KANUNIC DIALOGUES - CHAPTER ONE: VIRTUES

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ISSUED BY ADELMAR THE SKALD

In the year of our Lord, 

 

A COLLECTION DIALOGUES OF ADELMAR THE SKALD CONCERNING THE REINMAREN WAY OF LIFE.

 

In this book, I set down the thoughts that have stirred within me over many seasons. These words are not the Kanun, nor do they claim its weight. Rather, they are a gathering of reckonings: reflections on the ways of our people, the virtues we hold dear, and the truths that carry the Reinmaren spirit forward, generation upon generation.

I write not to engrave laws into stone but to light a lantern for the mind and soul. This work is meant for those who seek understanding, be they elders who wish to pass their wisdom or youths who hunger for the paths of our forebears. I speak to the tribesmen and women, the chieftains and the lowly, for all are bound together under the fabric of tribe and tradition.

This first chapter gathers together the core of who we are: the virtues that shape our lives and the duties we owe to one another and to the divine. It reckons the worth of man and the measure of his deeds, it speaks of justice and redemption, of loyalty and honor, and of what it means to stand as Reinmaren.

Though these words are bound in paper and ink, they are meant to live beyond this book—spoken in the Moot, carried in the hearts of tribesmen, and proven in the fields, hearths, and battlefields of our realm. For the Reinmaren, the written word is not an idol but a guide. And so, take these reflections as a tool, as a mirror, and as a reminder of the strength that resides in kinship, tradition, and faith.

 

 

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ON THE WORTH OF MAN

Adelmar von Kanunsberg, servant of word and wisdom, writes thus:

Upon a night of gathering, when the hearth-fire glowed and shadows danced against the timbered walls, I posed to my brethren a question that had troubled my mind: What, then, is the worth of a man? And from this inquiry arose the dialogue here transcribed.

Adelmar: My brothers, speak and answer plainly, for I desire not the clamor of boasts nor the murmurs of uncertainty. What say you—is the worth of a man to be found in his deeds alone?

Hrothulf the Smith: Aye, Adelmar. A man is as the steel he forges. His worth is measured in the might of his arm and the legacy of his works. Without deeds, what remains but empty words?

Adelmar: (pausing) Yet, Hrothulf, tell me this: If a man’s deeds are born of folly, or if his might is wielded in rage, does not his legacy crumble? Deeds are but the outer bark; what of the heartwood beneath?

Hrothulf: Then shall we say his worth lies in wisdom?

Adelmar: Perhaps. But wisdom without action is a stone unmoved in a torrent—it gathers neither purpose nor honor.

Alric the Elder: (raising his hand) I speak thus: A man’s worth is rooted in his loyalty. To his kin, his lord, and to Gott. Loyalty is the bond that holds us, the rope that does not fray in the wind of strife.

Adelmar: And if that rope binds a man to a tyrant, Alric? Or if his loyalty blinds him to truth? Is a thrall who serves faithfully of greater worth than a freeman who questions?

Alric: (hesitating) Then you would have us doubt the very bonds that hold our tribe?

Adelmar: Nay, I would have you test them, as the smith tests iron before it becomes a blade. Loyalty must be tempered with honor, lest it serve only ruin.

Gerwulf the Young: (standing) You speak as though a man’s worth lies in others’ judgment. I say his worth is his own, found in his courage and will.

Adelmar: Courage and will, Gerwulf, are fine words for a warrior’s mouth. But tell me, is a lone wolf who stands defiant greater than the pack that hunts as one? What worth has the man who forsakes his kin for his pride?

Gerwulf: Then what would you say, Adelmar? If deeds, loyalty, and courage all fail, where lies a man’s worth?

Adelmar: (standing tall) The worth of a man, brothers, is not a single thing but a harmony of virtues. Strength tempered with wisdom, loyalty bound to honor, and courage rooted in the soil of kinship—these together weave the worth of a man. A man alone is as a branch fallen from the tree, dry and brittle. Together, we are the great oak, unyielding to the storm.

 

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ON THE MEASURE OF VIRTUE

 

Adelmar von Kanunsberg, skald of the Reinmaren and keeper of ancestral wisdom, sets forth this inquiry, wrought in words and reason. May it endure in the memory of our people, as stone endures the wind.

One eve, when the sun’s fire yielded to the shadow of night, and the hearth within the great hall of Kanunsberg roared against the chill, I sat among my brethren. Warriors, craftsmen, and elders gathered, the air heavy with ale and thought. It was then that I posed to them a question worthy of their minds and hearts:

What, then, is the greatest virtue of man?

Adelmar: My brothers, speak as free men, for the wisdom of one sharpens the blade of another. Tell me, what virtue stands highest among us?

Hrothulf: (gripping his alehorn) Strength, Adelmar. Strength is the root of all virtue. Without it, no man can build, defend, or endure. It is the shield that guards the weak and the sword that smites the foe.

Adelmar: (nodding) Strength is the sinew of a man, Hrothulf, yet I ask this: If strength is wielded without justice, does it not become the cudgel of the oppressor? A wolf with bared teeth may guard the flock, but it may also devour it.

Hrothulf: Then strength must serve wisdom, to guide its hand.

Adelmar: A fine thought, but wisdom alone can also falter. For what is a wise man who acts not? Is he not as the raincloud that brings no storm?

Alric the Elder: (raising his voice, slow and firm) Then loyalty must be the highest virtue. Without loyalty, there is no trust, no tribe, no unity. It binds a man to his kin, to his lord, and to the Kanun.

Adelmar: (leaning forward) A powerful bond, Alric, yet let us consider: If a man’s loyalty ties him to a false master, or his fealty blinds him to treachery, is he not a thrall? Does loyalty that forsakes honor truly serve the tribe?

Alric: (with hesitation) Then loyalty must be guided by truth.

Adelmar: Truth, yes. But truth, like the blade, must be wielded wisely. For a truth spoken in cruelty may sunder bonds, and a truth untempered by mercy may turn kin into foes.

Gerwulf the Young: (rising boldly) Courage, then, must stand above all. For it is courage that drives men to act, to speak, to rise against injustice. Without courage, strength lies idle, wisdom is silent, and loyalty is hollow.

Adelmar: (smiling faintly) Courage, Gerwulf, is a fire in the breast of man, yet fire must not burn untamed. For courage unbound by wisdom becomes recklessness, and courage that forgets loyalty becomes rebellion. Would you have a man defy his lord for every whim of his heart?

Gerwulf: Then what is the answer, Adelmar? If each virtue fails when alone, what is the greatest of them all?

Adelmar: (standing tall, his voice steady) Listen well, my brothers. No virtue stands alone as greatest, for they are as the branches of a great tree. Strength is its trunk, holding firm against the storm. Wisdom is its roots, deep and unseen, guiding and grounding it. Loyalty is the bark that binds it together, protecting it from harm. Courage is the sap that flows within, giving life and fire to all.

But above all, let us remember this: A tree does not grow for itself. Its shade shelters the weary, its wood builds the homes of the tribe, and its fruit nourishes the next generation. So must our virtues serve not the self, but the kin, the tribe, and the Kanun.

Alric: (nodding slowly) You speak true, Adelmar. No man is an island; no virtue is its own master. Together, they weave the strength of the Reinmaren.

Hrothulf: And the Kanun, like the forest, binds us all. Without it, even the mightiest oak falls alone.

 

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ON THE SOURCE OF VIRTUE

Thus the ink flows further, for the inquiry did not end with the hearth's dimming. Among the Reinmaren, wisdom is a flame, ever kindled anew by question and answer. The dialogue resumed upon the next gathering, when the tribe's spirits were high and their thoughts sharpened by the Kanun's demands.

Adelmar: Brothers, we have spoken of virtue and its measure. But tell me now—what is the bond that holds these virtues to man? By what force does he choose the path of honor over that of folly?

Hrothulf the Smith: (scratching his beard) Discipline, Adelmar. It is discipline that holds a man steady, like the forge clamps the iron. Without it, strength grows wild, wisdom strays, and courage becomes madness.

Adelmar: Aye, Hrothulf, discipline is the guardrail of virtue. Yet I ask: What gives a man the will to endure such discipline? For the path of restraint is steep, and the pull of ease is strong.

Alric the Elder: (with a knowing smile) It is faith, young ones, that binds man to virtue. Faith in Gott, faith in the Kanun, and faith in his kin. A man who believes not in his purpose cannot wield discipline nor claim honor.

Gerwulf the Young: (eagerly) But what if his faith falters, Alric? If a man looks to the heavens and finds no answer, does his virtue wither? Must all strength depend on that which we cannot see?

Adelmar: (raising a hand) Hush, Gerwulf, and hear Alric’s wisdom. Faith is not a crutch for the weak but a beacon for the lost. Yet you raise a fair question: What becomes of the man whose faith is shaken?

Alric: (pausing) Then he must turn to his kin. For when a man’s heart wavers, the tribe shall steady him. We are not meant to bear the burden of faith alone.

Adelmar: (nodding) Well spoken, Alric. But I say this: A man must first carry his own faith before he leans upon others. For no Reinmaren shall live as a burden, nor shall the Kanun permit weakness to fester. Faith must be sown in a man’s heart like wheat in the field, and though others may water it, the root must hold firm.

The dialogue turned then to the role of the tribe and the Kanun.

Gerwulf the Young: (with furrowed brow) Adelmar, if the Kanun binds us to virtue, can it not also bind us to error? What if a law is unjust, or a chieftain commands what is false?

Adelmar: (with gravity) A bold question, Gerwulf, and one that cuts deep. The Kanun is the spine of the tribe, but even spines may bend when burdened with folly. In such times, it is the duty of the wise to speak, the duty of the strong to act, and the duty of all to remember this: The Kanun exists to serve the tribe, not to enslave it.

Hrothulf the Smith: (nodding) Then the Kanun is a tool, like the hammer. It shapes, but it must be wielded with care.

Adelmar: Aye, Hrothulf. And like the hammer, it must be strong enough to bear the blow. But beware, my brothers, for the tribe that casts aside its Kanun for every whim soon becomes a horde, not a people.

Alric the Elder: (with solemnity) And the horde devours itself, as wolves turn upon their own in times of famine.

Thus, the night grew deeper, and the dialogue circled ever closer to the heart of the matter.

Adelmar: Let us then ask the final question, brothers: What is the purpose of man’s virtue, his Kanun, and his tribe? What is it that we strive for, through all trial and toil?

Gerwulf the Young: (eagerly) To endure, Adelmar! To stand unbroken against time and tide.

Hrothulf the Smith: (with a smile) To build, so that those who come after us may walk upon firmer ground.

Alric the Elder: (softly) To serve Gott, who made us, and to honor His will through our lives.

Adelmar: (lifting his alehorn) Aye, brothers, all these answers are true. Yet they are but branches of a greater truth: The purpose of man is to uphold the harmony of the tribe, that we may stand as one against the storm. For in unity lies our strength, and in virtue lies our unity. Let this be the measure of all things.

 

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ON THE NATURE OF HONOUR

 

And so the discussions to be had in the mead hall nightly turned to something less abstract and more worldly, when I posited onto my brothers a question about the nature of honour, where it is earned, and how, which ignited further discourse among us.

Adelmar: (standing before the fire) My brothers, we have spoken of virtue and the tribe. Now I ask you this: What is the nature of honor? Is it a man’s own, or is it given to him by others?

Hrothulf the Smith: (stroking his beard) Honor is the fruit of a man’s deeds. It is the weight of his actions, judged by those who see him. A man cannot claim honor for himself, just as a tree does not taste its own fruit.

Gerwulf the Young: (challenging) But if others misjudge a man’s deeds, Hrothulf, does his honor falter? If a good man is reviled by the foolish, is he dishonored?

Hrothulf: (frowning) Then he must endure until the truth is seen. The eye of the tribe is not easily deceived.

Adelmar: (interjecting) Yet what if a man dwells among the blind, Hrothulf? Shall he cast aside honor because none can see it? Or shall he guard it within himself, like a flame against the wind?

Alric the Elder: (nodding) A man’s honor is first his own, I say, for it is tied to his conscience. He must act rightly even when no man watches, for Gott sees all.

Adelmar: A wise word, Alric. Yet I add this: Honor is both within and without, as the roots of a tree feed its branches. A man must first hold himself to the Kanun, for without inner honor, the judgment of others is but an empty noise. But when a man’s honor shines true, it strengthens not only himself but the tribe as well.

The discussion turned then to the burdens of honor, and whether it is a gift or a weight.

Gerwulf the Young: (eagerly) If honor is a man’s burden, then is it not a chain? Must he always bear it, even when it drags him down?

Hrothulf the Smith: (gruffly) Aye, Gerwulf. But better to be chained by honor than freed by disgrace. A man without honor is like a shield without a bearer—useless and cast aside.

Adelmar: (calmly) Yet let us consider, Hrothulf: Can honor become a prison? If a man clings too tightly to his pride, refusing aid or forgiveness, does he not make a virtue into a vice?

Alric the Elder: (speaking slowly) Then honor must be balanced by humility, Adelmar. A man must hold himself high, but not so high that he cannot bow before truth or repent of his failings.

Adelmar: Aye, Alric. For honor that cannot bend will surely break. Let us say, then, that honor is the weight of a man’s soul, and it is borne best by those who walk upright, yet with open hands.

 

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ON THE TRIBESWOMEN

 

After a hunt, when warriors, builders, and wise ones gathered. Each with their craft and their counsel, we spoke at length. The scent of roasted venison filled the air, mingling with the sharp tang of ale, and the voices of my people swelled with life. Yet in that moment, I felt the stillness before a storm of thought, and I turned to them, my gaze firm, my voice rising over the murmurs.

Adelmar: We have spoken of men and their virtues. But now I ask: What is the virtue of a woman, and what is her place within the tribe?

Hrothulf the Smith: (grinning) A bold question, Adelmar. I say a woman’s virtue lies in her strength, like a man’s. For she guards us, and without her, the tribe withers.

Gerwulf the Young: (nodding) Aye, and her wisdom is no less than a man’s. Many times have I seen a mother guide her sons with greater skill than the sharpest chieftain.

Alric the Elder: (with a raised hand) Yet let us not forget her loyalty, brothers. A woman’s heart binds the tribe as surely as the Kanun. She is the keeper of kinship, the weaver of ties that hold us together.

Adelmar: (smiling) True words, all of them. A woman’s strength, wisdom, and loyalty are the pillars of the tribe. Yet I say this: Her virtue is not apart from a man’s but stands beside it. As the bow cannot loose an arrow without the string, so the tribe cannot endure without both man and woman, bound in harmony.

Hrothulf the Smith: (raising his horn) Then let us honor our women as we honor ourselves, for their worth is equal to ours.

Adelmar: (lifting his own horn) Aye, Hrothulf. And let the Kanun protect them, as it protects the whole tribe, for they are the hearthfire of our people.

 

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ON JUSTICE

 

After Prince Leon’s coronation, my warriors, my kin and I all sat in silence when the newly crowned Prince and Princess left our midst. Beneath the fire did we sit, my kin’s eyes reflecting the flames, waiting for words that would stir their hearts. The old oak beams above us creaked, as if the very hall itself listened to the question I now raised. I looked upon them, steady and unwavering, and spoke another question.

Adelmar: Brothers, we have spoken of honor, virtue, and kinship. Now tell me, what is the nature of justice? Is it the law of the Kanun alone, or does it rise from some greater source?

Hrothulf the Smith: (firmly) Justice is the Kanun, Adelmar. It is the word of our fathers and the foundation of the tribe. Without it, there is no order, only chaos.

Gerwulf the Young: (hesitant) But what if the Kanun is flawed, Hrothulf? What if it serves one man’s will rather than the tribe’s good? Is that still justice?

Alric the Elder: (stroking his beard) Justice must serve truth, Gerwulf, and the Kanun must be its vessel. If the vessel is cracked, it is the duty of the wise to mend it. But woe to the man who casts it aside lightly, for without the Kanun, truth is but a fleeting shadow.

Adelmar: (nodding) A fine balance, Alric. Let us say, then, that justice is the harmony of truth and the Kanun. It is not fixed, but like the river, it flows and changes, yet always seeks the same course.

Hrothulf the Smith: (grumbling) A hard task, Adelmar, to keep the river within its banks.

Adelmar: (smiling faintly) Aye, Hrothulf. Yet it is the task of every man, for justice belongs not to one but to all. Let each of us be its keeper, and let the tribe stand as its shield.

 

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ON THE NATURE OF EVIL

It was on the third night of the gathering, when the air outside carried the bite of winter and the fire within roared high, that I addressed my kin with a question of grave import. The men, weary from toil but sharpened by thought, leaned forward, sensing the weight of the matter.

Adelmar: Brothers, we have spoken of honor and justice, of virtue and the Kanun. But now I ask you this: What is the nature of evil, and from whence does it come?

Gerwulf the Young: (eagerly) Evil is the opposite of virtue, Adelmar. It is dishonor, cruelty, and treachery. It is the path of the coward and the oathbreaker.

Hrothulf the Smith: (gruffly) Aye, Gerwulf speaks true. Evil is in the deeds of men who forsake the Kanun. It is not some shadow lurking in the world; it is born of choice. A man chooses evil when he turns from the light of truth.

Alric the Elder: (solemnly) Yet I wonder, brothers, is evil merely the absence of virtue, like darkness is the absence of light? Or is it a force of its own, cunning and alive, seeking to twist the hearts of men?

Adelmar: (with measured tones) A fine question, Alric. Tell me, then: If evil is a force, does it not require a will to act? Who, or what, wields this force?

Alric the Elder: (thoughtfully) Gott has no part in evil, this we know. So it must be the work of the Deceiver, the great Enemy, who stirs strife and tempts the weak to fall.

Hrothulf the Smith: (grunting) Then evil is not born of man alone, but of the Deceiver’s whispers? Does that not strip a man of blame for his wickedness, if another has led him astray?

Adelmar: (shaking his head) No, Hrothulf. The Deceiver may whisper, but it is the man who listens. A wolf may howl at the door, but it cannot force you to open it. Evil comes not only from without but from within.

After a time, Gerwulf broke the silence, his voice uncertain.

Gerwulf the Young: Then is evil in every man, Adelmar? Are we all cursed to carry its seed, waiting for it to grow?

Adelmar: (steadily) Aye, Gerwulf, the seed of evil lies within us all. But so too does the seed of virtue. It is the soil of the soul, watered by the choices we make, that determines which shall grow.

Alric the Elder: (nodding) And the Kanun is the plow that tills the soil, guiding it toward virtue. Without it, a man is left to wander, and the weeds of evil grow wild.

Hrothulf the Smith: (grimly) But some men, Adelmar, seem born to wickedness, as if their soil is barren from the start. What of them? Are they not beyond saving?

Adelmar: (pausing) A hard truth, Hrothulf. Some men, like blighted trees, bear only bitter fruit. Yet even they were once saplings, their fate not yet written. Evil is not born whole, but shaped by neglect, by the breaking of bonds, and by the whispers of despair.

After a time, Alric spoke again.

Alric the Elder: Then what, Adelmar, is the answer to evil? If it comes from within and without, how may it be overcome?

Adelmar: (raising his hand) The answer, Alric, is threefold. First, a man must guard his heart, for the Deceiver’s whispers find no foothold in a soul rooted in faith. Second, the tribe must stand as one, for evil thrives in division. And third, the Kanun must be upheld, for it is the light that scatters the darkness.

Hrothulf the Smith: (with a growl) And if a man falls to evil, Adelmar? What then?

Adelmar: (gravely) Then he must be judged, Hrothulf. The Kanun demands justice, and the tribe must not shrink from it. Yet even in judgment, we must remember this: The purpose of justice is not only to punish but to restore. If a man may yet turn from evil, let him be shown the way. But if he is lost beyond recall, let him face the fire, that his corruption may not spread.

Gerwulf, his voice quieter now, spoke again.

Gerwulf the Young: Then is evil stronger than virtue, Adelmar? It seems it strikes with cunning and speed, while virtue is slow and hard-won.

Adelmar: (with a faint smile) It is true, Gerwulf, that evil is swift, like a storm upon the plains. But storms pass, and the sun endures. Virtue is the steady hand, the unyielding root. Though evil may rage, it cannot prevail where men stand firm, bound by faith, by kinship, and by the Kanun.

 

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ON REDEMPTION

Returning from the Frankish battlefield, the earth beneath our feet was solid, and the sky above us stretched wide, heavy with the weight of the coming storm. Beneath the open expanse, I stood among my people, the warriors and the craftsmen, their faces etched with the struggle of the seasons. In that moment, with the clouds darkening above and the first tremors of thunder in the distance, I raised my voice.

Adelmar: My brothers, we have spoken of evil as a force and a choice, a whisper within and a storm without. Now I ask you this: Can a man who has fallen to evil ever be redeemed? Or does the shadow cling to him always, staining his soul beyond repair?

Gerwulf the Young: (eagerly) Surely redemption is possible, Adelmar. If a man turns from his wickedness and seeks the path of virtue, must we not welcome him back?

Hrothulf the Smith: (grimly) Yet how can we trust such a man, Gerwulf? If his soul was weak enough to fall once, what stops him from falling again? Is it not safer to cast him out, lest his corruption taint the tribe?

Alric the Elder: (sternly) But to cast a man out, Hrothulf, is to lose him forever. Is it not better to mend what is broken than to discard it? If we abandon our kin to the shadow, are we not guilty of a greater sin?

Adelmar: (raising his hand) Peace, brothers. You each speak a part of the truth. Redemption is the hope of every man, for none are born wholly good or evil. Yet redemption must be earned, not given lightly. A man who has strayed must prove his repentance through deeds, not words, and the tribe must judge him by the measure of the Kanun.

The men nodded, their brows furrowed in thought. After a moment, Hrothulf spoke again, his voice heavy with doubt.

Hrothulf the Smith: But Adelmar, what of those who are beyond redemption? The Deceiver’s mark is upon them, and their hearts are blackened to the core. Must we not destroy such men, for the safety of the tribe?

Adelmar: (gravely) Aye, Hrothulf, there are those who are lost beyond recall. Such men are as wolves among the flock, and their evil must be rooted out. Yet even in destruction, we must not take joy in their fall. Justice demands action, but it must not be tainted by vengeance.

Gerwulf the Young: (hesitantly) Then what of mercy, Adelmar? If we destroy the wicked, are we not forsaking the mercy that the Kanun teaches?

Adelmar: (gently) Mercy and justice walk hand in hand, Gerwulf. To show mercy to the repentant is to honor the Kanun. But to spare the unrepentant wicked is not mercy—it is weakness, and it invites further evil. Let the Kanun guide us, that we may discern when mercy is righteous and when justice must be swift.

After a long silence, Alric, the oldest among them, spoke once more.

Alric the Elder: Adelmar, if evil lies within every man, and the Kanun alone keeps it at bay, then I ask you this: What of those who have no Kanun? The outlanders, the heathens—they live beyond our law. Are they not doomed to evil by their ignorance?

Adelmar: (thoughtfully) A heavy question, Alric. The heathens do not know our Kanun, but they are not without their own laws. Every tribe has its ways, its rules to guide its people. Yet I say this: The farther a man’s law strays from truth, the greater his peril. The Deceiver whispers loudest to those who have no light to guide them.

Gerwulf the Young: (eagerly) Then must we not bring the Kanun to them, Adelmar? Should we not spread its wisdom beyond our own tribe, that others may be saved?

Hrothulf the Smith: (gruffly) And if they reject it, Gerwulf? Will you force them to kneel to the Kanun?

Adelmar: (firmly) No man can be forced to virtue, Hrothulf. The Kanun is not a chain but a guiding star. If others will not see its light, then they must walk their own path. Yet let us not abandon them wholly, for even a heathen may find truth if he is shown the way.

I turned to the fire with a distant gaze.

Adelmar: Brothers, the nature of evil is this: It is the shadow that seeks to consume the light, the storm that rages against the tree. It is cunning, persistent, and born of both the Deceiver’s will and the weakness of men. Yet it is not invincible.

Gerwulf the Young: (quietly) How, then, do we stand against it, Adelmar?

Adelmar: (with resolve) We stand as the tribe has always stood: by faith in Gott, by the strength of the Kanun, and by the bond of kinship. No man may face the shadow alone, but together we are a bulwark against it. Let each man guard his heart, honor his brothers, and hold fast to the law. For in unity lies our greatest strength, and in the light of truth, the shadow cannot endure.

 

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ON WHAT IT MEANS TO BE REINMAREN

The hall was full that night, the fire blazing high as the men and women of Kanunsberg gathered to feast and to talk, for winter’s cold had pressed them close together. I sat at the head of the company, the alehorn in my hand, voice rising above the din.

Adelmar: Brothers and sisters, tell me this: What does it mean to be Reinmaren? By what measure do we call ourselves true to the blood of our fathers?

The question rippled through the hall, and a murmur rose among the gathered. Some nodded in agreement with the weight of the question, but others frowned, their brows furrowed in discontent.

Walfram the Bold, a warrior with a voice as loud as his temper, stood suddenly, his chair scraping the floor. His face was flushed with drink and conviction.

Walfram the Bold: I’ll tell you, Adelmar. To be Reinmaren is to be free! Free from the yoke of lords who do not understand us, free from the chains of laws that weaken our will. The Reinmaren are warriors, not scribes. We are masters of the horse, not servants of ink. This Kanun you praise binds us too tightly. To be Reinmaren is to ride unbridled, to follow the wind and the blade, not the quill and the word!

A murmur of agreement rose from some of the younger men, their eyes glinting with admiration for Walfram’s boldness. But, I leaned forward and spoke.

Adelmar: Bold words, Walfram. But let me ask you this: What is a tribe without law? What binds us together, if not the Kanun?

Walfram the Bold: (snorting) Blood binds us, Adelmar! Blood and the will to stand as one. Did our fathers need scribes to tell them how to be men? Did they wait for parchment to teach them to fight, to ride, to plunder?

Adelmar: (nodding) Aye, blood and will are strong bonds. But tell me, Walfram, when two brothers quarrel, whose blood is thicker? When one man’s will stands against another’s, which prevails?

Walfram the Bold: (hesitating) The stronger man prevails, Adelmar. That is the way of the world.

Adelmar: (leaning back) Then tell me, Walfram, is might alone the measure of right? If the strong man crushes the weak, is he just? And if so, what becomes of the tribe, when strength turns against itself?

The hall grew quiet as the weight of my words settled upon the gathered. Walfram scowled, his fists clenched, but he did not answer.

Adelmar: (pressing on) You speak of freedom, Walfram, as though it is the greatest good. But is a horse truly free without its reins? Does it not become wild, untamed, and lost? The Kanun is not a shackle, but a bridle. It does not weaken us; it guides us. Without it, we are not a tribe—we are a herd, scattered and helpless.

Walfram the Bold: (with defiance) But the Kanun demands too much, Adelmar! It demands obedience, sacrifice. What of the man who wishes to live by his own will, unbound by these rules? Is he less a Reinmaren?

Adelmar: (with a faint smile) A good question, Walfram. But let me ask you this: What is a man who lives only for himself? If he turns his back on the tribe, does he not also turn his back on the blood you hold so dear?

Walfram the Bold: (growling) He may stand alone, but he is no less strong for it.

Adelmar: (shaking his head) Strength is not found in isolation, Walfram. A single spear breaks easily, but a bundle of spears endures. The Kanun binds us together, so that the strength of one becomes the strength of all. Without it, your freedom is naught but loneliness, and your strength is a fleeting shadow.

Walfram fell silent, his scowl deepening. The younger men who had cheered him before now shifted uneasily in their seats. After a long pause, Walfram spoke again, his voice quieter, as though the fire of his defiance had dimmed.

Walfram the Bold: (grudgingly) Perhaps you are right, Adelmar. The tribe must have law, else it falls to ruin. But tell me this: Does the Kanun not stifle the spirit of the warrior? Does it not demand too much of men who would ride free and fierce?

Adelmar: (gently) The Kanun does not stifle, Walfram—it shapes. The warrior who rides without purpose is a sword without a hand to wield it, sharp but aimless. The Kanun gives us purpose. It tells us not only how to fight, but why. Without it, we are beasts; with it, we are men.

Walfram sat down heavily, his head bowed. The hall was silent, save for the crackling of the fire. Finally, Walfram looked up, his voice low but steady.

Walfram the Bold: (conceding) You have spoken well, Adelmar. The Kanun is a burden, but it is a burden worth bearing. To be Reinmaren is not to be free of all bonds, but to be bound by the law that makes us strong.

Adelmar: (smiling faintly) Well said, Walfram. To be Reinmaren is to carry the burden of the Kanun with pride, for it is not a weight that crushes—it is a foundation that upholds. Let no man forget this, that our tribe may endure, strong and unbroken, for generations to come.

 

---

 

ON HIERARCHY

The hall was dimly lit, the fire crackling as its embers danced upon the stone hearth. The people of Wesenburg sat in a wide circle, their faces shadowed by the flickering light. I, seated upon a rough-hewn bench with his alehorn in hand, cast my gaze across the room and spoke.

Adelmar: Brothers and sisters, I pose a question to you this night: Why do we place chieftains over us? Why do we bow to their word and bind ourselves to their rule?

For a moment, the hall was silent. Then, Fredegund, a wiry man with sharp eyes and sharper words, stood, his voice cutting through the quiet.

Fredegund: Why, indeed, Adelmar? Why should one man’s will be raised above another’s? Are we not all of the same blood? Does the chieftain’s sword strike truer than mine? Does his voice carry more weight than yours? I say this: Chieftains are but men, like the rest of us. Their rule is a yoke, and their power but a pretense.

A murmur of agreement rippled among some of the younger men. Fredegund, emboldened, folded his arms, a smirk on his face. 

Adelmar: A fair challenge, Fredegund. But let me ask you this: Without a chieftain, who would lead us in battle? Who would guide the tribe when peril arises?

Fredegund: (with a scoff) The strongest man leads, as it has always been. Let those who have the strength and the skill to command step forward, and let the rest follow willingly. Why bind ourselves to a single man, as if his strength never falters?

Adelmar: (nodding slowly) Strength and skill are worthy traits, Fredegund. But tell me, when many strong men vie for leadership, whose voice prevails? When one sword clashes against another, do we not divide ourselves, rather than unite?

Fredegund: (with a frown) Aye, division is a danger. But surely the tribe can choose anew each time the need arises. Let the strongest rise when the moment demands it, and let the rest stand aside.

Adelmar: (raising his brow) Then you propose that we cast aside our chieftains after each battle, like tools that have served their purpose? Tell me, Fredegund, what becomes of a tribe that changes its leaders as one changes a tunic?

Fredegund: (hesitant) It... risks discord, I suppose. But is it not better than binding ourselves to a single man, who may grow weak or corrupt with time?

Adelmar: (leaning forward) A good concern, Fredegund. But let me ask you this: Does the Kanun not bind the chieftain as it binds the rest of us? Is he not judged by the same law? And if he falters, do we not hold him to account?

Fredegund fell silent, his smirk fading. The hall was quiet, save for the crackling of the fire. 

Adelmar: The chieftain is not above the tribe, Fredegund; he is its servant. His strength is the shield that guards us, his voice the counsel that guides us, his rule the thread that binds us together. Without him, we are a herd, scattered and preyed upon. But with him, we are a spear, sharp and unbroken.

Fredegund: (grudgingly) But what of those chieftains who abuse their power, Adelmar? Are we to endure their tyranny for the sake of unity?

Adelmar: (firmly) No, Fredegund. A chieftain who breaks the Kanun breaks his bond with the tribe. It is the duty of the people to challenge him, to hold him to the law. But let us not throw away the mantle of leadership because some have worn it poorly. A bad chieftain may falter, but a lawless tribe is doomed.

A murmur of assent rose from the gathered, though Fredegund’s brow remained furrowed. He spoke again, his tone quieter but no less determined.

Fredegund: (reluctantly) You speak well, Adelmar. But tell me this: Why must the chieftain’s rule be for life? Should we not test him, ensure that he remains worthy of the tribe’s trust?

Adelmar: (smiling faintly) A fair point, Fredegund. A chieftain’s worth is measured not in years, but in deeds. If he fails to uphold the Kanun, he must answer to the tribe. But if he serves faithfully, why should we cast him aside? Loyalty must flow both ways, Fredegund. A tribe that does not honor its chieftain’s service is no better than a chieftain who abuses his power.

Fredegund sat down heavily, his arguments spent. The hall was silent once more as I swept my gaze to the gathered.

Adelmar: Brothers and sisters, we have chieftains over us because no man can stand alone, and no tribe can endure without guidance. The chieftain is not a tyrant, but a steward. His rule is not a burden, but a bond—a bond that unites us, protects us, and gives us purpose. Let us honor that bond, and hold our chieftains to it, as we hold ourselves to the Kanun.

 

---

 

ON ENDURANCE

The fire crackled in the center of the longhouse, casting shadows that danced upon the walls. Around it sat a circle of tribesmen, their faces weathered and stern, their hands gripping mugs of ale or resting upon sword hilts. I, seated with my lyre upon my knee, tuned its strings absently, the faint melody filling the quiet.

A young man, Ewald brash and untempered by age, leaned forward, his gaze fixed on me and my song.

Ewald: Adelmar, your songs speak of endurance, of trials faced by our ancestors. You sing of men who bore burdens beyond measure. But I ask you: what good is endurance when ill-fortunes strike us down? Is it not better to rage against the storm than to stand still and be swept away?

I plucked a soft, deliberate chord, letting it hum in the air before replying.

Adelmar: You speak of storms and rage, young one. But tell me, when the tree stands against the wind, does it not endure? When the wolf is caught in the hunter’s snare, does it not endure? Endurance is not stillness; it is the strength to bear the storm and emerge unbroken.

Ewald scoffed, shaking his head.

Ewald: A fine metaphor, skald, but the tree may endure only to rot, and the wolf may gnaw its leg off to escape. What then is the point of such suffering?

I plucked another note, sharper this time, as though to punctuate the young man’s words.

Adelmar: The point, you ask? Then let us find it. Do you believe that life is measured only by triumphs, by victories won with no price paid? If the wolf gnaws its leg to escape, it lives. And in living, it passes its blood to the next generation, teaching them caution. If the tree weathers the storm and loses a branch, that branch becomes the firewood that warms the hearth. Is this suffering wasted, or is it transformed?

The young man furrowed his brow, but his defiance remained.

Ewald: Yet not all storms leave the tree standing. Not all wolves escape the hunter’s blade. There are those who endure and are broken nonetheless. What say you to them?

Adelmar: I say this: even in death, there is endurance. The fallen tree nourishes the soil, and the wolf who dies feeds its kin. No effort, no suffering, is wasted if it serves the greater whole. Our ancestors endured not for themselves alone, but for us—for this tribe, for the songs I now sing. To endure is not to avoid pain, but to bear it so that others may walk lighter.

A grizzled elder, Enver silent until now, raised his voice.

Enver the Elder: And what of those who endure, yet feel the weight of their burden crush their spirit? What do they gain?

I met the elder’s gaze, fingers strumming a low, steady chord.

Adelmar: They gain legacy, elder. The spirit may falter, but the deeds of the body remain. The farmer endures a lifetime of toil for the harvest that feeds his children. The warrior endures the blood and the blade so that his tribe may stand another day. Endurance is the bridge between the present and the future, built upon the backs of those who suffer but do not yield.

Ewald’s voice softened, though his doubt lingered.

Ewald: Then you say endurance is for others, not for oneself?

Adelmar: Not only so. To endure is also to grow, to learn the measure of your strength. The flame endures the wind, and in doing so, it burns brighter. The man who endures his trials emerges stronger, wiser, more certain of his place in the world. And when he can no longer endure, he leaves his strength to his kin, his tribe, his people.

The young man, Ewald, sat back, his arms crossed, but his gaze was no longer defiant. The elder nodded slowly, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

I strummed a final chord, voice rising to fill the hall.

Adelmar: To endure is to be part of something greater. It is to stand not only for yourself but for those who came before and those who will follow. And if you fall, let it be said that you endured until the end, and that your endurance gave rise to others. That, my friends, is the measure of a life well-lived.

 

---

 

ON HONESTY

The moonlight spilled into the quiet chamber, casting long shadows across the tapestries that adorned the walls. A single candle flickered between us, its light dancing on the faces of I, Adelmar, and Princess Adalfriede. We sat across from one another, the air heavy with unspoken words.

Adalfriede: Honesty, you say, Adelmar. A fine virtue for men who have nothing to lose. But for those who carry the weight of crowns and swords, what good is truth when it leaves you exposed?

Adelmar: Honesty is not for the weak of spirit, Adalfriede. It is not a weapon, nor a shield. It is the ground beneath your feet. Without it, you are adrift, no matter how many crowns or swords you wield.

She let out a low laugh, shaking her head.

Adalfriede: Spoken like a man who has never worn a crown nor borne a sword. Strength, Adelmar, comes from the surface. If the world sees a lion, they will not dare to test if there is a lamb beneath.

Adelmar: But what of the lamb within? If you crush it, what remains? A hollow shell that roars but feels nothing. A mask that fools the world but cannot fool itself.

Adalfriede’s eyes narrowed, her voice colder now.

Adalfriede: You think I do not know myself? That I am blind to what lies within?

I shook my head.

Adelmar: I think you see it too clearly. And it terrifies you. So you build walls, layer upon layer, until even you cannot reach what lies behind them.

She leaned forward, her voice cutting.

Adalfriede: And what would you have me do, Skald? Tear down my walls, lay bare my weaknesses for the world to see? You would see me devoured in an instant.

I met her gaze without flinching.

Adelmar: No. I would see you free. The strength you speak of—the mask, the lion’s roar—it is a chain, not a crown. To hunger for strength is to starve the soul. It is a thirst that can never be quenched.

Adalfriede’s lips tightened, and for a moment, the room was silent save for the faint crackle of the candle. When she spoke, her voice was quieter, almost pained.

Adalfriede: And what of hunger, Adelmar? Is it not better to kill it? To feel nothing, to want nothing, to be untouchable?

I leaned back, and folded my arms across my chest.

Adelmar: To kill hunger is to kill life itself. A man who hungers not is a man who lives not. Hunger is what drives us, what shapes us. But it is not the hunger for strength or power that makes us whole. It is the hunger for truth, for kinship, for something greater than ourselves.

She scoffed, though the edge in her voice had softened.

Adalfriede: And what truth do you hunger for, Skald?

Adelmar: The truth of the tribe. Of myself. Of the songs I sing. I hunger to see my people not as they pretend to be, but as they are. Weakness and strength, scars and glory, all laid bare. That is where true power lies—not in hiding, but in embracing.

Adalfriede was silent for a long moment, her eyes fixed on the flickering candle. When she finally spoke, her voice was softer, almost wistful.

Adalfriede: You make it sound so simple.

Adelmar: It is not simple, Adalfriede. It is the hardest thing a man—or a woman—can do. But it is worth it. For when you are honest with yourself, no mask, no wall, no crown can ever bind you.

She looked at me, and for the first time that night, the hardness in her gaze faltered. She said nothing more, and we sat in silence to light our pipes, the candle burning low between us.

 

---

 

ON PRIDE

The fire crackled in the halls of the newly build Kretzen, its light flickering on the faces of us two men who could not have been more different in our ways, yet so bound by blood and love that no feud could truly sever us. Chieftain Leon, broad-shouldered and clad in his war-cloak, sat with his chin lifted high, a cup of mead in his hand and I, thinner, my tunic simple and dirt-streaked from the fields held my own cup, drained, beside me.

The tension was thick. Leon had summoned me again, to speak of what could have been—what should have been, in Leon’s eyes.

Leon: You waste yourself, cousin. A skald, a farmer—Adelmar, you are more than that. You should be sitting in the Herrenhaus, ruling men, guiding the tribe as a Duke. The Lord knows I would have fought every lord in the realm to see you raised.

I smiled to Leon.

Adelmar: Fought them all, aye, and then what? Would you have ruled as Prince over a land of scorched fields and broken oaths?

Leon scowled, his pride stung.

Leon: Do not twist my words. You know what I mean. Our line—our blood—was meant for more than the plow. Look at you, Adelmar. You have the wit of a Lawspeaker and the tongue of a skald. You could have been a great man.

I stepped closer.

Adelmar: A great man, you say. Tell me, cousin, is greatness found in a throne? In gold? In warriors who bellow your name but do not truly know you?

Leon: It is found in honor! In deeds that echo through the ages! In the pride of one’s name!

I sat across from Leon.

Adelmar: Pride, Leon. It is a fire that warms the soul—until it burns you from the inside out.

Leon slammed his cup on the table, his voice rising.

Leon: And what would you know of pride? You who fled from the life of a ruler among men, from the halls where decisions are made! You left me, Adelmar. Left me to shoulder it all.

For a moment, I said nothing. Then, I spoke, my voice steady but carrying a weight that silenced Leon.

Adelmar: I left, aye. Because I saw what you do not. A chieftain is not the flame of pride, Leon. He is the hearth where others find warmth. He is not the thunder of his name, but the steady hand that holds his tribe together. Pride does not make a chieftain. Love does.

Leon’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing.

Leon: And what love is this, that would abandon kin?

Adelmar: The love that knows its place. You think I am weak for tending the fields, for singing songs, for standing not as a commander in your battles. But tell me, Leon, who feeds your warriors? Who reminds your people of their history when the battle is done? Who ensures that when we return from war, there is still a tribe to lead?

Leon opened his mouth to retort but found no words. I pressed on.

Adelmar: A chieftain who rules only for himself, who seeks glory at the cost of his people, is no chieftain at all. You think the tribes demand pride? They demand service. They demand a man who will bend before his people so they may rise.

The room was silent, save for the crackling of the fire. Leon stared at me, his face a mix of anger, confusion, and something deeper—understanding.

Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter.

Leon: You think I do not love them? You think I do not serve?

I reached across the table, clasping Leon’s arm.

Adelmar: I know you love them, Leon. But love without humility is like a shield without a strap—useless when the storm comes.

Leon looked down at the table, his fingers tightening around his cup. For the first time, he seemed unsure.

Leon: You shame me, Adelmar.

I shook my head, and gave my cousin a faint smile.

Adelmar: No, cousin. I remind you. You are a great man, Leon, but greatness is not measured by how high you stand. It is measured by how low you are willing to kneel for your tribe.

Leon sat in silence, the weight of my words settling over him. In that moment, the warrior and the farmer were simply two men, bound by blood and love, striving to understand what it truly meant to lead.

 

---

WER RASTET, DER ROSTET

 

 

[MercyAzalea 405]

Dame Ivona closed the book with a gentle 'thud', setting the leather-bound scripture upon the shelf. Her brows furrowed in reflection of its' contents, she could not make her mind up on how to feel about it. "... Certainly something to think on." She muttered to herself, her gaze cast off to the hearth, a dismal flame set within it. She sighed and kneeled beside the flame, grasping the poker to try and prompt some life into it as she tossed a piece of timber within. "Merely the first chapter... I look forward to continuing that."

[Toffee 2843]

Honesty... That had been a lesson hard learned for one Adalfriede of Hexenwald, but once she learned it, she was nigh unstoppable. Perhaps Adelmar the Skald had had some wisdom to impart upon her... Even if she had been reluctant to receive it.