Category: Tradition

Below are some quotes and saying that are common in Gotha:

“All beginnings are hard” – It is difficult when you first start learning a new thing.

Example:
Son: “All gilda and I do since we got married is argue.”
Father: “All beginnings are hard, Son. You both just need time to adjust.”

“It’s sausage to me.” – I don’t care, or have a preference. It makes no difference.

Example:
Sgt: “Would you rather go on patrol, or stand the first watch?”
Trooper: “It’s sausage to me.”
Sgt: “Patrol it is then.”

“Don’t put it on the LONG BENCH” – Long bench means putting it off. This means don’t procrastinate on this.

Example:
Blacksmith to Apprentice: “Are you done with those nails for Sir Klaus’ man?”
Apprentice: “i’ll get to them.”
Blacksmith: “well, don’t put it on the long bench. Sir Klaus is a good man and we owe him.”

“He who rests, gets rusty” – get moving, don’t let yourself “rust”

Example:
Father: “after we’ve skinned, this deer, we’ll head on back home.”
Son: “can’t we just sit a bit and unwind?”
Father: “No, we’d best head back and get to fixin the roof. He who rests gets rusty.”

“go down with drums and trumpets.” – to fail spectacularly
Example:
Ser Klaus: “He was due to get transferred to the Emperor’s personal guard. What on earth was Ser Freidrich thinking drinking to the wee hours of the mourn and getting in that brawl? He’s undone himself before the Archbishop himself.This will get him sent to the Northern border for certain.”
Ser Heinrich: “I suppose he decided to go down with drums and trumpets.”

“an old fox understands a trap.” – You don’t have to explain that, or you can’t fool me.
Example:
Apprentice: “How’d you know that horseshoe needed to be replaced?”
Master of horse: “it was the way the horse was moving this morning. An old fox understands a trap.”

“Starting is easy, persistence is an art.” – stick with it
Example:
Daughter to mother: “I want to be as a fine with a sword as you!”
Mother: “well then, along with these lessons, every day you must hit the pells before breakfast then again at dusk. You’re very enthusiastic now, but starting is easy, persistence is an art.”

“failure makes smart.” – failing means you are learning how not to do it. You get better with practice.

Example:
Son to Mother: “I’ll never hit the mark. The bow is my enemy.”
Mother to Son: “you just need to practice. Failure makes smart.”

“The cheapest is always the most expensive.” -Don’t skimp and ruin the job.
Example:
Lord Johann to his father: “I think I’ll go with the Yoric to build us the North wall. He’s half the cost of Master Lonar.”
Father: “The cheapest way is always the most expensive. Yoric’s a fool. Master Lonar built Nestor bridge as a boy and it’s still as solid as ever.”

“Make haste with leisure.” -Stop and smell the roses.
Example:
Otto: “well, i’d love to stay and share a cup, but i’ve a hard day tomorrow.

Wilhelm: “Make haste with leisure Otto, you work to hard.”
Otto : “I suppose one won’t hurt then.”

“crooked logs also make straight fires.” – seeking the perfect is the enemy of “good.” Make due with what you have, don’t stop because you don’t have EVERYTHING in perfect order.
Example:
Sgt. Klaus to Lord Sauber: “these new guards are green as can be. Not a one of them has ever seen a spear.”

Lord Sauber: “Crooked logs also make straight fires Klaus. Do as best you can and spread them around so they can learn from the veterans.”

“He who chases two rabbits at once will catch none.” – do one thing at a time.
Example:
Dieter to his father: “I love Anna with all my heart. She’s kind as can be and i love her laugh, but then there’s Elisabeth. Every time i see her my heart just stops.”

Father: “He who chases two rabbits at once will catch none. Which do you trust?”

“If the rider is no good, it’s the horse’s fault.” – Don’t shift the blame away from yourself. Take responsibility.
Example:
Squire Herbert: “you keep knocking the sword out of my hand when we practice. There’s something wrong with the hilt.”
Sir Dieter: “If the rider is no good, it’s the horse’s fault. Have you considered that you might be holding it too tightly?”

“don’t act like an offended sausage.” – don’t be so dramatic.

Example:
Klaus: “How dare he accuse me of taking the bread?”
Lowell: “Don’t act like an offended sausage, he asked us all.”

The Gospel of Istra, in The Drottkvaet or Old Court Skaldic meter

(12 beats per line, in 6 beat segments. aBaB rhyme, with ‘a’ as trochee soft rhyme, and ‘B’ as a hard rhyme. Extensive alliteration to aid memory.)

Blood calls to us, blood-born, and by battle blooded,
The rent skin’s red river. A vibrant vivid sight.
All gaze upon its gush. Guard its loss, lest gutted,
The red that once raptured, turns horror, not delight.

A death, and what’s destroyed? All the dead one’s lessons.
A life. A lineage. Potential’s end. Such power!
So exhilarating. To feel ending’s essence.
Blood spilled. I thrilled to kill. To take a man’s last hour.

Once, I waded, wallowed, in blood and excrement.
In screams, in gags and gasps. When there were screams, I came.
I, Istra, sword maiden, whose blade made men lament.
I, ice-veined. Right. Righteous. A reaper without blame.

Then Shepherd of the Dead, archangel Lurian,
Who slips in dreams, and speaks, gave urgent whispered choice:
Be destruction. Death. Or: Repent my fury’s sin,
Heal. I heard, and haunted, ignored that solid voice.

I chose ruin. Mine and man’s. Destruction’s blade, bloody.
An undefeated blade. A cloak of flesh – man’s own.
Havok’s horror. Harm-mad. I made it rain ruddy.
I made a throne of blood. I made a throne of bone.

Believing I was right. But then came Benalus.
Requesting peace, passage, through my black blood-soaked fields.
He and his large army. I laughed, not covetous…
Of peace. My land grew bones. Why should I, Istra, yield?

I sang the song of steel. Men – wheat – to my scything.
I was War with no end. I had no cause to bend.
So battle broke, brutal. Our wounds wept, red tithing.
Archangel-deaf, Istra, seeking what I could rend.

Then Lurian appeared, awake-seen, arisen.
Up from the dead all piled. I saw. I caught my breath.
A thousand crows with him. His great wings. A vision.
And more than a vision. The herald of all death.

My death, and all men’s death. His eyes were white, blazing,
White-hooded and watching. I knew then who I faced.
He spoke, and now I heard. My cruel deeds, my razing,
My wrath and destruction, all a disgusting waste.

In His eyes, I saw death. I knew I’d chose wrongly.
In the billowing folds of Lurian’s white cloak
I saw the souls I’d shorn, and felt fiercely, strongly,
I was His, always His. A fool to flee his yoke.

I plunged my bloodied blade, hilt-deep, in earth buried.
My armor discarded, rain rinsed shoulder and breast,
The wet metal ran clean. But sin’s stain, once carried,
Is harder to set down. I knew I could not rest.

The rain would not rinse me – my soul by blood blackened.
Unarmed and unarmored, I walked away from sin.
As once, in bloody work, my pace never slackened,
Now I’d try to undo, one hundred fold, again.

Bearing solace, succor, things in this world lacking,
Consoling, comforting, a caretaker of man,
Pain easer. Wound healer. Never more attacking.
A servant of mankind, and of my Lurian.

My soul found peace and rest, in a world conflicted.
But not yet purity. Those, purified, are freed
In death to their reward. I remained convicted,
By my brutal actions, every last violent deed.

And those I healed had time, destiny delayed yet,
To change their course towards God. And those whose time was nigh
Had their release – a gift. So I paid my great debt:
To them kind face and words, farewell at their last sigh.

The Archangel of Death had made me his door man:
The door of death. Its host. The usher of that space,
With gracious welcoming, be they king or poor man.
Lurian’s honored guests who at last see His face.

But most can yet live on, with the lores of healing,
With rites and ornaments, bandage, and scholar’s art.
Balance of the humors – phlegm, choler, congealing,
Third, black bile, and fourth, blood. For me, an end and start.

The flesh can heal, and mind. Some thoughts can be diseased,
And need be purified. Some harms are healed with sleep,
With rest, or scourge of dream, for Lurian, displeased,
Sends night-sign and torment, a tax that some find steep.

I battled spirits then. Maleficent beings.
They enter into wounds, and must be purged with care,
With fire and heat. It hurts. But sends spirits fleeing.
Lurian hears the screams, as sweet as any prayer.

And so, a decade passed, and always I refrained.
Though violence called, I prayed. I never joined the fray.
I listened for crying, and went to serve the pained.
I’d have done forever, but came the fated day.

They came for Benalus. The darkest of onslaughts.
The Feasting King. Fleshless. Hooded. The Miser Lord.
Such overwhelming odds. The best of us soon caught.
Lurian reached for him. Death! I wished for a sword.

I begged the archangel. Unarmed, and then … gifted.
A sword of sharp silver. My flesh, his body’s shield.
I became Death. Their Doom. A blade, again lifted.
Unstoppable as Night. And thus, I reaped the field.

And Benalus survived. Like my last words, spoken,
When silver stopped singing, and I lay in the mud.
An acolyte found me, who sought out the broken,
My usher through death’s door, the one framed in red blood.

(This is in common meter, so it can be sung to any tune that uses it like Amazing Grace, O Little Town of Bethlehem, Tam Lin, House of the Rising Sun, etc.)

The Word was God, and God the Word,
And all yet silent, still.
God spoke, became Himself, and heard
A sound with Meaning filled.

A Word with Meaning is defined,
Life’s Meaning is its worth,
Its measure – good and bad, combined,
The sum of acts since birth.

So God made angels – Meaning’s Acts.
Whose Acts gave World growth.
God made man, with power to impact,
With Form and Meaning both.

And then God took from angels action,
They meant, but could not act.
And so, a discontented faction
Rebelled for what they lacked.

Tarraniel and Laziel,
And Kurian, beside.
They sang new meaning: evil’s knell,
Dark Purpose personified.

The could not act, but could men sway,
And men, for them, could act.
God saw corruption spread this way,
And all the harm it wracked.

So God, the seven angels made.
Archangels with the power
To Act, on Purpose, and dissuade,
To make the angels cower.

Archangels impact Purpose, each:
One fights, one saves, one guides,
One moves, one watches, one acts in speech,
One waits. And war abides.

Then Mithriel a hammer makes
Which Meaning can un-know.
Beneath their Meaning, the angels quaked.
And then He struck the blow.

The war was ended, their Meaning destroyed.
God’s Purpose purified.
God’s Judgement forged, to be employed,
On all who dare defy.