#nothing against wido
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If there is one thing about dnd as a dm I excel at. It's monsters and dungeon encounters.
I used to make fully built kitted trapped three factions working, Plotting, scheming sometimes together or against one another type of dungeons.
With a Jerry. Jerry is just a skeleton who sweeps/mops the floors. Doesn't speak. Easily Killable. Has always survived. No player has ever gone through with killing Jerry. He shows up in every dungeon. Sweeping the floor. Going to a hidden utility closet to get the really nasty stains out or the mop bucket.
Nobody wants to mess with the undead Janitor. From what I remember, and I will have to ask them later on this. It's simply because...it's a skeleton that's cleaning. Nothing wrong with it. ...or did they try to kill it and Jerry just kept coming back? ....anyway.
So recently I started up an Eberron setting game. Going to the mournland for the obvious reasons of....it's a magically bombed out country that used to be the seat of the Maker's of all the magical toys for life and war. Why sell artillery staffs to just the country you live in eh? (And warforged, warforged titans, maybe Collosi if they didn't get put into service before the day of mourning. Heh)
So, magically decimated country full of weird creepy mutated and downright weird happenings? (Probably going to do a time loop town without the happy ending because...Eberron.)
I remembered for my Tomb of Annhilation game, I had crafted a custom monster that downright freaked out the party when they met them.
Behold! The token for a Black Widoe!
Sounds perfect to have roaming the decimated forests.
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i dont even like wm why does she have to be my most popular post
#nothing against wido#i like literally any other female char more than her tho xD#why cant it be a post about phar.ah or dva or queen sym#the faves#then i get dudebros whinning in my notifs all the time when some necros that post and it goes viral again#ya'll dont even pay me im not a therapist smh#ppl are so offended when u take away their sex object#and listen#wm is literally the worst example of agency#she is literally brainwashed
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i have to admit—nothing against wido/mauk as a concept but i don’t really understand why it’s popular? i was only half paying attention to a lot of the early eps because i would play them on podcast mode while doing chores but iirc they had one or two flirt-adjacent interactions and then molly Fucking Died. like did i miss smt
#i think it probably could have developed into something but it was like. the SEED of a seed being planted#brains liveblogs cr
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1, 2, 4, 9 & 27 for the Salty Asks
1. What OTPs in your fandom(s) do you just not get?
Well, in Pillars, there aren’t really any. Honestly, most popular ships in my fandoms are usually pretty justified. Like even if I don’t really ship it, I understand where they’re coming from.
2. Are there any popular fandom OTPs you only BroTP?
Not in Pillars. In other fandoms... Hoooo boy here’s hoping this doesn’t get in the wrong tags:
Cl///erith (FF7)
Zu///tara (ATLA)
Whatever the ship name is for Cad and Fj-rd in CR (I have nothing against the texblade but I don’t want this in the tags by accident)
Wido///jest (CR) (*note: I totally understand this ship, but it’s just not my vibe)
Shee///los (ToS)
Dimi///lix (FE3H) (*same as above, though I like the fandom version of this ship better than canon)
Hope///rai (FF13) (see #4)
Honestly there’s probably more but here’s the ones that come to mind immediately.
4. Do you have a NoTP in your fandom? Are they a popular OTP?
Hop-///rai from FF13. I just. No. I know they’re popular; I’m pretty sure it’s even mostly canon in the Japanese version, but it’s just. No. Look, they only actually were alive at the same time for like a couple of months, and at the time, he was 14 and she was 23, and then the next time they met, he was like 300-something and still stuck in a 14 year old body. Like. What the fuck. I greatly appreciate the dynamic between them, but it never read as romantic to me. It read as familial.
9. Most disliked character(s)? Why?
Literally everyone in Fruits Basket. Not a fan.
Hmmmm there are plenty of characters I dislike, but I’m going to just go ahead and say literally all of the faction leaders in Deadfire. Fuck those guys. Particularly the VTC and RDC but I don’t like any of them because they feel very one-dimensional and unreceptive to the narrative.
Outside of that, Solas from DA. Fuck that guy. I don’t have anything against people who like him, but he is absolutely responsible for so many terrible things and shows 0 remorse for it, choosing to gaslight his own people instead. I’m not okay with that.
There’s more, but I don’t have the energy to explain all the salt right now.
27. Least shippable character?
There’s probably a bunch, but I’m going to go with Albert fucking Wesker because I’m salty about him in particular right now.
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6: convalescence
Prompt: First Steps
Word count: 1127
Set after the solo duty in the Ghimlyt dark. Warnings for mild body horror, vomiting, and recovery from severe injury. Also contains like every Goldsmithing quest NPC and a bunch of Ishgardians not knowing how physical therapy is supposed to work.
The spinning didn’t stop even when Hanami was lying down, which was the worst part. If there was a reprieve from the vertigo, any at all, she thought she could have managed; she just needed a chance, a moment to get her bearings, to steady her stride and plant her feet.
“Is there nothing more that can be done?” Edmont asked, somewhere–to her right? It didn’t echo quite so badly–and Hanami swallowed against yet another wave of nausea. The damask on the walls of the manor had made her fall on her face once already today, so she was staring at the floor.
“I am afraid not,” Yukimitsu said. She thought his name was Yukimitsu. The whole world sounded as though it was speaking at her through a copper tube, echoing down until the consonants blended and the vowels warped. “Such wounds are not unheard of among our people, my lord, but they are nearly always fatal. If the injury itself does not invite swift death, the bone will become infected, and few have the constitution to fight off such sickness when it takes root in the skull.”
Understatement. One of Hanami’s cousins had died to horn rot, when she was younger. He’d spent his last weeks stumbling every which way, the stump of his horn going soft while contamination took root inside and spread to his brain. She hadn’t been allowed to see him as he had gotten sicker, her parents worried that their young children might suffer nightmares. And she would have died to the nightmare, too, were it not for the combined forces of the finest healer from the Doman’s armed forces and the swift legs of the Azure Dragoon. They’d been hells-bent on keeping her alive while she’d sweat and cried through the grip of a fever for nearly an entire fortnight, and now the realms most promising young goldsmiths had presented her with a gorgeous hardsilver cover to replace the missing end of her horn, and she’d gone and knocked it loose as soon as she’d tried to stand.
Hanami felt J’khebica take her hand but dared not look up. She’d managed to keep down her thin soup so far, and she didn’t want to empty her stomach onto one of her student’s shoes. “Hey…come on, Miss Hagane. This is just a prototype. Hal an’ Wido are still looking for a better option to use instead of hardsilver, and Mister Coulbernoux and I are gonna keep working on the design until you won’t be able to tell it’s not a real horn! He’s even got to talking to this Auri fellow who said he’d be willing to let us do some acoustics tests on his horns, guess he knows you or something and got real upset when he heard us talking about it down at the tavern.”
Shut up, she wanted to say, and dared not open her mouth, because her stomach was churning, her head pulsing like levin-touched rods were running through her skull, her vision going in and out of focus. Stop talking. Leave me be. The rug under her twisted up toward her face, rushing toward her when her body was not moving, and she felt herself lurch forward on the couch where she was splayed. J’khebica clutched at her shoulder to keep her from toppling to the ground again.
The hammering, piercing sensation peaked suddenly, and Hanami closed her eyes as the ground pulsed bright beneath her, but that was somehow worse, as she felt her body turning endlessly, tumbling without moving, the couch falling away under her as she was set adrift–
Pathetic. She heaved, her throat hot and swollen. No wonder Aymeric had left once she’d woken. Hanami wouldn’t want to see herself either.
“Careful, my dear,” Edmont said, and there was the creak of leather. When Hanami managed to open her eyes again she saw the knee of his boot, bent next to her head. “Come, let’s sit up a bit. It would seem the best treatment is practice.”
No. If she moved she would vomit, she knew with a bone-deep certainty, and if she threw up she was like to pass out. It had happened enough recently that she knew one preceded the other.
“I’ve got your horn all straightened out, Miss Hagane,” J’khebica said, “time for round two!”
And then J’khebica’s hands were under her arms, and Edmont was pressing up on her ribs, and though she knew she was sitting up the floor followed her–
Hanami crumpled in on herself, and by the grace of the kami J’khebica managed to shove a bedpan under her face before she could be sick all over the very expensive rug. When she finally managed to pull her head out of the pan, wary of breathing in case the smell set her off again, she was greeted by one of the staff offering her a cup of water and Edmont offering her his hand.
“No,” she croaked, looking over at the arm of the sofa rather than Edmont’s hand. She couldn’t even sit up without her body failing her. She’d needed to be carried down the stairs like an invalid, because she was, and he expected her to try and stand after that showing?
“Forgive an old man his dotage,” Edmont said, “but as my other children have flown the roost for the moment, you shall simply have to suffer the brunt of it. Now let’s try again. You will hardly be the first knight to stumble about like a unicorn colt after a blow to the head, and I doubt you will be the last.”
Hanami didn’t dare shake her head, even as she felt J’khebica’s hands shift to her back, ready to push her to standing. In her peripheral the couch swooped past her anyway.
“Up we go,” he said, and Edmont was standing, and Hanami was standing, and she lurched too far and the ground fell away even as she fell, but J’khebica and the steward were already there to catch her, and when they set her upright her head flopped to press against Edmont’s shirt without her input, too disoriented to be embarrassed.
J’khebica crowed with delight. “Look at you, Miss Hagane!”
She felt Edmont’s hand press down on her shoulder–she really was just leaning on him now, if she were any taller she knew she would send him toppling too, she shouldn’t be doing this. Why couldn’t they just leave her be? Why the humiliation?
“Nonsense, my dear,” Edmont said–oh. Hanami didn’t think she’d spoken aloud. “You have managed to land yourself in the most stubborn nation in Eorzea, and we’ll not give up on you so easily. Try to keep your weight even, and we’ll let you rest soon.”
#ffxivwrite2019#edmont de fortemps#final fantasy xiv#EDMONT IS A GOOD DAD#oc: hanami hagane#can you imagine literally just having your entire inner ear cut in half#that would suck#writing - mine
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[fic] telltale hearts (snippet)
hello @lovegood-and-boswell and I have been talking about a romance novelist!Caleb AU (with widomauk endgame) so... here’s a super rough snippet
“So what do you write?” Beau asks, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against Marion’s beautiful granite-topped kitchen counter as she looks over at him.
Caleb has the distinct impression of being sized up, evaluated in some way. He’s not sure what the criteria are. That makes him a little nervous. He wraps both hands around his mug of tea. “I, ah-- novels, generally.”
“He writes romance novels, Beau, didn’t I tell you that?” Jester interjects. “That’s why he’s here in the first place, you know. He works for my mama!”
Although Caleb is used to a certain amount of derision that comes from being a novelist in this genre, Beau seems more impressed than anything. Her eyebrows go up and her tough guy posture relaxes a little when Jester speaks up for him. “Oh, right! That’s cool. Marion’s pretty cool, huh?”
It’s still so strange for Caleb to think of her as anything but Ms. Lavorre or, really, Ruby C. That was the pen name that made her famous, and it’s now the name of her independent publishing house, Ruby C. Press. “She is very cool,” Caleb says and means it. She is one of his heroes.
“She’s the best,” Jester says dreamily. “Oh! And she has some of Caleb’s books around here somewhere, maybe in the study--”
“Please, Jester.” Caleb’s already not certain why he’s here in Marion Lavorre’s house with Jester and her gym buddy or... whatever Beau is to her. He’s not certain how he feels about hanging out with his employers’ daughter. Though, in all fairness, he’s not certain about how he feels ‘hanging out’ in general. Tea and cakes were nice. Revealing his novels to an acquaintance is... less nice. “She can find those on her own.”
The last thing he wants is for the girls to decide it’s time for a dramatic reading of Tangled Hearts. At least not while he’s still in the house.
Jester makes a face at him. “How will she find them if she doesn’t know your name?” she points out.
“Your name is Caleb Widoga... Wido...” Beau begins, starting out with confidence and trailing off.
“Widogast,” Caleb fills in.
“His pen name! Everyone who works for my mama has one. It’s kind of cool, like they’re spies or something! Sometimes my mama let’s me come up with the names, even.”
Beau laughs. “That is kind of cool, yeah. Okay-- Caleb. What’s yours?”
There is definitely a dramatic reading of Tangled Hearts -- or worse, Twisted Hearts -- in the future. Caleb is a little flattered to imagine that, actually. He knows that at least Jester, who was raised on romance novels, takes his work very seriously.
“Ah-- it is N., just the initial, and then Flame. N. Flame.” He’s fairly proud of the pen name. It’s genderless, first of all, and if you say it aloud it sounds like enflame. Their hearts were enflamed with desire. The kiss enflamed his heart. Et cetera.
Beau gives a slow nod. “What’s the N stand for?”
“Nothing,” Caleb says honestly, at the same time Jester shouts, “Nasty!”
That is an old joke that still makes Caleb smile, even as he says, “Nein.”
Beau seems a little confused. “Nine what?”
“Nine INCHES! Just like his dick!” Jester says and claps, thrilled at the opportunity to share that joke.
It is very adorable, how Jester tells jokes with her whole body, and Caleb would appreciate that more if his face wasn’t flaming hot right now. He drops his head into his hands for a moment. “Jester.”
“Or just like Edrik’s dick!” Jester crows. She turns to Beau. “Edrik is the villain from one of Caleb’s books, and he is very sexy and has a very big dick and eventually the main character falls for him, obviously, and they have tons and tons of sex.” Through his embarrassment Caleb is pleased and honestly quite touched that she remembers the love interest’s name from the Tangled Hearts series. He dares to look up. “Except that in the second book they broke up again and now he’s kind of the good guy, and the main character is kind of the bad guy? I was really sad about that. And Caleb still hasn’t finished the third book, even though my mama wanted it like, a month ago.”
The blush is back, but for a less funny reason. “Ja, Jester, thank you for that reminder,” Caleb says. Which is yet another reason he feels awkward at this hang out.
Beau laughs. Caleb isn’t sure if the laughter is directed at Jester’s teasing or his own embarrassment, or if there’s a difference at this point. “Writer’s block?” she asks.
Caleb takes a big gulp of his tea, even though it’s gone cold. “Something like that,” he said. ‘Writer’s block’ doesn’t quite encompass the thirty-three thousand word manuscript on his computer, or the look on Marion’s face when she said that his plot was, as always, impeccable, but that his books lacked heart. It didn’t cover the hours Caleb has already spent staring helplessly at the words in front of him, or his agonized pacing at 2 a.m. wondering what exactly Marion meant.
“Sucks,” Beau says sympathetically.
That... about covers it.
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the judge and jury are now my lover
short story in lieu of fictober day 2: waking from a dream
☆☆☆☆
His head rests in the lunette, face grim as they subdue his limbs. The executioner laughs, hollow and slow like the sound of a funeral toll. That’s really what it is now, isn’t it?
The faces in the crowd are blurred, bloodlust twisting smiles into those of beasts. In the town square of a commoner village, the King knew what he was doing. His end is a show to enthrall the masses, to appease their violent streak and soothe the unrest that has been floating about. Simply put, he is a sacrifice meant to crush the sense of rebellion that has come about.
If you go against the crown, this is your reward.
The memory of how it had come to this is hazy, though Blagoje is certain it is deserved. He isn't some urchin, skin marred with ‘My Head Shall Go to Wido’. There is no reason a Marquis should ever be subjected to a humiliation such as this, but he knows this is only fair in some cruel sense.
Beside the executioner stands a man who he couldn’t quite catch a glimpse of before a strong push had brought him to his knees in preparation. The form seemed to flicker and flutter out of his sights, fuzzy as if it was never there. A trick played on him by the looming fear of death. Every word the form says is a cacophony, boiling his blood and making Blagoje want nothing more than to carve his nails into the delicate skin of his handsome face.
The lingering suspicion is that is his lover. It would make sense--Blagoje was fool enough to throw his life away for a sense of love. Funny how it seems that sort of life had never turned well for any who went down that path, you would think romantics would have become jaded by it by now.
“I suppose,” Blagoje says, voice ragged and flat from disuse, “it is out of the question to request a final smoke. Is it we have forgotten all our basic courtesies?”
The man behind the black mask scoffs, and though his face is covered he can feel the hateful sneer being tossed his way. Still it has always been customary to provide one final pleasure before death, and though he was dragged from his manor and left with no face throughout the whole ordeal he still found his skin thick enough to request it. One simple plea from a condemned man. It would be a insult on them not to grant it.
“Incites a riot here an’ still thinks he’s people! Give ya’ some of mine while you still got the time, having a pair big enough t’ even ask,” the executioner replies, voice dripping with contempt.
Intriguing choice of charges, he thinks. By the look of it this is not the fief of Sawlins, nor is it the royal city... How could it be he’d had the reach to muddle things in another noble’s territory? His head screeches as he tries to place his memories, inky black nothing the only things left of his past few months.
The executioner bends to put the readied pipe into his mouth, when the shifting figure stops him appearing to say something. He can't stop the dumb look of confusion that falls over his face, nor the paling fear as that… thing moves in closer to switch it out.
“Lucky he feels bad for ya’, eh?”
Blagoje can’t say he agrees as form extends a finger, flicker a flame--the only clear part about it--and lights the pipe.
It is his smoke. Only a few people he’d seemed worthy to gift it could obtain it, and he wants to scream but nothing comes out but a dry heft. Everything points to the obvious that Blagoje desperately brands wrong. It cannot be him, it cannot be him. Now that he is faced with a sort of proof he can only deny what was placed so squarely in front of him.
“The second she runs out will be your last.”
And so Blagoje savors his final gift, not delaying but merely appreciating the only thing he has left for here. The earthy taste mingles with cherries until there is nothing but ash, and all he can do is dart his eyes to now jubilant executioner at his side.
Almost as if he is dancing the man in black begins to unfurl the rope, pulling it taut and bellowing to the crowd below who cheer with an eerie
Only when the rush of the metal sounds can he begin to make out the face he’d been struggling to all this time. It comes as no surprise, Jure. His Jure stares at him clearly as though he is less than an insect in his eyes. That bright, whimsical smile he’d so loved to see now shining even more at his death burns into his mind.
“You couldn't have really believed me, could you?”
As he screams with his last breath his eyes open, terror reflecting from them in the pale moonlight. A hand reaches to pat his sweat soaked body, a soothing spot of warmth against his frigid limbs.
“What’s wrong? Were tossing around in your sleep like you were possessed…” a soft, husky voice says, the hand on his arm moving to wrap itself around Blagoje’s bare chest. “It’s alright, you’re safe. You’re with me.”
As he turns to his lover, the Duke of Lisslette, he pales. His breathing is still frantic as he faces Jure’s loving gaze, deep slate eyes filled with affection. It seems impossible to place this angelic man--with his soft, unblemished skin that knew no work--as the fiend in his vision. Blagoje doesn't wish to see it and now the two are divorced from each other in his mind.
It was a nightmare. The stress of the sudden drought in his fief must be getting to him, turning his mind against the only constant comfort he has. These are the sort of paltry excuses he comes up with as he sinks into the warm embrace offered to him.
Still he drops his head into the other’s chest, not daring to stare too long lest he undue the shallow calm he’d finally managed to bring to his frantic heart. He loves him dearly, obsessively and without a thought about what may come from it. It was a stupid, shallow sort of thing but blind to the fact.
“I’ve a way we can be together,” Jure finally whispers, pressing a light kiss into Blagoje’s mop of hair, “That is if you are willing to dirty your hands a little.”
He freezes, wrapped in the sense he will do anything the man says even if the sinking sensation he knows better screams to not. With a shaky turn, he sees the same cruel face he’d met at his execution. It was better not to tempt the fates in Wrivaria.
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Tales of Rheio - Cosmogony
At the beginning, was Wuni.
Wuni was the universe: everything and nothing, finite and infinite, tangible and intangible, full and naught. But its loneliness weighed on it. So, it took two shreds from its body. With the first shred, it made a pretty round ball and placed it in the middle of itself. It called it Rheio, the Earth. Then, it used the second to surround Rheio, so they could watch on each other, while it watched on them both. The second shred was named Ran, the Sky.
Soon, Ran and Rheio fell in love with each other, but though so close, Wuni had placed them in such way they could not reach each other. They could only stare at each other for a time finite and infinite, because time did not exist yet.
Ran, more resourceful than her lover, decided to take action. From her own body, she tore a shred into a ball she threw toward Rheio. But her throw wasn’t strong enough, and the ball made of her flesh stopped its descent before reaching Rheio. This shred became Segio, the Sun.
Rheio, though Ran had failed, found her idea ingenious and he tore two shreds from his own body to throw at Ran. But again, it failed, and the new satellites became the moons Tsumi and Yo.
Ran became so very angry against their parent, she decided to rebel against it. Her fingers turned into claws and she tore shred after shred of Wuni’s body. These shreds fell to Rheio leaving long bright tails behind them. When the shreds reached him, Rheio thought them a gift from Ran, so he took great care of them and seeded them.
When Ran ended her fight against Wuni, it was too late. Rheio had impregnated twelve of the stone-eggs, and the first one was already hatching, a new being ready to get out into the world. While Ran was still pushing back Wuni to its edge, the egg hatched and a tall majestic tree grew out of it.
Ran, jealous Rheio birthed from Wuni rather than her, unleashed her wrath against the tree and threw a lightning at it to destroy it. Rheio’s child was reduced to a twisted and burned trunk, but Rheio seeded it a second time, and the tree was born again. Rheio named it Wido, the Wand-King. Because he was the firstborn, he became the king of the gods who would walk the earth.
Unable to stop events, Ran agreed to let the other seeded eggs hatch in peace, on one condition: Rheio would not seed any other egg.
The eggs hatched and, from the safety of their shell, came, in the following order: Llyro god of seas and violent phenomena, Wudja goddess of forests and meadows, Gjoran god of mountains, Egjé goddess of lakes and quiet waters, Yomi Dreams Walker, Gjusa goddess of love and arts, Dreljo god of war and craft, Noré goddess of order and laws, Tsudja goddess of trade and thieves, Diarmé goddess of hearth and marriage. But the last egg did not hatch.
Rheio first believe it had fell victim to Ran’s attack against his firstborn, but despite all his attempts, nothing changed, the egg stayed still. Ran, witnessing the growing despair of Rheio she still loved, took pity and decided to help him. With the newborn gods and goddesses, she moved her womb and the first clouds flowered on the celestial dome. Rain fell and soaked the last egg. Finally, it hatched in two perfect halves and Faéran, god of death and time, came out.
Then, for the first time, the stars moved. A first day was followed by a first night. Time had started.
Other versions of the myth mention that Faéran was Wuni’s first child, but Wuni soon realized its child needed a world to walk and live. Thus Wuni created Ran and Rheio. The rest of the myth is left very much the same.
French version can be found here
#writeblr#writing#worldbuilding#original fiction#écriture#myth#mythology#my writing#tales of rheio#cosmogony#fantasy#fantasy writer#cdr writes#tor religions#tor worldbuilding
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Gwede Mantashe accused of hindering efforts to tackle SA's electricity crisis
South Africa has been hit by rolling power cuts less than a month after President Cyril Ramaphosa gave renewed assurances that energy constraints were being addressed, making his pledges ring hollow and highlighting his administration’s inability to tackle the crisis.
While Eskom is overseen by Public Enterprises Pravin Gordhan, has borne the brunt of the blame for the outages, criticism is increasingly being directed at another target: Mineral Resources and Energy Minister Gwede Mantashe, who is also chairman of the ruling party.
The 64-year-old former miner and labor union leader is one of Ramaphosa’s most important political allies, yet his reticence to fast-track renewable power projects could prolong the electricity shortages, which have caused the economy to stagnate and sapped investor confidence.
Increased use of solar and wind energy would reduce South Africa’s reliance on coal, which is currently used to generate the bulk of electricity utilized in the continent’s most industrialized economy. That prospect bodes ill for about 87,000 coal miners, many of them members of the National Union of Mineworkers - which Mantashe led from 1998 to 2006.
“He is a calculating man. The reason he is where he is is because he comes with the unions,” said Ralph Mathekga, an analyst and author of books on South African politics. “He manages to restrain Ramaphosa in the interest of his old traditional allies.”
Furthermore, private producers dominate the production of green energy and an enhanced role for them would mean a diminished one for Eskom and increase pressure on the utility to trim its bloated workforce of more 46,000 people - a prospect vigorously opposed by the unions.
Mantashe “does not believe in privatisation,” Mathekga said. “He is a trade unionist at heart.”
The gravity of the situation has been demonstrated by several days of outages at a time when many power-hungry factories are closed for the holiday season. Most will restart this week, adding strain to the grid.
Private generation
One of the quickest ways to boost electricity output would be to allow private business to generate as much as 10 megawatts without a license, up from a current limit of 1 megawatt. While former Energy Minister Jeff Radebe initiated the process of raising the threshold last year, Mantashe has failed to follow through since assuming the energy portfolio in May.
“Nothing is being done” to enable additional power generation, said Dave Long, general secretary of the South African Independent Power Producers Association. “They are just dragging their feet.”
Sibanye Gold, the country’s biggest precious metals producer, has failed to get approval for a 150 megawatt solar plant, and many other firms have experienced similar problems, its Chief Executive Officer Neal Froneman said last month.
The government could also tap private producers to supply more renewable power to the grid. South Africa had one of the world’s most successful green energy purchase programs, but stopped seeking bids for new projects in 2016 as former President Jacob Zuma pushed a nuclear power deal with Russia that’s since been abandoned.
Stalled procurement
The last power off-take agreements were signed with 27 independent producers in 2018. Mantashe last month said discussions were underway to establish which of those projects could still be brought on stream this year and that additional investment rounds won’t start until that process is concluded.
“We need to place procurement rounds out there like yesterday,” said Wido Schnabel, chairman of the South African Photovoltaic Industry Association, who estimates that sizable solar projects can be up and running in a year. “Every day that we delay buying new capacity is a day lost and a day that’s going to cost us dearly.”
Mantashe didn’t respond to questions about why he hasn’t moved to ease the small-scale generation requirements or call for more bids for renewable projects.
The minister was galvanized into action last month when Eskom instituted its deepest power cuts yet, reducing supply by 6,000 megawatts, and published a request for information for short-term power supply options of as much as 3,000 megawatts within a year. That process is unlikely to deliver the desired results, according to Long.
“The request for information is worthless” because there’s no way you can procure that much capacity quickly, he said.
Ramaphosa, himself a former union leader, is likely to be loath to act against Mantashe because his control over the ruling African National Congress remains tenuous and he needs to keep his labor allies on side.
“If you replace him, the unions will overrun Ramaphosa,” said Mathekga. “If you retain Mantashe you say you are happy with this moderated approach,” and that the unions’ interests are paramount, he said.
https://www.fin24.com/Economy/Eskom/gwede-mantashe-accused-of-hindering-efforts-to-tackle-sas-electricity-crisis-20200108
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