Vorfelan Rhinta Morie

1. I think i was what 13 when I read NOTW the first time. And it’s still shocking to me to realized it’s not considered a YA novel. I’d been reading stuff with clear villains and heroes, wise old mentors, etc... And Elodin is presented as a sort of joke i guess, not really meant to be taken seriously. So I kinda just overlooked the raunchy shit he said/pulled, because i hadn’t really seen Problematic Characters that weren’t blatantly problematic/villains.

2. I haven’t reread it in a very long time so the picture of him i have in my head is more of the headcanons i have made/assumed instead of book canon (same with Bast tbh)

3. He doesn’t put up with kvothe’s bs, in a different way than the other masters. He’s antagonistic, but not outright malevolent like Hemme (again, could be wrong cos hey havent read it since HS). Naming the class “not being a stupid jackass”, distracting him with pinecones, etc... are tamer than having him whipped.

Kvothe was on the run. He was running from his past, from the people he wronged, from the people he feared. He was running from his history, his reputation. He was running from Admere and the University, the court of the Maer. He was running from Auri and Sim, Wil, Devi, Mola, Fela, and Denna, he was running from Denna. He was running from Felrulian in the fae, and from the bullies in Tarbean, and from the draccus. He was running from the fake Ruh troop and the Chandarin, mercenaries and one Jackass Jackass. He was running from sympathy and naming and the path of the sword tree. He was running from the war and from kings. He was running from Himself. He ran and ran and ran, until there was no where left to go. And that’s where he stopped: Newarre. In a small town with a small population of small minded people, he stopped running.  

In the center of the town was an old, rundown inn. There were cobwebs in every corner, and the wooden floors had been torn up for firewood. Every step creaked, and the windows were all smashed by rocks from bored children. Kvothe didn’t see this, he saw the potential. He bought the inn and called it “The Waystone” after the large monuments that litter the country, and the song that his mother wrote. “Whatever the season/ that I’m on the road/  I look for a reason/ loden or laystone/ to lay down my load.”

With a cloth ‘round his face, he swept away years of abandonment: dust, cobwebs, and dirt. He threw open the smashed windows to let the stale air dissipate. He tore down the old fireplace and reset it with fresh mortar. The villagers watched. He hired a cart to bring him new planks for the floor and glass panes for the windows. He commissioned a woodworker to make furniture: tables and chairs, bed frames for the rooms. He bought barrels from a cooper to hold fresh fruit and vegetables. He paid a blacksmith for locks and hinges, and replaced all the crooked doors. He ordered buckets and buckets of polish, and painstakingly buffed every piece of wood in the inn. He collapsed every night in a straw bed aching from a rough day’s work. He spent a week removing stones and weeds from the overgrown vegetable garden, and his back screamed at night. The villagers watched. He leveled out the front porch and hung a welcome sign from the eaves. He chopped wood all day and piled it out in the back. When his body wasn’t in pain, he would fall asleep thinking about where he would place the tables, and what he would serve to guests. He bought a large washing tub for a bath, and soft mattresses for the bedrooms. He spent a whole day lugging them one by one up the stairs. He had his first decent night’s sleep in one. He ordered rugs and silverware and drinking glasses. He stocked the bar with every alcohol he could remember from the Eolian. The villagers started to get excited.  

When there was nothing left to do, he finally rested. He christened the inn “The Waystone,” and invited the townsmen to an opening celebration. There was a warm fire in the hearth, and the pleasant hum of cheerful conversation. He called himself Kote, the innkeeper. He took their orders and served hot cooked meals. He listened to stories, and memorized all their names. At night, they left and he retired to his own room. He was content.

Satsuma Biwa, Musical Instruments

Me: no

Mom: please?

Me: no

Mom: oh come on, please?

Me: buy me a book

Mom: what kind of book?

Me: Chinese Book

Dad: The Art of War?

Me: no i already own that

Dad: …

Me: …

Dad: there’s not a lot of people you can offer to buy “the art of war” for who can say “i already have it”

So do to people’s excitement towards the idea, I will be posting an essay prompt for The Kingkiller Chronicle. These, of course, are entirely optional, have no time limit, no word minimum, and will not be graded lol. I will respond to the essays I see 

Which is the character is the most fearful villain of the series? 

For inspiration, consider: Who is the pinnacle of evil? Which character has caused the most problems for Kvothe? Which character has the worst effect on their society? Which character is the most amoral? What are the intentions of said character? 

Suggested guidelines: 

Use textual evidence!!! Page number and edition is great, but chapter number and title also works!!! 

You probably want at least at least three paragraphs. 

Consider the opposing arguments to strengthen your own.  

Feel free to use other notable villains from different stories for comparison!!! Intertextuality is awesome!!! (Just at least reference the story itself for context sake!!) 

This question was designed to get a variety of different point of views. You may disagree with someone else and respond, but please do not disrespect them.

This can be persuasive or just a statement of your opinion. 

This should be fun!!!! If you are not having fun, stop. Breathe. Reread your favorite part of kkc. You do not have to finish or publish your opinion. 

(wrong answers only)