Written By Haakon
March 19, 2021, 10:36 p.m.(2/22/1015 AR)
Sang this at the shanty gather. It's a winter rowing song for the leaner years before my people turned Prodigal. The Seraph of Eswynd Rock hates it.
"Winter Winds"
When the hungry winds of winter blow,
When the rocks will grow no more but snow
And the fishing nets have naught to show,
What must be done, we know.
Blow, ye winter winds, blow.
For in lean hard years of famine fame
The Goddess grants what the bold can claim,
Warriors of Eswynd earn your names,
To the longships we hove.
Blow, ye winter winds, blow.
We set to sea with naught but water,
What food remains with our wives and daughters,
We’ll live or die by the foemen’s slaughter,
A reaving we must go.
Blow, ye winter winds, blow.
Three icy days by the East Wind cast
Afore Maelstrom's coast is spied at last,
None but the brave will break their fast,
When Eswynd steel we show.
Blow, ye winter winds, blow.
We’re upon their shore with last light's gloam
No warning had but our rowing drum,
Take what you can 'ere the Serpents come
And leave naught for the crows.
Blow, ye winter winds, blow.
We'll take their silver but prize their grain,
Red our spears by the stubborn stained,
We'll live, we'll reave, and we'll fight again,
Heave for the longship's hold.
Blow, ye winter winds, blow.
Overland we hear the horseman’s call,
Fast back to sea or ye’ll be their thrall,
Fly to the longships, one and all,
Set sail for Eswyndol.
Blow, ye winter winds, blow.
From returning ships a horn blast rings,
Dry fish, stale bread are the fare of Kings
Until the white isles grow green with spring,
Blow, ye winter winds, blow.
Blow, ye winter winds, blow.
"Winter Winds"
When the hungry winds of winter blow,
When the rocks will grow no more but snow
And the fishing nets have naught to show,
What must be done, we know.
Blow, ye winter winds, blow.
For in lean hard years of famine fame
The Goddess grants what the bold can claim,
Warriors of Eswynd earn your names,
To the longships we hove.
Blow, ye winter winds, blow.
We set to sea with naught but water,
What food remains with our wives and daughters,
We’ll live or die by the foemen’s slaughter,
A reaving we must go.
Blow, ye winter winds, blow.
Three icy days by the East Wind cast
Afore Maelstrom's coast is spied at last,
None but the brave will break their fast,
When Eswynd steel we show.
Blow, ye winter winds, blow.
We’re upon their shore with last light's gloam
No warning had but our rowing drum,
Take what you can 'ere the Serpents come
And leave naught for the crows.
Blow, ye winter winds, blow.
We'll take their silver but prize their grain,
Red our spears by the stubborn stained,
We'll live, we'll reave, and we'll fight again,
Heave for the longship's hold.
Blow, ye winter winds, blow.
Overland we hear the horseman’s call,
Fast back to sea or ye’ll be their thrall,
Fly to the longships, one and all,
Set sail for Eswyndol.
Blow, ye winter winds, blow.
From returning ships a horn blast rings,
Dry fish, stale bread are the fare of Kings
Until the white isles grow green with spring,
Blow, ye winter winds, blow.
Blow, ye winter winds, blow.
Written By Haakon
March 12, 2021, 10:22 p.m.(2/8/1015 AR)
"Fucking... Shavs."
-Some dead fucker, last words.
I may enjoy this more than I ought, especially given the good men that bled to see if done, but seeing s body who loathes Prodigals with every drop of blood die at Prodigal hands is just ...poetic.
Zakhar Whitebeard, Savio Port- ..whatever your bloody name is, you'll have a place at our table until the last sun dies in the west.
-Some dead fucker, last words.
I may enjoy this more than I ought, especially given the good men that bled to see if done, but seeing s body who loathes Prodigals with every drop of blood die at Prodigal hands is just ...poetic.
Zakhar Whitebeard, Savio Port- ..whatever your bloody name is, you'll have a place at our table until the last sun dies in the west.
Written By Haakon
March 11, 2021, 9:19 p.m.(2/6/1015 AR)
The Battle of the Scythian Sea.
It were a fine clash: hundreds of ships in and among shallows, shoals, and the scattered wracks of uncounted vessels lost before, in which a fleet hundreds strong sought to use dangerous waters to make us timid.
Longships in advance, sounding out safe courses for the big fuckers to follow after, and the prizes of the first blow and the telling one to be had.
It may be many a season ere I see another battle fought with naught but wits and weapons, maneuver and massacre, valor and violence. There will be many great battles ahead of course, but I doubt many so large will feel so clean.
It were a fine clash: hundreds of ships in and among shallows, shoals, and the scattered wracks of uncounted vessels lost before, in which a fleet hundreds strong sought to use dangerous waters to make us timid.
Longships in advance, sounding out safe courses for the big fuckers to follow after, and the prizes of the first blow and the telling one to be had.
It may be many a season ere I see another battle fought with naught but wits and weapons, maneuver and massacre, valor and violence. There will be many great battles ahead of course, but I doubt many so large will feel so clean.
Written By Haakon
March 5, 2021, 10:56 a.m.(1/21/1015 AR)
If bodies are made to wait overlong for a battle, the restless will find their own strifes to fill the wait, and the Wind is ever restless.
Thus, the most sought after sort of folk are they who bring you a fight, saving a body the need to search.
Thus, the most sought after sort of folk are they who bring you a fight, saving a body the need to search.
Written By Haakon
Feb. 28, 2021, 7:37 p.m.(1/11/1015 AR)
For those who know not:
A reaving is a gathering of free warriors, sworn or unsworn, who gather in their own ships toward a prize.
This prize can be the ambush if a particular ship, the raiding of a named settlement, or a more general voyage into enemy waters to take what prizes fortune grants. Every reaver draws an even share of the voyage's profit, once done.
In the past year, I've led three reavings into the Near Saffron and a fourth into Abandoned waters, gathering freebooters and any number of rough and unsworn men toward a fit prize, a goodly number of which took service with a house of the Compact, after.
Alongside these unsworn sorts, I have reaved alongside nobles of all six Fealties, as well as Crownsworn.
Fuck any who say reaving is wicked.
A reaving is a gathering of free warriors, sworn or unsworn, who gather in their own ships toward a prize.
This prize can be the ambush if a particular ship, the raiding of a named settlement, or a more general voyage into enemy waters to take what prizes fortune grants. Every reaver draws an even share of the voyage's profit, once done.
In the past year, I've led three reavings into the Near Saffron and a fourth into Abandoned waters, gathering freebooters and any number of rough and unsworn men toward a fit prize, a goodly number of which took service with a house of the Compact, after.
Alongside these unsworn sorts, I have reaved alongside nobles of all six Fealties, as well as Crownsworn.
Fuck any who say reaving is wicked.
Written By Haakon
Feb. 25, 2021, 8 p.m.(1/5/1015 AR)
It has been years since last I saw the sea serpent banner of Thrax and knew the vessel to be my enemy.
This time the flag were false, and the folk flying it were no true Serpents, but a body can't help thinking back to a prior age. Time is a curious thing.
This time the flag were false, and the folk flying it were no true Serpents, but a body can't help thinking back to a prior age. Time is a curious thing.
Written By Haakon
Feb. 24, 2021, 7:45 p.m.(1/3/1015 AR)
Fucking finally.
The air is no longer like hot soup, and drawing a deep breath doesn't risk drowning.
A bit of snow and a fair wind and it would feel nearly like home.
The air is no longer like hot soup, and drawing a deep breath doesn't risk drowning.
A bit of snow and a fair wind and it would feel nearly like home.
Written By Haakon
Feb. 20, 2021, 2:14 p.m.(12/20/1014 AR)
Hands are gathered for a new reaving. It has been too long.
Written By Haakon
Feb. 14, 2021, 6:30 p.m.(12/9/1014 AR)
Feel the need to take to sea. Will be setting out afore long, with wind at my back and broadsword in hand. Or, as a funny fucker might put it:
I'm bored. Get to the boats.
I'm bored. Get to the boats.
Written By Haakon
Feb. 14, 2021, 11:44 a.m.(12/8/1014 AR)
Relationship Note on Piccola
Again, I see your point, though with the foe ahead of me, I'd still favor a big fucking blade or axe over a pair of knives. If you talk of striking from surprise, any weapon in hand gets deadly, but I've heard many Arvani start crying, "Gloria!" at such suggestions.
I'm with you on pikes. Heard a venerable warlord say once that, "There's nothing like an ordered pike formation to make an otherwise bold warrior say 'fuck it, let the artillery soften them up, first'."
I'm with you on pikes. Heard a venerable warlord say once that, "There's nothing like an ordered pike formation to make an otherwise bold warrior say 'fuck it, let the artillery soften them up, first'."
Written By Haakon
Feb. 13, 2021, 11:36 a.m.(12/6/1014 AR)
Relationship Note on Piccola
Your point of controlling distance is well made, but any body who never learned to fight up close with a longsword, longaxe, or spear has never learned to fight properly. No body can control distance perfectly every time, even in a duel- let alone battle, and a true warrior will learn to survive and fight out of a bad position.
A pommel to face, a check through the shoulder, a bind and wrestle, half-swording, and so on. Any weapon has a use up close, even if not ideal.
Except pikes.
Fucking pikes.
A pommel to face, a check through the shoulder, a bind and wrestle, half-swording, and so on. Any weapon has a use up close, even if not ideal.
Except pikes.
Fucking pikes.
Written By Haakon
Jan. 30, 2021, 11:47 p.m.(11/7/1014 AR)
Joined a voyage into Redreef waters and didn't kill any body.
First time for all things, it seems.
Intend to return to Redreef waters, soon.
Will definitely kill folk, then.
First time for all things, it seems.
Intend to return to Redreef waters, soon.
Will definitely kill folk, then.
Written By Haakon
Jan. 23, 2021, 3:17 p.m.(10/20/1014 AR)
Hear us, Mangata!
Goddess of Sea and Sky, Mistress of Wind and Water, Mother of Isles and Shore, hear your childer:
We give thanks for the stones in sea and soil, as pursuit of your bounty has left our hands deft.
We give thanks for your tempests, as storms leave us strong and bring us life.
We give thanks for your waters, in which we are born and to whose embrace we will one day return.
Rocks, and storms, and death defy
Praised be Mangata, of Sea and Sky
Goddess of Sea and Sky, Mistress of Wind and Water, Mother of Isles and Shore, hear your childer:
We give thanks for the stones in sea and soil, as pursuit of your bounty has left our hands deft.
We give thanks for your tempests, as storms leave us strong and bring us life.
We give thanks for your waters, in which we are born and to whose embrace we will one day return.
Rocks, and storms, and death defy
Praised be Mangata, of Sea and Sky
Written By Haakon
Jan. 16, 2021, 9:04 p.m.(10/7/1014 AR)
Good counsel for all the unwed menfolk of Arx:
Find a wife who takes an arrow, breaks it off herself, and calls for the archer's head.
Find a wife who takes an arrow, breaks it off herself, and calls for the archer's head.
Written By Haakon
Dec. 27, 2020, 11:34 a.m.(8/22/1014 AR)
Met a mercenary of late who called herself Mad, and called a knife the perfect weapon on account of having a point and two edges. It weren't a bad knife, bit skinny, but no guard or hilt worth mentioning. Just a thin blade.
She had to know that swords have a point and two edges, as well? Mayhap that's why she were called Mad.
She had to know that swords have a point and two edges, as well? Mayhap that's why she were called Mad.
Written By Haakon
Dec. 16, 2020, 7:52 p.m.(8/1/1014 AR)
I'm bored. Get to the boats.
Written By Haakon
Dec. 11, 2020, 10:37 a.m.(7/18/1014 AR)
Relationship Note on Thea
It's sad to see a body so deeply bitten by delusion as she. Tragic, really.
Still funny, though.
Still funny, though.
Written By Haakon
Dec. 6, 2020, 12:39 p.m.(7/8/1014 AR)
It has been asked what makes a Mourning Islander.
I was Abandoned before my people joined the Compact. Then and now, the Arvani Islesfolk may agree with me but little, but what follows is my truth.
Isles are defined by the sea, and so are the men and women who dwell upon them.
The Mourning Sea is harsh and unforgiving. It bestows great bounty and brings great calamity. The wind and waves do not compromise or care for the whims or wills of mortals, which have ever been fickle. We learn to respect what is constant: strength, courage, family, and tradition. The Old Ways let us survive where thousands of weaker rivals did not. To abandon these ways is to abandon survival. To call the Old Ways wicked is to call our survival wicked.
Wind and water are in constant motion; one may never gaze upon the same Sea twice. Every sailor knows that a course must be corrected a thousand times to be kept true, and change is not something we will inherently hate, but we will rage against being compelled to change, for our hard choices have allowed our families to endure, and no man or beast will cheerfully abandon its own life.
Life is harsh and painful. There is beauty and warmth as well, but life in the Mourning Sea remains cold and often ugly. Islesfolk see it as dishonest to pretend otherwise. To flinch at a coarse word is seen as weakness, to weep over what cannot be changed is folly. Only a fool shouts at the wind to change direction.
There is honor in suffering for the house.
The Mourning Isles are hard and they have bred hard sons and daughters. Sacrifice is in our blood, appeals to our emotion or sentiment will often falter on the cold rocks of pragmatism.
Eswynd Rock is not a rich island. Few outside the Compact are. In fair seasons, when fields and fishmongers harvest aplenty, enough will be left to see all folk through the winter. Most seasons are not so fair. In the worst seasons, when the life of the tribe flickers, the mothers and children will have all the food, while the warriors take to their longships, each captain swearing not to return without enough food to see their ship through until mid-spring.
Those too old or frail to pull an oar will dress as they wish Mangata to receive them, bid their kin fare well, and walk into the ocean rather than eat what could sustain a child.
Some may call us barbaric, if they come from wealthy lands with little want. They may call us savages if they cannot see past their own learned ways. But if nothing else, know this much: if all voices in Arvum were raised against you, demanding with threats of steel, silver, or sentiment that you change; that your coarse words be smoothed, your hard habits be softened, and with utter zeal in their eyes demand that your position is hopeless and you must relent..
An Islesman will answer "Nay."
An Eswynd will say "The Wind cares not."
This Eswynd will bid them "Go fuck yourself."
I was Abandoned before my people joined the Compact. Then and now, the Arvani Islesfolk may agree with me but little, but what follows is my truth.
Isles are defined by the sea, and so are the men and women who dwell upon them.
The Mourning Sea is harsh and unforgiving. It bestows great bounty and brings great calamity. The wind and waves do not compromise or care for the whims or wills of mortals, which have ever been fickle. We learn to respect what is constant: strength, courage, family, and tradition. The Old Ways let us survive where thousands of weaker rivals did not. To abandon these ways is to abandon survival. To call the Old Ways wicked is to call our survival wicked.
Wind and water are in constant motion; one may never gaze upon the same Sea twice. Every sailor knows that a course must be corrected a thousand times to be kept true, and change is not something we will inherently hate, but we will rage against being compelled to change, for our hard choices have allowed our families to endure, and no man or beast will cheerfully abandon its own life.
Life is harsh and painful. There is beauty and warmth as well, but life in the Mourning Sea remains cold and often ugly. Islesfolk see it as dishonest to pretend otherwise. To flinch at a coarse word is seen as weakness, to weep over what cannot be changed is folly. Only a fool shouts at the wind to change direction.
There is honor in suffering for the house.
The Mourning Isles are hard and they have bred hard sons and daughters. Sacrifice is in our blood, appeals to our emotion or sentiment will often falter on the cold rocks of pragmatism.
Eswynd Rock is not a rich island. Few outside the Compact are. In fair seasons, when fields and fishmongers harvest aplenty, enough will be left to see all folk through the winter. Most seasons are not so fair. In the worst seasons, when the life of the tribe flickers, the mothers and children will have all the food, while the warriors take to their longships, each captain swearing not to return without enough food to see their ship through until mid-spring.
Those too old or frail to pull an oar will dress as they wish Mangata to receive them, bid their kin fare well, and walk into the ocean rather than eat what could sustain a child.
Some may call us barbaric, if they come from wealthy lands with little want. They may call us savages if they cannot see past their own learned ways. But if nothing else, know this much: if all voices in Arvum were raised against you, demanding with threats of steel, silver, or sentiment that you change; that your coarse words be smoothed, your hard habits be softened, and with utter zeal in their eyes demand that your position is hopeless and you must relent..
An Islesman will answer "Nay."
An Eswynd will say "The Wind cares not."
This Eswynd will bid them "Go fuck yourself."
Written By Haakon
Nov. 27, 2020, 6:26 p.m.(6/19/1014 AR)
The Wind cares not how pure any body's intentions are.
Written By Haakon
Nov. 20, 2020, 7:12 p.m.(6/4/1014 AR)
Relationship Note on Piccola
Most folk I meet don't truly desire knowledge. Learning takes effort, and failure, and the acknowledgement of all that a body *doesn't* understand.
Few folk can do that.
I've found that what most folk truly desire- though they make noise otherwise- is proof that what they already know is enough. They want to believe that anything which would challenge their tidy little view isn't worth knowing.
Few folk can do that.
I've found that what most folk truly desire- though they make noise otherwise- is proof that what they already know is enough. They want to believe that anything which would challenge their tidy little view isn't worth knowing.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.