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threevirtues) wrote2024-03-09 06:02 pm
threevirtues) wrote2024-03-09 06:02 pm
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Pectriche
As this will be the final review I write detailing the various Havens which we know of in the land, I thought I would take a moment to explain my process in reviewing them all. As best as I am capable, I try to have a basic system in place for measuring it. In truth, every Haven should be thought of as a blessing, for they are places of safety when such a thing can be few and far between out in the wilderness. It is nonetheless undeniable that some are more desirable than others.
So when I review Havens, I try to consider numerous factors. What resources are in the immediate vicinity which could be used for resources or future endeavors? Is the view worth the immediate ache of your back from being in a tent? Can you find something of interest nearby, such as a tackle shop or the entrance into a dungeon? Do beasts threaten you the second that you attempt to make your way over to the Haven, and, if so, just what are they and how should you be prepared? These are the main questions that I do my best to ponder when I stay at such Havens - both for the reviews that I write and for those who I travel with, whose safety and happiness is at the forefront of my mind every time I take note of the sun setting on the horizon. \
Of course, those who I travel with are often professionals in their areas of expertise. Most travelers will not have their skills, or equipment. That, too, is something I keep in mind when I make my recommendations on Havens to stay at. Perhaps Palmaugh Haven may be dull, and yet I would recommend it a thousand times over to the average traveler simply trying to get by rather than tell them to venture up to a place such as Owylss.
Yet still I recommend Owlyss. Yet still I recommend Capitis. Yet still I recommend Kellebram.
I will, most sincerely and with all my heart, recommend Pectriche.
Of course, I do not expect just about any person to simply pick up a sleeping bag from their local store and trek off deep into the dangers of Myrlwood at the drop of a hat. The Myrlwood is a place positively teeming with creatures which are not only dangerous but which violently loathe one another - for mushussu feed on mandrakes when they are able, leading to explosive confrontations which none wish to get in the middle of. Unfortunately, it is more than likely that venturers into Myrlwood may end up doing just that, for the lush greenery makes a natural maze of sorts, leading one to be almost hopelessly lost as they struggle to recall if they passed by this particular fallen log or not.
Still, there are worst places to be lost in, one supposes. On rainy days, a fine mist coats the green floors of Myrlwood and creeps up along its many little cliffs and ledges. It lends an essence of mystique, a feeling that it shares with its distant cousin Malmalam. On brighter days, the sunlight falls between the leaves in brilliant speckles of gold, and there is a feeling within one's chest as though they are slipping into a long forgotten secret.
One such secret may be that the lush vegetation has grown over quite a few interesting bits and baubles, if your eyes are sharp, and you are lacking in the kind of fear most people have in regards to mushussu or mandrakes.
The other and more valuable secret is Pectriche Haven.
It comes when you've finally stumbled out of the near overwhelming world of green which makes up so much of Myrlwood and into a bit of grey as cliffs box you in down towards two paths. The right should be avoided, unless you have a death wish made with the treants which lurk even deeper in the heart of Myrlwood. Left is where you will find sanctuary. The left is where you will find a sight that will make it all worth it.
If I were a poet, perhaps I could truly spin the image before your very eyes whilst you read my words. I think the little spot within Myrlwood is deserving of poetry, certainly, how you stumble free from the confines of stone to the sound of rushing water, the faint glow of a Haven welcoming you as though an old friend. Yet I am not much of a poet, I am afraid.
All I can tell you is that if Owlyss shows you the entirety of the world and reminds you of the vastness of it all, then Pectriche does very much the opposite that is nonetheless within the same vein. Pectriche, with its little fishing dock where one can sit and watch the waterfall pour out its entire self, draws one in closer. It seals the world away, greenery outside blocking all other outside sound while the waterfall roars over it, and makes you look at it all. Reminds you of what nature truly is, and what it can do for the human spirit.
You will find no small shortage of trout, there, which ensures dining will be good and plentiful so long as you a fishing rod to spare, yet perhaps Myrlwood also knows it is a special place, for there is a special fish there. The platinum myrltrout makes its home in those waters, and no doubt in the river which connects to that waterfall in the first place. Its flesh is delightfully savory when prepared just right.
Mostly what I recall of the fish, however, is the look on the fisherman's face when he reeled it in from the water. One of our companions had commented that he would no doubt hunt the entire pool dry with how long he had been fishing, there along the little dock, and I could tell at the time that he had fallen into a sort of quiet and serene rhythm through it all. Yet when he first pulled in the myrltrout, that serenity was broken, and he lit up with a sweet joy at the realization he had pulled in a new fish which he had never seen before. I hope he might hold that joy within him for the rest of his life, truly.
It goes without saying that was the fish which I cooked for our supper that night. As I prepared the fillet that would go into the soup, one of our other companions stayed right by my side through the entire process. He is an aspiring photographer of some skill, you see, and his camera roll was full of pictures he had capture detailing our descent down into Myrlwood. The entire way through, I had been preoccupied with watching our surroundings and each other, so that I might ensure we all stayed healthy through any battles.
His camera caught sights that I had neglected in my focus on what was immediately before me. The drowning intensity of green. Sunlight whispering past thick boughs of trees. The feral lunge of mushussu. Through his camera, there was a memory of that waterfall that would last with us forever.
I have kept those photos forefront in my mind as I have written this review.
When I finally began to divvy up the soup I had made into bowls for us all, it was with the help of our resident survivalist. Even if I had not noticed the natural wonders all around on the venture, it had been impossible for me to ignore how satisfied he was at our journey or the way sweat clung to the back of his neck from all the hard work it had taken to get here. He regretted none of it; I needn't even ask him much. I could see how he seemed almost the most relaxed and content of us all as he sat there amongst the rocks, head tilted back so that he could face the stars high over our heads.
Everyone needs Havens to make it through the hopeless dark which falls every single day. Yet it is men like that who truly enjoy them as though savoring life itself, and I am glad that they exist even for simply that reason.
I made a Golden Tail Soup that night. The myrltrout truly is the only kind of fish which can exist for a soup like that, bringing to new heights both itself but also its accompaniments of kurata marrow and allural shallot. By no means was it weighty, bringing any bloat with it, but rather savory with nothing that could hope to compare. Yet in the end, I wonder if the warm way it filled my entire body was not due to the fish itself, but the act of sitting there at the campfire, fed with view and company both.
May my readers find their own Pectriche Haven, whatever form that may take, and loved ones who may sit there alongside them.
★★★★★
So when I review Havens, I try to consider numerous factors. What resources are in the immediate vicinity which could be used for resources or future endeavors? Is the view worth the immediate ache of your back from being in a tent? Can you find something of interest nearby, such as a tackle shop or the entrance into a dungeon? Do beasts threaten you the second that you attempt to make your way over to the Haven, and, if so, just what are they and how should you be prepared? These are the main questions that I do my best to ponder when I stay at such Havens - both for the reviews that I write and for those who I travel with, whose safety and happiness is at the forefront of my mind every time I take note of the sun setting on the horizon. \
Of course, those who I travel with are often professionals in their areas of expertise. Most travelers will not have their skills, or equipment. That, too, is something I keep in mind when I make my recommendations on Havens to stay at. Perhaps Palmaugh Haven may be dull, and yet I would recommend it a thousand times over to the average traveler simply trying to get by rather than tell them to venture up to a place such as Owylss.
Yet still I recommend Owlyss. Yet still I recommend Capitis. Yet still I recommend Kellebram.
I will, most sincerely and with all my heart, recommend Pectriche.
Of course, I do not expect just about any person to simply pick up a sleeping bag from their local store and trek off deep into the dangers of Myrlwood at the drop of a hat. The Myrlwood is a place positively teeming with creatures which are not only dangerous but which violently loathe one another - for mushussu feed on mandrakes when they are able, leading to explosive confrontations which none wish to get in the middle of. Unfortunately, it is more than likely that venturers into Myrlwood may end up doing just that, for the lush greenery makes a natural maze of sorts, leading one to be almost hopelessly lost as they struggle to recall if they passed by this particular fallen log or not.
Still, there are worst places to be lost in, one supposes. On rainy days, a fine mist coats the green floors of Myrlwood and creeps up along its many little cliffs and ledges. It lends an essence of mystique, a feeling that it shares with its distant cousin Malmalam. On brighter days, the sunlight falls between the leaves in brilliant speckles of gold, and there is a feeling within one's chest as though they are slipping into a long forgotten secret.
One such secret may be that the lush vegetation has grown over quite a few interesting bits and baubles, if your eyes are sharp, and you are lacking in the kind of fear most people have in regards to mushussu or mandrakes.
The other and more valuable secret is Pectriche Haven.
It comes when you've finally stumbled out of the near overwhelming world of green which makes up so much of Myrlwood and into a bit of grey as cliffs box you in down towards two paths. The right should be avoided, unless you have a death wish made with the treants which lurk even deeper in the heart of Myrlwood. Left is where you will find sanctuary. The left is where you will find a sight that will make it all worth it.
If I were a poet, perhaps I could truly spin the image before your very eyes whilst you read my words. I think the little spot within Myrlwood is deserving of poetry, certainly, how you stumble free from the confines of stone to the sound of rushing water, the faint glow of a Haven welcoming you as though an old friend. Yet I am not much of a poet, I am afraid.
All I can tell you is that if Owlyss shows you the entirety of the world and reminds you of the vastness of it all, then Pectriche does very much the opposite that is nonetheless within the same vein. Pectriche, with its little fishing dock where one can sit and watch the waterfall pour out its entire self, draws one in closer. It seals the world away, greenery outside blocking all other outside sound while the waterfall roars over it, and makes you look at it all. Reminds you of what nature truly is, and what it can do for the human spirit.
You will find no small shortage of trout, there, which ensures dining will be good and plentiful so long as you a fishing rod to spare, yet perhaps Myrlwood also knows it is a special place, for there is a special fish there. The platinum myrltrout makes its home in those waters, and no doubt in the river which connects to that waterfall in the first place. Its flesh is delightfully savory when prepared just right.
Mostly what I recall of the fish, however, is the look on the fisherman's face when he reeled it in from the water. One of our companions had commented that he would no doubt hunt the entire pool dry with how long he had been fishing, there along the little dock, and I could tell at the time that he had fallen into a sort of quiet and serene rhythm through it all. Yet when he first pulled in the myrltrout, that serenity was broken, and he lit up with a sweet joy at the realization he had pulled in a new fish which he had never seen before. I hope he might hold that joy within him for the rest of his life, truly.
It goes without saying that was the fish which I cooked for our supper that night. As I prepared the fillet that would go into the soup, one of our other companions stayed right by my side through the entire process. He is an aspiring photographer of some skill, you see, and his camera roll was full of pictures he had capture detailing our descent down into Myrlwood. The entire way through, I had been preoccupied with watching our surroundings and each other, so that I might ensure we all stayed healthy through any battles.
His camera caught sights that I had neglected in my focus on what was immediately before me. The drowning intensity of green. Sunlight whispering past thick boughs of trees. The feral lunge of mushussu. Through his camera, there was a memory of that waterfall that would last with us forever.
I have kept those photos forefront in my mind as I have written this review.
When I finally began to divvy up the soup I had made into bowls for us all, it was with the help of our resident survivalist. Even if I had not noticed the natural wonders all around on the venture, it had been impossible for me to ignore how satisfied he was at our journey or the way sweat clung to the back of his neck from all the hard work it had taken to get here. He regretted none of it; I needn't even ask him much. I could see how he seemed almost the most relaxed and content of us all as he sat there amongst the rocks, head tilted back so that he could face the stars high over our heads.
Everyone needs Havens to make it through the hopeless dark which falls every single day. Yet it is men like that who truly enjoy them as though savoring life itself, and I am glad that they exist even for simply that reason.
I made a Golden Tail Soup that night. The myrltrout truly is the only kind of fish which can exist for a soup like that, bringing to new heights both itself but also its accompaniments of kurata marrow and allural shallot. By no means was it weighty, bringing any bloat with it, but rather savory with nothing that could hope to compare. Yet in the end, I wonder if the warm way it filled my entire body was not due to the fish itself, but the act of sitting there at the campfire, fed with view and company both.
May my readers find their own Pectriche Haven, whatever form that may take, and loved ones who may sit there alongside them.
★★★★★
ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕊𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟
fishfearme: Hey. Thanks for all the reviews. They really reminded me of a lot of things, and... I appreciate it. I'm glad you liked Pectriche. ★★★★★
chocobro: uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh lol wao p. deep stuff for a review bro!!!!!!! but uh thx!!!! <3 EDIT: u would tell me if the heart was too much right ★★★★★
womenwantme: I think you really speak to the core on what it means to go to a lot of these Havens. It's not just about having a safe space to live. It's about having a place where you can experience living, sometimes. I'm glad to experience living with you in the world. ★★★★★