Written By Shard
Sept. 5, 2018, 5:13 p.m.(7/16/1009 AR)
Heroes and evil wizards are stories.
People are complicated. Reality is messy. People can do heroic things, they can do evil things, they can even be evil or heroic. Occasionally they can be both. Often they're also a bunch of assholes. And you only ever know about the ones who had their stories passed on and remembered. The people who get a statue are the ones who were popular enough to have someone build them one, but being popular isn't how you should measure heroism.
People are complicated. Reality is messy. People can do heroic things, they can do evil things, they can even be evil or heroic. Occasionally they can be both. Often they're also a bunch of assholes. And you only ever know about the ones who had their stories passed on and remembered. The people who get a statue are the ones who were popular enough to have someone build them one, but being popular isn't how you should measure heroism.
Written By Shard
Aug. 29, 2018, 4:55 a.m.(6/25/1009 AR)
There's a children's story from my tribe that goes something like this:
A long, long time ago, probably before humans had started counting, Winter came to the North so hungry that it gobbled up all the green things, all the bushes and leaves and every last store of food. It ate the mice and the squirrels, and the sparrows and the rabbits, it chased the boars away, and it started gnawing so fiercely on the herds that they too began disappearing, until even the greatest hunters were thin and starving or already frozen and dead.
Old Wolf was no longer among those greatest hunters, but he was so old and so stubborn that he was not yet dead. Even though Winter howled and bit at him, and it had been many days since he'd last tasted so much as a rat, he continued pushing on through the snow, determined to keep moving until he either found something to kill and eat or dropped from exhaustion and starvation.
So long had he been trudging alone through the howling winds that when the sound first came, his ears didn't pick it out. "Brother, brother!" came a cawing from surprisingly nearby. "So good to have found you."
Old Wolf looked and saw a very thin looking black bird peering at him from the dead branch of a nearby tree. "Go away," he snarled. "I'm not dead yet. Wait a while for your meal, bonepicker."
"Oh, brother," called Raven, from her perch. "You misunderstand. I'm only here to tell you that you're going the wrong way."
"What do you mean by that?" asked Old Wolf, feeling the chill start to work its way into his bones now that he'd stopped moving. "I'm going my way. It's as good a way as any."
"But if you come this way," said Raven, "We can both eat well tonight."
Now Old Wolf had met many ravens and known none of them, which was the way of things in his time. "I have no patience for your tricks," he growled. "Or your thieving, or your chatter. Leave me alone, or I'll eat you next." But he made it only two steps more before Raven landed on his back and bit his tail.
Enraged and bewildered, Old Wolf whirled around and snapped at the big black bird. He got three feathers for his trouble, and a heavy peck on the top of his head. And so humiliated, Old Wolf chased Raven through the snows, his hunt forgotten, until the sun dipped below the horizon and cold tore at them both. At last they reached a copse of dead trees, where Raven abruptly flew upward and Old Wolf nearly tripped over the half-frozen carcass of the largest elk he'd ever laid eyes on.
While Old Wolf was close to collapsing, his teeth were as sharp as ever, and he tore open the dead elk without a single further thought, eating and eating until he could eat no more. When he finally moved away, his belly full and his jaws coated in blood, Raven swept down from where she had been watching and proceeded to eat a feast of her own where he'd left off.
"Why did you lead me here?" Old Wolf finally thought to ask, once they'd both had a second meal the next day.
"I wasn't strong enough to get through the hide myself," Raven replied.
"I see," said Old Wolf. "You are sincere when your stomach is involved."
"Of course," said Raven.
Old Wolf and Raven hunted together until Winter at last grew tired and retreated, but when the sun and the green returned, they saw no reason to stop. This became the new way of things.
A long, long time ago, probably before humans had started counting, Winter came to the North so hungry that it gobbled up all the green things, all the bushes and leaves and every last store of food. It ate the mice and the squirrels, and the sparrows and the rabbits, it chased the boars away, and it started gnawing so fiercely on the herds that they too began disappearing, until even the greatest hunters were thin and starving or already frozen and dead.
Old Wolf was no longer among those greatest hunters, but he was so old and so stubborn that he was not yet dead. Even though Winter howled and bit at him, and it had been many days since he'd last tasted so much as a rat, he continued pushing on through the snow, determined to keep moving until he either found something to kill and eat or dropped from exhaustion and starvation.
So long had he been trudging alone through the howling winds that when the sound first came, his ears didn't pick it out. "Brother, brother!" came a cawing from surprisingly nearby. "So good to have found you."
Old Wolf looked and saw a very thin looking black bird peering at him from the dead branch of a nearby tree. "Go away," he snarled. "I'm not dead yet. Wait a while for your meal, bonepicker."
"Oh, brother," called Raven, from her perch. "You misunderstand. I'm only here to tell you that you're going the wrong way."
"What do you mean by that?" asked Old Wolf, feeling the chill start to work its way into his bones now that he'd stopped moving. "I'm going my way. It's as good a way as any."
"But if you come this way," said Raven, "We can both eat well tonight."
Now Old Wolf had met many ravens and known none of them, which was the way of things in his time. "I have no patience for your tricks," he growled. "Or your thieving, or your chatter. Leave me alone, or I'll eat you next." But he made it only two steps more before Raven landed on his back and bit his tail.
Enraged and bewildered, Old Wolf whirled around and snapped at the big black bird. He got three feathers for his trouble, and a heavy peck on the top of his head. And so humiliated, Old Wolf chased Raven through the snows, his hunt forgotten, until the sun dipped below the horizon and cold tore at them both. At last they reached a copse of dead trees, where Raven abruptly flew upward and Old Wolf nearly tripped over the half-frozen carcass of the largest elk he'd ever laid eyes on.
While Old Wolf was close to collapsing, his teeth were as sharp as ever, and he tore open the dead elk without a single further thought, eating and eating until he could eat no more. When he finally moved away, his belly full and his jaws coated in blood, Raven swept down from where she had been watching and proceeded to eat a feast of her own where he'd left off.
"Why did you lead me here?" Old Wolf finally thought to ask, once they'd both had a second meal the next day.
"I wasn't strong enough to get through the hide myself," Raven replied.
"I see," said Old Wolf. "You are sincere when your stomach is involved."
"Of course," said Raven.
Old Wolf and Raven hunted together until Winter at last grew tired and retreated, but when the sun and the green returned, they saw no reason to stop. This became the new way of things.
Written By Shard
Aug. 28, 2018, 7:24 p.m.(6/24/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Reigna
I'm not your mother.
I'm just the idiot prodigal repeatedly pointing out that what's coming is worse than Stormwall.
I'm just the idiot prodigal repeatedly pointing out that what's coming is worse than Stormwall.
Written By Shard
Aug. 28, 2018, 7:14 p.m.(6/24/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Coraline
So one has. By /Monique/, not any of the people actually involved in starting or continuing this argument. Good. Fine. Why is it still going?
And normally, I'd agree with you. Normally I wouldn't give a shit. Sometimes it's even entertaining. But these aren't normal times, and this isn't a normal enemy. And since it's /this/ enemy, I'm downright fucking irritable.
And normally, I'd agree with you. Normally I wouldn't give a shit. Sometimes it's even entertaining. But these aren't normal times, and this isn't a normal enemy. And since it's /this/ enemy, I'm downright fucking irritable.
Written By Shard
Aug. 28, 2018, 6:47 p.m.(6/24/1009 AR)
You're all really going to do this then? You're going to have a fight over /this/ in the Whites, now of all times. There have been so many duels fought over best friends or favorite kinds of toast or utensils in the past year I can't even count them, but neither one of you or any of your allies can actually let go of your egos long enough to issue an actual challenge because that would be admitting you're actually bothered by the other one and well we just can't have that.
Meanwhile, I'll point out for the third time, there's an actual living enemy with actual living forces that you need to stand united against very soon, and as bad as the last one was, this one is much more powerful. But by all means, keep arguing like children over the last war instead of planning for this one.
Meanwhile, I'll point out for the third time, there's an actual living enemy with actual living forces that you need to stand united against very soon, and as bad as the last one was, this one is much more powerful. But by all means, keep arguing like children over the last war instead of planning for this one.
Written By Shard
Aug. 27, 2018, 4:26 p.m.(6/22/1009 AR)
You know what's worse than high casualties, a burned down city, or a man complaining about high casualties and a burned down city? All of Arvum falling to the Enslaver.
Call a gods-damned duel already and get some fucking perspective.
Call a gods-damned duel already and get some fucking perspective.
Written By Shard
Aug. 27, 2018, 3:19 p.m.(6/22/1009 AR)
The time for fighting over what was done when the last overwhelming enemy attacked you is not when the next one is on the move. Settle this fucking thing. He's not going to sit back and wait for you to finish bickering no matter how strongly either of you feel you were right.
Written By Shard
Aug. 26, 2018, 10:47 p.m.(6/20/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Sheena
Let me just...
Being a soldier is very different from being a Thrall. Very.
And I'm going to put the quill down now.
Being a soldier is very different from being a Thrall. Very.
And I'm going to put the quill down now.
Written By Shard
Aug. 19, 2018, 3:36 a.m.(6/4/1009 AR)
One night, when I was very little, I made a promise. I was young, too young to understand what I was doing, or to understand much about anything other than what I was feeling in the moment. But as I grew older I remembered that night and that promise I made, and I made it again, and again, and slowly as I grew up I understood it a little more, a little deeper. Eventually I was old enough to understand at least a little of what I was promising, even if it's taken me many, many years more to grasp the size of it, and even if it might take even longer to grasp it even further.
Every day I wake up with a purpose. There are mornings when I have trouble getting out of bed; everyone has mornings like these. There are mornings when I'm uncertain, or angry, or lost. I don't know the how. I don't know the when. I get frustrated, I get impatient. I feel helpless. But I always know what I want and where I want to go, and I've known that for a very, very long time now, since I was very, very young. Sometimes I dream about it. Sometimes my dreams only remind me of it when they're gone, when I wake up alone in the quiet and I remember why I made the promise the very first time.
Every now and then I make the promise again. Sometimes to myself. Sometimes to someone else. You could call it a ritual, but it's not. It's merely a choice. The choice that I will keep making, every day, until either I'm dead, or, somehow, that promise is fulfilled.
Every day I wake up with a purpose. There are mornings when I have trouble getting out of bed; everyone has mornings like these. There are mornings when I'm uncertain, or angry, or lost. I don't know the how. I don't know the when. I get frustrated, I get impatient. I feel helpless. But I always know what I want and where I want to go, and I've known that for a very, very long time now, since I was very, very young. Sometimes I dream about it. Sometimes my dreams only remind me of it when they're gone, when I wake up alone in the quiet and I remember why I made the promise the very first time.
Every now and then I make the promise again. Sometimes to myself. Sometimes to someone else. You could call it a ritual, but it's not. It's merely a choice. The choice that I will keep making, every day, until either I'm dead, or, somehow, that promise is fulfilled.
Written By Shard
Aug. 17, 2018, 4:32 p.m.(6/1/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Sergei
I ate wolf when I was literally starving. Everything tastes amazing when you're starving. Wolf still tasted /fucking/ /awful/. Maybe if you were incredibly drunk and buried it so much in sauce and spices that you couldn't taste it, but I'd much rather eat something meant for being prey. Venison. Rabbit. Beaver. Moose. Elk. Boar. All kinds of birds. Even the horses were better, and they were starving too.
Rat tastes better than wolf. Rat. Think about that for a moment.
Rat tastes better than wolf. Rat. Think about that for a moment.
Written By Shard
Aug. 17, 2018, 3:20 a.m.(5/28/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Harlex
Wolves make for terrible fucking eating, you were lucky in more ways than one.
Written By Shard
Aug. 15, 2018, 5:21 a.m.(5/24/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Iseulet
Reinventing myself wouldn't get me any closer to what I want. Neither would being someone else for a day.
...Unless, I suppose, it was a spectacularly powerful someone else, and a particularly well chosen day. Then, maybe.
...Unless, I suppose, it was a spectacularly powerful someone else, and a particularly well chosen day. Then, maybe.
Written By Shard
Aug. 12, 2018, 6:30 p.m.(5/19/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Bethany
Where I grew up, when children starved, there was no one to negotiate food from, because no one had food. /If/ there was someone anywhere nearby with food, that was someone behind walls, with soldiers who would kill you on sight, more soldiers than you had people, let alone warriors, well fed soldiers with better armor and weapons, whose laws state that giving food to us would not have simply been illegal, but treason.
Where I grew up, when the children were starving, everyone was starving. That was Winter when something went wrong. It's easy to make moral judgments and have cute little philosophical debates about right and wrong when you aren't trying to figure out how you and everyone you know survive.
Where I grew up, when the children were starving, everyone was starving. That was Winter when something went wrong. It's easy to make moral judgments and have cute little philosophical debates about right and wrong when you aren't trying to figure out how you and everyone you know survive.
Written By Shard
Aug. 12, 2018, 3:38 p.m.(5/19/1009 AR)
Stealing to feed a starving child is only a moral quandary if you think personal property is as important as a life, or if you think, somehow, that letting a child die is somehow less bad or equivalent to dirtying yourself by breaking the law. You could make this a harder question though. What if you're stealing from someone who is also starving? Do you steal from another child to try to save your child?
This city is overflowing with food. There's so much food we can throw feasts in the dead of winter. If there's a starving child and they're surrounded by food the law doesn't allow them to have, I'd like to know who thinks that law is actually just.
This city is overflowing with food. There's so much food we can throw feasts in the dead of winter. If there's a starving child and they're surrounded by food the law doesn't allow them to have, I'd like to know who thinks that law is actually just.
Written By Shard
Aug. 11, 2018, 3:19 a.m.(5/16/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Audric
Wait...
What?
What?
Written By Shard
Aug. 7, 2018, 3:15 a.m.(5/5/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Thena
Given enough time and determination, you can kill someone with just about anything.
Written By Shard
Aug. 5, 2018, 11:39 p.m.(5/1/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Thesarin
Hot baths are one thing I haven't complained about.
Written By Shard
July 29, 2018, 11:56 p.m.(4/15/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Aleksei
I didn't actually learn his kid's name, just that he apparently really likes spiders.
Written By Shard
July 25, 2018, 2:57 a.m.(4/5/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Aureth
I appreciate this. I also appreciate that it wasn't meant for me, or because of me, or that it has anything whatsoever to do with me or events related to me. But I do not accept. And I will not forgive.
Written By Shard
July 21, 2018, 4:51 a.m.(3/24/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Eleyna
I understand fashion, even if it's not something I personally much give a shit about. Even in remote northern tribes, you have fashions. Art styles. I miss the ones I grew up with, if only because they were more familiar. But fashion trends? Fashion trends are a bunch of competitive nonsense (usually rich) people make up to combat boredom and use to sneer at others who don't or can't conform fast enough. I'll grant you that it makes a lot of other people a lot of coin when these folk scramble to fill up their wardrobes with more clothes and goods than they'll ever need or wear, but what a fucking waste of resources all spent so that people can see how fast they can play follow the leader. At least do something personal and unique with that kind of energy, instead of obeying some arbitrary list of what's momentarily popular.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.