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srathor

Why training is important

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Posted (edited)

Ahh Maeve,  war goddess, watery tart, dispenser of bloody scimitars that can decide political systems. 

You have no hold on me. I am a learned elf. A scholar. A man of risks. 

I am a trained miner. I dig in the dirt for ore. Sometimes for stone, but that is still a bit puzzling. After all these years of teaching myself the art of soil and steel I find myself having issues in the era of Maeve. 

All of my years of training are but for nought when the War goddess rages. My beneficial harvests are weak, mewling things. I used to be secure in my ways, now I am left with doubt. The armor i had a friend make me, from ore brought from the earth by my own two hands has forsaken me. I can no longer wear mail. The new body I inhabit has not become comfortable with the weight.  So clothed in leather, that aids me in my beneficial harvests of metal I come to a puzzling conclusion. 

The armor is much much much more powerful than my hard earned skills. I used to gain a rush in stamina and knowledge when destroying nodes of metal, eager to address the next area, hands sure, breath steady. Now without my armor, my stamina is spent, my eyes clouded. Is this finally age catching up to me? Or perhaps a trick from the war worshippers?

I know not, but with the changes I can no longer trust in my knowledge alone. I have to gird myself in unfamiliar leather, whose properties allow me to see the weakness in the ore in a new light, no longer trusting to the previous node to help me power through the next, I once again venture out to hit metal in the earth. A new cadence to an old song, but I need to take more breaks now, and all the metal seems not as fine. 

In this age of war, something has been lost. The gleam of ore no longer holds as much promise, it no longer holds as much allure. It is more work to extract it, for less gain and less quality. 

Perhaps mining is a young man's game, in this new age, I may have lost a step, and that step might be my last. 

Edited by srathor

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6 hours ago, srathor said:

Ahh Maeve,  war goddess, watery tart, dispenser of bloody scimitars that can decide political systems. 

You have no hold on me. I am a learned elf. A scholar. A man of risks. 

I am a trained miner. I dig in the dirt for ore. Sometimes for stone, but that is still a bit puzzling. After all these years of teaching myself the art of soil and steel I find myself having issues in the era of Maeve. 

All of my years of training are but for nought when the War goddess rages. My beneficial harvests are weak, mewling things. I used to be secure in my ways, now I am left with doubt. The armor i had a friend make me, from ore brought from the earth by my own two hands has forsaken me. I can no longer wear mail. The new body I inhabit has not become comfortable with the weight.  So clothed in leather, that aids me in my beneficial harvests of metal I come to a puzzling conclusion. 

The armor is much much much more powerful than my hard earned skills. I used to gain a rush in stamina and knowledge when destroying nodes of metal, eager to address the next area, hands sure, breath steady. Now without my armor, my stamina is spent, my eyes clouded. Is this finally age catching up to me? Or perhaps a trick from the war worshippers?

I know not, but with the changes I can no longer trust in my knowledge alone. I have to gird myself in unfamiliar leather, whose properties allow me to see the weakness in the ore in a new light, no longer trusting to the previous node to help me power through the next, I once again venture out to hit metal in the earth. A new cadence to an old song, but I need to take more breaks now, and all the metal seems not as fine. 

In this age of war, something has been lost. The gleam of ore no longer holds as much promise, it no longer holds as much allure. It is more work to extract it, for less gain and less quality. 

Perhaps mining is a young man's game, in this new age, I may have lost a step, and that step might be my last. 

its ok friend

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