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.

A tribute

This is a post about the greatest adventure I've had...

...tribute.

It's a tribute of sorts, to a few people that I love greatly, and some to whom I am grateful. It's a girl who, two years and a few weeks ago, I didn't know at all. I first saw her on a paper, sketchy and vague; she didn't look much to the world, she didn't look particularily happy, she looked like she had so much more on her shoulders than one would guess at first sight. She was quite the contrast to the other woman there, who had self-esteem in spades and knew she was the best at what she did. I still have that paper. I don't recall much of the scribbling after that, I don't know why. What do I remember next is her coming to life, waking up, walking around, and I remember how it took me no longer than ten minutes before I knew her like a close friend, and after that, we got very close very quick.
I know it was a Saturday evening, though I scribbled earlier - during the day? The day before? In any case... I met her on a Saturday evening, and foxling was out working. It was just three of us in the apartment. In her fatigues, with tousled hair and sunken cheeks, she wasn't necessarily the traditional definition of pretty. Not at all, really. But there was something about her that was endearing.
I think I took a liking to her immediately. She was so easy to connect with. It was a wonderful challenge that I took to like fish to water.

Two years later I have come to realise just how much I love her. This girl, this woman, this person. She's more than just a friend, she's like a part of my soul, a part of me. Of course, they all are in a way, characters. But this one stands out, really. She's different from me, but still part of me. That makes me very proud! I wish her all good in the world.

I love you, Anjie, though you'll never know I exist.

My wonderful Anjie, whom most everyone seems to take a liking to (bar, of course, certain commissars and other people who run into her but does not get to know her, and oh well, those who belong to the Enemy). The insecure, frightened, meek and abused psyker, who only really felt like she had any worth in battle. She didn't feel bad because of it - she just knew that her place was there, and was really really happy that she did good. She didn't feel she was useless, she just felt she had no worth and no use aside from being a weapon, to be wielded by those the Emperor had seen fit, and was pretty happy about it. She was fully and truly convinced all was as it should be, and quite content.
Ah, love, how you've changed!
And it's so odd to see! And to be right there, by her side, inside her head, even. She was certainly decisive enough in battle, and when it came to following orders, and protecting those that she fought with - those who became friends. Now, she's a strong but quiet woman, still hellbent on serving the Imperium to her very best ability.

Yes, this is a bit of a tribute to Anjie, whom I love so dearly, but it is also a tribute to Sam and to Karstius. Sam, the reckless, headstrong Sentinel driver. Reading through the Ciaphas Cain novel reminded me about how he used to be, and I laughed out loud at how the Sentinel driver's got sudden vox interference at times of some new orders being given, and the commissar sighing about paperwork.

We were an awesome team, guys, just so you know, and I remember it very fondly.

Watching over us was the storyteller, of course. So a first thank you to Malk, for what he created. I know I've said it before. But it was awesome, and it still is. You made something lasting, and something that will never fade.

But I'd like to once more bring your attention around to Anjie. She wouldn't have been if it hadn't been for LittleSir.
I said, I didn't quite know what to play. I asked LittleSir what hadn't I played for kind of a character, while she knew me? (And I think we were standing in the kitchen). She thought a bit about it, and told me, I hadn't played a character which didn't have high self-esteem and self-confidence. I thought for a while, then sketched two pictures, one of a flying ace, and one of a quiet woman with a daemon almost invisible, hanging over her as if it wanted to eat her. I could have gone with either, but something about the Anjie picture... the idea of playing a character so withdrawn and meek, appealed to me. So I did.
Thank you, LittleSir, the one and only Feilin, the Sammykins. Thank you for saying those words to me, because from them were eventually born Anjie.

Anjie, Anjie, Anjie. I love her not as if she were a lover, that I wanted to hold and to kiss passionately, but as if she were a separate person yet a part of me, a closest friend and life-mate, someone I hold so very very dear and want to plant a gentle kiss on her forehead and then give a smile that tells he just how much she means to me. I always find it comforting to fade away and become her, every time, no matter how bad the situation we are in happens to be.

The team as it is now, well, it has seen changes, people lost, people returned, people dead and new additions. Anjie, Sam, Karstius - we've gone through so many changes it's a marvel to behold. After all, for them, I think that somewhere close to eight years have passed since Sam blasted a column of tanks with his lascannon, and found a quivering, frightened psyker without her guards around; eight years since they heard the fateful radio call of "This is commissar Karstius to all loyalist forces, respond..." Sam, with his Sentinel, that's now become so very different, less reckless, and part of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Sometimes I hardly recognise him anymore. "Close-call" Karstius, who's died thrice yet didn't die, and never became the one we once knew again, but someone else entirely. He was softer, more kind, before, but losing all those years and never regaining that memory, he had to become himself with the surroundings then presented to him, and, as they weren't the same, so he became a little bit different.
And now there's Req, the sulky teenage, whining little kid of an untouchable. Who, who'd have thought it, grew up, and became quite the handsome and responsible young man. Shivers, poor Shivers, who was such a sterling Guardsman from Cadia, and then, like all of us, found himself quite out of his depth. He's a warrior through and through, and it's interesting to see how his way of acting has changed from rigid Guardsman to employee with leeway, of the Inquisition. The last addition was Liam, unlike the rest of us never in the Guard, going from the ashes into the fire, and becoming inextricably linked to the people with the =I=. He, too, has changed, becoming infinitely more comfortable working for the Inquisition and in a team, rather than solo, and there's been overtures to getting to know eachother better throughout the years, so now he's as much a part of the team as any of us.

We've all had things happen to us, that changed us. I, Anjie, used to have Merrick and Fowl, my psyker guards, around me, all the time. Fowl's death affected me a lot. I remember tears in both our eyes when there really was no saving him. They were always around. There was no such thing as solitude, if she weren't separated from them. And now, even now, she's unused to being alone, and will sometimes sleep in the same room as Merrick, if she can. But she's gotten used to it, and she's able to say both yes and no, and she knows full well she's not an Imperial Guard sanctioned psyker anymore.

"Hello. I’m Anjie. I don’t really have a last name anymore and it’s just as well because maybe if I did, someone would know who my family was (I don’t have a family anymore, but the people who were my family are still alive I think) and maybe wouldn’t like them.
I’m a psyker.
I didn’t know I was. But then one day I realized I hadn’t actually reached for the dataslate, and others had seen that too. So the Black Ships came and took me away forever."
This was Anjie's first own words, through me.

And this is how much she has changed - these are the some of the latest I've written, she through me; too bad, because so much more have happened that I'd have liked to have written, since this.

"I think I have found a skill of being in charge. I had to. I find I can be really decisive, and give orders, and people will listen and do as I say. It has been uneventful here, but there have still been times. /.../
I have also made clear advancements with my psychic skills. I am ever eager to become even better. Especially control, I feel, which is such an important subject."


So... this is a tribute. To the possibly best adventure I have ever had. To one of my dearest friends and parts of me. To the ones that helped her come into being, and to those she has met, and all that has happened. It's a little bit to the universe of Warhammer 40000, and to the Imperial Guard, even. It's to her, and it's to the fenomenom of roleplaying at large.

To Anjie. Love you, sweetness.

Narquelië

...means "October" in Quenya. They're all very telling, the names of the months, with meanings and everything.

It is possible that there is some kind of empirical evidence for how one can get between Sundsvall and Stockholm by car in four hours, instead of six or seven, with two minor stops for leg-stretching and a sandwich. Sort of. And if there were no, say, Polish lorries (that is, trucks), on the single-lane parts of the E4 around Iggesund, maybe it would be even less time.

Me and the not youngest brother do get along rather well these days. Not only do we fancy the same music when driving, we also have some fun anecdotes that amuse the other, and are able to discuss and also agree on things. Our humour is also quite often fairly well synched.

There was a good, oldfashioned invasion of China by (nominally) Mongolian forces yesterday. See, there's this place called Dragon Gate along the E4, which is pure bloody odd. Apparently the Feng Shui of the place makes it perfect for a conference gathering place sort of thingie, with a ten-storey Chinese pagoda, a stone wall, Chinese gates, art, a big square that's as if made for martial arts practice, a great statue of she who is called Kannon in Japanese, or Kwannon, and it is pretty large indeed, a big Mongolian ger (or yurt, as is the Russian word for it) being impressive, a museum, a restaurant... and Chinese staff.
It's truly odd. But pretty nice.

I had a nice time with my grandparents. It's sobering, though, when grandfather says that nah, no more projects (such as building a new stove, or another garden table, or whatnot), it's time to cut down on the things and projects in this world.
They know precisely how old they are. I notice it mostly in that grandfather doesn't take that long walks anymore (though we did an excursion out into the woods beside the old house further down the coast, where the family has lived for a few generations; I love visiting there; and we found what I suspect are the foundations of two, possibly three or four, boathouses or cabins from the Bronze Age - it would fit the then coastline perfectly, they were bloody well lined up, of the same size, and their "openings" in the same end, and the stones if such was the case used to build them were all of pretty much the same size, and so on...), and grandmother doesn't have quite the same amount of energy.
I love visiting the old family house, and mother's more newly... well, not build, because the walls are century-old... but inside it's been made into a new house... sort of... oh, sod it, I like being there, and in autumn it's particularily beautiful. Me and grandmother took a walk down to the shore. There was no wind whatsoever, the sun was shining almost painfully bright, the sky was blue and the sea, well, the sea was the sea, and I could've stayed there for much, much longer.

I was extremely tired and sleepy while there. I have no idea why. Now, back in my outpost, I had no more sleep than any night up there, but still I am more rested. Perhaps the iaido...? But then, I did some iaido outdoors by the old house one afternoon, and still...

Am eating my way through the Grey Knights omnibus. Currently at "Hammer of Daemons", and it's so odd - I still have my opinions about the sometimes very dry way that Ben Counter writes, but damn, I can't put the book down. Been twice now that I've almost missed my stop on the subway! Do try it out if you haven't already.

I've managed to get registered on the MA-course at the university. Finally. But, whatever to write about? I have a few loose ideas, but nothing really worth working with. Perhaps something about the Gotlandic landscape in the Viking Age. Or the differences between the different parts of Gotland during the VA. Something about the ports and what people used which ports. Maybe I should go to RAÄ and their library to see if I can find some inspiration? It would be interesting to compare some part of the mainland and the way people lived, the way they built and so on, with Gotland. Just the fact that we never really had any villages proper... a fact which messes things up even today when Sweden tries to do uniform things for a uniform Sweden. Interesting.
Argh. I had an entire bloody text message filled with ideas, but they all went poof during a little accident with my dear cellphone.
Thoughts, anyone? Ideas? It can be pretty much anything. Finding out why men wore trousers and women seems to have been using skirts, or whether they preferred the taste of mead to that of ale, why they didn't stop using Viking Age finery in their clothing until so much later than the rest of Scandinavia, or perhaps how come runic inscriptions were being used well into Medieval times, except in Visby.

Sigh.

Love the weather, though. Even if it's windy and a wee bit cold.