Written By Haakon
Dec. 20, 2022, 12:08 p.m.(2/1/1019 AR)
First they were Ivanites,
But Ivan lost a battle in his own house and died in hiding.
Then they were Dagonites,
But Dagon opened his mouth once to break faith, and not again until he swallowed an arrow.
Small wonder he hid for so long.
Dredcall burns, Grimkin falls, and the rebels have lost the thin scrap of justification they'd used in swearing to Dagon the Doomed.
Their cause is a sinking ship, in which one captain after another leaps overboard, leaving someone further down the chain in charge.
Had they the wits the Goddess gave a common cod, they'd accept defeat and stop making us raze them into oblivion, but who am I to tell others what choices to make?
But Ivan lost a battle in his own house and died in hiding.
Then they were Dagonites,
But Dagon opened his mouth once to break faith, and not again until he swallowed an arrow.
Small wonder he hid for so long.
Dredcall burns, Grimkin falls, and the rebels have lost the thin scrap of justification they'd used in swearing to Dagon the Doomed.
Their cause is a sinking ship, in which one captain after another leaps overboard, leaving someone further down the chain in charge.
Had they the wits the Goddess gave a common cod, they'd accept defeat and stop making us raze them into oblivion, but who am I to tell others what choices to make?
Written By Haakon
Nov. 19, 2022, 10:32 p.m.(11/24/1018 AR)
I ought have killed Savio years ago.
Written By Haakon
Nov. 13, 2022, 4:08 p.m.(11/11/1018 AR)
Those who cry for the Old Ways to return would do well to remember that we of Eswynd keep the old, hard ways more dearly than any Arvani.
And if they forget, we will remind them with spear and torch.
Dredcall cannot protect their people.
Death to all traitors.
And if they forget, we will remind them with spear and torch.
Dredcall cannot protect their people.
Death to all traitors.
Written By Haakon
Sept. 18, 2022, 1:15 p.m.(5/27/1018 AR)
This war had been brewing for much longer than seven years. Even when Eswynd were Abandoned, before kneeling to Tyde there were tensions between Thrax and Grayson over some murdered Isles princess, and within Thrax there were tensions of Old Ways against them who looked to the mainland. It's a piece of great irony that I've always favored the Old Ways and scorned the mainland, yet here we are.
With all that said, seems safe to claim that the declaration that Thrax would see thralldom banned in seven year were the point past which war of some sort and size were unavoidable.
And there were clashes before this war we're declared. Ivanites fought us at Pieros Bay and afterward, but not until Nightcove reaved, Margot were murdered and Dagon broke his oaths was the current war fought in earnest.
That was near twelve months past, with no likely end in sight. Many battles have been fought, many tens of thousands of souls spent. Kinstrife truly is the ugliest form of warring.
Mayhap a storm that grew for seven year afore breaking will need a further seven to spend itself. Or mayhap the Oathbreaker dies of a stubbed toe and Anders Nightcove loses his puppet.
With all that said, seems safe to claim that the declaration that Thrax would see thralldom banned in seven year were the point past which war of some sort and size were unavoidable.
And there were clashes before this war we're declared. Ivanites fought us at Pieros Bay and afterward, but not until Nightcove reaved, Margot were murdered and Dagon broke his oaths was the current war fought in earnest.
That was near twelve months past, with no likely end in sight. Many battles have been fought, many tens of thousands of souls spent. Kinstrife truly is the ugliest form of warring.
Mayhap a storm that grew for seven year afore breaking will need a further seven to spend itself. Or mayhap the Oathbreaker dies of a stubbed toe and Anders Nightcove loses his puppet.
Written By Haakon
Sept. 16, 2022, 8:49 p.m.(5/23/1018 AR)
If any wish to see a look of wary suspicion, present me with any of the following:
A Cardian bearing gifts.
A Dagonite trying to speak the Abandoned tongue.
Savio, claiming to have a brilliant idea.
Or a tremendous cake in three tiers, painted up to serve as a map.
A Cardian bearing gifts.
A Dagonite trying to speak the Abandoned tongue.
Savio, claiming to have a brilliant idea.
Or a tremendous cake in three tiers, painted up to serve as a map.
Written By Haakon
Sept. 13, 2022, 10:34 p.m.(5/17/1018 AR)
It is good to see the mainland outrage at an Oathlands vassal house joining in the Dagonite depredations in Kennex waters.
It would be better if there were any similar outrage at the Grayson vassals who fight to defend thralldom on behalf of an oathbreaker.
It would be better if there were any similar outrage at the Grayson vassals who fight to defend thralldom on behalf of an oathbreaker.
Written By Haakon
Sept. 5, 2022, 12:55 p.m.(5/1/1018 AR)
Few folk outside the Mourning Sea seem to grasp the scope of the struggle we face. Forming a precise list grows difficult as some families are divided, but this much can be said truly: between fifty and sixty noble houses of the Mourning Isles have openly rebelled.
Those who cleave to Dagon the Oathbreaker have stated their open intention to exterminate or enthrall houses such as mine. While there are some few folk of honor among the foe, I doubt how capable they would be of restraining their allies in the event of victory. The Loyalists of the Isles face a war for our very existence. Some houses the Dagonites would welcome, no doubt. For Prodigals, we have no such illusion: we must prevail or die.
The banners of over thirty houses were counted among the armada which invaded my family's waters.
Thirty houses.
Our crime in their eyes was existence, and so they invaded our domain, just as in the Crimson Square riot they broke down our door and sought to slaughter my kin in our own halls.
Any body who claims they are not the real enemy can fuck off.
Those who cleave to Dagon the Oathbreaker have stated their open intention to exterminate or enthrall houses such as mine. While there are some few folk of honor among the foe, I doubt how capable they would be of restraining their allies in the event of victory. The Loyalists of the Isles face a war for our very existence. Some houses the Dagonites would welcome, no doubt. For Prodigals, we have no such illusion: we must prevail or die.
The banners of over thirty houses were counted among the armada which invaded my family's waters.
Thirty houses.
Our crime in their eyes was existence, and so they invaded our domain, just as in the Crimson Square riot they broke down our door and sought to slaughter my kin in our own halls.
Any body who claims they are not the real enemy can fuck off.
Written By Haakon
Aug. 28, 2022, 11:18 p.m.(4/13/1018 AR)
The Sixth Battle of Eswynd Rock
For ages gone by, we would live and die
In the ashes of Thraxian reaving.
They made us their thralls, and they'd burn down our halls
All throughout, Eswynders persevering.
We'd raid our sworn foes, for all warriors know
How the Mourning Sea swallows the fearful
By our blood and strife, we bought Eswynd life
To the time unto Tyde we swore leal.
Until the day dawned when Kinstrife were spawned
By a doomed man who murdered good Margot.
House Eswynd once more would gather for war
Our hearts mixing anger with sorrow.
When to battle we rowed, we were not alone
As we had been in centuries past:
Houses Thrax and Tyde now stood at our side
In seeing foemen from our waters cast.
Oh, Gods let my ancestors hear:
Oh, we'll show the foe who they shall fear.
Lord Anders Nightcove from Saltshoal we drove,
The only traitor worthy of naming.
Grimkin at Long Strand, and Dredcall were damned,
Each, vengeance upon Eswynd claiming.
In a great fleet they came to bury their shame
To conquer what their ancestors couldn't.
For centuries tried, yet always denied,
Keeping a tradition they shouldn't.
Oh, Gods let my ancestors hear:
Oh, we'll show the foe who they shall fear.
A thousand ships clashed, or upon rocks were dashed
As Prince Victus and his folk fought bravely,
When round from the east, roared forth a hidden beast
In the form of a far Saffron navy.
Wracked were the foe, for who could have known
That prodigals could prove so faithful.
Favor once earned, now in victory returned,
Breaking the lines of the hateful.
Oh, Gods let my ancestors hear:
Oh, we'll show the foe who they shall fear.
As invaders all fled, except for the dead,
Of their ships, a thousand crosses wrought,
That all might be shown what Eswynd had known:
That for plans of men the Wind cares not.
Another campaign, Eswynd Rock still remains
Defiant of conqueror's terror.
To friends leal and true, we will stand with you
Together on some morrow fairer.
Oh, Gods let my ancestors hear:
Oh, we'll show the foe who they shall fear.
Oh, Gods let my ancestors hear:
Oh, we'll show the foe who they shall fear.
For ages gone by, we would live and die
In the ashes of Thraxian reaving.
They made us their thralls, and they'd burn down our halls
All throughout, Eswynders persevering.
We'd raid our sworn foes, for all warriors know
How the Mourning Sea swallows the fearful
By our blood and strife, we bought Eswynd life
To the time unto Tyde we swore leal.
Until the day dawned when Kinstrife were spawned
By a doomed man who murdered good Margot.
House Eswynd once more would gather for war
Our hearts mixing anger with sorrow.
When to battle we rowed, we were not alone
As we had been in centuries past:
Houses Thrax and Tyde now stood at our side
In seeing foemen from our waters cast.
Oh, Gods let my ancestors hear:
Oh, we'll show the foe who they shall fear.
Lord Anders Nightcove from Saltshoal we drove,
The only traitor worthy of naming.
Grimkin at Long Strand, and Dredcall were damned,
Each, vengeance upon Eswynd claiming.
In a great fleet they came to bury their shame
To conquer what their ancestors couldn't.
For centuries tried, yet always denied,
Keeping a tradition they shouldn't.
Oh, Gods let my ancestors hear:
Oh, we'll show the foe who they shall fear.
A thousand ships clashed, or upon rocks were dashed
As Prince Victus and his folk fought bravely,
When round from the east, roared forth a hidden beast
In the form of a far Saffron navy.
Wracked were the foe, for who could have known
That prodigals could prove so faithful.
Favor once earned, now in victory returned,
Breaking the lines of the hateful.
Oh, Gods let my ancestors hear:
Oh, we'll show the foe who they shall fear.
As invaders all fled, except for the dead,
Of their ships, a thousand crosses wrought,
That all might be shown what Eswynd had known:
That for plans of men the Wind cares not.
Another campaign, Eswynd Rock still remains
Defiant of conqueror's terror.
To friends leal and true, we will stand with you
Together on some morrow fairer.
Oh, Gods let my ancestors hear:
Oh, we'll show the foe who they shall fear.
Oh, Gods let my ancestors hear:
Oh, we'll show the foe who they shall fear.
Written By Haakon
Aug. 27, 2022, 4:40 p.m.(4/11/1018 AR)
Eswynders have long memories. For good and and for ill.
Today we remember for the better: on the day when the claimants of Dagon the Doomed brought their strength to cast down Eswynd Rock, and were thrown back south in defeat and disarray with the greatest part of their strength genuflecting on the bottom of the sea and filling crosses along our shore, we will remember those who stood with us:
A squadron of Thrax, under the true Prince, Victus.
The fleet of Tyde, under Admiral Bronson, may the Queen receive him boldly.
A squadron of Kennex, under Admiral Washburn.
The fleet of Igniseri, under Marquessa Quenia.
The fleet of Saik, under Lady Neilda and Baroness Lucita, who proved it is possible to honor marriage contracts without serving traitors or heretics.
Last and foremost, the Armada of Tremorus, under Lord Savio and Minister Giorgio, who crossed seas spanning a continent to fight and bleed for folk who are not their own. I credit their arrival to be a miracle, as it made me glad to see Savio.
I'll write more of this, later.
Today we remember for the better: on the day when the claimants of Dagon the Doomed brought their strength to cast down Eswynd Rock, and were thrown back south in defeat and disarray with the greatest part of their strength genuflecting on the bottom of the sea and filling crosses along our shore, we will remember those who stood with us:
A squadron of Thrax, under the true Prince, Victus.
The fleet of Tyde, under Admiral Bronson, may the Queen receive him boldly.
A squadron of Kennex, under Admiral Washburn.
The fleet of Igniseri, under Marquessa Quenia.
The fleet of Saik, under Lady Neilda and Baroness Lucita, who proved it is possible to honor marriage contracts without serving traitors or heretics.
Last and foremost, the Armada of Tremorus, under Lord Savio and Minister Giorgio, who crossed seas spanning a continent to fight and bleed for folk who are not their own. I credit their arrival to be a miracle, as it made me glad to see Savio.
I'll write more of this, later.
Written By Haakon
Aug. 24, 2022, 11:26 a.m.(4/4/1018 AR)
It were a pleasant reprieve, but some lessons must be learned over and again.
Eswynders survive.
Wars, disasters, famines, plagues. We have endured and always will, until the last sun dies in the western sea.
Countless Arvani have broken their teeth seeking to devour Eswynd Rock, but the sea will never fill with the wrecks of their ships, and our shores are long enough for crosses beyond counting.
The invaders always leave. Whether it take a day's battle, a month's siege, or years of resistance, they will leave our lands or they will leave this life; the invaders will be gone, and we will remain.
For their coming and going, the Wind cares not.
Eswynders survive.
Wars, disasters, famines, plagues. We have endured and always will, until the last sun dies in the western sea.
Countless Arvani have broken their teeth seeking to devour Eswynd Rock, but the sea will never fill with the wrecks of their ships, and our shores are long enough for crosses beyond counting.
The invaders always leave. Whether it take a day's battle, a month's siege, or years of resistance, they will leave our lands or they will leave this life; the invaders will be gone, and we will remain.
For their coming and going, the Wind cares not.
Written By Haakon
Aug. 21, 2022, 7:13 p.m.(3/27/1018 AR)
Another truth to confound my ancestors:
I fought in a raid on Maelstrom, this day.
My forefathers would be pleased
It were to fight in defense of Thrax.
My forefathers would be confused.
I fought in a raid on Maelstrom, this day.
My forefathers would be pleased
It were to fight in defense of Thrax.
My forefathers would be confused.
Written By Haakon
Aug. 3, 2022, 6:43 p.m.(2/19/1018 AR)
It finally landed what the nonsense about Dagon wanting the Thrax sword reminded me of.
It's the spoiled pissant child who wagers a favorite toy that he can beat another child, and not only loses, but gets crushed and has to hand over the toy. Most childer would learn from that and not repeat the blunder.
But spoiled little shits like Dagon go crying back to their fathers, who come marching over to demand that the toy be given back.
I don't fault Anders fucking Nightcove for making the speech, he's invested too much in Dagon by now, and in my metaphor, Dagon is the worthless son he's stuck with and needs to make the best of, so he must embarrass himself in public so his spoiled little shit of a son doesn't pout.
It's the spoiled pissant child who wagers a favorite toy that he can beat another child, and not only loses, but gets crushed and has to hand over the toy. Most childer would learn from that and not repeat the blunder.
But spoiled little shits like Dagon go crying back to their fathers, who come marching over to demand that the toy be given back.
I don't fault Anders fucking Nightcove for making the speech, he's invested too much in Dagon by now, and in my metaphor, Dagon is the worthless son he's stuck with and needs to make the best of, so he must embarrass himself in public so his spoiled little shit of a son doesn't pout.
Written By Haakon
Aug. 1, 2022, 2:53 a.m.(2/14/1018 AR)
Dagon is no Prince, no Thrax, and the nearest he'll come to being Highlord of the Mourning Sea is when we give him an especially tall cross on the shore before sunrise, so in the Morning all can See how High the Lord managed to climb in the end.
Fuck Dagon.
Fuck Dagon.
Written By Haakon
July 31, 2022, 11:11 a.m.(2/12/1018 AR)
Ransom, rescue, or revenge: time will tell which is needed.
Written By Haakon
July 21, 2022, 2:08 p.m.(1/18/1018 AR)
In sapphire heaven, the snow-white dove flies,
Its virtuous image despair defies.
By words as these, the artful poet lies,
For at first look, imagine my surprise:
Gnarled feet, misshapen toes, dim little eyes,
Filthy pigeons, best plucked and stuffed in pies,
No sweet song, instead mournful bleating cries.
They are in truth the Savio of the skies.
Its virtuous image despair defies.
By words as these, the artful poet lies,
For at first look, imagine my surprise:
Gnarled feet, misshapen toes, dim little eyes,
Filthy pigeons, best plucked and stuffed in pies,
No sweet song, instead mournful bleating cries.
They are in truth the Savio of the skies.
Written By Haakon
July 19, 2022, 3:11 p.m.(1/14/1018 AR)
After all the fine ink mainlanders have spilled praising doves for their symbolic beauty, and purity and such..
Only today I find out they've been talking about bloody pigeons this entire time, and calling them 'doves'. Fucking pigeons!
Only today I find out they've been talking about bloody pigeons this entire time, and calling them 'doves'. Fucking pigeons!
Written By Haakon
July 12, 2022, 11:56 p.m.(1/1/1018 AR)
Alas, Poor Ivar
Ivar Dredcall lost his bride,
And great was his lament.
So when Kinstrife claimed the Isles,
Ivar his fleets at Eswynd sent.
Alas poor Ivar, in his grief
Only knocked over some rocks,
A Dredcall makes a dreadful thief
And half his strength was caught.
Whilst Ivar Dredcall raged so crass
Leaving thralls and plunder,
His fleet was taken in the ass,
Loot all lost, ships sundered.
"How can this be?" poor Ivar thought
By cruel fingers of doubt gripped
As he saw his men out-fought;
Over a mangy dog they'd tripped.
Alas poor Ivar sailed back home
Near half his navy forgot.
All too well he ought have known:
For his wrath the Wind cares not.
Ivar Dredcall lost his bride,
And great was his lament.
So when Kinstrife claimed the Isles,
Ivar his fleets at Eswynd sent.
Alas poor Ivar, in his grief
Only knocked over some rocks,
A Dredcall makes a dreadful thief
And half his strength was caught.
Whilst Ivar Dredcall raged so crass
Leaving thralls and plunder,
His fleet was taken in the ass,
Loot all lost, ships sundered.
"How can this be?" poor Ivar thought
By cruel fingers of doubt gripped
As he saw his men out-fought;
Over a mangy dog they'd tripped.
Alas poor Ivar sailed back home
Near half his navy forgot.
All too well he ought have known:
For his wrath the Wind cares not.
Written By Haakon
July 10, 2022, 3:36 p.m.(12/24/1017 AR)
Another battle done,
Another victory won.
Another Dredcall son,
Another race to run.
Some day we'll be undone;
Some day, but not this one.
Another victory won.
Another Dredcall son,
Another race to run.
Some day we'll be undone;
Some day, but not this one.
Written By Haakon
July 9, 2022, 10:04 p.m.(12/23/1017 AR)
Song of the Lost Admiral
Many hundred ships did clash
In the waters off Long Strand
Where Grimkin fleet's hopes were dashed
And Whitefrost taken in hand.
In that doomed fleet, there he stood:
Bereft of Goddess's grace.
Heart of stone, head of wood,
With wits dull as his mace.
"Wretches! Dogs! Filth!" he cried,
"This bay shall be your grave!"
So he spoke on the day he died;
As foe prevailed, on he raved.
"All your names will be forgot!"
Quoth he, with more words much the same.
But for such, the Wind cares not
Now none recall his name.
Many hundred ships did clash
In the waters off Long Strand
Where Grimkin fleet's hopes were dashed
And Whitefrost taken in hand.
In that doomed fleet, there he stood:
Bereft of Goddess's grace.
Heart of stone, head of wood,
With wits dull as his mace.
"Wretches! Dogs! Filth!" he cried,
"This bay shall be your grave!"
So he spoke on the day he died;
As foe prevailed, on he raved.
"All your names will be forgot!"
Quoth he, with more words much the same.
But for such, the Wind cares not
Now none recall his name.
Written By Haakon
June 30, 2022, 1:45 p.m.(12/4/1017 AR)
I've writ on this before, yet it bears saying again after the battle of Darkshore Isle.
The use of fire in war at sea is not easy, and not reliable. Firepots loaded into artillery are difficult to aim, and if a sailor mishandles a pot they, and their ship are fucked. If the catapult jerks too hard and cracks the pot in launching, you spread fire all over your own decks. If folk load up fireships, once lit, they can hardly steer the damn things unless you have a ship full of folk willing to die with it. Even then you need favorable winds and an enemy in tight formation.
What the Bloodbrooks did at Darkwater was waited until the fleets were locked, and set fire to everything. Themselves, their foes, everything. Because the direction of wind does much for spreading a fire, so an eye to wind direction must always be kept, but when a knot of ships are all bound up together, fire will gradually spread until all ships are burnt, or until lines are cut and the windward ships row for distance.
Fire at sea is a weapon of the desperate.
And it can be a deadly one for all involved.
When my people were yet Abandoned, we loathed Thraxian Fire, not because it was the first weapon Thrax would use against us, but because in the unlikely chance that we ever managed to corner a Thraxian warship or three, managed to overcome their better weapons, better armor, and greater numbers, and somehow stood poised to defeat them... they could just smash a few canisters of Thraxian Fire and take us down with them.
Fire isn't some magic sword that delivers victory. It's a mess that makes both sides lose.
At Darkwater, the Dagonite fleet was prepared to lose for the sake of harming us as well, as they had a second fleet at hand. The lesson of the battle off Darkwater isn't that fire is a great weapon, it's that folk need always keep a reserve.
The use of fire in war at sea is not easy, and not reliable. Firepots loaded into artillery are difficult to aim, and if a sailor mishandles a pot they, and their ship are fucked. If the catapult jerks too hard and cracks the pot in launching, you spread fire all over your own decks. If folk load up fireships, once lit, they can hardly steer the damn things unless you have a ship full of folk willing to die with it. Even then you need favorable winds and an enemy in tight formation.
What the Bloodbrooks did at Darkwater was waited until the fleets were locked, and set fire to everything. Themselves, their foes, everything. Because the direction of wind does much for spreading a fire, so an eye to wind direction must always be kept, but when a knot of ships are all bound up together, fire will gradually spread until all ships are burnt, or until lines are cut and the windward ships row for distance.
Fire at sea is a weapon of the desperate.
And it can be a deadly one for all involved.
When my people were yet Abandoned, we loathed Thraxian Fire, not because it was the first weapon Thrax would use against us, but because in the unlikely chance that we ever managed to corner a Thraxian warship or three, managed to overcome their better weapons, better armor, and greater numbers, and somehow stood poised to defeat them... they could just smash a few canisters of Thraxian Fire and take us down with them.
Fire isn't some magic sword that delivers victory. It's a mess that makes both sides lose.
At Darkwater, the Dagonite fleet was prepared to lose for the sake of harming us as well, as they had a second fleet at hand. The lesson of the battle off Darkwater isn't that fire is a great weapon, it's that folk need always keep a reserve.
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