When I first heard the stories of my tradition, I emersed myself in them completely. I wove them into the fabric of my being. These were story’s of people who had to make choices. No good, no evil, just choices. Lines they crossed and foes they took down because of it. Story’s of mistakes and flaws. Hubris and over confidence. Truly human stories. Lessons in failure and triumph and the price paid for both. We tell story’s of the fallen and the glorious dead, great deeds and greater sacrifice. Tales of the Gods and their champions, their plots, and their fall. We tell stories of whispered names to old to be remembered and to powerful to let lose. There is power in these stories. Well crafted words and the inevitable drink hail. We tell them to celebrate, we tell them to please the Gods, we tell them to teach. We name our fledglings after the heroes in these stories, so that their strength will empower them and help shape who they will become.