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While preparations were underway for the next skirmish, Alsira also decided to document her work on mistakes. Even if it was just a practice tournament, it was absolutely worth extracting maximum benefit from it before the real trials.
Defeat to milord Axel Von Himmel: - Too late did I remember the option to immediately withdraw the mount from battle: I wasted a dozen or so strikes and lost my own pegasus; - I let too many arrows through, including a critical one to the back — possibly piercing a lung?..
Defeat to milady Chonchonlia Quinthea: - I lacked the reaction to seize the initiative from my opponent and end the battle with the first shot; - I lacked the willpower to resist the bonds of paralysis;
Defeat to sir Orvald de Martelam: - Again, a lack of fortitude against paralysis; - A missed string of unfortunate attacks — fatigue takes its toll in prolonged engagements;
Defeat to milady Alaria Doran: - Another critical blow — a sword cut from the shoulder, a little more and it would have been in two; - I failed to think of better utilizing my pet's maneuverability;
Defeat to milady Stephanie Valentine: - Similar to the previous battle;
Points for improvement: +Find protection against paralysis and enchanted weapons in general; +Mitigate unlucky strikes or acquire a single but guaranteed protection against the rare wrath of fortune; +Avoid hits to vital organs; +Consider the possibility of saving mounts — in real combat conditions their existence seems the shortest and saddest; +Order equipment suited to my fighting style for battles — one can't just dance everywhere in formal attire.
- Alaria. - Suddenly, the Silverdane lord called his knight over to him.
Upon hearing her liege's call, Catharsis did not keep him waiting. If Lord Cartridge needed her, it was likely something important.
— How may I be of service?
- Help me present this painting to Her Majesty.
Apparently, while the knight was occupied with other matters, the Silverdane workmen had brought a well-packaged painting into the hall. It was large, but Catharsis would surely have enough strength to handle it.
It seemed that while she was recording thoughts of bygone eras, receiving one new scar after another, amiably chatting about life with a knight from Phareghia — so rare in the mainland part of the kingdom — and displaying all one hundred and eighty-eight centimeters of her elegance at the aesthetes' competition, her lord had been awaiting the arrival of the workmen with a gift for the guest of honor. The reason for such a delay was a mystery to Catharsis, but the answer was hardly interesting or captivating. Nor did it change reality — it was time to present the gift from Silverdane, and thus Tezoth's brightest mind required the strength of his knight. A practical approach, but there was no shame in it, especially since another person would consider it an honor not only to carry in their hands something intended for Deus, but even to be part of such a procession.
— It will be done.
There was no need for superfluous words. Politely nodding to her liege, the Tanarsian woman carefully approached the skillfully wrapped gift and assessed, accounting for her strength, how to carry it both comfortably, without risk of damaging the contents, yet also with the solemnity befitting the occasion. A reliable and thorough approach was needed here, given the value of Cortina's painting. She needed firm confidence that her strength was indeed sufficient for such a responsible task.
-- Comrade Yin, accept my humble opus. While there are moments before battle, it is precisely the time to set aside for reading it, to recall the glorious deeds of sovereign men and women, and to be inspired by them as an example for future valiant feats in glory of her who is destined by fate to eclipse all previous Deuses, -- Ambrose loads Yin with yet another portion of writings.
This work Ambrose the Knight did write Not only to with knowledge of the past To shine, but so that this work might serve As an omen of the future And as instruction for an inquisitive soul Little is said here of wars and cards But much -- of sovereign rulers For it is man who makes history And not at all the tangled movements Of external conditions, the desires of "classes" Or the unthinking motions of peasants All this has been and always will be Only in the will and desires of the sovereign. May his enemies remain in suffering.
Eidos The further we delve into the depths of epochs The more the outlines of antiquity Are shrouded in a fog of exaggerations Conscious distortions of traditions Or signs mentioned for the sake of a fine phrase It is dangerous to believe everything here without caution....
I value his deeds most highly But I cannot judge his character Is it possible that, were it not for the foreign woman, He would still be sitting on the stove? Without the Hammer, would he not have won his victories? Or is all this merely the veil of romanticism With which later creators of history Decided to frame Eidos's feat So that idle youths would not be bored Gnawing on the granite of historical science.
I am not at all a stranger to belief in miracles But I cannot understand the contradictions: If the first Deus was so detached From worldly feats and the ambitions of a power-lover How could he then not only conquer But keep the conquered in submission? With otherworldly help or not This is possible only for a desperate soul That fully understands the right of the strong And desires to bring the world under its thumb.
Silia I believe in magic: but not in that Which is diligently studied at the Academy I believe in the magic of poetry and verse In the wondrous courage of a valiant heart The talent of a skilled artist And the guarantee of a knight's honest oath I know maidens who heal with just a glance Skilled trackers, seafarers Who find the way everywhere even without eyes And I believe in the mighty spirit of freedom But Silia's tricks are foreign to me Amusing curiosities, nothing more He who is sighted in heart sees miracles Wherever fate may carry him
And therefore from Silia's achievements I will leave magic without excessive praise Far more important are the new laws And cities -- pearls of the crown
Of the war that befell that era I will say firmly, even if briefly: Though not every battle promises us victory We cannot retreat before a challenge A coward will not be fortune's favorite He who is faint-hearted is defeated from birth Let Tezoth not have won victory then But the enemies also broke their sharp teeth And Cortina became our good friend I consider that reign successful
Ceres The virtue of a sovereign is different From the obligations of a simple knight Here it is no longer enough to uphold one's honor A poet and a good knight, brave Ceres Was not, however, known as a caretaker of the country
Like many, I sincerely love and admire His stories of deeds His free spirit, mastery of the sword Art of speech and sense of truth
But I will not forgive him his neglect Of ruling the realm, for his era Nearly reduced the power to a wasteland The sovereign vertical, under him its sprouts Of lordly licentiousness gave weeds
Satanid When we call a knight good He is not famed for benevolence But for good handling of the sword With which he cleaves a helmet to the brain And we call Satanid Wrathful By no means meaning villainy But a wrathful intolerance of debauchery Of vice, cowardice, and degeneracy With which Tezoth was filled Truly control is necessary Over the vile peasant and the cunning lord Lest the realm sink and fall Into the swinishness of the former and weakness of the latter.
Though he sometimes overdid it, The cattle subject to him, our shepherd guarded strictly Not allowing bold rioting in the herd And bravely protecting it from wolves
Sheep must be kept strictly in check But for a faithful horse, we should often Loosen the reins a little. A clever beast Sometimes sees the path better than the rider And if Satanid had chosen as his support Several dozen worthy men and women Excelling others many times over Not only by birth, but by mind and strength And only slightly loosened The grip of his ruling hand over them, Then they would have carried Their lord to the heights of glory And I would have named Satanid First among the past Deuses. But alas! He was mighty and wise, but was too blinded By his own rightness and on the path He did not see too many obstacles. Alas, the seeds of madness lay within him Which grew luxuriantly in his descendants On the fertile soil of Daskwing...
Velkhmethra Naturally, the soul strives for good This a worthy man calls freedom But I will call the motto of that era brutishness Which is to the liking of dark commoners
The majestic lion suddenly turned Into a hundred-headed monstrous hydra But even a donkey would have been better Than that inflatable puppet. A child with a hundred blind nannies... I do not wish to touch the laws of that era Written for the joy of the unworthy
As for the theater? That episode, or anecdote, is of course known to me But only a fool composed it For there is no meaning in those lines whatsoever. It is known to everyone: the power of women is terrible A man is free to act, to compel: He wields a sword, he promises punishment He can intimidate with torture and execution But the power of women is invisible and more dangerous Sometimes a fleeting smile is enough for them Or a glance, and sometimes their silence Speaks clearer than any words And men carry out their will. And they themselves do not even notice.
We can always find justifications As well as opportunities for action. The sharp sword of fate hangs over everyone But only a coward sits in despair Unable to look away from the point While life seethes all around, And the sword hangs over everyone in the dance.
Renavan What is insignificant or unwanted to us Comes to us easily and constantly. But let someone say: this I desire! I think of it day and night I make mighty and unceasing efforts To obtain it without fail Then fate will not give him even a breath Here rivers will rise and the very sky will fall Only to not let the hero proceed Who dared to desire something One in a thousand overcomes that fate Ten more will perish under an avalanche And the rest will be Renavans Who will carry the burden of the unfulfilled to their graves Living a sad, though wise, fate
The futility of his quests did not remain Without a deep scar on Tezoth's body No innovations were born in the code of laws And the map of the world was not remade again Only one thing changed in the world Lost souls, nameless, From now on are all called Renavans And I will call it a post-factum stroke of luck That that ruler did not find the desired eternal life Tezoth would have tasted grief If that weak will had been established And melancholy would have remained endless
Koymadji That Deus was akin to forest fires Beautiful, destructive in life When the brief glow of glory faded The soil was renewed, to new life The world calls to divine Koymadji Only crawling reptiles are not glad That in dark burrows they cherish a conspiracy When the fire of renewal rages Tezoth calling to grand designs. They always prefer "sewn up and covered up" "Oh, if only nothing would happen!" Those creatures see from tail to nose From their brooded eggs hidden in their burrows They look fearfully at the clear light And moan fearfully among themselves: "Oh, bad light! Would it not be better for us, crawling ones, Without leaving our burrows, to own the whole world And fairly divide the riches This is for us, and this, well, and this is for me!" Koymadji greatly frightened these creatures He was a thunderstorm both internal and external To the enemies of Tezoth. And though his age was short, The candle of the worthy lord Koymadji's life Cannot be said to have gone out in vain or untimely Such is the law of heaven: the brighter the light The less chance of living to old age. In a short time he accomplished more Than that long-lived Deus Ceres And he set an example of valor for his descendants And oblivion does not threaten his fate
If Nebok fixes the formatting, I will be grateful
E si sui vius, er mi grans benananza, e si ieu muoir, er mi grans deliuriers