#frauzet tries to write

[frauzet]

Discord says I’m playing Scrivener. I feel called out.

[depizan]

frauzet replied to your post: Have any of my fellow writers out there ever tried...

I got the free trial a few years back and bought it a few days later. Have not regretted it, because it helps me stay at least somewhat organized in my writing. Can’t compare to other tools, though.

My current exciting tool is Office/LibreOffice. I’ve never actually used a program really intended for writing. (And, let’s face it, while Word and it’s equivalents aren’t bad, as far as word processors go, Office is pretty clearly not a writing program the way things like Scrivener are.) And I keep waffling on whether one would be a good idea. Given that Scrivener has a free trial, I keep being tempted to check it out.

I am now more tempted to check it out.

Thanks!

[frauzet]

Amici Mortis—Notes From the Afterlife

#1 Traveling Companions

Warning:  Contains spoilers for Anthem's introduction.

I died more times than I remember. I killed more people than anyone should be able to justify. Since history is told by the survivors, people around here still call me a hero. Among the various names they dubbed me, Ice Titansbane remained my personal favorite. The bards up North will sing you a different story, though, one where I play the part of the monster. Cor Petra—heart of stone—they named me, a name as well earned as all the others. My companions called me Ice before I even encountered my first Titan much less bagged one, long before I became a Friend of Death.

Death and I have not always been on speaking terms. Early in life, I started making less sophisticated decisions, though, that lead to us becoming acquainted. I must have been about eight or nine when I jumped from my room’s balcony on the second floor to test my self-made javelin. It worked for a second or two. Death told me I could do better. I woke up a few days later. I never gave up on my dream of flying. However, healing my body took too long for me to be still young enough to start training with Heliost’s Sentinels. Swearing became my favorite pastime besides working on a plan B. My father taught me you have to work hard to achieve your goals. He wouldn’t appreciate the thought this led to me running away at the age of sixteen. With more luck than brains, I managed to reach Antium, survived being robbed without losing anything more valuable than my pride, and ended up as a trainee with Haluk’s band of Freelancers.

Dead wildlife, Scar, and outlaws became the order of the day for the next four years of my life. They didn’t prepare me for the loss of my squad-mates at the Heart of Rage. Worst of all, I survived. Death had rejected me once again and I had problems dealing with it. So did Haluk. Harsh words fell. The inevitable split-up with the few pathetic remains of the band wasn’t long in coming. We all agreed they were better off without me. I drifted for several days before I realized I had been heading back toward Heliost. I had lost my friends, I had lost myself, maybe I could find the family I had left behind. Had I visited Heliost first instead of heading to the village my family lived in I might have been prepared for what awaited me. The Freelancers at the Enclave there would have had answers to the questions I didn’t even know to ask yet.

The graveyard lies in front of the village. My family’s burial wall stands out due to its size. Wreaths of fresh flowers adorned the base proclaiming a recent bereavement. I had exchanged a handful of letters with my brother, so I knew Uncle Petrek had contracted some fatal disease or other. Hence I saw no reason to worry. After all, I had never liked Uncle Petrek. Freelancers don’t care much for social conventions, but we honor our fallen. So I deemed it appropriate to pay Uncle Petrek my last respect before heading over to our house. To avoid squeezing through the gate in my javelin, I took a big step over the fence. This seemed more prudent than risking to crack the tiles through the impact of landing my jav or igniting some dried flowers with its thrusters. Leaving my suit hadn’t even occurred to me. A handful of determined yet careful strides took me to the burial site and to one of the most important moments in my life.

The new cinerary urn glinted in the sunlight. The shadows played tricks on the freshly engraved letters, making them appear in relief. After reading the inscription I blinked and read it again. I opened the helmet and traced the grooves with my fingertips, my javelin translating the sensory information of the material down to its smallest grains. More details than a touch with bare hands could ever provide and still, I had problems to grasp the meaning of the words I read.

Ismara Doran Beloved Daughter and Sister 446 - 466

The sound I made ranged somewhere between coughing and laughing. Freelancer handbook, chapter one: A Freelancer was at the right place at the right time, punctuality was for Sentinels! I wondered how many Freelancers had managed to be late to their own funeral. Was this real? Was I real? The thought to open the urn and see what was inside crossed my mind leaving behind a blank space. The thought returned. This was a game. If I opened the urn and it was empty I was still alive. If it wasn’t then what? Did I even want to be alive? Each of my steps since the Heart of Rage had been weighed down by guilt. I had dragged Haluk from the Heart of Rage without finishing the job, without even trying to avenge my fallen comrades. They had died for nothing. I had abandoned our cause. I had abandoned all of Northern Bastion. Maybe Haluk was right calling me a coward. Maybe I, too, should have died. Maybe I did.

Maybe I did! Ismara Doran died but she did so already four years ago. The beloved daughter and sister did not survive my trip to Antium. Isma reached Antium. The first time I killed a human Isma died together with a piece of my soul. But Ice had already been there to replace her. There was no need to change my name to know the Ice who went into the Heart of Rage had not returned. I realized Death wasn’t a stranger lurking at the end of my path. No, Death walked in the shadow of her sisters Time and Change and I died a little with each of her steps. The choice to continue mourning or to move on was mine. Ice could be whomever I wanted her to be.

I wiped away the last of my tears as I heard someone approach.

“Did you know my sister?” he asked.

Smiling I turned to face him. “Better than most!”