I have been at Hengist's hut a week now and my confidence as a fisherman has grown steadily. I am now unwavering in my confidence that I am not now, nor will ever be, one who fishes. Various crustaceans. Now those are a different matter. I've various collected, killed, eaten and been pincered by all manner of armoured semi-aquatic organisms. While painful, the crustaceans at least can be hauled out from under rocks and require no coaxing onto hook at the end of a length of line.
It is not that I lack the patience to sit quietly and fish, I just appear to lack the necessary means of persuasion that encourages a fish to willingly end its life by obligingly impaling a hook into its mouth. Also, my tendency to read or write while fishing has led to some of the catches going unnoticed and, rather than wait for me to deal with them, have simply swam away.
I fear some of the nicer fishing hooks and line that Hengist kept stored in his hut may be irretrievably lost.
Lighting of fires, within the controlled environ of a fireplace, has steadily improved. Having a controlled supply of the necessary materials (which I have replenished), plus a helpful handbook titled "Don't burn down my hut, ya feckin eedjit,"has helped. I do not doubt my late king loved his faction, but it is also clear to me that he had a realistic appraisal of our abilities or lack thereof.
There is also a small plot of land on which vegetables have been grown. This has required some tending to, which again has not been facilitated by my lack of expertise. Regardless, root vegetable matter has been harvested and cooked. Well. Boiled. Mostly.
On the matter of hunting wild animals for food.
No. I do not wish to discuss this.
Despite these set backs, my time alone here has given me chance to think. There is a serenity and a melancholy to this place, a sensation instilled in part by the memorial nature of the carvings on the walls. I have turned my hand to a few of these, where I remember the faces well enough. The half orc features of Grimaldeus, who sacrificed his life to rescue me from a void gate, were easy enough to render. I had not thought much of him until his final hours when, unexpectedly, he turned out to be both competent and brave. I'd always assumed he was an idiot, even by the standards of a half orc. Occasionally I am not disappointed to be wrong.
Fenris, the Reaver, was harder to do justice to. I will miss how happy he looked whilst hunting foes through the woods and nowhere else did his spirit seem more free. Capturing his bestial nature, his wildness, yet his sense of camaraderie. I knew him well and perhaps longest of all the Order of Mithras, and yet a simple likeness in wood seemed insufficient. Eventually I decided to render an image that captured his spirit best, if not his likeness.
There are other faces to carve in the wood. Some are harder to do, because my recollection of them is not as clear or, like Fenris, a simple likeness would be a disservice to their memory. Knight Captain Nir-Tan-Og was more than just a warrior, but a clear guiding voice on the battlefield.
When I come to the last face I shall carve here, I want to have honed my skill. He deserves nothing less.
It is not that I lack the patience to sit quietly and fish, I just appear to lack the necessary means of persuasion that encourages a fish to willingly end its life by obligingly impaling a hook into its mouth. Also, my tendency to read or write while fishing has led to some of the catches going unnoticed and, rather than wait for me to deal with them, have simply swam away.
I fear some of the nicer fishing hooks and line that Hengist kept stored in his hut may be irretrievably lost.
Lighting of fires, within the controlled environ of a fireplace, has steadily improved. Having a controlled supply of the necessary materials (which I have replenished), plus a helpful handbook titled "Don't burn down my hut, ya feckin eedjit,"has helped. I do not doubt my late king loved his faction, but it is also clear to me that he had a realistic appraisal of our abilities or lack thereof.
There is also a small plot of land on which vegetables have been grown. This has required some tending to, which again has not been facilitated by my lack of expertise. Regardless, root vegetable matter has been harvested and cooked. Well. Boiled. Mostly.
On the matter of hunting wild animals for food.
No. I do not wish to discuss this.
Despite these set backs, my time alone here has given me chance to think. There is a serenity and a melancholy to this place, a sensation instilled in part by the memorial nature of the carvings on the walls. I have turned my hand to a few of these, where I remember the faces well enough. The half orc features of Grimaldeus, who sacrificed his life to rescue me from a void gate, were easy enough to render. I had not thought much of him until his final hours when, unexpectedly, he turned out to be both competent and brave. I'd always assumed he was an idiot, even by the standards of a half orc. Occasionally I am not disappointed to be wrong.
Fenris, the Reaver, was harder to do justice to. I will miss how happy he looked whilst hunting foes through the woods and nowhere else did his spirit seem more free. Capturing his bestial nature, his wildness, yet his sense of camaraderie. I knew him well and perhaps longest of all the Order of Mithras, and yet a simple likeness in wood seemed insufficient. Eventually I decided to render an image that captured his spirit best, if not his likeness.
There are other faces to carve in the wood. Some are harder to do, because my recollection of them is not as clear or, like Fenris, a simple likeness would be a disservice to their memory. Knight Captain Nir-Tan-Og was more than just a warrior, but a clear guiding voice on the battlefield.
When I come to the last face I shall carve here, I want to have honed my skill. He deserves nothing less.
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