out their best to help out those in need. I have given up the tree under I met my love and the house where I lived with her most of my life. Yet I won´t stand idle while a children who loves her country with a passion I am proud of is being made a fool by the people who claim to be protecting our country, but will never understand it the way she does. I will never see her grow like a gear in the machine. I  will never stand aside while this proud and beautiful country is slowly turned into a parody of itself, an empty cask for the egos of the men at the helm, a Wreth with a different name.

So yes, I confess my crimes. I conspired along like minded idiots to undermine what currently passes as Kasgyr. We published classified documents in hastily edited newspapers. We uncovered cowardice, corruption and mediocrity. We watched helplessly as the treaty with the Wrethians crashed and burned. And in the end, we called for a march. To our surprise, the people answered. We traversed the Artisans Avenue from side to side, an ocean of flags rised to greet the heavens. But it didn´t end there. While the Guildsmen tried to stop, they were overwhelmed and soon we were in front of the gates of the Palace. We asked for an audience with the Princess. Instead, we were told to turn back and disperse. Like hell we were going to do that. Trapped between squads of Guildsmen and the golden doors of the palace, we charged. Desperation breeds strength, enough in this case, to slightly open the doors to allow some of us to trickle through them. Shouting our grievances at the winds, we charged through the complex, being apprehended one by one by the palace guard. To be fair, none of us had planned anything not involving the march itself, so we were apprehended one by one by the palace guard. A mad dash, ended with a predictable ending.

But the Princess shall heard of the day the people of Kasgyr asked to be proud, honorable and noble again. I trust her to lead our country to a brighter future, where we won´t become the enemy we seek to defeat. Where we will be able to recover the glory lost. Where valiant hearts and bright minds will usher a new golden era for humanity.

Put me in chains if you must. But bear my words: either we end this war or the war shall end us.

Long live Kasgyr! Long live the Princess! Might the Lion roar again!

Liutenant Atalante Medives, 481 AR. In military trial for High Treason, and other thirty-two lesser crimes.

[andrea]

Excerpts from "On the last 30 years, how war has changed common life" edited by Wrethian council of statistics and anecdoted

Evolution of diet
Before the war, Wrethian diet was relatively rich in meat compared to other known spires; Compared to the average (100%) records show beef at 160%, Pork at 145%, Mutton at 180%, Poultry at 120% and other meats at 140%. The reason behind this consumption could be found in the skill of the vat operators more than actual breeding. Finely tuned operations allowed large production of high quality meat, even retaining part of the texture of animal bred steaks. This had an influence on traditional cuisine, with many common meat based dishes such as the famous Wrethian casserole, a dish composed of sausage, beef and lard cooked in a clay casserole with vegetables and soup. This is what could be considered as a staple food.

The war has had a profound effect on the Wrethian diet. With vats repurposed for military materials and cheap rations, the price of meat has increased to the point that most families couldn't afford to consume it in large quantities. This has caused a shift in culture and a creative wave in cuisine that has not only accomodated but in fact increased the effects of reduced meat availability, with most traditional dishes turning into meatless version, just as popular if not more. For example, the Wrethian casserole abandoned sausage and beef in favor of beans, the only meat product left being a small piece of lard for seasoning. Beans are a favorite meat substitution, but soy and its derivates also have growing diffusion as substitute for meat, cheese and other animal products. A block of tofu is just as appreciated, many families will claim.

Meat consumption fell to record low levels, 80% down from pre-war levels on most kinds of meats. Interestingly however, poultry found itself immune to this change. Vat grown poultry has been substituted with home breeding of chicken, now a widespread activity. Fed on vermins and cheap food, they are easy to keep and raise. Indeed, while before it was hard to find animals anywhere except in farms now many people will have a chicken or 2, for eggs and to slaughter on holidays.




More to come later.

[andrea]

I was a mere child when war broke out, and now I work in the very mind behind it all, the bureau of war. People outside think we work on strategy, tactics, planning, but it is simpler than that. Here, we make choices: When and where to engage battle, who to send in an assault to a spire, who should stay to cover retreats. We decide which of our friends and family will die next, so that the rest can live.

And there is one question always in the back of our mind: which compromises, which sacrifices are we willing to make for the survival of the spire? How far are we willing to go?
It is for this reason that we put a plaque on the wall with a simple phrase, a reminder of what is at stake, a standing order, an ever present burden reminding us of our duty.  On it, it read “Never too far”

It is with this spirit that I sign the approval forms for the orders we give to civilians and soldiers.
It is our hope that a next generation will come, still alive to blame us.

Farewell my dear son.
You have your orders.


General Isihe Velum

[Tack]

Are we on hiatus currently?

[Draignean]

I was literally writing the turn as of five minutes ago, so we'll come off hiatus as soon as I finish it. Turn is long, and I've been away from it long enough I have to a do a lot of referencing.

[Tack]

Shall we declare this doneskis and unlock the threads?