Reflection

Author’s Note: This piece recounts a series of live-RP sessions I participated in with the 'Men of the Lost Realm'. The narrative has been shaped with a little help from AI.

Author’s Note: This piece was shaped with a little help from AI. It provided assistance on things like the structuring, some names, shortening some verbose language/ideas as I'd written, and gave me the odd turn of phrase here and there.

Words, oh how conflicted Emmawynn felt about them.  Often she and Ryheric had talked about their purpose.  For understanding.  Yet oh how often they were used for other things.  Where she had grown up they had been political tools. She had seen them used often as weapons.  They could build someone up or destroy them.  On different occasions her own words had done both. 

May 14

My armour be restored and returned, and friend Maynard has done passing fine work.  Alas, with every rent and tear that the Breeish smiths repair, I fear its worth and strength be lessened, for there be none in these lands with the craft to fully restore metalwork of such make and quality.  Nevertheless, it be all that can be done for this while - mayhap, if I find a smith of rare talent in my travels, it be possible to full restore it yet.  But of this I have no expectation, and only a bare hope.

What do you see, when you first look at me?

You see the hat, of course, its band filled with bits.

A pipe, a flower, an acorn or two, even a feather blends well in its brim.

What next might you see, when you stop to see me?

In the maelstrom of memories and regret that is my life, there has never been space for tenderness. The sword does not stop to think of love before it stikes. The hammer pauses not to pity the steel before it falls. And since the breaking of Beleriand I have given way to none, slowed for none, turned back for none.