Author: Josh Dutton

Humanity calls to humanity. I wonder what that feels like. Do you sell your soul in one big chunk, a deal with malefic as they say? It seems that way with the dark forces. Trade away your humanity in a lump sum for nearly limitless power.

Feed the evil, and as the night grows darker, malefic forces drive you. Strengthening your flesh. Melding yourself with death, twisting the minds around you.

How tempting it must be to have the price of the exact thing you want within your grasp, carrying you easily, hewing gouts through your foes and preventing your harms from slowing down.

God asks us to take the high road, the hard path. I can feel him falling further away with each terrible choice I am forced to make. I know he still guides my hand, he carries me through situations no man should be able to survive, as a parent protects their children and the army carries its commander.

I see her. Shes warped and twisted already, spitting venom and becoming more powerful with each passing moment. I’m terrified of her.

The worst part is I helped make her. Dozens of my choices led to the death of her family and I can almost understand how she felt this was her only recourse. I carry so much shame for those choices, and find it impossible to not feel terrible over it.

Perhaps if she can find the deserved release I can find some modicum of peace.

We both have our gods guiding our hands.
Let us see whose is stronger.

Games. “Games” they call them.

A constant clash of wooden equipment, bruises, headaches, pain, victories and losses.

Months of brutal training. I hear the mumblings. The resentment of a new commander.

I am not Sir Der Ritzen, and only am covering for his work out of necessity.

The Væringjar are brutally efficient warriors and are truly trained to a steel’s edge, but the steel is only as good as the hand that wields it.

I have spent my life on a small team. Fighting, Hunting, Hiding. We had become like ghosts in the woods, extricating, learning, and killing. But I had never developed the strategy. I still lose to academics in Tafl and Cyess for the love of Benalus!

In the heat, in the very moment I am competent. I still have so much to learn in tactics, but I know them. But when it comes to strategy I am green. I have a wonderful tutor, but I do not know enough and I worry I’m not learning fast enough.

I hope when it comes to be steel and not wood that the hand is ready.

I figure its time to start writing my thoughts down. People love to record the histories of noble men and heroes, so maybe I can shed some light on what the day to day really is.

Im a Knight now. Sworn in service to one of my best friends, or at least sometimes it feels that way. I worry about her, shes very alone, she has no true confidants, and even to me she can’t tell everything.

I am scared of her. I respect her. The ancient hestrali spoke of love many ways. I dont feel the romantic and sexual love i feel for my wife, i feel brotherhood, and i know through my time in the field that that is love too, not sexual, but something deeper. A trust.

I know I should feel differently now that I have a title, but I just feel the same. Deperate to do my job well. Scared when i get into real fights, and hopeless when faced with the thousand mineutia of the day.

I feel a weight creeping in. Like a pressure on my very soul, as if my company is now more than it used to be. I’m scared for my friends and daunted by the responsibility I bear for them.

Originally I had wished to write of privelage and responsibility, of how station is its own burden, no matter how high or low one is.

I am finding it difficult to care. The prices and weight of this ring is heavier than it should be. I need time. I will clear my head and train.

Perhaps someday I’ll be worthy of being Ser Knut of the Order of the White Star. But as of right now? Im jealous of Ser Alastor. At least he is able to rest fully.