A Song to Sing

I’ve never liked the idea of writing.
Writing takes far too long and requires too much time spent nearly still.
Really though, I could be watching for prey, lining up a shot, communing with the Great Spirits, or throwing back some ale, but here I am scrawling on a little piece of parchment. This quill moves awkwardly in my hands and my back already aches from hunching over in such an odd fashion. I’m also, uncomfortably, hidden up in a tree where none can see me. I can’t even imagine the laughingstock I’d be if one of my norn brothers or sisters were to spot me. Actually I can imagine, and the names “Morganna the Scribe” or “Morganna of the Fragile Wrist” are nigh jumping off of this page as I scowl at it. I’m no scribe, I’m no storyteller, I’m a hunter and a damned good one at that. At least I know I am, and soon the rest of my kinsmen shall know it as well. My stories shall be sung from hall to hall till the end of times when the kodan are nothing but rugs and the norn no longer hunt. The only reason, the ONLY reason, I’m bothering with these pieces of parchment bound in deerskin is to insure that such songs will not only be sung, but that the songs shall accurately portray my many great triumphs.

One of my elder brothers, Roathille the Gear Crusher, met an honorable death combating a drove of berserking asura golems. The fight was grand and he stood till the last metal beast fell, yet his story seems to grow and change each time I hear it. My mother tells it, that he was fighting a single golem that stood higher than five norn standing atop one another. Yet I’ve heard a man in The Growling Unicorn tell the tale as if Roathille were fighting a dozen golems single handedly; a man in the bar tried to claim that he had been there as well and had fought most of the golems himself and gave Roathille only the weakest ones that could barely move… I beat that man till he retracted his insult and then I removed his jaw. I know my brother fought fiercely with the Spirit of Great Bear washing over him, but I’m not sure exactly how the battle went on. I want to know what truly happened, how many golems did he slay, and how many were crushed under the blow of his mighty hammer. More than his story though, I want all of Tyria to know how my enemies trembled at my name and bowed down before me begging to receive the honor of a death by my hand. I will keep this retched journal for one reason and one reason alone. 

So that Tyria will know the song of the greatest norn to ever live.