An essay I wrote for Queen Shayle. I liked how it came out, so with her permission I posted it. It -is- an essay, but it contains many prose and poetry-like rythms, the composition of it artistic.

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An essay on the principles and teachings of Mother Night, penned by Kurt Nightwalker on the fifth of Avechary, in the year 138. By request and under the tutelage of The esteemed Queen of Night, Shayle d'Iasani Treeripper.


Night is not unforgiving, though there is no foolishness in her judgement, no fickle manner to her grudge. Merciless are the claws her shifting shapes may take, but her heart not empty - her children do not go unloved. By that mercy is this essay composed, and within that a bridle of knowledge placed upon what was once ignorant. The passage of that progress in detail is the purpose and meaning of this writing. What wisdom and truth lies herein attribute to Her eminence, the Queen Shayle, and for her to Mother Night.

To understand Night we must first understand it apart from the other elements we may sort it with innately: Moon, the contrast of Day and Sun, the astrological knowledge of the stars. Remove these things from the tapestry of the mind when one imagines Night, and propense upon the shadow of their memories. Now lay focus to these traits of darkness, of shadow. Empower them with meaning and severity yet unrealized, yet unfound. That is Night, the infinite depths behind her mystery as uncapturable and unascertainable for it's truest form as one's own shadow;Ever shifting. Ever changing. With her blessing only are we permitted understanding of this greatness: In this we are made servants of Glomdoring, for the allure of Night inescapable - you are in her clutches even now. Her modus operandi, and her method unknown - as Mother selects us are we taken. I will surmise.

Know now in your tapestry that the vixen not elusive: for it is your eye that averts and names her vixen to begin. Know that it is not obfuscation or deceit that lures the chasing wolf into the claws of the waiting bear - nor a lack of direct, evident strength that she chooses a defeat of this manner. Night's manner is erected within a temple timeless and intangible - powered by the node of existence itself, for Night be a tenet and an element older than all the languages and thinkings of sentient kind - suffice to name it Wisdom at this point. In this knowledge there is tact, in it's foundations diligence and intuition. In motion it is graceful. Night's goals are her own, her motivations as lost to the wind as the ashes of her enemies - for Night is efficient, and in the making of the goal are the motivations permanated, the beginnings of them no longer needed.

Night does not relent: she does not yield, though the coming of day may necessitate to her a change of shape. Night is behind us as we move, she is with all surroundings we pass by - her brilliance as quickly wielded and accurately molded as the change of one's shadow with the revolutions of the sun. Night knows everything as we know ourselves - and that clarity made eternal in her unviolatable mentality. Make now in your tapestry the shape surmised: a formless, shiftless thing which has no true form other than the essence of necessity in conform and change itself - you cannot picture it, for it is nothing in that manner. So do we serve Night as this - forming to every situation, becoming what is needed at any given time - becoming nothing but enabled to be anything, no permanence of shape - no identity, identity inefficient for our cause. For we do not matter, Nothing matters but Glomdoring.

Night is unrevealing - there is no purpose in giving the name of anything to you or anyone else. There is no efficiency in showing the attributes of anything she may be at any time to anyone. In this we know subtlety - let those who know Wisdom know the silent messages of Night's followers to another, for no-one else is to hear them: In this we know silence - for any common fool have ears.

Like the fair tailed venusian star, she flickers a pair of moments only: Enough to savor, but not enough to dedicate to memory. I will rendezvous with her on the fickle roads of fate, paved intricately within the thunder-twine of the black heart - where a lacking wills it, my love shall inhabit, and a hearth be made in her knowing.

A stroke of her dark fingertips to mine forehead, and sleep shall capture me in the gentle sway of her arms - as cradling as the subtle creaks of a swaying ship hull, as beautiful and paralelling as the shadows of it's structure. When mine eyes close, in the Ravenwood's great branches I crouch - and by her blessing I Dream the Crow Black Dream.

- Kurt Nightwalker, beta wolf to the Dreadlord, Master Lyco of the Ebonguard. Child of Night by the guiding hand of Queen Shayle D'Iasani Treeripper.

In time it will all be ours.

Very nice. Since you did it ingame, you should have it published. Especially if you write often, a collection of essays would be great for our library.

Note to self:

Track down and enslave Kurt for the Library.

Nice. Very nice indeed.

I like your alliteration, and I like the various rhetorical devices you use (the groups of three, anaphora, etc), and I like the pseudo-old Tolkein-esque style you occasionally employ. I also, laying style to the side, like your content... a lot.

One thing I don't like is the way you occasionally omit necessary verbs.





I don't know whether omitting that 'is' is a deliberate feature or not.. but it destroys the rhythm of your writing for me, because I expect a continuation of the sentence and instead hit the full stop. Personally, and I don't know about anyone else, when I don't see an 'is' in the sentence: "Know now in your tapestry that the vixen not elusive..", I mentally comma off 'not elusive' as a separate adjectival clause so that the sentence could read "Know now in your tapestry that the vixen, not elusive, is a large white elephant, etc."

If part of Kurt's way of speaking is a deliberately designed to misinflect 'to be', then fair enough.. I'll ssh and leave you alone.. if it's not though, you might also reconsider:



That 'be' is all very well there, but I can't help but get a sense of West-country yokel out of it. It reminds me of the wellington-boot clad, ale swilling farmers at my local pub discussing the height of the village stream and how the harvest is going. It's not got that sense of arcane mystique that old grammar can have.. it's not Tolkein, it's Wiltshire.. if you see what I mean.

Anyway, enough ramblings. Must work.

Makes sense. Thanks for the critique! I'll definetly keep your feedback in mind, and not just in recreational writing. Don't worry about seeming elitistic or anything if you do, I took critical thinking as well.

I don't so much take critical thinking.. as.. not do anything else. Over here in England, we specialise right from the first year. I'm in my third year of non-stop English lit. But thank you.