Written By Evelynn
Jan. 29, 2024, 7:32 p.m.(8/23/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Nash
I'll find you again, Nanashi. That's a promise.
Written By Sen'azala
Jan. 25, 2024, 1:38 a.m.(8/13/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Nash
We write our own names.
I knew a man; a beggar, a gardener, a teacher. I don't know how many people he taught, or how many of those names I'd recognize if I did, but he taught me. He didn't teach me how to fight - I knew that, even though he was infinitely better - he didn't teach me how to kill. He taught me the opposite. He taught me that I didn't have to fight, that I didn't have to kill, that there was more to me than what I was, and that I was capable of reaching for it. The first time I felt what it was to truly be me, the first time I was whole, it was because of him.
He taught me more. The first task he set for me was impossible. I smashed my head against it again, and again, grew more and more frustrated every time I failed. I was supposed to buy thirteen white hares, take them out into the deep forest, and release them. Then I was told to ride a distance away, come back, then catch them all again - alive - at sunset. Some would die, some I'd never be able to find, some would go so far I couldn't hope to catch up with them in time. I tried to think my way around it. I could cheat. I could set up traps beforehand, I could leash them to a tree so they wouldn't go anywhere, I could drug their feed so they'd be slow and want to sleep. It was very easy to start thinking like that. I don't like failing. I wanted to win.
When I finally admitted to him that I couldn't do it, he shared a story of my people with me. It was more meaningful than I could say; I didn't have any of their stories then. The lesson I learned, then, was this:
You can't save everyone. People will make their own choices, which means they will sometimes make terrible ones. They'll be stupid. Self destructive. They'll hurt other people, both intentionally and otherwise. They'll turn on you, and those you care about. They'll do all sorts of things you don't want them to do, and the only way to stop them doing that is to take their ability to make choices away. It's very easy to start down that road, thinking you know best, thinking you're helping, that you're just putting in some guardrails. It's very easy to trade freedom for safety, particularly if it's someone else's freedom, and your safety.
I never knew the Sword of Caer'alfar. I knew my teacher. Lys has named him Fuko, his story called him the Hound, but he was Nash to me. He was Nanashi. He was a man who believed he didn't have a name, and didn't deserve one, but that's the name he wrote. For centuries, for however many students, for the gardens he planted, the good he did, the evil he did, the in-between he did, that's the name he wrote on the Dream. Nanashi has not meant 'No Name' for a very long time.
I'm not naïve. I know he was forced to do terrible things. I know he likely did terrible things without being forced. But I also know this:
He had no writ when he died. He had nothing but his own heart and his own choices, and given those the man who had been used as a nameless weapon for the vast majority of his incredibly long life chose to die alone on a road saving the lives of children that would otherwise have been forgotten. I don't know if that makes him a good man. I don't know what makes a good man. But that was his choice when he only had his choices, that was the name he wrote on the world.
It damns you more, Platinum. It damns you even more, the name he wrote when he was finally free of you.
I knew a man; a beggar, a gardener, a teacher. I don't know how many people he taught, or how many of those names I'd recognize if I did, but he taught me. He didn't teach me how to fight - I knew that, even though he was infinitely better - he didn't teach me how to kill. He taught me the opposite. He taught me that I didn't have to fight, that I didn't have to kill, that there was more to me than what I was, and that I was capable of reaching for it. The first time I felt what it was to truly be me, the first time I was whole, it was because of him.
He taught me more. The first task he set for me was impossible. I smashed my head against it again, and again, grew more and more frustrated every time I failed. I was supposed to buy thirteen white hares, take them out into the deep forest, and release them. Then I was told to ride a distance away, come back, then catch them all again - alive - at sunset. Some would die, some I'd never be able to find, some would go so far I couldn't hope to catch up with them in time. I tried to think my way around it. I could cheat. I could set up traps beforehand, I could leash them to a tree so they wouldn't go anywhere, I could drug their feed so they'd be slow and want to sleep. It was very easy to start thinking like that. I don't like failing. I wanted to win.
When I finally admitted to him that I couldn't do it, he shared a story of my people with me. It was more meaningful than I could say; I didn't have any of their stories then. The lesson I learned, then, was this:
You can't save everyone. People will make their own choices, which means they will sometimes make terrible ones. They'll be stupid. Self destructive. They'll hurt other people, both intentionally and otherwise. They'll turn on you, and those you care about. They'll do all sorts of things you don't want them to do, and the only way to stop them doing that is to take their ability to make choices away. It's very easy to start down that road, thinking you know best, thinking you're helping, that you're just putting in some guardrails. It's very easy to trade freedom for safety, particularly if it's someone else's freedom, and your safety.
I never knew the Sword of Caer'alfar. I knew my teacher. Lys has named him Fuko, his story called him the Hound, but he was Nash to me. He was Nanashi. He was a man who believed he didn't have a name, and didn't deserve one, but that's the name he wrote. For centuries, for however many students, for the gardens he planted, the good he did, the evil he did, the in-between he did, that's the name he wrote on the Dream. Nanashi has not meant 'No Name' for a very long time.
I'm not naïve. I know he was forced to do terrible things. I know he likely did terrible things without being forced. But I also know this:
He had no writ when he died. He had nothing but his own heart and his own choices, and given those the man who had been used as a nameless weapon for the vast majority of his incredibly long life chose to die alone on a road saving the lives of children that would otherwise have been forgotten. I don't know if that makes him a good man. I don't know what makes a good man. But that was his choice when he only had his choices, that was the name he wrote on the world.
It damns you more, Platinum. It damns you even more, the name he wrote when he was finally free of you.
Written By Alexis
July 3, 2018, 11:25 p.m.(2/17/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Nash
"What does it mean to be a soldier?"
It's an interesting lesson he's imparting. I look forward to talking to people. To a variety of people. Both those who have served and those who have not. Those who are martial, and those who are not.
I'll be taking notes.
It's an interesting lesson he's imparting. I look forward to talking to people. To a variety of people. Both those who have served and those who have not. Those who are martial, and those who are not.
I'll be taking notes.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.