The Frewyn Herald: Home of the Haanta Series

Yesterday, Scotty beamed Mr Spock back to the Enterprise, and while Leonard Nemoy will forever be remembered here on earth in the 21st century, his 23rd century counterpart, born in 2230AD and still very much alive, has left his katra, the whole of his memories and experiences as a corporal being, to us. I had meant to write something yesterday, but did not know what. I could not say anything for a while, especially when the legend in question had already given his thoughts on life so poingantly himself: "A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP" Here were his last words to the public, and who could have known how seriously they might be felt. Leonard Nemoy was more than Spock, he was a true artist, studying every discipline from language to photography. He was always generous with his friends and fans, myself included in the latter, but his most enduring lesson I think will be the one he taught us through his portray...

We are getting ready to send out our next novella, featuring the full story between Breigh, Cabhrin, and Jaicobh. If you'd like to receive the novella and all the subsequent stories in e-book format, visit out Patreon page here . Enjoy the rest of the story! A fulmination of sound rushed on him as he ran toward the lake: the susurration of his heels gliding along the grass, the thudding of heartbeat pounding in his ears, the ceaseless rushing of breath flowing in and out as his chest rose and fell—everything agitated and everything distressed him, and he whipped the high grass from his path, his arms flailing, his feet kicking, his voice crying out in an excruciating sob, flurning at the ground and disdaining the sky, hating everything and everybody, wanting the whole world to collapse on itself before his could collapse further on him. He reached the lake, where sat his curragh bobbing along the water. He sloshed into the water and scrambled into his boat, and cried in a...

We all have those comforts which we run to when distraught. For Cabhrin Donnegal his curragh, the small Frewyn coracle he build with his father, is forever a source of immense appeasement. It was something that he and his father shared which no one else could touch and nothing else could equal, and when his father's illness consumed their family, Cabhrin often returned to his curragh, to sit and be silent and remember a time when his father could still join him in all the little interests belonging to the lake .    T he coat weighing down his shoulders, the clasp from the farmer’s overalls pressing into his chest, the worn and calloused hands browsing his back, and Cabhrin was home again: he was at the lake on the Donnegal lands, he was sitting in his curragh, he was in his father’s arms sobbing out his sorrows. It had been a miserable day: Aiden and Adaoire had quarreled with one another over something, Cabhrin had quarreled with Aiden and Adaoire, and everyone had be...

Happy Brigid's Day! To honour the Frewyn holiday, which ushers in the coming of spring, we gave a new novella to all our patrons ! And now, the second part of a piece featured in the novella, the Bangstraw and the Whistle: C abhrin’s whistle was in his hand at last, once he had hardened himself toward accepting it; Breigh’s reception of his gifts assisted Cabhrin in accepting his own, and the more Cabhrin had distinguished and lauded the instrument, the more he reveled in it, the more indebted he felt. It was a privilege even to hold such an finely crafted instrument, with its elegant design and sleek form, and that it should be his, the overpowering notion of his being allowed to keep it, to play it whenever he chose, to cherish it as a family remembrancer, even to leave it as an heirloom for his nephews in future, was all his happy vexation. He turned the mouthpiece up, twisted it about to investigate for breaks or leaks in the seal, and when he set it to rights, he held ...

Frewyn has many national instruments, including the 8-string Frewyn fiddle, the warpipes, and the mandolin, but while there are many instruments that can boast of being in the official running, the bangstraw and the tin whistle, though beloved, are considered to be on the peasant end of the instrumental hierarchy of the kingdom. The bangstraw, which is something like a banjo, was supposedly invented in Marridon by farmers and somehow made its way down to the fields of Sethshire, where it was popularized by farmhands and carried across the country. The tin whistle has a similar story, but was brought to Frewyn by sailors instead of farmers. Both instruments are played in traditional sets, though outside of the kingdom they are disparaged and disregarded as having no merit in the musical community. Those who can play them well, however, must certainly prove these claims wrong: C alleen and Breigh carried the chief of the conversation, talking of the dairy and of Glaoustre, of th...