Haul 1,2
1.
It has often been said the gods weave the events of the world like a maiden on a loom. I have never quite agreed with this. I always thought that the weavers were the story tellers and the writers of the history of the world. These are the people who have always shaped the way everybody else interoperates the world In which they live. So what then is the place of a man such as me? If my fait is not something left to the god but to the writers of history then what am I to do? How can I find my way in this world when my way will only be dictated after I have gone? Perhaps this is why the notion of the gods is so far spread and a cherished belief. Perhaps this is why wars are fought. The need to assert ones beliefs.
Historians would argue with me. They would say that no war was ever fought for gods alone there was always some economic or political driving force behind it. Wars are fought over land and money and number of other things and belief is only one of these things. And I would look at the historian that says this and I would ask what the difference between paying homage to a god and paying homage to the land or to a coin purse? Man worships all things that is what he does that is his purpose some chose to only warship this or that but in the end the fate of man rides on the placement of all things. From the fall of a coin to the position of a cloud man’s fate, though not decided for him, is not his to decide.
What, then, of a man such as I. Some would call me a warrior. Others would call me a man of the world, or a mercenary, or any number of titles that fall short of the mark. No I would consider myself none of these and all of these. I have fought my share of battles and then some, I have traveled beyond the edges of all the maps in Tarradas and my sword and arrows have been hired for the highest price. But in the end I considered myself simply a man who was looking for balance in his life. As I said above it is not my opinion that matters it is that of the writers of history. What they will say of me I do not know. They will say something if they have not already but what they say I am waiting to hear. Whether I will be a tyrant or a saint is for the future to decide. For now all I know it what must be done. For there is not else that can be done.
2.
I suppose that I should start at the beginning. Though in history there is no such thing a beginning. The world always turned and the seasons always changed and what was effects what is and what will be. But for me there always have been at least markers in my life that have given me my bearings.
From my childhood I remember only the forest. Only the deep green of the evergreens to and the steep slant of the summer sun in the north. I remember my father putting my first bow in my hands and having me shot my little arrows into the clean knots left after his saw. I remember the biting cold of the deep winter and the never ending light of the summer. I remember my mothers smile and her tears when McAlester can to take me away. I knew, even at that age, why I had to go. My parents needed the money that would come from selling me off into the services of another. They could not afford to raise me and they hoped for my better life with the merchant. I did not blame it was simple the way the world worked.
I would spend the next few years with McAlester and his Merchant train. I took lessons from McAlester in reading, writing , math and speech, the essentials for any merchant. And from the train guards I learned other things. I was already proficient with my bow and could make a better bow and arrow than any of them could. They admitted their short coming with the bow openly and readily used me to make a few coppers in any town that we entered.
“My friend would you like to wager on a round of arrows?” BoHalen the head guard said to one of the townsfolk as McAlester set up his wares soon after my talent was discovered. “Three arrows each and the closest to the mark wins.” The townsman agreed and a small target was set up some yards away. BoHalen drew the fletching to his cheek and loosed the first arrow. It sunk into the edge of the straw target. The townsman smiled.
“It looks like I have made some money today.” The towns man drew his own arrow and loosed the shaft sunk to the fletching not more than two inches from the mark. BoHalen shot a worried glance at me before drew his second arrow. When he loosed the string snapped hard against his hand. I feared a bone broke. The arrow flew far to the right of the target. BoHalen cursed.
“My hand, I think it is broke.” He exclaimed in an very convincing act. To be honest I was not sure it was all act. “I don’t thing that I will be able to shoot again.”
“It looks like I win then.” The townsman said as he stepped up and put his second arrow the same distance from the mark as hit first but on the opposite side of the target. The townsman turned toward BoHalen, one hand holding his bow and the other open expecting payment. BoHalen started to open his belt pouch and stopped.
“How about this you have one more shot. Take it and if this boy here can’t beat all three of your arrow with two of his own I’ll pay you double.” The towns man looked at me and an amused smile spread across his face.
“Done.” I was sure that I saw BoHalen wince when he shook the other man hand. The townsman stood up and drew his last arrow. An inch from the mark is what I had to beat with both of my arrows. I stepped up to the spot. As I drew my arrow to my ear the world fade away until there was nothing but the arrow and the target. Not even I existed. The arrow leapt from its place and raced to meet target. I did not look to see where I had hit. There was only one place that the arrow could have landed, not because I was confident in my ability but because there was no where else that the arrow wanted to be. I notched my second arrow, the world disappeared and the arrow moved and the world snapped back into existence.
BoHalen grabbed my shoulders, forgetting about his hurt hand, and hoisted me above his head. It was obvious that he had not expected me to be able to do it. The man who had just lost the bet walked slowly down to target and BoHalen with me on his shoulders danced alone next to him. I looked at the target for the first time and saw that I had split my first arrow in two. Though BoHalen’s pride in me should have made me happy I was saddened. The arrow that I had split had been one of the three of my fathers arrows I had left. In that moment in my own way I vowed never to let myself be perfect. Saying that now seems odd to me now in a world where perfection is a virtue if not expected. However, the idea seems right to me. The only thing that ever can from perfection was pain, suffering, and destruction.
After the day I split my father arrow, BoHalen and the other guards started teaching me the art of the dagger, the mace, the staff and the sword. I quickly became fond of the staff. KaResha taught me the most about the use of the staff. He was often quoted as saying “A shepherd with a staff will beat any man with any sword.” After some weeks of his teaching I finally worked up the nerve to ask; “If a shepherd with a staff can beat any sword why do you use a staff with a sword blade on one end?”
“Because a little steel on your side never hurts.” He replied smiling the knowing smile of an old man. He was an old man older than an of the other guards, with a gray beard and mustache and a shave head to hid his balding.
Where I was fond of the staff for it ease of use and it simplicity, I was in love with the sword for its requirement for honor and tacked and patience. The sword was much like an arrow you simply put it where it wants to be. If it wants to be between you and the other sword then put it there. If it does not then you need not worry about the other sword. BoHalen was surprised by the speed that I came to use the sword with proficiency.
“How do you do that, Haul?” he asked me one day while I was sparing with one of the other guards.
“Do what?”
“You move as if you know exactly where the other persons sword is going to be you dodge as much as you block. Most men rely on their block more than their ability to dodge.”
“Marren is bigger and stronger than me. If I were to block a full blow from him I would be crushed. Therefore, I must block only hit smaller attacks and dodge the rest.” I said matter-of-factly.
“Indeed, but how do you move like that?” BoHalen asked in response.
“I see it as kind of dance I suppose. If Marren moves one way I must move another. If I move then he must move. I listen to the swords, both his and mine, they tell me what will happen and where I must be. It is just a dance.”
“In a dance there is no winner and no loser the partners come out as equals.” BoHalen’s statement was more of a question.
“Just as a dance, the sword is about balance. If you try to beat the other person you can do nothing but push your own coins off the scales. However, if you give some of yourself to the other person and they give some to you then the scales will balance and you will be equals.”
“But there is not victor, not winner, somebody must win.” BoHalen was obviously frustrated with my answer.
“He who is on top has the furthest to fall and the most precarious perch on which to stand. Beside Marren is my friend why would I want to beat him?” BoHalen let out a deep breath in exasperation.
“I give up.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Come on boy lets get some food.”
It has often been said the gods weave the events of the world like a maiden on a loom. I have never quite agreed with this. I always thought that the weavers were the story tellers and the writers of the history of the world. These are the people who have always shaped the way everybody else interoperates the world In which they live. So what then is the place of a man such as me? If my fait is not something left to the god but to the writers of history then what am I to do? How can I find my way in this world when my way will only be dictated after I have gone? Perhaps this is why the notion of the gods is so far spread and a cherished belief. Perhaps this is why wars are fought. The need to assert ones beliefs.
Historians would argue with me. They would say that no war was ever fought for gods alone there was always some economic or political driving force behind it. Wars are fought over land and money and number of other things and belief is only one of these things. And I would look at the historian that says this and I would ask what the difference between paying homage to a god and paying homage to the land or to a coin purse? Man worships all things that is what he does that is his purpose some chose to only warship this or that but in the end the fate of man rides on the placement of all things. From the fall of a coin to the position of a cloud man’s fate, though not decided for him, is not his to decide.
What, then, of a man such as I. Some would call me a warrior. Others would call me a man of the world, or a mercenary, or any number of titles that fall short of the mark. No I would consider myself none of these and all of these. I have fought my share of battles and then some, I have traveled beyond the edges of all the maps in Tarradas and my sword and arrows have been hired for the highest price. But in the end I considered myself simply a man who was looking for balance in his life. As I said above it is not my opinion that matters it is that of the writers of history. What they will say of me I do not know. They will say something if they have not already but what they say I am waiting to hear. Whether I will be a tyrant or a saint is for the future to decide. For now all I know it what must be done. For there is not else that can be done.
2.
I suppose that I should start at the beginning. Though in history there is no such thing a beginning. The world always turned and the seasons always changed and what was effects what is and what will be. But for me there always have been at least markers in my life that have given me my bearings.
From my childhood I remember only the forest. Only the deep green of the evergreens to and the steep slant of the summer sun in the north. I remember my father putting my first bow in my hands and having me shot my little arrows into the clean knots left after his saw. I remember the biting cold of the deep winter and the never ending light of the summer. I remember my mothers smile and her tears when McAlester can to take me away. I knew, even at that age, why I had to go. My parents needed the money that would come from selling me off into the services of another. They could not afford to raise me and they hoped for my better life with the merchant. I did not blame it was simple the way the world worked.
I would spend the next few years with McAlester and his Merchant train. I took lessons from McAlester in reading, writing , math and speech, the essentials for any merchant. And from the train guards I learned other things. I was already proficient with my bow and could make a better bow and arrow than any of them could. They admitted their short coming with the bow openly and readily used me to make a few coppers in any town that we entered.
“My friend would you like to wager on a round of arrows?” BoHalen the head guard said to one of the townsfolk as McAlester set up his wares soon after my talent was discovered. “Three arrows each and the closest to the mark wins.” The townsman agreed and a small target was set up some yards away. BoHalen drew the fletching to his cheek and loosed the first arrow. It sunk into the edge of the straw target. The townsman smiled.
“It looks like I have made some money today.” The towns man drew his own arrow and loosed the shaft sunk to the fletching not more than two inches from the mark. BoHalen shot a worried glance at me before drew his second arrow. When he loosed the string snapped hard against his hand. I feared a bone broke. The arrow flew far to the right of the target. BoHalen cursed.
“My hand, I think it is broke.” He exclaimed in an very convincing act. To be honest I was not sure it was all act. “I don’t thing that I will be able to shoot again.”
“It looks like I win then.” The townsman said as he stepped up and put his second arrow the same distance from the mark as hit first but on the opposite side of the target. The townsman turned toward BoHalen, one hand holding his bow and the other open expecting payment. BoHalen started to open his belt pouch and stopped.
“How about this you have one more shot. Take it and if this boy here can’t beat all three of your arrow with two of his own I’ll pay you double.” The towns man looked at me and an amused smile spread across his face.
“Done.” I was sure that I saw BoHalen wince when he shook the other man hand. The townsman stood up and drew his last arrow. An inch from the mark is what I had to beat with both of my arrows. I stepped up to the spot. As I drew my arrow to my ear the world fade away until there was nothing but the arrow and the target. Not even I existed. The arrow leapt from its place and raced to meet target. I did not look to see where I had hit. There was only one place that the arrow could have landed, not because I was confident in my ability but because there was no where else that the arrow wanted to be. I notched my second arrow, the world disappeared and the arrow moved and the world snapped back into existence.
BoHalen grabbed my shoulders, forgetting about his hurt hand, and hoisted me above his head. It was obvious that he had not expected me to be able to do it. The man who had just lost the bet walked slowly down to target and BoHalen with me on his shoulders danced alone next to him. I looked at the target for the first time and saw that I had split my first arrow in two. Though BoHalen’s pride in me should have made me happy I was saddened. The arrow that I had split had been one of the three of my fathers arrows I had left. In that moment in my own way I vowed never to let myself be perfect. Saying that now seems odd to me now in a world where perfection is a virtue if not expected. However, the idea seems right to me. The only thing that ever can from perfection was pain, suffering, and destruction.
After the day I split my father arrow, BoHalen and the other guards started teaching me the art of the dagger, the mace, the staff and the sword. I quickly became fond of the staff. KaResha taught me the most about the use of the staff. He was often quoted as saying “A shepherd with a staff will beat any man with any sword.” After some weeks of his teaching I finally worked up the nerve to ask; “If a shepherd with a staff can beat any sword why do you use a staff with a sword blade on one end?”
“Because a little steel on your side never hurts.” He replied smiling the knowing smile of an old man. He was an old man older than an of the other guards, with a gray beard and mustache and a shave head to hid his balding.
Where I was fond of the staff for it ease of use and it simplicity, I was in love with the sword for its requirement for honor and tacked and patience. The sword was much like an arrow you simply put it where it wants to be. If it wants to be between you and the other sword then put it there. If it does not then you need not worry about the other sword. BoHalen was surprised by the speed that I came to use the sword with proficiency.
“How do you do that, Haul?” he asked me one day while I was sparing with one of the other guards.
“Do what?”
“You move as if you know exactly where the other persons sword is going to be you dodge as much as you block. Most men rely on their block more than their ability to dodge.”
“Marren is bigger and stronger than me. If I were to block a full blow from him I would be crushed. Therefore, I must block only hit smaller attacks and dodge the rest.” I said matter-of-factly.
“Indeed, but how do you move like that?” BoHalen asked in response.
“I see it as kind of dance I suppose. If Marren moves one way I must move another. If I move then he must move. I listen to the swords, both his and mine, they tell me what will happen and where I must be. It is just a dance.”
“In a dance there is no winner and no loser the partners come out as equals.” BoHalen’s statement was more of a question.
“Just as a dance, the sword is about balance. If you try to beat the other person you can do nothing but push your own coins off the scales. However, if you give some of yourself to the other person and they give some to you then the scales will balance and you will be equals.”
“But there is not victor, not winner, somebody must win.” BoHalen was obviously frustrated with my answer.
“He who is on top has the furthest to fall and the most precarious perch on which to stand. Beside Marren is my friend why would I want to beat him?” BoHalen let out a deep breath in exasperation.
“I give up.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Come on boy lets get some food.”
posted by The Golden Retirver at 18:22
2 Comments:
A new direction for you. I like it. Have I ever given you my perfection spiel? I'll probably put as an aside on my blog post today.
Random thought: I think "mental masturbation", strictly speaking, is self-analysis. Philosophy in general is more like sex toys, thinking/talking about politics is voyeurism/exhibitionism, and religion is a fetish.
I love this idea that reality is in fact interpretations.
love and light and whatever else may come along
is there anything else. I wonder.
It's getting kinky around here. hee hee
ichandrae
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