Author's notes:

From The Empire Strikes Back comes this following snippet:

Luke: I'm looking for someone.
Yoda: Looking? Found someone, you have, I would say, hmmm?
Luke: Right...
Yoda: Help you I can. Yes, mmmm.
Luke: I don't think so. I'm looking for a great warrior.
Yoda: Ohhh. Great warrior.
[laughs and shakes his head]
Yoda: Wars not make one great.

Courtesy of IMDB's always-engaging 'memorable quotes' page -- engaging for just about every film.

This one is not best one from the film (my personal favourite is, "No. Try not. Do... or do not. There is no try.") It's probably the one most applicable to our current troubled times. A recently-felled author of note was eulogized across many pages, and one commentor felt his Bronze Star and other awards overshadowed his writing as being his most memorable and noteworthy accomplishment.

I disagree. Name me five stories Hemingway wrote (and, with the exception of a forced march through "The Old Man and the Sea," I'll not have read them!) Now, name me five contemporaries of Hemingway awarded a Bronze Star, it's equivalent across the flags or some greater award.

Short of either genocide or cultural genocide (where a conquering force seeks to erase the vanquished's heritage, history, and perhaps even language over a span of generations) the pen will always outlive the sword. It will not triumph when encountered in the real world -- as evidence by the apocryphal account of Archimedes' death, if nothing else.

In an enlightened state, the sword is guided by the pen. In a totalitarian state, the pen is guided by the sword. In which would you rather live? The nature of any entity is guided by that which is in control. A person, his mind. A mind, his spirit. What about a country? Which should lead, the pen or the sword? Which would establish the plans for not just this generation, but those forthcoming? Which would be able to convey these plans to our progeny?

Which is more important, the pen or the sword?

(Those of you just joining here, start with Callan and Sian 1)



"I completed my Claim on her already, Callan. You will bring the combined wrath of all the Awakened down upon your head should you Claim her without adhering to protocol." Their eyes met in Challenge.

"I'd rather sit first, then talk, old friend." He flashed teeth, belying his greeting. Still, he reeled from the Power in Marc's stare. Almost the whole of is Will he mustered to shore up the barriers between Marc's glare and his soul.

Evander nodded and moved over. "Got lots of room, Cal. C'mon down."

Sian's eyes blinked and grasped for Callan's focus. She did not speak, but the panic, the entreaty shone through.

Callan nodded, never breaking gaze with his enemy. "Now, now, Sian. No need to be frightened, but no need to get upset, either." His forehead started to glisten.

"Callan, Callan. What are you playing at? You can't best me, not on your fullest day. And I am, thanks to my Sian. My little one." Again, Marc's words bore down on Callan, but less than before. After he spoke, her eyes went blank, her posture turned rigid.

"I am not here to fight you, Marcarius. I would hope we could talk like gentlemen, after all these years." His defenses held, but with protests loud and sharp.

"I'm not sure we've anything to discuss, my old friend. I've claimed Sian. I Marked her and Named her. She's mine. I even Presented her before the Circles to Establish her."

"From what I Heard, it was only the Outer Circle." A bead of sweat stung his eye. He blinked then resumed the duel.

Marc leaned back and brayed a laugh. "You and your Senses. That's why you always lose, Callan. You don't focus on the important."

Callan nodded. "That may be the case. It may indeed be. But it doesn't alter the facts: you Claimed my thrall. You Presented her falsely before the whole of those gathered at the Mephistopheles Society. Or at least the Outer Circle." He knew his calm didn't fool Marc. That wasn't his goal. He stilled the turmoil inside and swallowed, then tipped his chin slightly forward at Marc in temporary triumph.

"I Scented her. She had no other Marks."

"You are all but incompetent in that discipline, Marcarius. Focusing on the important, remember? Besides, she will attest to laying with me, taking my Mark, and my Naming her. What's more, she'll attest to accepting the Name with full knowledge of what it means. If you stop Dominating her mind, that is. I doubt the those on the Elder Arc would approve of your Claim, even if I had no prior contact. A thrall must accept her Name freely, Marcarius" The tendons in his neck started to ache. His breath caught once, then resumed. His gaze was still defended, but he was but scratching Marc's walls.

"You'll be surprised, my dear Callan Sinclair. I do not wield only the cudgel. Besides, the Circles turn, as they ought. They turn and they fold in upon themselves. The Inner Circle is not as you remembered it."

Callan noted Sian's tremor, the narrowing of her eyes. The use of his Full Name battered him. He kept his stare on Marc, narrowing his eyes in show of false strength. "So their reaction to a false Claim has changed? That would lead to chaos, my friend. Madness." He added an audible emphasis to the first syllable.

"That doesn't matter! I could say I made the false Claim in good faith, that you Obscured your Scent on her. I could say you planned this all to defame me." Marc deflected his feeble push with ease.

"You could, and I did. But to which of us would the Inner Circle award her?" Callan knew Marc's anger and exclamation distracted him from his barrage, and Callan quickly shored his own walls. "I Claimed her first. She's mine to use."

"Hey! I'm not a fucking piece of meat!" Sian grabbed the squeeze bottle of chili sauce and clenched, deluging Marc's face.

"My eyes! My eyes!" Marc shot upright, tearing the bench off its bolts. Sian lunged for the far edge of the table to keep from falling with the chair.

Callan grabbed her hand. "Very good, Sian."

As Marc flailed and cursed, the other three fled, Forgotten.