Written By Muiryn
April 17, 2017, 3:09 p.m.(4/16/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Aleksei
Cocksure show pony, and there has to be a better use for his mouth than that constant bloody talking. Still, I'll give it to him, might actually get me thinking otherwise on the Faith.
It's a big, and unlikely 'might'.
No fun in telling him that, mind.
It's a big, and unlikely 'might'.
No fun in telling him that, mind.
Written By Muiryn
Feb. 18, 2017, 7:49 a.m.(12/11/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Neve
Some advice for future-fathers, or fathers of girls too young yet to slam doors in your face.
Have a daughter in your life, and patience hasn't got a chance.
She'll come to you with something ask for your opinion, your advice as they do. That's all good and well obviously. So you think on it, make your reply good and concise, and she'll listen very nicely..
..then go out and do precisely what she wants.
Have a daughter in your life, and patience hasn't got a chance.
She'll come to you with something ask for your opinion, your advice as they do. That's all good and well obviously. So you think on it, make your reply good and concise, and she'll listen very nicely..
..then go out and do precisely what she wants.
Written By Muiryn
Feb. 18, 2017, 5:56 a.m.(12/11/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Rowan
I can see the storms like crashing lightning over your horizon.
This city, these times and those horrors will pound away like water on the rocks. Changes come, kid, nature has it's way -- you know that better than anyone. Just make sure you keep your dignity, take the higher road. Take it like a man. The man I know you are.
Just a broken heart, kid.
This pain will pass away.
This city, these times and those horrors will pound away like water on the rocks. Changes come, kid, nature has it's way -- you know that better than anyone. Just make sure you keep your dignity, take the higher road. Take it like a man. The man I know you are.
Just a broken heart, kid.
This pain will pass away.
Written By Muiryn
Feb. 18, 2017, 1:57 a.m.(12/11/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Calathane
See you when you get back, kid. Take your time now, and good luck.
Written By Muiryn
Feb. 6, 2017, 12:03 a.m.(11/11/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Morrighan
Sweet kid, and reminds me a lot of my Neve-- wild and kind, and no doubt she's equal parts trouble. Keep getting told I need to leave the Lodge more often, good thing the Bear Threads isn't too far from the Ward of Valardin.
Written By Muiryn
Feb. 5, 2017, 11:58 p.m.(11/11/1005 AR)
The Greenwoods, the March...
Time moves a little slower there. The trees shiver when they freeze 'cause the winters there are so severe. Seemed like we were nowhere near anywhere known, just us and the woods.
The locals there had a sense of pride, more than most, showing up to the March just to show off. Not that it's a small group or nothing, just always seemed like it for the faces you knew, and characters that made it what it was. The four old men that sit about taking a load off, just to watch the sun pass over head; philosophizing between friends like they're born shamans by the bench of the old well. That's where they'd sit pulling out prophecies like they knew something.
Be the same thing every other day: they tell me they got advice; sure thing boys. And they tell me how the harvests will yield profit 'cause a swallow went and sat itself precariously on the right plant; conspiracies of the east and south, something wild about the north and how the spirits whisper it true. I always think to tell them the spirits would have them turned up off that seat for the shit they'd go on about. I'd never say what I'd be thinking though, 'cause I'm a gentleman, but then again most of us are.
Sometimes feels like there's no point saying where I'm from, only where I'm close to. I could bring out a map and show anyone where the March is but I'd still get looked sideways and treated like I'm backwards. And that's just fine, I'd be happy enough to go get back to where the time moves a little slower. Where a day can feel like a week, and a week like it spans a whole damn year.
Here I am, living in the days when it sounds like everyone's saying "What a time to be alive" and I still feel out of place like I'm from another realm; just seems I'm stuck in another time.
It's like we ride through life, right in the shadow of the old world. And it's never quiet at night here, not like the untamed world I left behind.
Not matter where I go, it will always be home.
Time moves a little slower there. The trees shiver when they freeze 'cause the winters there are so severe. Seemed like we were nowhere near anywhere known, just us and the woods.
The locals there had a sense of pride, more than most, showing up to the March just to show off. Not that it's a small group or nothing, just always seemed like it for the faces you knew, and characters that made it what it was. The four old men that sit about taking a load off, just to watch the sun pass over head; philosophizing between friends like they're born shamans by the bench of the old well. That's where they'd sit pulling out prophecies like they knew something.
Be the same thing every other day: they tell me they got advice; sure thing boys. And they tell me how the harvests will yield profit 'cause a swallow went and sat itself precariously on the right plant; conspiracies of the east and south, something wild about the north and how the spirits whisper it true. I always think to tell them the spirits would have them turned up off that seat for the shit they'd go on about. I'd never say what I'd be thinking though, 'cause I'm a gentleman, but then again most of us are.
Sometimes feels like there's no point saying where I'm from, only where I'm close to. I could bring out a map and show anyone where the March is but I'd still get looked sideways and treated like I'm backwards. And that's just fine, I'd be happy enough to go get back to where the time moves a little slower. Where a day can feel like a week, and a week like it spans a whole damn year.
Here I am, living in the days when it sounds like everyone's saying "What a time to be alive" and I still feel out of place like I'm from another realm; just seems I'm stuck in another time.
It's like we ride through life, right in the shadow of the old world. And it's never quiet at night here, not like the untamed world I left behind.
Not matter where I go, it will always be home.
Written By Muiryn
Feb. 1, 2017, 6:27 p.m.(10/26/1005 AR)
Roark, Marcel and Maeve were some amongst many who came to watch the passing parade at the March. Seemed every man and his mongrel came out to watch Myrna's youngest stumble back on the long march to defend our way. "Fuck", I mumbled as I drew to line, and my brother came to slap me on the back with due regard; Murdoch had put me through the pit a hundred times after my first march, having shown up alone weeks later, rest assured.
Seemed half of the Greenwood turned out to see us leave they lined the long road as we took to the elks, some on foot. They howled it up around up but we were only looking to the future for freedom. I can barely remember us then, looking young strong and clean; kitted out in our hides and greens.
Seemed like months in the rock and forest boarders of Valardin and Telmar lands. On a four-week long skirmish where every single step could be your last one with both legs. Was what I figure living in the abyss would be; falling men, fighting a war as much around you as you are within yourself-- but you can't let your brothers down, not less they have you finished off. So you close your eyes, thought of just about anything else. Someone yelled "dragons!" -- another brother swore then we charged in with an earth shaking roar.
Then Murdoch was cleaved from his elk the day his first boy back home learnt to ride one. Spirits save me, he laughed for having to walk home to rest the beast, too.
And I can still see Murdoch with a flask in his hand, in his prime, in the tavern of the Greenwood.
And I can still hear Murdoch a screaming mess of bleeding flesh.. couldn't have recognised his legs.
You see the Reckoning's legends neglected to mention mud; the fear, the blood, the wails, the tension.
Ma's fables were beyond comprehension, didn't seem quite real until we were in our own story. Chaos and confusion, the fire and steel-- arrow heads in my back I didn't even feel.
Not a Shaman yet can tell me why I can't get to sleep, or some days I can't hardly eat. And the glimpse of blue fields with white dragon overhead still burns me to my core, still fuels my grief. Why the shaking of my hands still comes and goes like the dreams-- just wish I knew what it means.
Spirits help me, I was only eighteen.
Seemed half of the Greenwood turned out to see us leave they lined the long road as we took to the elks, some on foot. They howled it up around up but we were only looking to the future for freedom. I can barely remember us then, looking young strong and clean; kitted out in our hides and greens.
Seemed like months in the rock and forest boarders of Valardin and Telmar lands. On a four-week long skirmish where every single step could be your last one with both legs. Was what I figure living in the abyss would be; falling men, fighting a war as much around you as you are within yourself-- but you can't let your brothers down, not less they have you finished off. So you close your eyes, thought of just about anything else. Someone yelled "dragons!" -- another brother swore then we charged in with an earth shaking roar.
Then Murdoch was cleaved from his elk the day his first boy back home learnt to ride one. Spirits save me, he laughed for having to walk home to rest the beast, too.
And I can still see Murdoch with a flask in his hand, in his prime, in the tavern of the Greenwood.
And I can still hear Murdoch a screaming mess of bleeding flesh.. couldn't have recognised his legs.
You see the Reckoning's legends neglected to mention mud; the fear, the blood, the wails, the tension.
Ma's fables were beyond comprehension, didn't seem quite real until we were in our own story. Chaos and confusion, the fire and steel-- arrow heads in my back I didn't even feel.
Not a Shaman yet can tell me why I can't get to sleep, or some days I can't hardly eat. And the glimpse of blue fields with white dragon overhead still burns me to my core, still fuels my grief. Why the shaking of my hands still comes and goes like the dreams-- just wish I knew what it means.
Spirits help me, I was only eighteen.
Written By Muiryn
Jan. 15, 2017, 10:04 p.m.(9/4/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Rowan
Son of my sister Maeve. Never one to sit still, or keep his hands to himself; hasn't changed since he was a boy, except that it probably got worse as he got older. We've probably fought more often than been civil to one another in all these years gone, but I know when it comes down to it, I wouldn't want anyone else at my side when everything goes to shit. He still has a lot to learn if he wants to be any sort of spiritual leader for our people, but I reckon he'll prove himself in time.
Provided I don't fucking strangle him before that time comes.
Provided I don't fucking strangle him before that time comes.
Written By Muiryn
Jan. 15, 2017, 10:03 p.m.(9/4/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Neve
I'll never forget the day she was passed, hollering and red in the face, into my hands. Never going to forget the little creature with a wreath of flowers like a crown in her gold hair, or the way she'd smile at me like I was worthy of something as good, and perfect as her. I'll never forget her laugh when she played with her cousins or the tears when that play ended up in a scuffle or how she'd fret over them.
Now all I get is doors slammed in my face or wails over being embarrassing. I think we have more screaming matches now then I ever hear her laugh-- but I figure it's just that age. Not that I love her any less, just some days.. I'm not real keen on her fucking attitude.
Now all I get is doors slammed in my face or wails over being embarrassing. I think we have more screaming matches now then I ever hear her laugh-- but I figure it's just that age. Not that I love her any less, just some days.. I'm not real keen on her fucking attitude.
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