Poetry - Draft - What is right

I've written this from Daolyth's perspective, because I'm pretty sure he had these thoughts and feelings first. He is, I think, an honourable elf, but clearly quite passionate under his otherwise reserved and pragmatic exterior. I suspect his capacity to do the right thing, even in the face of great personal angst, far exceeds my own, which is part of the joy of having a character to hide behind. They can do things you cannot, both in terms of abilities but also behaviours.

At some point, I'll write down how I think Dao and I are different, just so its clear in my own head.

What is right

I'll stand with you against the night

And wait for dawn to breach

I'll guard your home in rain or frost

And hark unto your speech

I'll watch your back in battle line

And add my voice to yours

I'll lift you when you fall to foes

And tend to all your scars

I'll be advice and wisdom

And pragmatic self restraint

I'll be one who gets things done

And serve without complaint

I'll watch over all your family

And help them all to grow

I'll smile for all your fortune

And home then I will go

I'll see you leave when day ends

And you go to warmth and light

I'll then find in me no happiness

And know I've done what's right

Poetry - draft - Darkness

First draft - Darkness

Endless eyes embracing the void
From the centre of eternity
The dias both a prison
And an observatory to all time
An unrivalled kalediscope

Darkness covers all reality
All creation nestled within
The empyrean splendour of stars
Cosmic ballet of worlds
Eggs turn in the void

The glistening web of all time
All futures and all pasts
Caresses his touch but remains
Beyond the reach of his substance
The creator touches not the creation

A sigh like the silence of aeons
The hush of a million years
Waiting adrift of time
Gifting all that comes to pass
But not partaking of the future

In the beginning there was Darkness
And it walked upon the face of the deep
Darkness walks alone there still
A majesty forever cloaked from the light
Starlight captured in vast eyes



 

Daolyth's Diary - 1112 September - Day 3

I've reached the second ruin marked on my map and have found it much in the same condition as the first, although perhaps less scavenged for materials than the other. I suspect the proximity to the wound might deter peasant folk from coming too near.

My success with lighting fires continues unabated and, tonight, I have fashioned myself something that could pass for soup. At least, it is mostly liquid and there is edible matter floating in it. Carrots and such. Including expertly prepared rabbit. 

I had no idea that surgical skills could be applied on such a wide basis.

Shortly after passing the great bridge , which joins the north to the main island, I encountered two peasants (a farmer and his near grown son) in a predicament. I observed from cover that they were being threatened by two men armed with clubs. A simple act of brigandry. The peasants had food (harvested crops most likely) and the brigands wanted it. An understandable notion with winter approaching.

I was not initially minded to interfere, lest my whereabouts become more widely known. But, then it occurred to me, what purpose do I serve as a protector who does not protect? The Lions would have the Order care for Amnor and Mithras would have us fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. What is it I am hiding from here?

What would Hengist do?

I emerged from cover, sword drawn, mask in place. The matter was swiftly resolved without blood being shed.

Although I did not ask for it, the Farmer and his son did give me a rabbit to eat.

Well 'gave' is perhaps overstating it somewhat, but I presume it was their intent that I have it as they hurled it in my direction as they ran away. Thankfully they didn't take the same route as the brigands.

Daolyth's Diary - thoughts about home

First draft

You are mine

You till the land

You grow the crops

You bake the bread

You give the tithe

You exist for me

I am yours

I ward the land

I watch the crops

I shield the bread

I guard the tithe

I exist for you

We own the land

We give it shape

We name it ours

We build a wall

We call it home

It exists for us

We are the land

The Land is in our name

The Land is in our speech

The Land is in our tales

The Land is in our hearts

We exist for the land

And for the land we must care

For if we do not care

Then the land will die

And we will not exist

Except in memory

September 1112 - Day Two

I set out at first light from the villa, which is barely 20 miles from the Preceptory, but that initial traverse was unduly cautious and consequently slow. I have made better ground today. I think maybe 30miles? Certainly I am not far from the great bridge over to the rest of Amnor.

It has rained persistantly today, which is to be expected, as it has rained persistantly for most of the year. I am not sure of the basis on which the Isles of Lantia "float" but I am profoundly glad that they do, as it means flooding is not an imminent risk. Flooding of the land at least, for I am decidedly waterlogged and my feeble fire is doing little to dry my clothing.

Yes, I assume the piece of stone I found yesterday is indeed a flint. It does flinty things, which is to say, I can use it to light fires.

I had the presence of mind to take some dry kindling with me from my previous camp and take pains to keep it dry.

In order to avoid "the wound" I have decided to travel south from the first ruin and hit the coast line. This does place me near one of the main thoroughfares across Amnor, but I have a little choice in the matter and providing I remain alert, I can conceal myself from travellers.

Or Order of Mithras patrols.

The preoccupation with remaining hidden is at least helping focus my mind during the day and keep more sombre thoughts at bay. As has remaining dry and the pressing need to light a fire. Finding somewhere suitable to shelter has also been a prominent feature, but this small wind worn cave near the cliffs has proved sufficient.

Daolyth's Diary - September 1112 - Day 1

I've managed to get a fire lit, a process of trial and error, with emphasis on the latter. After a number of initial frustrating attempts rubbing sticks together (which I'd been led to believe was the done thing), I attempted to blast the fire into action, only to have to collect all the wood I'd gathered from around the room.

I wish I'd paid more attention to woodcraft, but it has never been a central feature of my studies and besides, lighting fires is for servants and subordinates.

But the fire is lit now as I found what passed for a flint and may, in fact, turn out to be flint on further inspection. It is a sort of black, glassy rock. I haven't really studied rocks either nor sought conversation with those who have.

The villa I am in is, as I expected, long abandoned and in a state of ruin.  Probably from the era of Emperor Joshrim, a ruler of who I know little other than his name. The roof is partially intact, leaving at least one of the inner rooms dry and from in here, my fire is not readily visible to the outside world. Which suits, as I don't want anyone following me, although I think that is unlikely.

I find myself oddly relieved that this ruin is not the place I'm looking for. Partly because I am not looking for a ruin and partly because I do not wish for this journey to be over so soon after commencing. I have barely begun to deconstruct myself and I need time and distance to do this.

I have a lot of questions to ask about what I want and how I will respond to the wants and needs of others.

Expression courtesy of Amazon

Ordered a book of poetry yesterday and then realised, after the event, that this isn't the first such book I've purhcased and wondered where the others are. I'll have to look into this.

I'm not yet decided whether reading poetry will assist me improving my own skills or simply make me better expressing myself more generally. Both could use work, although the latter will inform the former. If I can find a way to express what I thinking, then the writing should be easier, rather than everything being locked up inside my head.