Written By Harald
Feb. 26, 2017, 10:17 p.m.(1/1/1006 AR)
Change is most enduring and stable when it is slow. Those young and idealistic souls who charge forth full of zeal and conviction would be wise to recall that stability in this hour of war is needed as much as air, food, and drink. Do not fall prey to a seductive vision of progress and forget that the hearts of men are ever slow to embrace change. While the zealous young rulers of the Mourning Isles declare progress in Arx, half a world away, their vassals will fear the future, and fear what the next blow to our traditions will be.
And Fear is the guardian of Hate.
And Fear is the guardian of Hate.
Written By Harald
Feb. 21, 2017, 1:45 p.m.(12/18/1005 AR)
Whenever I speak with folk of any influence within the Army if the Compact, without exception they are grateful for the presence and conduct of our ships and men. Our way of war permits a strength and flexibility that is the admiration of Generals of other lands. How odd that I only ever hear scorn for our ways from the mouths of those ignorant of waging war. When such folk as we wish to be your allies, one must be foolish indeed to treat us as foes.
For only a fool undermines one of the pillars that props him up. I have yet to hear a single worthy argument as to why other folk of other lands should meddle in our succession. The only folk that need fear Victus Thrax are the Bringers, the Gyre, and those loyal to them.
Victus Thrax is Highlord of the Mourning Isles and Prince of Maelstrom. May the years of his reign be long as the list of his victories.
For only a fool undermines one of the pillars that props him up. I have yet to hear a single worthy argument as to why other folk of other lands should meddle in our succession. The only folk that need fear Victus Thrax are the Bringers, the Gyre, and those loyal to them.
Victus Thrax is Highlord of the Mourning Isles and Prince of Maelstrom. May the years of his reign be long as the list of his victories.
Written By Harald
Feb. 16, 2017, 11:58 p.m.(12/9/1005 AR)
There are many reasons for mainlanders to find my race disagreeable. Our habits of speech are different, our laws are different, our values are different.
For all of that, how great must a man's arrogance be to think he knows better than we how the Highlord of the Isles should be chosen? Nobles walked out of the Assembly when Highlord Victus entered and took his seat.
The traditions of the Isles are ours. Victus is our Highlord. Outsiders may weep and rail against this truth if they wish, but so too must they accept it.
For all of that, how great must a man's arrogance be to think he knows better than we how the Highlord of the Isles should be chosen? Nobles walked out of the Assembly when Highlord Victus entered and took his seat.
The traditions of the Isles are ours. Victus is our Highlord. Outsiders may weep and rail against this truth if they wish, but so too must they accept it.
Written By Harald
Feb. 15, 2017, 1:57 a.m.(12/5/1005 AR)
It is the nature of folk to mourn the deaths of those known to them. As this unfolding conflict takes shape as the greatest conflict for centuries, much perspective has been lost.
The outcome of the recent Battle of Pridehall, like the prior ambush and destruction of the traitors under Everard Telmar, was never in doubt. Our numbers were double that of the Enemy, our warriors better armed and disciplined; no brilliance was needed to simply secure victory. The great triumph of Pridehall was not that the army of the Compact prevailed, but that it did so at such light cost. Time and again, I have heard others speak of the terrible cost of this victory, when to my eye the price was light. Two thousand lost out of 40,000. One warrior lost out of twenty may seem significant, until one considers the losses of the Enemy, which amounted to a total destruction of near twenty thousand.
At Pridehall, it was not a question of victory or defeat, it was a question of how clean a victory could be won. Soon it will be we who face greater numbers; soon victory will not be assured, and will not be won lightly. Soon we will face foemen of such power and number that our victory will be worthy of song and saga.
To those gentle souls who have dwelt in peace until now, mourn the loss of those you knew and take solace from their sacrifice, but do not weary your hearts with great laments, lest your hearts grow weak in the face of the trials ahead. The losses seen thus far are but the first drops in the growing storm still to come, and great strength will be needed to see that storm broken.
I salute the fallen and I salute the living. I recall the past and ready for the future. I drink to the battles before, and those yet to come.
The words of House Thrax are true in this hour: Tears in our wake, never at our wake.
The outcome of the recent Battle of Pridehall, like the prior ambush and destruction of the traitors under Everard Telmar, was never in doubt. Our numbers were double that of the Enemy, our warriors better armed and disciplined; no brilliance was needed to simply secure victory. The great triumph of Pridehall was not that the army of the Compact prevailed, but that it did so at such light cost. Time and again, I have heard others speak of the terrible cost of this victory, when to my eye the price was light. Two thousand lost out of 40,000. One warrior lost out of twenty may seem significant, until one considers the losses of the Enemy, which amounted to a total destruction of near twenty thousand.
At Pridehall, it was not a question of victory or defeat, it was a question of how clean a victory could be won. Soon it will be we who face greater numbers; soon victory will not be assured, and will not be won lightly. Soon we will face foemen of such power and number that our victory will be worthy of song and saga.
To those gentle souls who have dwelt in peace until now, mourn the loss of those you knew and take solace from their sacrifice, but do not weary your hearts with great laments, lest your hearts grow weak in the face of the trials ahead. The losses seen thus far are but the first drops in the growing storm still to come, and great strength will be needed to see that storm broken.
I salute the fallen and I salute the living. I recall the past and ready for the future. I drink to the battles before, and those yet to come.
The words of House Thrax are true in this hour: Tears in our wake, never at our wake.
Written By Harald
Feb. 8, 2017, 1:41 p.m.(11/18/1005 AR)
Survival is no fit goal in war.
Survival is merely the means to the true goal of victory, of dominance. At times, survival is not even needed for that, when one is wise enough, for such is the nature of sacrifice.
It is a fool who aims for a goal that does not ensure final triumph, or marches without knowing how to grasp true victory.
So long as life endures, hope remains, and hope is a virtue.
But domination is a strategy.
Do not hope for mere survival, when one can grasp further, toward triumph.
Survival is merely the means to the true goal of victory, of dominance. At times, survival is not even needed for that, when one is wise enough, for such is the nature of sacrifice.
It is a fool who aims for a goal that does not ensure final triumph, or marches without knowing how to grasp true victory.
So long as life endures, hope remains, and hope is a virtue.
But domination is a strategy.
Do not hope for mere survival, when one can grasp further, toward triumph.
Written By Harald
Feb. 7, 2017, 2:39 p.m.(11/16/1005 AR)
In considering the kraken, and how fire might be brought to bear against such a beast, I am reminded of Legends in centuries past, of fire that would burn unrelenting, heedless of water. Whether such has ever existed in truth, or is consigned to the lost knowledge of antiquity, I cannot say.
I would invite any with knowledge of alchemical arts, and of fire in particular to share thought on the subject, be it at the Grimhall Longhouse, the Great Library, or within these very journals.
I would invite any with knowledge of alchemical arts, and of fire in particular to share thought on the subject, be it at the Grimhall Longhouse, the Great Library, or within these very journals.
Written By Harald
Feb. 5, 2017, 1:58 a.m.(11/8/1005 AR)
On foes to come:
Of the Herald and his army of the Silence: not an army like any other, though it is an army the massed strength of the Compact can overcome through wisdom and warlike power. A mix of the living and restless dead, this will be one of the grand battles beloved of mainland bards.
Of the Gyre, one may plan for a war of ships and shavs, blood mad and mindless though they be, that would much resemble any other war of fleets in recent centuries, though writ upon a larger scale. Yet there is one element of this war in the southern seas that is unlike any other since the burning of the great library: it is called the kraken.
At a gathering in the Thrax palace, I was given an account of the Demon of the Deeps, the great beast called the kraken. It is said that its arms are thicker than a strong man's body, long enough to drag entire ships to doom. That it draws near to the surface to feed, and swallows warriors whole. It is said that its hide turns aside steel as easily as it does seawater, truly a monster out of legend.
I hear these stories and am glad, for if this is all true, the monster can be killed. Not without great cost in blood and ships, but it can be killed by our mortal hands. Now I begin to consider how.
Though common steel causes its hide no harm, if it is indeed demon-spawn mayhap the higher metals might yet have an effect upon it's body much as they have on the lesser demons slain thus far in Arvum: diamondplate and alaricite, weapons fit for the hands of heroes who would stand against such a monster, though at dreadful cost, for any warrior who falls in the deep shall be lost until the final night of this world, precious weapon and all.
I have considered the use of keenly pointed rams fitted to our longships, that once the beast surfaces to feed, surrounding ships might swarm is as a flock of oar-driven arrows, though the monster's nature of being proof against common metals might make such a tactic ineffective as well as badly slowing the ships at sail and unbalancing the craft's design. As well, should such rams piece the body, great damage to the ship might be done when the beast again dives deep. An unlikely course to follow, this.
Though fire is the bane of any ship crafted of timbers and sealed with tar, one must wonder the effect flame would have upon hide and sinew. A wrack loaded as a fireship; hurled pots of quicklime or pitch; a firelance kindled from Lagoma's shrine. All of these could do much or nothing.
Lastly, there is the question of Mangata's holy water. Alas that Godsworn of our race are so few, for I would greatly desire to see the effect of thirteen holy men channeling the Goddess' blessing through Mangata's own blessed seawater, when this dire beast arises to consume a ship. Can the seas themselves boil and burn such an unclean monster?
Of the Herald and his army of the Silence: not an army like any other, though it is an army the massed strength of the Compact can overcome through wisdom and warlike power. A mix of the living and restless dead, this will be one of the grand battles beloved of mainland bards.
Of the Gyre, one may plan for a war of ships and shavs, blood mad and mindless though they be, that would much resemble any other war of fleets in recent centuries, though writ upon a larger scale. Yet there is one element of this war in the southern seas that is unlike any other since the burning of the great library: it is called the kraken.
At a gathering in the Thrax palace, I was given an account of the Demon of the Deeps, the great beast called the kraken. It is said that its arms are thicker than a strong man's body, long enough to drag entire ships to doom. That it draws near to the surface to feed, and swallows warriors whole. It is said that its hide turns aside steel as easily as it does seawater, truly a monster out of legend.
I hear these stories and am glad, for if this is all true, the monster can be killed. Not without great cost in blood and ships, but it can be killed by our mortal hands. Now I begin to consider how.
Though common steel causes its hide no harm, if it is indeed demon-spawn mayhap the higher metals might yet have an effect upon it's body much as they have on the lesser demons slain thus far in Arvum: diamondplate and alaricite, weapons fit for the hands of heroes who would stand against such a monster, though at dreadful cost, for any warrior who falls in the deep shall be lost until the final night of this world, precious weapon and all.
I have considered the use of keenly pointed rams fitted to our longships, that once the beast surfaces to feed, surrounding ships might swarm is as a flock of oar-driven arrows, though the monster's nature of being proof against common metals might make such a tactic ineffective as well as badly slowing the ships at sail and unbalancing the craft's design. As well, should such rams piece the body, great damage to the ship might be done when the beast again dives deep. An unlikely course to follow, this.
Though fire is the bane of any ship crafted of timbers and sealed with tar, one must wonder the effect flame would have upon hide and sinew. A wrack loaded as a fireship; hurled pots of quicklime or pitch; a firelance kindled from Lagoma's shrine. All of these could do much or nothing.
Lastly, there is the question of Mangata's holy water. Alas that Godsworn of our race are so few, for I would greatly desire to see the effect of thirteen holy men channeling the Goddess' blessing through Mangata's own blessed seawater, when this dire beast arises to consume a ship. Can the seas themselves boil and burn such an unclean monster?
Written By Harald
Feb. 4, 2017, 12:54 a.m.(11/5/1005 AR)
I know not why folk claim that Men of the Isles cannot be trusted by mainlanders. It seems all that is needed is good drink and a worthy foe to discuss destroying, and all is well between warriors of the Compact.
When next we meet it will be on the field of battle and thereafter, to death or glory.
When next we meet it will be on the field of battle and thereafter, to death or glory.
Written By Harald
Jan. 25, 2017, 1:55 p.m.(10/5/1005 AR)
It seems the Bringers south of Arx are moving to join their strength with the northern host near Pridehall, relieving pressure on the Ashford borders. A pity, foes divided make easier marks. Instead, we may have one of these great set-piece battles the mainland knights so love.
All speak with great reverence for this Gabriel Bisland, Duke of Pridehall and general of the Compact. I expect he is a master of knightly warfare, of flanks, charges, and logistics; of moving pieces as if on the chessboard.
I wonder if he is more than that. I look forward to seeing his quality.
Great battles make for pretty stories and famous songs, but there is little middle ground in a lost battle. To hazard all on a single clash of arms is brave, but dangerous.
There are few knights and fewer cavaliers in the Mourning Isles. Our way of war is not a cult of chivalry, but a cult of victory. Whether the foe is broken in single combat or by starvation after his fields were burnt matters little. When the clearest path to victory is a charge, there is no blood-mad berserk or gallant knight who will howl into the melee with more spirit than we. There is no fear of death in battle among us, but woe to he that spends his strength poorly.
The knight's lance, the reaver's torch, the traitor's knife: all are weapons that will be cast at the unwary. Still, I haven't grown so old that all of the luster has faded from the direct honesty of a headlong, howling charge to sieze victory with a bloody fist.
Gods favor the brave.
All speak with great reverence for this Gabriel Bisland, Duke of Pridehall and general of the Compact. I expect he is a master of knightly warfare, of flanks, charges, and logistics; of moving pieces as if on the chessboard.
I wonder if he is more than that. I look forward to seeing his quality.
Great battles make for pretty stories and famous songs, but there is little middle ground in a lost battle. To hazard all on a single clash of arms is brave, but dangerous.
There are few knights and fewer cavaliers in the Mourning Isles. Our way of war is not a cult of chivalry, but a cult of victory. Whether the foe is broken in single combat or by starvation after his fields were burnt matters little. When the clearest path to victory is a charge, there is no blood-mad berserk or gallant knight who will howl into the melee with more spirit than we. There is no fear of death in battle among us, but woe to he that spends his strength poorly.
The knight's lance, the reaver's torch, the traitor's knife: all are weapons that will be cast at the unwary. Still, I haven't grown so old that all of the luster has faded from the direct honesty of a headlong, howling charge to sieze victory with a bloody fist.
Gods favor the brave.
Written By Harald
Jan. 24, 2017, 6:12 p.m.(10/2/1005 AR)
I had nearly forgotten how swift our ships fly up the great rivers of Arvum. One day under oars and it seems half a continent has fallen away. Mangata's waters run deep, the Goddess grants her favored children a long arm.
History tells us of times gone by when the sight of our ships on the Grey River would put fear of sword and torch into the bravest of Forest Lords, when the song of steel was a pitiless dirge to the misfortunes of those who lay before us; where once riches had been won and blood were spilled, the longships would turn their dire prows once more to the waters, before ever foemen could march against us in number.
For so long our race has had only our own as foes. Now the demons stir, the restless dead walk, and dread horrors arise in the Deep. For centuries the sight of our banners was a thing of fear and hate to mainlanders, and it remains so, still. Unity has been a pleasant fiction, painted over the bloody memories of broken and bloody crowns of wars past. When Queen Genevieve fell, I would name 'liar' he who denied dread that another war might have followed. How terrible the foe that would return the ghost of Unity from its ancient grave, now?
How soon can the hearts of men change?
History tells us of times gone by when the sight of our ships on the Grey River would put fear of sword and torch into the bravest of Forest Lords, when the song of steel was a pitiless dirge to the misfortunes of those who lay before us; where once riches had been won and blood were spilled, the longships would turn their dire prows once more to the waters, before ever foemen could march against us in number.
For so long our race has had only our own as foes. Now the demons stir, the restless dead walk, and dread horrors arise in the Deep. For centuries the sight of our banners was a thing of fear and hate to mainlanders, and it remains so, still. Unity has been a pleasant fiction, painted over the bloody memories of broken and bloody crowns of wars past. When Queen Genevieve fell, I would name 'liar' he who denied dread that another war might have followed. How terrible the foe that would return the ghost of Unity from its ancient grave, now?
How soon can the hearts of men change?
Written By Harald
Jan. 21, 2017, 4:20 p.m.(9/21/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Agnarr
Read the last paragraph, again. Still, there is much more to be said.
Axes and polearms borne in both hands are the natural next step for a man in full plate steel harness, so long as he doesn't need to hold a place in a shield wall.
Besides, two handed swords and axes are shit for fighting in formation. Fine weapons for a duel, but for war? A few men with large axes in the back ranks and at the corners will have good work on a battlefield, but not for the rank and file.
Polearms with a lead thrusting point are fine for formation, and add the merit of cutting with great force if the lines get scattered, or for finishing off a downed horse and rider.
Then there are pikes.
There's nothing quite like a block of pikes for making an otherwise bold warrior say, "Fuck it, let the artillery soften them up for a while." Mortal power behind the thrust, takes so little space to brace and wield that dozens of the things can get points on a man who charges from the front. Dead men if they lose discipline, though.
Axes and polearms borne in both hands are the natural next step for a man in full plate steel harness, so long as he doesn't need to hold a place in a shield wall.
Besides, two handed swords and axes are shit for fighting in formation. Fine weapons for a duel, but for war? A few men with large axes in the back ranks and at the corners will have good work on a battlefield, but not for the rank and file.
Polearms with a lead thrusting point are fine for formation, and add the merit of cutting with great force if the lines get scattered, or for finishing off a downed horse and rider.
Then there are pikes.
There's nothing quite like a block of pikes for making an otherwise bold warrior say, "Fuck it, let the artillery soften them up for a while." Mortal power behind the thrust, takes so little space to brace and wield that dozens of the things can get points on a man who charges from the front. Dead men if they lose discipline, though.
Written By Harald
Jan. 21, 2017, 2:47 p.m.(9/21/1005 AR)
Master Meadson has requested the thought of fighting men on weapon design, which cannot be addressed without also speaking of armor. While any weapon is only as dangerous as the hand that holds it, I will assume equal skill between professional opponents.
Too much romance is attached to the edge of a sword. Even common maile will hold up well against a steel sword’s cut, and even masterpieces of steel craft will struggle to overcome stout maile, even less effective against plate. It is true that warriors clad only lightly in leathers must still fear the common blade or axe, it in only when a warrior is prone or helpless that such cuts are to be feared.
Far more dangerous against steel armors is the common spear. Thrusts carry the strength of a warrior’s arm more powerfully than cuts delivered with one hand, aided by the nature of maile: rings will often catch and hold the point of a thrust, leading to burst rings and torn maile. As well, thrusts need only create a gap of a few rings to do mortal injury, while cuts- though still damaging- must make greater rents in steel armor. Against plate steel, thrusts are again the most deadly, when able to find gaps in plate, such as the armpit. Thrusts are also able to breach such gaps more easily than cuts, which by their nature will fall across a wider area. Cuts and bludgeons will daze and damage a foeman, leaving him vulnerable to the thrust that kills him. In the close formation of a shield wall, thrusts also give less disruption to the defensive front. Chieftains and heroes will prize their cleaving blades, shield-crushing axes, and great two handed swords, but it is the common spear, bow, and shield line which decide contests of armies.
For the reasons stated above, I say that any warrior armed with steel must have the ability to thrust, whether it be in the spear, keenly pointed sword, piercing spike on hewing axes, or bow and arrow. The legendary cutting power of the higher metals allows a fortunate warrior to forget a measure of these rules, though they remain true in principle.
Further, with plate steel armors growing so common that lowborn soldiers in ever growing numbers can afford such protection, it is no mere chance that weapons borne in two hands have grown more popular. There is a degree of force against which no armor can prevail, though it bears repeating that pure force of impact is of secondary effect to a decisive thrust against good armor.
Too much romance is attached to the edge of a sword. Even common maile will hold up well against a steel sword’s cut, and even masterpieces of steel craft will struggle to overcome stout maile, even less effective against plate. It is true that warriors clad only lightly in leathers must still fear the common blade or axe, it in only when a warrior is prone or helpless that such cuts are to be feared.
Far more dangerous against steel armors is the common spear. Thrusts carry the strength of a warrior’s arm more powerfully than cuts delivered with one hand, aided by the nature of maile: rings will often catch and hold the point of a thrust, leading to burst rings and torn maile. As well, thrusts need only create a gap of a few rings to do mortal injury, while cuts- though still damaging- must make greater rents in steel armor. Against plate steel, thrusts are again the most deadly, when able to find gaps in plate, such as the armpit. Thrusts are also able to breach such gaps more easily than cuts, which by their nature will fall across a wider area. Cuts and bludgeons will daze and damage a foeman, leaving him vulnerable to the thrust that kills him. In the close formation of a shield wall, thrusts also give less disruption to the defensive front. Chieftains and heroes will prize their cleaving blades, shield-crushing axes, and great two handed swords, but it is the common spear, bow, and shield line which decide contests of armies.
For the reasons stated above, I say that any warrior armed with steel must have the ability to thrust, whether it be in the spear, keenly pointed sword, piercing spike on hewing axes, or bow and arrow. The legendary cutting power of the higher metals allows a fortunate warrior to forget a measure of these rules, though they remain true in principle.
Further, with plate steel armors growing so common that lowborn soldiers in ever growing numbers can afford such protection, it is no mere chance that weapons borne in two hands have grown more popular. There is a degree of force against which no armor can prevail, though it bears repeating that pure force of impact is of secondary effect to a decisive thrust against good armor.
Written By Harald
Jan. 17, 2017, 1:03 p.m.(9/9/1005 AR)
The first lesson thralls learn at Grihem’s Point is what will happen, should they deny obedience. Many mainlanders have spoken I'll of my family for how we treat out subjects, because they mistake order for cruelty, and weakness for humanity.
There is an order to life in Arvum, and it does not change as much as many think, from realm to realm. The strong rule, for as long as strength and wisdom support each other. Should one of these pillars fall behind, the house teeters. Should one pillar fail, the house falls.
The lesser folk serve, for such is their lot. To pretend otherwise is delusion, nobility can not exist without the leal service of freemen and thralls. Freemen can live lives of great worth and glory, if they are strong, wise, and obedient. This is the order of law, and of life.
Another lesson we teach our thralls is that any who stir their fellows to rebellion while the longships are away, will be put to death over a number of days, for it is the blackest crime to incite revolt against our wives and children while battles are being fought.
I honor the Pantheon, as I always have. If this Dominus were truly a servant, he'd be tortured to death. But mainlanders are content to let him act like a Prince.
How strange that the least of Grimhall thralls have learned a lesson unknown to the great princes of the mainland.
There is an order to life in Arvum, and it does not change as much as many think, from realm to realm. The strong rule, for as long as strength and wisdom support each other. Should one of these pillars fall behind, the house teeters. Should one pillar fail, the house falls.
The lesser folk serve, for such is their lot. To pretend otherwise is delusion, nobility can not exist without the leal service of freemen and thralls. Freemen can live lives of great worth and glory, if they are strong, wise, and obedient. This is the order of law, and of life.
Another lesson we teach our thralls is that any who stir their fellows to rebellion while the longships are away, will be put to death over a number of days, for it is the blackest crime to incite revolt against our wives and children while battles are being fought.
I honor the Pantheon, as I always have. If this Dominus were truly a servant, he'd be tortured to death. But mainlanders are content to let him act like a Prince.
How strange that the least of Grimhall thralls have learned a lesson unknown to the great princes of the mainland.
Written By Harald
Jan. 15, 2017, 9:44 p.m.(9/4/1005 AR)
The end of his bloodline is a weight no warrior should hang on his swordarm, going into battle.
Written By Harald
Jan. 13, 2017, 11:49 p.m.(8/26/1005 AR)
There are some foes so great that a man must consider that even facing them shall mean his death. It is not for fear of death that a warrior should hesitate, but to be certain that his death is spent well, rather than wasted. Let the bold warrior with death in his eyes fall, with his dire foeman slain, and he shall die content.
Yet this is no common foe: it is a sea monster out of legend, aged and terrible, powerful beyond knowledge and surrounded by a lifeless void. Guarded by legend and tradition, there is no approaching it in stealth; coming against such a monster in it’s lair is plainly impossible.
Can it breath the burning sea?
Could thirteen priests of Mangata bless the sea beneath a ship? I'd think so; the sea is Mangata’s domain, if a priest of the Goddess can't channel her blessing through the very medium of Mangata’s power then she must not like him very much.
Not a gamble any man would trust in, unless his wits were cracked, but a slim chance remains better than none. It's a flimsy shield, an uncertain wall. We still need a weapon. We need many weapons to strip away the monster's lackeys and strike at its heart.
This kraken presents a challenge like no other in memory.
Also, elves arrives today.
Yet this is no common foe: it is a sea monster out of legend, aged and terrible, powerful beyond knowledge and surrounded by a lifeless void. Guarded by legend and tradition, there is no approaching it in stealth; coming against such a monster in it’s lair is plainly impossible.
Can it breath the burning sea?
Could thirteen priests of Mangata bless the sea beneath a ship? I'd think so; the sea is Mangata’s domain, if a priest of the Goddess can't channel her blessing through the very medium of Mangata’s power then she must not like him very much.
Not a gamble any man would trust in, unless his wits were cracked, but a slim chance remains better than none. It's a flimsy shield, an uncertain wall. We still need a weapon. We need many weapons to strip away the monster's lackeys and strike at its heart.
This kraken presents a challenge like no other in memory.
Also, elves arrives today.
Written By Harald
Jan. 12, 2017, 10:43 p.m.(8/23/1005 AR)
The ships must fly wherever there is wind. To the south, to cull a herd already grown too large, and now to the north. Young Darkwater believes there may be workers of blood magic among the Abandoned of the frozen northern seas that allow their tribes to resist the furious siren’s song. Perhaps some will be willing to turn Prodigal, should our gifts be taken, and our protection against the oncoming storm be desired. Each Abandoned who turns to our cause is one less arrow our foemen can cast against our shields.
The Alfar are said to come within days, with a tribute of alarcite in trade for the Compact’s tribute in blood. It is yet to be seen how the Council will distribute such weapons, though in the habit of mainlanders for time out of mind, I doubt they will be swift to arm those they fear. Even now, in the face of the greatest evils that have risen for a thousand years, they fear we men of the Isles, though among the North are some more to our ken.
It is the nature of walls to stand until they fall, whether walls be formed of ships or of stones. Mainlanders trust to walls of stones, and for too long we of the Isles have trusted in the wooden wall of our fleets to ward off all harm. Such days of comfortable superiority are coming to a swift end.
The last Tyde spoke of keeping “food that walks itself”. Others have spoken of “not needing to outrun the bear, just their slowest friend”. I think that when a monster hunts, it is not always for hunger, but for sheer love of slaughter; such beasts will not long stop to feed. From a kraken, I expect one cannot fly far enough.
We must become the greatest killers in all the world, if we are to survive.
We must grow strong enough to slay legends, and thus rise as new legends ourselves, for we are of the Isles and know no other way.
The Alfar are said to come within days, with a tribute of alarcite in trade for the Compact’s tribute in blood. It is yet to be seen how the Council will distribute such weapons, though in the habit of mainlanders for time out of mind, I doubt they will be swift to arm those they fear. Even now, in the face of the greatest evils that have risen for a thousand years, they fear we men of the Isles, though among the North are some more to our ken.
It is the nature of walls to stand until they fall, whether walls be formed of ships or of stones. Mainlanders trust to walls of stones, and for too long we of the Isles have trusted in the wooden wall of our fleets to ward off all harm. Such days of comfortable superiority are coming to a swift end.
The last Tyde spoke of keeping “food that walks itself”. Others have spoken of “not needing to outrun the bear, just their slowest friend”. I think that when a monster hunts, it is not always for hunger, but for sheer love of slaughter; such beasts will not long stop to feed. From a kraken, I expect one cannot fly far enough.
We must become the greatest killers in all the world, if we are to survive.
We must grow strong enough to slay legends, and thus rise as new legends ourselves, for we are of the Isles and know no other way.
Written By Harald
Jan. 7, 2017, 1:50 p.m.(8/7/1005 AR)
On wearing steel at sea:
Before our duel, the young Count Darkwater mocked me, claiming it was suicide to wear steel at sea. I know Maximilian was seeking to bait me into a blunder of pride, but many mainlanders might hear such claims and believe them.
To those, I say plainly that no warrior worth his spear should fear to wear steel to a battle at sea. Those who have fallen into the sea during war are most often already bleeding from a mortal hurt they only wish could have landed on solid steel.
It is true that should a sailor's ship sink, the man in iron will drown, but so too will the man in leather, and the vast majority of men wearing nothing. Better to be a warrior in the battle with death in his eyes and steel on his shoulders who wins the fight, rather than being the timid soul with fear in his heart, preparing for defeat before blows are ever struck.
Many dread fighting men of Thrax favor lighter armors, not for fear of drowning but for love of speed. Those with the youth and vigor to fight well in such harness are worthy warriors. Those of us who have warred long enough to grow grey with our swords in hand will wear iron in our hair and on our backs.
Such is the way of war on the water.
Though if there is no fighting to be had and a storm looms, take off your damned armor, whatever it's made of.
Before our duel, the young Count Darkwater mocked me, claiming it was suicide to wear steel at sea. I know Maximilian was seeking to bait me into a blunder of pride, but many mainlanders might hear such claims and believe them.
To those, I say plainly that no warrior worth his spear should fear to wear steel to a battle at sea. Those who have fallen into the sea during war are most often already bleeding from a mortal hurt they only wish could have landed on solid steel.
It is true that should a sailor's ship sink, the man in iron will drown, but so too will the man in leather, and the vast majority of men wearing nothing. Better to be a warrior in the battle with death in his eyes and steel on his shoulders who wins the fight, rather than being the timid soul with fear in his heart, preparing for defeat before blows are ever struck.
Many dread fighting men of Thrax favor lighter armors, not for fear of drowning but for love of speed. Those with the youth and vigor to fight well in such harness are worthy warriors. Those of us who have warred long enough to grow grey with our swords in hand will wear iron in our hair and on our backs.
Such is the way of war on the water.
Though if there is no fighting to be had and a storm looms, take off your damned armor, whatever it's made of.
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