Introduction – Stories of Eyja

Before my father was king, the land was factitious with mountain chieftains raiding the dwarven mines, stealing their treasure, and causing a weakened diplomatic state. Neither the dwarves nor humans liked each other with constant raiding from both factions.

This allowed for the Dark Alfar to invade from the south, they marched upon the port city, swiftly took it, and solidified their claim in that region.

Not knowing the purpose of the invaders my father called for a meeting, requesting that the tribes elect a king, which has not happened since I was born. My father being who he was became the king of the mountain tribes. As a ruler of our tribe he consolidated everyone into a wooden palisade which was boarded by a river to the east and woods to the south. It was neselted to the west and north by mountains.

As leader of the tribes Ulfar sent envoys to the Dark Alfar to the south. They reached an agreement that they would not venture from the city if the people of the island paid them tribute. Noticing that they had an army of 10,000 trained warriors who looked like they saw battle the envoies agreed to return within a fortnight.

Bringing the response of the Dark Alfar to Ulfur served to enrage the king. Ulfur, not knowing what to do, as they constantly fought the dwarf lords to the west, had battle hardened men, but a population weary of battle. Attempting to appease both sides he told the envoies to agree to the tribute demands.

This happened three years ago. Overtime the tribute demands increased, as they slowly encroached on our lands the people became restless. My father grew old and was blind to the Alfar as they gave him gifts. It was he that allowed them to annex lands close to the port city in exchange for gold. My father sold us out. Greed is the undoing of man.

I am my father’s eldest son, Afbera and I have recorded the accounts so that others may learn. My father being blind to what was occurring slowly diminished, physically, mentally, and I took over running the kingdom as regent. I was accepted without much complaint as I have always been the face of the kingdom. Going out leading raids, hunting with other chiefs, and then throwing feasts for the people. During this time of being the face and my father betraying what we stood for, honor, justice, and integrity, other chieftains began to pressure me and request that war be declared on the Dark Alfar.

I approached my father, sitting on the throne, describing the will of the people, pleading that we fight, but he refused to declare war. “Numbers cannot dictate the course of our land,” I told father, “The spirit of the people is unanimous and we’d rather fight than to slowly give away more land and one day our freedom.” Getting off the throne, my father came up to me, reeking of wine, “Are you king, boy? Do you know anything of leadership? How could you think that you know best?!” Slapping me across the face he stumbled off outside to find more wine. Angry at his words, at him slapping me across the face I ran outside, grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. “I’ve been the leader these last three years, I’ve lead the hunts, the raids, and thrown the winter solstice feast! I’ve been a better king than you, father you lack all honor and are not fit for the throne.” His face went red, and became dark with a great roar rising from his throat, “Guards! Seize my son and throw him out into the wild!”


Truthfully I cannot spell to save my life, ugh

Hello interwebs! It’s 2020 the time when you make resolutions to change your life. Whether you’re deciding to go to the gym, trying to complain less, or simply wake up to your alarm today is the day to change. Yet, as time progresses through 2020 (where supposedly it is acceptable to wear tailored suits) you will stop your resolutions or you may amp it up by finding an accountability partner. All the while this is simply a means to not fully put the responsibility on yourself. The accountability partner just isn’t good enough or outside circumstances forced me to become more lazy or less enthused about the gym.

As an individual the only person responsible for change is you. No fad diets, no easy 123 planners will assist you in changing only the personal assertion that screams, “I will” will you than change.

For me it is to actually enjoy life. For the last 6 years I’ve been in a rush from one place to the next, not acknowledging certain things that need to be addressed nor allowing myself to live. I owe it to myself to live. Despite life occurances (hitting a deer in June) or not being accepted by peer groups that is inconsequential to the overall goal, have a life. How one reaches that point is accepting themselves for who they are not what they are lacking. To assist in changing this view point I’ve decided to limit social media for the unforseeable future. It is to easy to compare yourself to others online.

I’ve decided to write more and be intentional in my writings. I enjoy story-telling and have a vivd imagination that when properly trained could produce something quite extrodinary. I’m a capable athelitc and will attend a powerlifting meet by the age of 28. I think through self-acceptance and rasing self-worth will I eventually find Mrs. Right.

Perhaps also in the near future I’ll obtain a puppy. Move to a house and pay off student loans.

Nobody is responsible for where I am mentally, emotionally, or physically. Life events are a product of how one acts, reacts or fails to act.

Simply act and hold fast to the personal truth of, “I will” and skies the limit.


Blog Post: Self-Worth

It is an interesting concept with which I’ve attempted to answer for myself. Do I believe in myself? I’ve worked on accepting myself and have been working on what identity means but I don’t think I believe that I’m worth other people’s time.

I also wonder if the concept of self-worth is a result of constant demand of perfectionism.

After some reflection I know it’s due to a constant hyper vigilance for being perfect. It is illogical to assume that everything I’ll do is perfect, that the way I write or dress has to meet someone’s standards. I write in a conversational tone and I may not use correct grammatical English or prose but I don’t really care.

I want to write to the point that I can easily produce five hundred-word documents. To then build upon that and produce one thousand-word documents. I wonder what is the easiest way to do that. I’ve been working on concepts of identity and accepting each piece of who I am for the last month. It has truthfully felt longer than that. Time fly’s while you’re having fun, they say, but I wonder if time slows down when you’re being authentic and honest with yourself allowing for self-reflection to be had and to change.

It is cliché to use my blog as a means to express myself, as everyone does that but I’m wanting to write and express my thoughts. Perhaps even some short stories. I was dared to write a screen play for how I thought the StarWars movies should’ve ended.

I think I’m going to reflect on that and start writing.

Despite the void the internet potentially creates I encourage anyone who feels alone to shoot me a email.

What If

What If We Caused Loneliness?

What if all preconceived notions on social interaction were bullshit? What if instead of remaining in contact over Facebook or Instagram we’re really craving authentic, real-life, in the flesh relationships with others? What if social media was a band-aid instead of a cure or loneliness. 

Social media is the easiest way to reach millions of individuals. A marketing dream. We as a society have become tunned to our phones as a mother is able to hear the cry of her child in a crowd. It is to easy to become influenced by the pressures of marketing and be caught up in a cycle of need. Further pressure is put upon a person when an influential celebrity endorses the product. 

Has social media caused a societal need to be keeping up with the Joneses? Are we so obsessed to be a certain way that it is difficult to come to grips with our self-image? 

Seeing others succeed further frustrates or emboldens a person.

Social media can be useful in creating a tribe if used appropriately. It, however, has only further separated individuals due to the ease one can acknowledge or ignore a person.

Continuation – from the Introduction

And so I was cast away, only because I stood up to my father.

Wandering around in the forests brought me, unknowingly, close to a party of dwarfs. Observing them from afar I tracked their movements.

“Lítill, how did you miss that deer? It jumped right in front of you!” “Well if I was any taller Heimsk it’d have hit me.”

Laughter rang through the forest. “Lads let’s get a move on before it gets colder, we should make camp up near…” “Friends,” I shouted, “Might I accompany you to your camp?” Immediately, they surrounded me, despite them being stocky they can move fast if need be. I approached them from afar, as a startled dwarf becomes easily enraged.

“And who might you be sneaking around in the forest?” The one they called Heimsk asked, “Do you intend to lead us into an ambush?” “No, I do not. My father cast me out as I dared to suggest to him that he is not a worthy leader.” Surprise crossed each of their faces, Litill asked, “Are you Afbera, the son of Ulfur?” “I am,” I responded, “I suggested to him that the Dark Alfar are slowly taking over the land. They bargained with my father, gave him gold, and he gave up protecting the lowlands. They have left the city and have stretched out their influence up until the fort Tod”

“That’s concerning lad,” said the leader of the party, who had a crooked nose, a scar starting above his right eye and ending under his right eye. He was fitted with the best armor, weapons, and had the largest gold necklace of any dwarf present. “I’m Rúbínsteinn, son of Grár, who is king under the mountain, for now. But this is not the place to talk politics, your words seem true, let us see if your actions are, make camp lads!”

Away they went.

Dwarves, if given the opportunity will erect any structure in a rapid fashion. Pretty soon a fire was roaring, each member, including myself, was provided shelter from the wind and cold. Sitting there waiting for the rabbits to finish cooking Rúbínsteinn asked, “Afbera, my father is not well. The Dark Alfar visited just last summer and he has become increasingly ill. I fear that he will pass before long leaving me king under the mountain.”

“That is ominous,” I replied, “I am sorry to hear of it.” Snorting indignation at my concern he said, “We shouldn’t have entreated them to a welcome but showed only our blades to their throats. But that is the past lad, we have to look forward to the future and hope we are prepared. You have the first watch,” he said as he grabbed his fur blankets and promptly fell asleep.

Surprised at his promptness in giving orders I complied, though concerned as I only had a knife, my father did not give me time to take my belongings.

Making sure to stay awake I began to whittle at a piece of wood from the firewood. Slowly away I carved at it, until another dwarf awoke and told me to turn in.

“Up and at it lad!” cried Rúbínsteinn, kicking me awake, “We must get going, I fear we are being tracked.” Quickly the party of dwarves, numbering twelve in total, made up the camp and were ready to march.

“What will you do lad?” asked Rúbínsteinn, “You have no home, no people and are armed with a knife.” “You’re very blunt your highness” I replied, noting that as I said that he stiffened, “I was wondering if you’d have any use for a castout prince.”

“Perhaps lad, perhaps” said Rúbínsteinn, becoming quiet as we continued to march. A dwarf of few words it seemed, though they are noted to become quite talkative once given a pint of beer. Though those were just stories, my people have never been able to sit down with a dwarf without first fighting them, or stealing from their mines.

Onwards we marched, it seemed like forever. Dwarves are capable of marching long distances. Despite my stature I quickly realized that they can outpace any man from my kingdom. As we marched onwards we came to a clearing, we finally came off of the mountain and were able to see the flatlands, which was desolate.

Suprised, as I haven’t visited the flatlands for over a year since the Dark Alfar invaded, I noticed the ruins of an old market town which was under the protection of my father. Slowly becoming enraged I wondered away from the dwarves…

We were in charge of protecting this land, I thought. There was a thriving market town on the banks of the river, barges floating up and down the river moving goods…

“Lad, what is wrong?” said Rúbínsteinn, running up to me. “One shouldn’t wander alone. This land is more dangerous now than it has ever been.” Turning I smiled at my new friend, “You’re right, we should make it to that outcropping and stop for a rest.” Rúbínsteinn nodded in agreement and turning to the other dwarves, “lads let’s set up camp for a bit!” Marching quickly I finally set my pack down, thankful for a rest. 

Without warning, a war horn sounded, and we heard the war cries of our Alfar foes. “Alfar! Dark Alfar,” yelled Rúbínsteinn, “To arms lads, we’re surrounded!” 

We were quickly overcome, barely able to arm ourselves before we were in the heat of battle. They were quick, these Dark Alfar, stabbing, twisting and trying to catch us off balance. Lucky I’ve been in several battles but armed with only a dagger it was more dodging and running than fighting. 

The Dwarves, however, had a shirt of mail over a leather jerkin which would stop the blade if a foe hacked at them, but this was different. Quickly, several dwarves fell. “Back to back,” yelled Rúbínsteinn, “they can’t dance around us then.” Quickly they surrounded me raising their swords and axes and using their shields to form a circular wall.

The Dark Alfar were unable to penetrate our defenses. When they attacked us they wore no armor, just leather jerkins, swords, and daggers. A dozen of them ambushed us but they weren’t able to penetrate our defenses. Several of the Dwarves suffered from minor cuts but so did the Alfar and we had one serious casualties. 

“Dwarves and Human,” spat a Dark Alfar, “What are you doing this far from home? Don’t you know it’s dangerous at night?” Rúbínsteinn yelled, “What do you want Alfar? We did not provoke you.” 

“No, you are correct dwarf, we just wanted to have a bit of fun and to bring a message,” as the Alfar said this he threw a large scroll at our feet. “Do not look for hope. There is none. Soon your land will be taken from you and your cities lie in ruins.” Yelling something in a foreign language the Dark Alfar quickly disappeared into the night.

“Start a fire laddie,” said Rúbínsteinn to the youngest dwarf, then turning to me he said, “Afbera, are you a decent healer?” “Lad!” Shaking me from my daze, I’ve never been in a real battle, some raids but nobody died. I tended to minor wounds before but nothing to the extent of this. “I will do what I can,” quickly rummaging for supplies I went to one dwarf. Stabbed in the neck and covered in blood, he did not seem to be alive. The other three suffered the same having been stabbed in the weak points of their armor, the neck, leg, or face. Quickly binding their wounds I yelled for him. “Rúbínsteinn, the Dwarf that fell is dead and the only proper thing to do is to bury him.”

“Very well,” said Rúbínsteinn, “we should bury him but let’s set a night watch.” Several of the Dwarves began to fortify our position and the others set to bury their dead friend. “Laddie,” said Rúbínsteinn coming closer to me, “we need to discuss what we should do. What does the scroll say?” Opening it up I saw that it was written in the old language of men. Knowing that my father would be able to read it I pondered whether or not to go back to him…

As night turned into day our party awoke from slumber. Looking for Rúbínsteinn I was resolved to talk with him on what to do next. “Rúbínsteinn,” I called looking for him amongst the sleeping dwarves. Hearing my name I found him standing watch. “Afbera,” he responded, “What is it? You seem deep in thought.” Nodding I told him of my plan, how my father who cast me out knows the old language and perhaps he can decipher the contents of the scroll. “Hold on laddie,” said Rúbínsteinn, “dwarves and men do not get along. How do you know we’ll be accepted into his kingdom?” 

I didn’t I told him…


I was asked to write this by my therapist. Forgot to bring it!

Happiness, is dependent upon the mindset of a person.

I’ve known little children in Mexico to be happy simply becuase they have a specific toy or they were able to hang out with American kids.

I think as children we are familiar with that happinesss is, I remember being whappy when I was younger. I’d play video games or read nonstop.

Going outside and playing on the swing set with my sisters. Getting yelled at by the next-door neighbor who was odd but he had dementia.

Taking family trips to Grandas or the opposite side of the country since Dad knew everybody in the church setting.

Yet, I think happinesss can become fleeting as it ebbs adn flows based on other factions. Emotions are like the tide, they come in during the highpoint and it seems to stay for a while but it recedes.

Bills pile up, work becomes stressful, or a lack of that one “thing” may cause a person to be unhappy. Being overwhelmed can cause anyone to become unhappy.

What would it take for me to be “happy?” Recogntizing that I am who I am and that is alright, nothing has to be perfect. We compare ourselves as a result of the consumeristic society we lice in. I am content at work, perhaps even happy. This happiness is a result of not having to engage my brain and working through the miniature problems of work. Complete silence and zero interaction with soemthing would caue me to be unhappy. I don’t take days off well. I find myself in a better mood when engaged with something meanginful to remotely meaningful, like video games.

At the end of it all, it is a mindset. There isn’t a point to revist the past, reflecting on it is depressing, and pointless.

Much like this pencil joke… I shouldn’t tell it, it has no point.

Writing well, writing consistently

I’m unsure why but I love to write.

Yet, sitting here I’ve got nothing. No drive or a lighting strike of creativity. What does it take to continue to write, day in and day out?

I think a lack of creativity is a result of inner conflict. The desire to go forth and create comes from the soul. When I am upset, I go to the gym, and I’m later able to focus. If I don’t leave it all at the gym I truely cannot contribute to a personal hobby.

Yet, I also think to write well and write consistently one has to approach it like working out.

See what I did there?

My personal goal is to write and post every other weekend.

Two weeks from now I shall be in Nebraska but I plan on having something posted Sunday evening at 5pm central time.

Stay tuned 🙂