…might not do as well, because marketing mattered and names were important.
Which is exactly why Tove was disgruntled that Rikvi had saddled her with this task. Then again, the only things Rikvi named were were papers for the Priory, and those things tended to be “Betwitxt and Between: On The Intersection of the Mists and Reality, And…” Tove actually ran out of the ability to mock her cousin’s work right then, but she knew it would be at least two or three lines longer and hurt the head of anyone who looked at it who wasn’t equally book-addled.
The ranger did her best thinking while prowling, so Tove walked the boundaries of the little homestead, trailed by two wolves. The last batch of pups had all grown and found their own ways in the world, making it the first time in several years where her pack was just the two. Randulfr and Valdis, her companions through so much.
“…names. For a guild. Right.”
First, what was the point? …protecting Tyria? Lofty, but well, Tove very much wanted to continue living and that seemed a little dicey these days, all considering. Reaching high was required.
Well, right out: Tyria’s anything, because that was boring.
What were some good, protective-y words? Bulwark. Rampart. Armament. Ward. Bastion. Redoubt.
Vigilance.
Nothing leapt to mind but they were starting places, at least. And of course she could have the purpose all wrong anyway–Rikvi hadn’t been very clear. (Rikvi was never very clear.) Feed the words to a group, though, and something could come of them.
Content with having made at least a start, Tove finished her walk while trying to wrest her cloak’s edge back from Randulfr.
(I present this Slate article for your amusement.)
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