Ringárë

...means "December" in Quenya.


Tenth year anniversary in store was awesome. Got to eat dinner with Sandy Mitchell and Jes Goodwin twice, and Anja Wettergren once. Also got to go to pub with Jes Goodwin and awesome wife, who totally understood the "meerkat thing" (private joke). They were all AWESOME PEOPLE and I can't convey how utterly and totaly awesome it was to meet them.
Overusage of word awesome there... but that's how it was. The geek in me keeled over from pure happiness.

Practice has been going decent. I have held a few myself now, which felt good.

Had a lovely weekend hanging out with Egladil in the beginning of November. It really is important to me to get out in the forests, but more so, to the sea, of varying degrees. Coast, firths, open water... whichever.

Am obsessing over Sonata Arctica and to a lesser degree Amorphis and Stratovarius.

Accidentally developed a crush on (at least) two new people. I love doing that. One of those times were helped by a full moon, but I think I'd have gone for it anyway. 's just sooooo charming!
Or maybe both were "helped". I'm not sure.
..."love doing that." A truth with some modifications to it, but oh well. Right now I do anyway. Or one could say the very act of it, I do. The complications following, not so much.

Had a week on my island... how lovely that was!

Went to London from last Thursday at airport o'clock until Tuesday (yesterday) evening, together with Iwhy. I was strangely un-excited about it, which I resented even as it happened, but then I stepped out and on to the plane and felt the stirring of being on the road again. On Saturday I eventually completely landed, and after that it went even better.
It was good having someone who's lived there as a guide. The trains in the tube was a lot, lot smaller than I expected - sometimes I almost bumped my head! It's a well-connected city, though. And large. Sprawling.
We stayed in a LOVELY hostel by Hyde Park - cheap, clean, free breakfast and very nice location and rooms. Good staff, too. I don't think I've ever lived as posh in a big city, and probably never will again. The area was... nice.
The city did not hold THAT kind of magic, though. It was nice, and as a shopping city it is marvellous, but it didn't hold that magic that makes me yearn to go back. Which might be nice for a change, now that I think of it.
I was even bored for a while, but that might have been because I, as per bloody usual, didn't have a lot of money.
Saturday, I started giving shit about it and got some really, really lovely fabrics. I wish I'd had money enough to buy silk satin for a whole cloak for Isilmëarë. And for a few others. I found THE perfect, you see. I did buy enough for a sort of short cape, though. I think that character for Ödesväv/Weave of Fate is going to look a bit different than I imagined at first, but wholly and completely fey.
Also, Saturday evening is when we met HighFive for the first time. He's brother to ScarletApricot, and I had met him before, but it didn't dawn on me it was THAT HighFive we were talking about, until I arrived in London. He's been a friend of Iwhy's for a while. Anyways, it turned out to become a pretty nice evening, despite abysmal weather, no luck at all with clubs or a restaurant and late trains. Then we meet him again on Sunday and on Monday.
I went to two GW stores, one in Covent Garden (what a lovely location and nice use of the archways inside the store!) and one on Oxford Street (where I completely and utterly by accident ran an intro game for two Swedish girls... an apology to the guys of the store for that one).
We visited the Victoria and Albert museum, and Iwhy had a strict schedule for what to see - we both knew we had a limited amount of time, but she's already spent four days there, in total, so knew fairly well what to go see. The British Museum, on Monday, was a predictable affair. Predictable because of this: Me, in a museum like that means I will not, never, ever be on time if there is a time decided for something, like a meetup. It means I will spend hours on things that most people walk by in minutes. It means I must choose very, very wisely and concentrate on something, else I wake up five hours later hungry and in need of a toilet, no ide where I am and a guard telling me they're closing. I spent a few hours on two of three not that large rooms with Japanese exhibits. I spent waaay too few hours on the "prehistory" part, with Viking stuff.
Which, by the way? Wasn't really that good. CONTEXT YOU MORONS. I was pleasantly surprised by the National Museum of Scotland, as they put everything into context, with maps and timelines and gods know what. The BM? Bah. And some things were labelled wrong. Lucky I wasn't exactly dependent on most of them. But they had some AWESOME things there. And I got to see parts of several silver hoards I've been reading about, and I saw the Rosetta Stone, and I missed the Elgin Marbles and Parthenon Frieses but I'd probably just have been annoyed so it's just as well and I didn't have enought time by a long shot and I was really distracted by having other people accompanying me, gah, that's one reason why they let me go off alone the first part of the visit. You absolutely cannot be social with me in a museum. I don't work like that, at all. If you talk to me I will be distracted by the things, and if I talk to you it probably will bore you to death, unless you're a geek like me.
They had a few things there though that clarified a few things I'd been thinking about regarding contemporarities. But mostly... it was THE museum, and they're not a particularily good example of it.
I wrote a few things while there. Reflections.

"Why are you here?" (In the room with a lot of Egyptian statues and things.)
"And all is now lost." (Regarding... so much. Context. Histories. Knowledge. Cultures. The past.)

During the course of the journey I also got a lot of nice comments about my circlet, and a few odd ones (such as "You'd look good without it too, you know.") but overall, I felt very comfortable wearing it.

Tesco was visited. Of course.

The Camden Markets were pretty cool, and the Cyberdog store was... awesome. It's an attraction more than a store. Good EBM music, two dancers up on elevated floors, and so many details and neat cyber stuff I almost missed half of it.

Saturday night was delectably decadent, eventually. Sunday had pancakes, and during the day, Brick Lane with area around it. Found a ball gown for £5, but it would have been even better with white tie and tails - me and HighFive have the same measurements, and we came up with a lovely compromise. But alas, no such thing was found.

The trip home was predictably eventful, with me getting stuck in security due to a lot of metal - I was wearing a bra, as it happens, and, le gasp, a jacket with metal clasps. And the bus there was late already. And I've lost my card for the local buses and trains. Dunno where. That's one cost I really didn't need.

Lor

Shadows of a dream
fragments of imagination
echoes of a silent scream
memories of a life that never happened.

I saw the truth within your eyes
feelings that were left unspoken
you said the words, but they were lies
had I a heart, it would be broken.

All I ever was means nothing
all I ever wanted slips away
all I ever had descends to ruin
and you are my destroyer.

Shadows of a dream
fragments of imagination
echoes of a silent scream
memories of a life that never happened.

(What took a thousand years to build
you undid in thirteen hours.
You proved that you are strong-willed
is this how you would use that power?)

You took it all away from me
an errant wish, an act of kindness.
Oh foolish girl, why don't you see?
Because of you I walk in blindness.

Shadows of a dream
fragments of imagination
echoes of a silent scream
memories of a life that never happened.

A life without love
love without meaning...



These are the lyrics of a song. I am dead certain I've heard it, I have sung it - at least, the refrain is so very, very familiar to me.

The odd twist of it is, it doesn't really exist. Or it does, now, since Jake T Forbes wrote the third volume of the graphic novel "Return to Labyrinth". Which I hadn't read until... yesterday?

But it is so familiar. So eerily, uncannily familiar.

Shadows of a dream
fragments of imagination
echoes of a silent scream
memories of a life that never happened.

It sums a lot of me up pretty well, if summing up can be done of a person.

Oh, and lor means "dream" in Quenya.

Litsë

...means "sand" in Quenya.

I'm not sure I see much point in this blog anymore. I try to keep in touch with the people whom I think might be interested in what happens in my life, and those that I myself for some reason do not regularly contact, and don't contact me, well, some are probably like me, and don't want to disturb too much. Others may just not find the energy, seeing as how we're not that close or something, and yet others probably just don't give a shite. There're a few names I'm a bit disappointed in, but I know I'm guilty, too, of always being the one called up or approached, and because I know that I don't find it that important to keep in regular touch with that person for various reasons, I similarily assume that this is how these people feel too. And as far as I've been able to see, these people have either stopped reading here, or don't at all, or don't very often. It's not that big a loss, really. What's this blog about, anyway? Me and my life? Parts of it, at least. But most of what I write must seem so odd and just plain impossible to understand without the proper context, and the context exists only in my head, in my little box.
I've tried get the whine out of it, and managed pretty well. I've tried having a sort of theme, and that worked for a while. Recently I've tried to focus on iaido, Warhammer and... I think my other interests, too, to a lesser degree. And on some philosophy.
Regardless, the blog started as some sort of way for people that were still back in Sweden, to see what I was doing in Japan. And these days, I don't know if I want people to know what I do. I've become increasingly paranoid I suppose.

Also, because today something not so good happened to my almost-finished elven army for WotR, and I threw almost all of the figures in a plastic bag, I don't feel like doing anything at all that has to do with miniatures and GW-related stuff, not now, and not for a while. I don't know how I'm supposed to get through the "Christmas" idiocy that seems to whip every person in the world into a frenzy around now and until that stupid date. I have to actually work with this, I have to keep updated and I can't escape it no matter what. I'm much more into sewing stuff right now and there's no way I can focus on that.

My fucktarded Masters is going nowhere because I can't focus on that either.

And even iaido doesn't seem to be able to clear my mind these days. Curse mirror-walls and me not being able to focus properly.

I had this big post about our tenth anniversary that I was going to post, but days went by and I couldn't write, couldn't focus on that either. It was awesome, yes, and I'm still completely baffled that I, Elenaria, have eaten dinner with Anja Wettergren, Sandy Mitchell and Jes Goodwin! TWICE! And even gone out to a pub with Jes! All three were awesome, but Sandy and Jes especially so.
But I can't seem to make the words work for me, no matter how much I want to tell people. Well, wanted. Too much time has passed, and I'm, as I said, unable to focus right now. It's like I'm here, and now, in body, but my mind is almost always elsewhere. I can't even focus when I'm around people. I'm always somewhere else. In a memory, in a fantasy, in the future, in possibilities. It sometimes goes to the point that I can keep a perfect conversation and remember neither face nor what we spoke of afterwards. I'm just not there.
It's always been like this, it's just that recently I could put words to it.

And while I sometimes love my job, these days I mostly feel like being free of it, and having the time to focus on something else, or just being able to wake up one day, and think instead of having to scrabble to manage to work so that I can afford whatever it is I do that is called "living". I don't want to meet people every day. It's too nice to be able to hang out with those I know, and call friends or somesuch, and I simply don't. Because I work. I have to meet people every day, all the time, and be forcedly social. When I come home, then, I don't want to meet people, no matter how nice they are. I don't even want to see fox. I just want to idle time away at the computer. That's as much social life as I can stomach - chatting.

And then sometimes I do force myself to take the time to hang out and it's just so nice, as long as I can forget I need to get back to work.



And here I go whining again. Disgusting.

I guess my point was, I'm not sure I have a point. If someone's interested in reading more regular updates, they can send me a message, and I'll try to keep it up a bit better. Otherwise it'll return to being occasional, which, I suppose, is not that bad after all. Sometimes I feel like I have something to write, sometimes not. It was never for my own benefit, anyway. I don't think I'll stop writing entirely, but I'm not sure I'll make that extra little effort to keep it weekly or bi-weekly or whatever. We'll see, I guess.

I was so broken by that little thing that I wrote about Anjie again, and her having nightmares. At least it was nice to be able to have a spark of creativity and write, just write. I miss that.

Quellë

...means "fading", as in late autumn, in Quenya.

I could tell you about one of the hands-down, no arguments, shittiest days of my life so far. It started out not too bad, but deteriorated to the point where I just lay with my eyes closed, earplugs not helping against the thudding of snotling kids upstairs who'd found the joy of moving about the beds and jumping between them and from them down on to the floor, thinking about nice things instead, and hoping that I'd fall asleep from sheer exhaustion after not too many hours.
It was supposed to be a good day. The Swedish National Iaido Team gathered at Bosön to get some "proffessional help".
That was Friday the 23rd. But I won't. I'll spit everything out elsewhere. Suffice to say it was helped along by me being so emotionally unstable that I should be allowed to stay at home with no contact with the outside world and be paid for it. Thanks to it being the day before my period, of course - I don't get mad, or cranky. I just get unstable, and my self-control was further eroded by pain everywhere, that sometimes spiked. Sometimes means often here. The tests we were to do at the national sports facilities at Bosön (I'm in the National Iaido Team, yay me) didn't do things better.
Coupled with the social grace and skill of a gnat, and some real fancy mistakes only I ever seem to make... it was a shitty day. S H I T T Y. Worst of it all, I couldn't help it when it affected others. And I hate crying in public.

But I had a hug from someone who's really nice and handsome. I did like that.

I made up for flunking some of the tests we had to do, and not participating at all in the running (of course), by doing five or six murderously hard crunches in the "Brutal Bench". Of course. I don't have much of a problem with my stomach, or the muscles there.

The iaido practice, however, started to put me in a better position, and because I woke up enough to take a headache pill, I woke reasonably well rested. I was able to keep my self-control much better, and I kept my mouth shut, and I tried my very, very best to not make any larger social faux-pases. The lecture on mental training was good, but the one on nutriotion had me doodle a fair bit without listening.

And the recurring quote, in every lecture, EVERY: "Well, I don't know too much about your sports... Well, I don't know anything about the sport you do..."
One would think that at least the mental training lecturing lady would have figured that a bad thing to say. It doesn't exactly inspire confidence in them.

And it's not a sport. It is budo. I am looking forward to the mental hickup they're going to get by trying to wrap their minds around our "sport". As it was... well, I just think they could have benefited from having at least the Wikipedia idea about what we're doing, both us and the jodokas.

But enough of that. We got three opportunities for iaido and jodo practice - Friday night, Saturday afternoon and Sunday between nine and a quarter to one. These were what mattered the most. Well, apart from meeting all the nice iaido people. Some I recognise from before, in fact, almost everyone, if not always by name. We were all pretty stiff and exhausted when after a lunch in our keikogi (during which we caused much speculation, hushed conversation and stupid and also not so stupid questions) changed into "normal" clothes for the last time. It was a good weekend, iaido-wise. People started splitting up, going their way homewards, and when at last I was left alone and Henry-sensei and Joel-san got off the underground train, I really started waking up. With it came the realisation, again, as so often before - iaido is worth everything, and it precedes everything else. And would, oh! would that I could do iaido, and only iaido, in my life. Nothing else, but eat, sleep, practice and do the things related to iaido - take care of sensei, teach others, and not too much else. Love, especially, is a distraction, but all my varied interests, too. "Do not involve yourself with the impractical". It is time I started heeding that.

I was so inspired by part-gloomy, part-crisp thoughts of how many distractions there are in my life, that I wrote a short piece. If the connection stays stable I might publish it on FictionPress, I suppose. It is rather abstract, just a jotting down that turned into a story. But inspiration is good, wherever it comes from, and I went with it. Am actually rather proud of that.

Did I tell you I finished reading "Cadian Blood" by Aaron Dembski-Bowden? It's really good, really, really good. I mean, REALLY good. Come on, go on, read it. The ending is a minor part of the story - it's the way there that I like. I've now started on "Innocence proves nothing" as Sandy Mitchell is coming here on Saturday!

Today was a "can't move in too much pain" kind of day. Not because of all the practice this weekend, but because of the weather - or so I suppose, I mean, why else would my fingers, knees, elbows, shoulders, feet, hips, wrists, oh, every single joint in my body, be the very definition of "pain"? It was bad enough that I couldn't even cook. I shuffled over to my medicine shelf, downed a painkiller, and after about half an hour I could get a glass of orange juice, then tea and toast. After another hour, I eventually got overdressed and went out to get me some food. But I hobbled to the store and back, and then I commited cooking! And now I'm probably going to bed fairly early today again. I didn't practice today, incidentally. Tomorrow starts a five-day week which will end in the tenth birthday for our store... I'm certainly hoping I shall be able to survive.

I've got some inspiration, but it's wasting away because all I can do is look at pretty dresses and inspiring costumes. I can't do anything, because everything is at home. Ohwell.

Ara

...means "outside, beside" in Quenya.

Some news I got today, eh! My very first reaction was: "Oh, yes, finally!" and a big smile.
I did realise it was pretty... shall we say, disrespectful. But really. It was about time.

See, I managed to get to the ferry this morning, borrowing Sludge's bicycle. The harp, once I figured out how to carry it, was not a problem.
And as a side-note, I wasn't too distraught leaving, either, maybe because I did nice things while home, and know that I'll get back soon again, and such. And had foxling there for a while, too.
Anyway. On the ferry, I'd just sat down, when a woman I know from way back, through my archery, comes walking. "Heya," she says, "What're you doing here? No, no, you shouldn't sit here, come with me to my cabin." So I did. She and her, I admit, adorable little dog had a nice cabin to themselves, and me, hey, if I can get away from sleeping in the bistro lounge with kids running around and people everywhere, keeping me on my guard all the time...

We ate some breakfast, and while brushing her little dog, she gave me some news. She lives in the same area as I do, you see, and is a heck of a lot more talkative, so she had some gossip to share.
Partly about what dear neighbour downstairs, which long-time readers of this blog will know my rather less flattering opinions about, had in his cupboard, and what his friends did. There was a murder, you see, around New Year's, close to where I live, and the perpetrator was a friend of said neighbour. Mister perpetrator is now behing special bars in a high-security facility, which isn't surprising, considering his life-long diet of anabola steroids, and his cocktail most days, which included Tramadol and amphetamine. (Dear me, is that going to earn me some strange visitors coming from interesting search-words).
And then came the news that had me exclaim such a positive "About time!"

Ahem.

Half-legged, half-fingered, screamy, noisy, alcoholic, annoying, drugdealing neighbour downstairs...

is dead.

I am, for his sake and this is true, relieved. Finally, he won't have to suffer, won't have to eat those painkillers and try to live half-dazed from medications, drugs and alcohol.
But I am even more relieved for my own, all other neighbours and damn, everyone in the entire neighbourhood, sake. Three weeks ago, apparently, and certain people were quick to point out that Gotland and Sweden do have an agreement to hand over murderers, but really, I wouldn't have had to be even close. What with all the stuff he had to eat, and all the extra bits on the side, it was probably really just a matter of time. They think it was the heart, or so the talkative, nice lady said.

But oh gods. No more waking up in the MIDDLE of the night at, say, three am, to bad piano! Or screaming. No more listening to his snoring. No more calling the fething police or night-time security personnel. No more wanting to SCREAM in frustration because he just wouldn't stop playing his music at way too loud.
And no more random people knocking on his door at any time of the day and then having to close the balcony door because of fumes.


What else today? Not much. Worked. That was nice. Four hours is just the right time, isn't it? Might have inspired Curly to get himself an Eldar BFG fleet... or an ork one!
Practice. Also nice. Not a long one, seeing as how I worked late, but still.
Managed to get a pictured of me as sir Vincent Ravenscroft (fifteen minutes, my wardrobe and a few old boxes - tadaa, the beginnings of a steampunk outfit) edited enough that it was all right, and sent it around for evaluation. Opinions ranged from "Abomination!" a la Victor from "Underworld", to "I really like the way women look much better, but that's still handsome." to "Fantastic!" and "Moar pixxx!"
Me, well, I just have this wide, wide grin on my face. I'm going to cause utter mayhem and confusion.

Lastly, I was reminded of an old dream that I made into a story. Once again I feel like I should try to write more often. Stories come from everywhere - dreams, amongst others.
I'm careful with what I read before I fall asleep. I've found that most often, 40K-books just won't work. I get too riled up, or to anxious to know what happens, or start wishing too fervently that it'll all turn out for the best and the heretics die. Fantasy is the way to go, therefore I shall perhaps visit the best science fiction and fantasy bookstore in this drab city tomorrow.

Does anyone have a nice fantasy anthology, or book, or series, that they think I should try out? It's always nice to see people's opinion on the matter.
Or maybe I should try and find "Ogura no Hyakunin Isshu" with a nice translation. Waka is always good to read.
Of course... I could always go for the report on some Gotlandic farms and how the geographical layout has changed from the Iron Age to Viking Age to medieval times. Yes, I am a true geek.

Falassë

...means "beach" in Quenya.

I decided to, somewhat belatedly, try and join a Play By Forum Changeling: the Dreaming-game. It took me a while to come up with a character but once I started, and, oh, of course, it's autumn now so the oWoD-part of me is waking up with a vengeance, as usual, it was easy. I thought I'd post her here for anyone to comment on, or just enjoy reading about. Because I enjoyed creating her. If you so happen to be a part of the Broken Dreams PBF, well, you know all about IC and OOC knowledge, but as far as I have seen, there are no one that is a probable candidate for being a frequenter of the SnE forums, that read this.

I do know she carries some traits that seem familiar. Of course. I, Ellie, happen to be passionate about a LOT of things, so no wonder if my characters share them with me. I've long since given up on creating a character that is my opposite. Here, it was rather because it went with the idea I came up with - though through a narrower lens our tastes still run differently. She is different from me, even if you can't tell from this. Personality, passions, thoughts, opinions, quirks. It's going to show during play, I suppose.



Born Vigdis Bergland, known to the fae as Anitra. Born and raised in Norway, but at age fourteen (or somewhere around that) family moved to the US because of her father getting a job offer. Had gone through her Chrysalis just months before. Is perhaps 23 years old?

The Troll is now working at the Grimmhaven Museum in Riverbend as a tour guide, since but a few months, while also, on a somewhat erratic basis, writing her thesis at the University. Her true passion lies in reenacting, in SCA and history, and she is working on a hobby project of writing a popular-historical account of the fae history tied together with real world history. She's recently (a few years ago) begun looking into the Nunnehi part of that, albeit carefully. She can get easily distracted by any new train of thought regarding her "work".

Anitra loves her martial practice, and is generally good-natured, even when getting beaten up by others in period or not so period armour. She keeps contact with her family, of which her older brother has moved back to Norway, and her relatives, some half-distant of which already lived in the US before she moved there.

She definitely has a romantic streak, though no one's said it out loud. Costumes, fantastical and historical, litter her wardrobe, and she goes home to Norway now and then to participate in reenactment events.

As of yet, she has to get a bit more settled in in Big Grimey. She's managed to meet only a few of the fae population, but there's one name that really stuck with her - Ruarc ap Eiluned. She only glimpsed him, but was quite smitten by his looks. Of course, she has no idea what he's like in person, and he remains a hazy figure she'd like to meet one day, perhaps.

Anitra lives in the Silverburg district. Her parents helped her move here, and to save on the rent, she shares an apartment that has three rooms and a kitchen, with a working goth of about 30 years of age, and a student about her age. They seldom see eachother and the kitchen is always kept tidy, though at times Anitra wishes she had more than one room (divided by a simple shelf), for all her various sewing-, armour- and other creative projects.

Vigdis has brown hair usually halfway down her back, often keeping it up by hairpins or braids. Her eyes are a startling blue, something she explains as being part of her Norwegian heritage - but of course, they really shine through from her Changeling side. She tends to wear practical, simple but elegant clothes, and can often be seen wearing parts of her period clothing. She's fond of autumnal colours, especially wine red, and likes old-fashioned jewelry. As Anitra, the hair is a bit thicker, often wore loose for effect, and the clothing is period even more often. Small braids run through her hair, ending in silver pearls or such. She has made herself a circlet that frames her horns and keeps her hair out of her eyes, and does on occasion create simple jewelry or clothes in exchange for help in her research. She will wear whatever she feels like for the day, though often she goes armed and armoured, if there's an excuse for it. As a parting gift from Norway, she received a nicely crafted Viking sword (this is her Treasure), that she's nicknamed Volund, after an old legend.



I imagine she might change a bit, but this is the first draft, and will probably be correct in most things. She's got the Flaws Surreal Quality and Changeling Eyes, her highest Ability is a Melee of 3 which is specialised on Swords (European, historical, possibly even one-hand). Other than that she's pretty martial-minded, with a Strength of 4, Dexterity of 4 and Stamina of 3. Kind of a warrior-scholar, really.
We'll see, we'll see...


I missed the Stockholm Iaido Open this Saturday, but I'm too high of a grade to participate, I didn't see the message asking me to come judge (and I'm happy I missed out on that, I'd have made a mess of it, I am sure) and I was working.
Went home, oh relief! Foxling did, too, on Friday morning, so he picked me up, and then we had almost a day, before he took the ferry away, to go to work. We took a walk in a place I almost lament not having discovered earlier - dear me, it is beautiful! It ranges from post-apocalyptic starkness, to very, very quintessentially Gotlandic, to lush and jungle-like, and very elvish. There's also a place which could host the Mother of All Action-Pulke-events (Action-Sleigh-Event), but I'm not about to divulge the location - it would have to be a Fimbulwinter so that the sea froze over, and lots of snow to dampen the final descent, because the hillside is AWESOME, but I sincerely doubt the respectably long flat part of ground would be sufficiently long to allow one to slow down enough even to want to jump off the sleigh.

Then, I walked home after leaving the car, through forests of a beauty only seen here.

Looked through my old plastic case for roleplaying characters. Nostalgia, is the word! I remember them all - at least, those played. I remember them, and some I miss. Many, in fact. Many, because I know they will never be anything but dormant ever again, never play out their adventures, the rest of them, all the possible and potential ones. They lived, once, and they are merely dormant, not dead. It's a pity, with some of them. They could've given me and others a lot of fun.

In a way, it is good I am not able to practice Monday and Tuesday this week. Friday, Saturday and Sunday, you see, me and the rest of the national team are going to be getting expert advice and other fun stuff at a facility for such, measuring our physical fitness and so on.

I should get to bed now... but the Changeling books beckon, and so does my Rogue Trader BFG ship and its Escorts. By the way, "Cadian Blood" by Aaron Dembski-Bowden, is a bloody good book. Do try it out, it really is worth it.

Ruscor

Ruscor means "foxes" in Quenya.


It's haiku time! (One of my absolute favourites).


巫女に
狐戀する
夜さむ哉


かんなぎに
Kannagi ni
きつねこいする
kitsune koi suru
よさむかな
yosamukana

Shrine-maidens are
Much loved by foxes
In the cold of night.