The Postbellum Southern Disillusionment In Wash Analysis

The Postbellum Southern Disillusionment in â€Å"Wash† According to German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche, exercising and expanding one’s personal power is â€Å"all that one wants† (Nietzsche 36). He argues that â€Å"we hurt those to whom we need to make our power perceptible, [and] we benefit and show benevolence toward those who already depend on us in some way† (36). Per this logic, individuals who exhibit generosity feel content with their current influence on the world while those who act injuriously yearn for more control over their peers. It is not surprising, then, that the Poor White sociocultural caste of the Antebellum and particularly the Postbellum South exhibited extreme malice towards blacks, in attempts to elevate themselves due to†¦show more content†¦Critic Franà §oise Buisson observes that â€Å"Wash’s idealized vision of his master present[s] the reader with the baroque drama of Southern illusion† (Buisson 2), and Wash’s outlook embodies the general Southern attitude perpetuating inequality. He believes wholly in his master, and remarks â€Å"‘Well Kernel †¦ they kilt us but they ain’t whupped us yit, air they?’† (Faulkner 132). Wash alters his own self-perception in a desperate attempt of self-elevation, convincing himself that the â€Å"world in which he sensed always about him mocking echoes of black laughter was but a dream and an illusion, and that the actual world was this one across which his own lonely apotheosis seemed to gallop on the black thoroughbred† (132). Wash’s Platonic conception of himself is merely a plebian emulation of the man he reveres most: Thomas Sutpen. He imagines himself in a position of power atop Sutpen’s black stallion, with all of the marks of representative power. When subjected to the verbal degradation that he experiences at the tongues of the slaves â€Å"calling him white trash† (Faul kner 130), Wash attempts to escape the reality of his dismal situation by fabricating a fictitious existence with limited verisimilitude. Wash’s puerile dismissal of his forlorn situation reflects many white Southerners’ general denial of the upshot of the Civil War—while in fact they are defeated, they refuse to accept this adverse reality. In addition to using examples of Wash’s

Descartes Proof That The Mind And The Body - 1568 Words

Descartes’ proof that the Mind and the Body are distinct substances is as follows, First Descartes asserts that everything that can be clearly and distinctly understood is within the ability to be created by God as to correspond identically with the way that Descartes understand things in the world. It follows from this assertion that because Descartes is able to clearly and distinctly understand one thing apart from one another is enough to make them noticeably different in substance. Descartes follows this with the notion of the mind, saying that because one is able to possess a clear and distinct understanding of their self as a distinct and separate substance, which is not extended into the environment and handles all of the logical thinking. He continues to say that he possesses a clear and distinct understanding of the body as an extended and unthinking. He finishes with the conclusion that this demonstrates that the body and the mind are actually distinct form one anoth er. By saying that they are distinct substances, in Descartes’ overall argument, means that the mind and the body are composed primarily of two separate and unique substances and that they are unable to share properties such as that the body is the corporeal substance that experiences the sensations of the world, or in other words the body’s substance is that of feeling. The mind is an ethereal substance that is responsible for reason and rationality. They are distinct in that their existence isShow MoreRelatedDescartes and the Existence of God751 Words   |  3 Pagesï » ¿Descartes: The existence of God Over the course of his treatise Discourse on the Method, the philosopher Rene Descartes attempts to refute radical skepticism, or the idea that we can know nothing with the mind, because what we consider reality may simply be a delusion or a dream. Descartes begins, however, by taking a posture of doubting everything, and then attempting to discern what could be known for certain. 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Streams of Silver 2. City of Sails Free Essays

string(61) " him and his stern gaze boring into the impudent gatekeeper\." â€Å"Well, there she is, lad, the City of Sails,† Bruenor said to Wulfgar as the two looked down upon Luskan from a small knoll a few miles north of the city. Wulfgar took in the view with a profound sigh of admiration. Luskan housed more than fifteen thousand – small compared to the huge cities in the south and to its nearest neighbor, Waterdeep, a few hundred miles farther down the coast. We will write a custom essay sample on Streams of Silver 2. City of Sails or any similar topic only for you Order Now But to the young barbarian, who had spent all of his eighteen years among nomadic tribes and the small villages of Ten-Towns, the fortified seaport seemed grand indeed. A wall encompassed Luskan, with guard towers strategically spaced at varying intervals. Even from this distance, Wulfgar could make out the dark forms of many soldiers pacing the parapets, their spear tips shining in the new light of the day. â€Å"Not a promising invitation,† Wulfgar noted. â€Å"Luskan does not readily welcome visitors,† said Drizzt, who had come up behind his two friends. â€Å"They may open their gates for merchants, but ordinary travelers are usually turned away.† â€Å"Our first contact is there,† growled Bruenor. â€Å"And I mean to get in!† Drizzt nodded and did not press the argument. He had given Luskan a wide berth on his original journey to Ten-Towns. The city’s inhabitants, primarily human, looked upon other races with disdain. Even surface elves and dwarves were often refused entry. Drizzt suspected that the guards would do more to a drow elf than simply put him out. â€Å"Get the breakfast fire burning,† Bruenor continued, his angry tones reflecting his determination that nothing would turn him from his course. â€Å"We’re to break camp early, an’ make the gates ‘fore noon. Where’s that blasted Rumblebelly?† Drizzt looked back over his shoulder in the direction of the camp. â€Å"Asleep,† he answered, though Bruenor’s question was wholly rhetorical. Regis had been the first to bed and the last to awaken (and never without help) every day since the companions had set out from Ten-Towns. â€Å"Well, give him a kick!† Bruenor ordered. He turned back to the camp, but Drizzt put a hand on his arm to stay him. â€Å"Let the halfling sleep,† the drow suggested. â€Å"Perhaps it would be better if we came to Luskan’s gate in the less-revealing light of dusk.† Drizzt’s request confused Bruenor for just a moment – until he looked more closely at the drow’s sullen visage and recognized the trepidation in his eyes. The two had become so close in their years of friendship that Bruenor often forgot that Drizzt was an outcast. The farther they traveled from Ten-Towns, where Drizzt was known, the more he would be judged by the color of his skin and the reputation of his people. â€Å"Aye, let ‘im sleep,† Bruenor conceded. â€Å"Maybe I could use a bit more, meself!† They broke camp late that morning and set a leisurely pace, only to discover later that they had misjudged the distance to the city. It was well past sunset and into the early hours of darkness when they finally arrived at the city’s north gate. The structure was as unwelcoming as Luskan’s reputation: a single iron-bound door set into the stone wall between two short, squared towers was tightly shut before them. A dozen fur-capped heads poked out from the parapet above the gate and the companions sensed many more eyes, and probably bows, trained upon them from the darkness atop the towers. â€Å"Who are you who come to the gates of Luskan?† came a voice from the wall. â€Å"Travelers from the north,† answered Bruenor. â€Å"A weary band come all the way from Ten-Towns in Icewind Dale!† â€Å"The gate closed at sunset,† replied the voice. â€Å"Go away!† â€Å"Son of a hairless gnoll,† grumbled Bruenor under his breath. He slapped his axe across his hands as though he meant to chop the door down. Drizzt put a calming hand on the dwarf’s shoulder, his own sensitive ears recognizing the clear, distinctive click of a crossbow crank. Then Regis unexpectedly took control of the situation. He straightened his pants, which had dropped below the bulge of his belly, and hooked his thumbs in his belt, trying to appear somewhat important. Throwing his shoulders back, he walked out in front of his companions. â€Å"Your name, good sir?† he called to the soldier on the wall. â€Å"I am the Nightkeeper of the North Gate. That is all you need to know!† came the gruff reply. â€Å"And who – â€Å" â€Å"Regis, First Citizen of Bryn Shander. No doubt you have heard my name or seen my carvings.† The companions heard whispers up above, then a pause. â€Å"We have viewed the scrimshaw of a halfling from Ten-Towns. Are you he?† â€Å"Hero of the goblin war and master scrimshander,† Regis declared, bowing low. â€Å"The spokesmen of Ten-Towns will not be pleased to learn that I was turned into the night at the gate of our favored trading partner.† Again came the whispers, then a longer silence. Presently the four heard a grating sound behind the door, a portcullis being raised, knew Regis, and then the banging of the door’s bolts being thrown. The halfling looked back over his shoulder at his surprised friends and smiled wryly. â€Å"Diplomacy, my rough dwarven friend,† he laughed. The door opened just a crack and two men slipped out, unarmed but cautious. It was quite obvious that they were well protected from the wall. Grim-faced soldiers huddled along the parapets, monitoring every move the strangers made through the sights of crossbows. â€Å"I am Jierdan,† said the stockier of the two men, though it was difficult to judge his exact size because of the many layers of fur he wore. â€Å"And I am the Nightkeeper,† said the other. â€Å"Show me what you have brought to trade.† â€Å"Trade?† echoed Bruenor angrily. â€Å"Who said anything about trade?† He slapped his axe across his hands again, drawing nervous shufflings from above. â€Å"Does this look like the blade of a stinkin’ merchant?† Regis and Drizzt both moved to calm the dwarf, though Wulfgar, as tense as Bruenor, stayed off to the side, his huge arms crossed before him and his stern gaze boring into the impudent gatekeeper. You read "Streams of Silver 2. City of Sails" in category "Essay examples" The two soldiers backed away defensively and the Nightkeeper spoke again, this time on the edge of fury. â€Å"First Citizen,† he demanded of Regis, â€Å"why do you come to our door?† Regis stepped in front of Bruenor and steadied himself squarely before the soldier. â€Å"Er†¦a preliminary scouting of the marketplace,† he blurted out, trying to fabricate a story as he went along. â€Å"I have some especially fine carvings for market this season and I wanted to be certain that everything on this end, including the paying price for scrimshaw, shall be in place to handle the sale.† The two soldiers exchanged knowing smiles. â€Å"You have come a long way for such a purpose,† the Nightkeeper whispered harshly. â€Å"Would you not have been better suited to simply come down with the caravan bearing the goods?† Regis squirmed uncomfortably, realizing that these soldiers were far too experienced to fall for his ploy. Fighting his better judgement, he reached under his shirt for the ruby pendant, knowing that its hypnotic powers could convince the Nightkeeper to let them through, but dreading showing the stone at all and further opening the trail for the assassin that he knew wasn’t far behind. Jierdan started suddenly, however, as he noticed the figure standing beside Bruenor. Drizzt Do’Urden’s cloak had shifted slightly, revealing the black skin of his face. As if on cue, the Nightkeeper tensed as well and, following his companion’s lead, quickly discerned the cause of Jierdan’s sudden reaction. Reluctantly, the four adventurers dropped their hands to their weapons, ready for a fight they didn’t want. But Jierdan ended the tension as quickly as he had begun it, by bringing his arm across the chest of the Nightkeeper and addressing the drow openly. â€Å"Drizzt Do’Urden?† he asked calmly, seeing confirmation of the identity he had already guessed. The drow nodded, surprised at the recognition. â€Å"Your name, too, has come down to Luskan with the tales frown Icewind Dale,† Jierdan explained. â€Å"Pardon our, surprise.† He bowed low. â€Å"We do not see many of your race at our gates.† Drizzt nodded again, but did not answer, uncomfortable with this unusual attention. Never before had a gatekeeper bothered to ask him his name or his business. And the drow had quickly come to understand the advantage of avoiding gates altogether, silently slipping over a city’s wall in the darkness and seeking the seedier side, where he might at least have a chance of standing unnoticed in the dark corners with the other rogues. Had his name and heroics brought him a measure of respect even this far from Ten-Towns? Bruenor turned to Drizzt and winked, his own anger dissipated by the fact that his friend had finally been given his due from a stranger. But Drizzt wasn’t convinced. He didn’t dare hope for such a thing – it left him too vulnerable to feelings that he had fought hard to hide. He preferred to keep his suspicions and his guard as close to him as the dark cowl of his cloak. He cocked a curious ear as the two soldiers backed away to hold a private conversation. â€Å"I care not of his name,† he heard the Nightkeeper whisper at Jierdan. â€Å"No drow elf shall pass my gate!† â€Å"You err,† Jierdan retorted. â€Å"These are the heroes of Ten-Towns. The halfling is truly First Citizen of Bryn Shander, the drow a ranger with a deadly, but undeniably honorable, reputation, and the dwarf – note the foaming mug standard on his shield – is Bruenor Battlehammer, leader of his clan in the dale.† â€Å"And what of the giant barbarian?† asked the Nightkeeper, using a sarcastic tone in an attempt to sound unimpressed, though he was obviously a bit nervous. â€Å"What rogue might he be?† Jierdan shrugged. â€Å"His great size, his youth, and a measure of control beyond his years. It seems unlikely to me that he should be here, but he might be the young king of the tribes that the tale-tellers have spoken of. We should not turn these travelers away; the consequences may be grave.† â€Å"What could Luskan possibly fear from the puny settlements in Icewind Dale?† the Nightkeeper balked. â€Å"There are other trading ports,† Jierdan retorted. â€Å"Not every battle is fought with a sword. The loss of Ten-Towns’ scrimshaw would not be viewed favorably by our merchants, nor by the trading ships that put in each season.† The Nightkeeper scrutinized the four strangers again. He didn’t trust them at all, despite his companion’s grand claims, and he didn’t want them in his city. But he knew, too, that if his suspicions were wrong and he did something to jeopardize the scrimshaw trade, his own future would be bleak. The soldiers of Luskan answered to the merchants, who were not quick to forgive errors that thinned their purses. The Nightkeeper threw up his hands in defeat. â€Å"Go in, then,† he told the companions. â€Å"Keep to the wall and make your way down to the docks. The last lane holds the Cutlass, and you’ll be warm enough there!† Drizzt studied the proud strides of his friends as they marched through the door, and he guessed that they had also overheard pieces of the conversation. Bruenor confirmed his suspicions when they had moved away from the guard towers, down the road along the wall. â€Å"Here, elf,† the dwarf snorted, nudging Drizzt and being obviously pleased. â€Å"So the word’s gone beyond the dale and we’re heared of even this far south. What have ye to say o’ that?† Drizzt shrugged again and Bruenor chuckled, assuming that his friend was merely embarrassed by the fame. Regis and Wulfgar, too, shared in Bruenor’s mirth, the big man giving the drow a good-hearted slap on the back as he slipped to the lead of the troupe. But Drizzt’s discomfort stemmed from more than embarrassment. He had noted the grin on Jierdan’s face as they had passed, a smile that went beyond admiration. And while he had no doubts that some tales of the battle with Akar Kessell’s goblin army had reached the City of Sails, it struck Drizzt odd that a simple soldier knew so much about him and his friends, while the gatekeeper, solely responsible for determining who passed into the city, knew nothing. Luskan’s streets were tightly packed with two – and three-story buildings, a reflection of the desperation of the people there to huddle within the safety of the city’s high wall, away from the ever-present dangers of the savage northland. An occasional tower, a guard post, perhaps, or a prominent citizen’s or guild’s way to show superiority, sprouted from the roofline. A wary city, Luskan survived, even flourished, in the dangerous frontier by holding fast to an attitude of alertness that often slipped over the line into paranoia. It was a city of shadows, and the four visitors this night keenly felt the curious and dangerous stares peeking out from every darkened hole as they made their way. The docks harbored the roughest section of the city, where thieves, outlaws, and beggars abounded in their narrow alleys and shadowed crannies. A perpetual ground fog wafted in from the sea, blurring the already dim avenues into even more mysterious pathways. Such was the lane the four friends found themselves turning down, the last lane before the piers themselves, a particularly decrepit run called Half-Moon Street. Regis, Drizzt, and Bruenor knew immediately that they had entered a collecting ground for vagabonds and ruffians, and each put a hand to his weapon. Wulfgar walked openly and without fear, although he, too, sensed the threatening atmosphere. Not understanding that the area was atypically foul, he was determined to approach his first experience with civilization with an open mind. â€Å"There’s the place,† said Bruenor, indicating a small group, probably thieves, congregating before the doorway of a tavern. The weatherbeaten sign above the door named the place the Cutlass. Regis swallowed hard, a frightening mixture of emotions welling within him. In his early days as a thief in Calimport, he had frequented many places like this, but his familiarity with the environment only added to his apprehension. The forbidden allure of business done in the shadows of a dangerous tavern, he knew, could be as deadly as the hidden knives of the rogues at every table. â€Å"You truly want to go in there?† he asked his friends squeamishly. â€Å"No arguing from ye!† Bruenor snapped back. â€Å"Ye knew the road ahead when ye joined us in the dale. Don’t ye be whining now!† â€Å"You are well guarded,† Drizzt put in to comfort Regis. Overly proud in his inexperience, Wulfgar pressed the statement even further. â€Å"What cause would they have to do us harm? Surely we have done no wrong,† he demanded. Then he proclaimed loudly to challenge the shadows, â€Å"Fear not, little friend. My hammer shall sweep aside any who stand against us!† â€Å"The pride o’ youth,† Bruenor grumbled as he, Regis, and Drizzt exchanged incredulous looks. The atmosphere inside the Cutlass was in accord with the decay and rabble that marked the place outside. The tavern portion of the building was a single open room, with a long bar defensively positioned in the corner of the rear wall, directly across from the door. A staircase rose up from the side of the bar to the structure’s second level, a staircase more often used by painted, overperfumed women and their latest companions than by guests of the inn. Indeed, merchant sailors who put into Luskan usually came ashore only for brief periods of excitement and entertainment, returning to the safety of their vessels if they could manage it before the inevitable drunken sleep left them vulnerable. More than anything else, though, the tavern at the Cutlass was a room of the senses, with myriad sounds and sights and smells. The aroma of alcohol, from strong ale and cheap wine to rarer and more powerful beverages, permeated every corner. A haze of smoke from exotic pipe-weeds, like the mist outside, blurred the harsh reality of the images into softer, dreamlike sensations. Drizzt led the way to an empty table tucked beside the door, while Bruenor approached the bar to make arrangements for their stay. Wulfgar started after the dwarf, but Drizzt stopped him. â€Å"To the table,† he explained. â€Å"You are too excited for such business; Bruenor can take care of it.† Wulfgar started to protest, but was cut short. â€Å"Come on,† Regis offered. â€Å"Sit with Drizzt and me. No one will bother a tough old dwarf, but a tiny halfling and a skinny elf might look like good sport to the brutes in here. We need your size and strength to deter such unwanted attention.† Wulfgar’s chin firmed up at the compliment and he strode boldly toward the table. Regis shot Drizzt a knowing wink and turned to follow. â€Å"Many lessons you will learn on this journey, young friend,† Drizzt mumbled to Wulfgar, too softly for the barbarian to hear. â€Å"So far from your home.† Bruenor came back from the bar bearing four flagons of mead and grumbling under his breath. â€Å"We’re to get our business finished soon,† he said to Drizzt, â€Å"and get back on the road. The cost of a room in this orc-hole is open thievery!† â€Å"The rooms were not meant to be taken for a whole night,† Regis snickered. But Bruenor’s scowl remained. â€Å"Drink up,† he told the drow. â€Å"Rat Alley is but a short walk, by the tellin’s of the barmaid, and it might be that we can make contact yet this night.† Drizzt nodded and sipped the mead, not really wanting any of it, but hoping that a shared drink might relax the dwarf. The drow, too, was anxious to be gone from Luskan, fearful that his own identity – he kept his cowl pulled even tighter in the tavern’s flickering torchlight – might bring them more trouble. He worried further for Wulfgar, young and proud, and out of his element. The barbarians of Icewind Dale, though merciless in battle, were undeniably honorable, basing their society’s structure entirely on strict and unbending codes. Drizzt feared that Wulfgar would fall easy prey to the false images and treachery of the city. On the road in the wild lands Wulfgar’s hammer would keep him safe enough, but here he was likely to find himself in deceptive situations involving disguised blades, where his mighty weapon and battle-prowess offered little help. Wulfgar downed his flagon in a single gulp, wiped his lips with zeal, and stood. â€Å"Let us be going,† he said to Bruenor. â€Å"Who is it that we seek?† â€Å"Sit yerself back down and shut yer mouth, boy,† Bruenor scolded, glancing around to see if any unwanted attention had fallen upon them. â€Å"This night’s work is for me and the drow. No place for a too-big fighter like yerself! Ye stay here with Rumblebelly an’ keep yer mouth shut and yer back to the wall!† Wulfgar slumped back in humiliation, but Drizzt was glad that Bruenor seemed to have come to similar conclusions about the young warrior. Once again, Regis saved a measure of Wulfgar’s pride. â€Å"You are not leaving with them!† he snapped at the barbarian. â€Å"I have no desire to go, but I would not dare to remain here alone. Let Drizzt and Bruenor have their fun in some cold, smelly alley. We’ll stay here and enjoy a well-deserved evening of high entertainment!† Drizzt slapped Regis’s knee under the table in thanks and rose to leave. Bruenor quaffed his flagon and leaped from his chair. â€Å"Let’s be going, then,† he said to the drow. And then to Wulfgar, â€Å"Keep care of the halfling, and beware the women! They’re mean as starved rats, and the only thing they aim to bite at is your purse!† * * * Bruenor and Drizzt turned at the first empty alleyway beyond the Cutlass, the dwarf standing nervous guard at its entrance while Drizzt moved down a few steps into the darkness. Convinced that he was safely alone, Drizzt removed from his pouch a small onyx statuette, meticulously carved into the likeness of a hunting cat, and placed it on the ground before him. â€Å"Guenhwyvar,† he called softly. â€Å"Come, my shadow.† His beckon reached out across the planes, to the astral home of the entity of the panther. The great cat stirred from its sleep. Many months had passed since its master had called, and the cat was anxious to serve. Guenhwyvar leaped out across the fabric of the planes, following a flicker of light that could only be the calling of the drow. Then the cat was in the alley with Drizzt, alert at once in the unfamiliar surroundings. â€Å"We walk into a dangerous web, I fear,† Drizzt explained. â€Å"I need eyes where my own cannot go.† Without delay and without a sound, Guenhwyvar sprang to a pile of rubble, to a broken porch landing, and up to the rooftops. Satisfied, and feeling much more secure now, Drizzt slipped back to the street where Bruenor waited. â€Å"Well, where’s that blasted cat?† Bruenor asked, a hint of relief in his voice that Guenhwyvar was actually not with the drow. Most dwarves are suspicious of magic, other than the magical enchantments placed upon weapons, and Bruenor had no love for the panther. â€Å"Where we need him most,† was the drow’s answer. He started off down Half-Moon Street. â€Å"Fear not, mighty Bruenor, Guenhwyvar’s eyes are upon us, even if ours cannot return their protective gaze!† The dwarf glanced all around nervously, beads of sweat visible at the base of his horned helm. He had known Drizzt for several years, but had never gotten comfortable around the magical cat. Drizzt hid his smile under his cowl. Each lane, filled with piles of rubble and refuse, appeared the same, as they made their way along the docks. Bruenor eyed each shadowed niche with alert suspicion. His eyes were not as keen in the night as those of the drow, and if he had seen into the darkness as clearly as Drizzt, he might have clutched his axe handle even more tightly. But the dwarf and drow weren’t overly concerned. They were far from typical of the drunkards that usually stumbled into these parts at night, and not easy prey for thieves. The many notches on Bruenor’s axe and the sway of the two scimitars on the drow’s belt would serve as ample deterrent to most ruffians. In the maze of streets and alleyways, it took them a long while to find Rat Alley. Just off the piers, it ran parallel to the sea, seemingly impassable through the thick fog. Long, low warehouses lined both its sides, and broken crates and boxes cluttered the alley, reducing the already narrow passage in many places to single-file breadth. â€Å"Nice place to be walkin’ down on a gloomy night,† Bruenor stated flatly. â€Å"Are you certain that this is the lane?† Drizzt asked, equally unenthused about the area before them. â€Å"By the words o’ the merchant in Ten-Towns, if one’s alive that can get me the map, the one be Whisper. An’ the place to find Whisper is Rat Alley – always Rat Alley.† â€Å"Then on with it,† said Drizzt. â€Å"Foul business is best finished quickly.† Bruenor slowly led the way into the alley. The two had barely gone ten feet when the dwarf thought he heard the click of a crossbow. He stopped short and looked back at Drizzt. â€Å"They’re on us,† he whispered. â€Å"In the boarded window above and to the right of us,† Drizzt explained, his exceptional night vision and hearing having already discerned the sound’s source. â€Å"A precaution, I hope. Perhaps a good sign that your contact is close.† â€Å"Never called a crossbow aimed at me head a good sign!† argued the dwarf. â€Å"But on, then, and keep yerself at the ready. This place reeks of danger!† He started again through the rubble. A shuffle to their left told them that eyes were upon them from that way as well. But still they continued, understanding that they couldn’t have expected any different a scenario when they had started out from the Cutlass. Rounding a final mound of broken planks, they saw a slender figure leaning against one of the alleyway’s walls, cloak pulled tightly against the chill of the evening mist. Drizzt leaned over Bruenor’s shoulder. â€Å"May that be the one?† he whispered. The dwarf shrugged, and said, â€Å"Who else?† He took one more step forward, planted his feet firmly, wide apart, and addressed the figure. â€Å"I be looking for a man named Whisper,† he called. â€Å"Might that be yerself?† â€Å"Yes, and no,† came the reply. The figure turned toward them, though the low-pulled cloak revealed little. â€Å"What games do ye play?† Bruenor shot back. â€Å"Whisper I am,† replied the figure, letting the cloak slip back a little. â€Å"But for sure no man!† They could see clearly now that the figure addressing them was indeed a woman, a dark and mysterious figure with long black hair and deeply set, darting eyes that showed experience and a profound understanding of survival on the street. How to cite Streams of Silver 2. City of Sails, Essay examples

Streams of Silver 2. City of Sails Free Essays

string(61) " him and his stern gaze boring into the impudent gatekeeper\." â€Å"Well, there she is, lad, the City of Sails,† Bruenor said to Wulfgar as the two looked down upon Luskan from a small knoll a few miles north of the city. Wulfgar took in the view with a profound sigh of admiration. Luskan housed more than fifteen thousand – small compared to the huge cities in the south and to its nearest neighbor, Waterdeep, a few hundred miles farther down the coast. We will write a custom essay sample on Streams of Silver 2. City of Sails or any similar topic only for you Order Now But to the young barbarian, who had spent all of his eighteen years among nomadic tribes and the small villages of Ten-Towns, the fortified seaport seemed grand indeed. A wall encompassed Luskan, with guard towers strategically spaced at varying intervals. Even from this distance, Wulfgar could make out the dark forms of many soldiers pacing the parapets, their spear tips shining in the new light of the day. â€Å"Not a promising invitation,† Wulfgar noted. â€Å"Luskan does not readily welcome visitors,† said Drizzt, who had come up behind his two friends. â€Å"They may open their gates for merchants, but ordinary travelers are usually turned away.† â€Å"Our first contact is there,† growled Bruenor. â€Å"And I mean to get in!† Drizzt nodded and did not press the argument. He had given Luskan a wide berth on his original journey to Ten-Towns. The city’s inhabitants, primarily human, looked upon other races with disdain. Even surface elves and dwarves were often refused entry. Drizzt suspected that the guards would do more to a drow elf than simply put him out. â€Å"Get the breakfast fire burning,† Bruenor continued, his angry tones reflecting his determination that nothing would turn him from his course. â€Å"We’re to break camp early, an’ make the gates ‘fore noon. Where’s that blasted Rumblebelly?† Drizzt looked back over his shoulder in the direction of the camp. â€Å"Asleep,† he answered, though Bruenor’s question was wholly rhetorical. Regis had been the first to bed and the last to awaken (and never without help) every day since the companions had set out from Ten-Towns. â€Å"Well, give him a kick!† Bruenor ordered. He turned back to the camp, but Drizzt put a hand on his arm to stay him. â€Å"Let the halfling sleep,† the drow suggested. â€Å"Perhaps it would be better if we came to Luskan’s gate in the less-revealing light of dusk.† Drizzt’s request confused Bruenor for just a moment – until he looked more closely at the drow’s sullen visage and recognized the trepidation in his eyes. The two had become so close in their years of friendship that Bruenor often forgot that Drizzt was an outcast. The farther they traveled from Ten-Towns, where Drizzt was known, the more he would be judged by the color of his skin and the reputation of his people. â€Å"Aye, let ‘im sleep,† Bruenor conceded. â€Å"Maybe I could use a bit more, meself!† They broke camp late that morning and set a leisurely pace, only to discover later that they had misjudged the distance to the city. It was well past sunset and into the early hours of darkness when they finally arrived at the city’s north gate. The structure was as unwelcoming as Luskan’s reputation: a single iron-bound door set into the stone wall between two short, squared towers was tightly shut before them. A dozen fur-capped heads poked out from the parapet above the gate and the companions sensed many more eyes, and probably bows, trained upon them from the darkness atop the towers. â€Å"Who are you who come to the gates of Luskan?† came a voice from the wall. â€Å"Travelers from the north,† answered Bruenor. â€Å"A weary band come all the way from Ten-Towns in Icewind Dale!† â€Å"The gate closed at sunset,† replied the voice. â€Å"Go away!† â€Å"Son of a hairless gnoll,† grumbled Bruenor under his breath. He slapped his axe across his hands as though he meant to chop the door down. Drizzt put a calming hand on the dwarf’s shoulder, his own sensitive ears recognizing the clear, distinctive click of a crossbow crank. Then Regis unexpectedly took control of the situation. He straightened his pants, which had dropped below the bulge of his belly, and hooked his thumbs in his belt, trying to appear somewhat important. Throwing his shoulders back, he walked out in front of his companions. â€Å"Your name, good sir?† he called to the soldier on the wall. â€Å"I am the Nightkeeper of the North Gate. That is all you need to know!† came the gruff reply. â€Å"And who – â€Å" â€Å"Regis, First Citizen of Bryn Shander. No doubt you have heard my name or seen my carvings.† The companions heard whispers up above, then a pause. â€Å"We have viewed the scrimshaw of a halfling from Ten-Towns. Are you he?† â€Å"Hero of the goblin war and master scrimshander,† Regis declared, bowing low. â€Å"The spokesmen of Ten-Towns will not be pleased to learn that I was turned into the night at the gate of our favored trading partner.† Again came the whispers, then a longer silence. Presently the four heard a grating sound behind the door, a portcullis being raised, knew Regis, and then the banging of the door’s bolts being thrown. The halfling looked back over his shoulder at his surprised friends and smiled wryly. â€Å"Diplomacy, my rough dwarven friend,† he laughed. The door opened just a crack and two men slipped out, unarmed but cautious. It was quite obvious that they were well protected from the wall. Grim-faced soldiers huddled along the parapets, monitoring every move the strangers made through the sights of crossbows. â€Å"I am Jierdan,† said the stockier of the two men, though it was difficult to judge his exact size because of the many layers of fur he wore. â€Å"And I am the Nightkeeper,† said the other. â€Å"Show me what you have brought to trade.† â€Å"Trade?† echoed Bruenor angrily. â€Å"Who said anything about trade?† He slapped his axe across his hands again, drawing nervous shufflings from above. â€Å"Does this look like the blade of a stinkin’ merchant?† Regis and Drizzt both moved to calm the dwarf, though Wulfgar, as tense as Bruenor, stayed off to the side, his huge arms crossed before him and his stern gaze boring into the impudent gatekeeper. You read "Streams of Silver 2. City of Sails" in category "Essay examples" The two soldiers backed away defensively and the Nightkeeper spoke again, this time on the edge of fury. â€Å"First Citizen,† he demanded of Regis, â€Å"why do you come to our door?† Regis stepped in front of Bruenor and steadied himself squarely before the soldier. â€Å"Er†¦a preliminary scouting of the marketplace,† he blurted out, trying to fabricate a story as he went along. â€Å"I have some especially fine carvings for market this season and I wanted to be certain that everything on this end, including the paying price for scrimshaw, shall be in place to handle the sale.† The two soldiers exchanged knowing smiles. â€Å"You have come a long way for such a purpose,† the Nightkeeper whispered harshly. â€Å"Would you not have been better suited to simply come down with the caravan bearing the goods?† Regis squirmed uncomfortably, realizing that these soldiers were far too experienced to fall for his ploy. Fighting his better judgement, he reached under his shirt for the ruby pendant, knowing that its hypnotic powers could convince the Nightkeeper to let them through, but dreading showing the stone at all and further opening the trail for the assassin that he knew wasn’t far behind. Jierdan started suddenly, however, as he noticed the figure standing beside Bruenor. Drizzt Do’Urden’s cloak had shifted slightly, revealing the black skin of his face. As if on cue, the Nightkeeper tensed as well and, following his companion’s lead, quickly discerned the cause of Jierdan’s sudden reaction. Reluctantly, the four adventurers dropped their hands to their weapons, ready for a fight they didn’t want. But Jierdan ended the tension as quickly as he had begun it, by bringing his arm across the chest of the Nightkeeper and addressing the drow openly. â€Å"Drizzt Do’Urden?† he asked calmly, seeing confirmation of the identity he had already guessed. The drow nodded, surprised at the recognition. â€Å"Your name, too, has come down to Luskan with the tales frown Icewind Dale,† Jierdan explained. â€Å"Pardon our, surprise.† He bowed low. â€Å"We do not see many of your race at our gates.† Drizzt nodded again, but did not answer, uncomfortable with this unusual attention. Never before had a gatekeeper bothered to ask him his name or his business. And the drow had quickly come to understand the advantage of avoiding gates altogether, silently slipping over a city’s wall in the darkness and seeking the seedier side, where he might at least have a chance of standing unnoticed in the dark corners with the other rogues. Had his name and heroics brought him a measure of respect even this far from Ten-Towns? Bruenor turned to Drizzt and winked, his own anger dissipated by the fact that his friend had finally been given his due from a stranger. But Drizzt wasn’t convinced. He didn’t dare hope for such a thing – it left him too vulnerable to feelings that he had fought hard to hide. He preferred to keep his suspicions and his guard as close to him as the dark cowl of his cloak. He cocked a curious ear as the two soldiers backed away to hold a private conversation. â€Å"I care not of his name,† he heard the Nightkeeper whisper at Jierdan. â€Å"No drow elf shall pass my gate!† â€Å"You err,† Jierdan retorted. â€Å"These are the heroes of Ten-Towns. The halfling is truly First Citizen of Bryn Shander, the drow a ranger with a deadly, but undeniably honorable, reputation, and the dwarf – note the foaming mug standard on his shield – is Bruenor Battlehammer, leader of his clan in the dale.† â€Å"And what of the giant barbarian?† asked the Nightkeeper, using a sarcastic tone in an attempt to sound unimpressed, though he was obviously a bit nervous. â€Å"What rogue might he be?† Jierdan shrugged. â€Å"His great size, his youth, and a measure of control beyond his years. It seems unlikely to me that he should be here, but he might be the young king of the tribes that the tale-tellers have spoken of. We should not turn these travelers away; the consequences may be grave.† â€Å"What could Luskan possibly fear from the puny settlements in Icewind Dale?† the Nightkeeper balked. â€Å"There are other trading ports,† Jierdan retorted. â€Å"Not every battle is fought with a sword. The loss of Ten-Towns’ scrimshaw would not be viewed favorably by our merchants, nor by the trading ships that put in each season.† The Nightkeeper scrutinized the four strangers again. He didn’t trust them at all, despite his companion’s grand claims, and he didn’t want them in his city. But he knew, too, that if his suspicions were wrong and he did something to jeopardize the scrimshaw trade, his own future would be bleak. The soldiers of Luskan answered to the merchants, who were not quick to forgive errors that thinned their purses. The Nightkeeper threw up his hands in defeat. â€Å"Go in, then,† he told the companions. â€Å"Keep to the wall and make your way down to the docks. The last lane holds the Cutlass, and you’ll be warm enough there!† Drizzt studied the proud strides of his friends as they marched through the door, and he guessed that they had also overheard pieces of the conversation. Bruenor confirmed his suspicions when they had moved away from the guard towers, down the road along the wall. â€Å"Here, elf,† the dwarf snorted, nudging Drizzt and being obviously pleased. â€Å"So the word’s gone beyond the dale and we’re heared of even this far south. What have ye to say o’ that?† Drizzt shrugged again and Bruenor chuckled, assuming that his friend was merely embarrassed by the fame. Regis and Wulfgar, too, shared in Bruenor’s mirth, the big man giving the drow a good-hearted slap on the back as he slipped to the lead of the troupe. But Drizzt’s discomfort stemmed from more than embarrassment. He had noted the grin on Jierdan’s face as they had passed, a smile that went beyond admiration. And while he had no doubts that some tales of the battle with Akar Kessell’s goblin army had reached the City of Sails, it struck Drizzt odd that a simple soldier knew so much about him and his friends, while the gatekeeper, solely responsible for determining who passed into the city, knew nothing. Luskan’s streets were tightly packed with two – and three-story buildings, a reflection of the desperation of the people there to huddle within the safety of the city’s high wall, away from the ever-present dangers of the savage northland. An occasional tower, a guard post, perhaps, or a prominent citizen’s or guild’s way to show superiority, sprouted from the roofline. A wary city, Luskan survived, even flourished, in the dangerous frontier by holding fast to an attitude of alertness that often slipped over the line into paranoia. It was a city of shadows, and the four visitors this night keenly felt the curious and dangerous stares peeking out from every darkened hole as they made their way. The docks harbored the roughest section of the city, where thieves, outlaws, and beggars abounded in their narrow alleys and shadowed crannies. A perpetual ground fog wafted in from the sea, blurring the already dim avenues into even more mysterious pathways. Such was the lane the four friends found themselves turning down, the last lane before the piers themselves, a particularly decrepit run called Half-Moon Street. Regis, Drizzt, and Bruenor knew immediately that they had entered a collecting ground for vagabonds and ruffians, and each put a hand to his weapon. Wulfgar walked openly and without fear, although he, too, sensed the threatening atmosphere. Not understanding that the area was atypically foul, he was determined to approach his first experience with civilization with an open mind. â€Å"There’s the place,† said Bruenor, indicating a small group, probably thieves, congregating before the doorway of a tavern. The weatherbeaten sign above the door named the place the Cutlass. Regis swallowed hard, a frightening mixture of emotions welling within him. In his early days as a thief in Calimport, he had frequented many places like this, but his familiarity with the environment only added to his apprehension. The forbidden allure of business done in the shadows of a dangerous tavern, he knew, could be as deadly as the hidden knives of the rogues at every table. â€Å"You truly want to go in there?† he asked his friends squeamishly. â€Å"No arguing from ye!† Bruenor snapped back. â€Å"Ye knew the road ahead when ye joined us in the dale. Don’t ye be whining now!† â€Å"You are well guarded,† Drizzt put in to comfort Regis. Overly proud in his inexperience, Wulfgar pressed the statement even further. â€Å"What cause would they have to do us harm? Surely we have done no wrong,† he demanded. Then he proclaimed loudly to challenge the shadows, â€Å"Fear not, little friend. My hammer shall sweep aside any who stand against us!† â€Å"The pride o’ youth,† Bruenor grumbled as he, Regis, and Drizzt exchanged incredulous looks. The atmosphere inside the Cutlass was in accord with the decay and rabble that marked the place outside. The tavern portion of the building was a single open room, with a long bar defensively positioned in the corner of the rear wall, directly across from the door. A staircase rose up from the side of the bar to the structure’s second level, a staircase more often used by painted, overperfumed women and their latest companions than by guests of the inn. Indeed, merchant sailors who put into Luskan usually came ashore only for brief periods of excitement and entertainment, returning to the safety of their vessels if they could manage it before the inevitable drunken sleep left them vulnerable. More than anything else, though, the tavern at the Cutlass was a room of the senses, with myriad sounds and sights and smells. The aroma of alcohol, from strong ale and cheap wine to rarer and more powerful beverages, permeated every corner. A haze of smoke from exotic pipe-weeds, like the mist outside, blurred the harsh reality of the images into softer, dreamlike sensations. Drizzt led the way to an empty table tucked beside the door, while Bruenor approached the bar to make arrangements for their stay. Wulfgar started after the dwarf, but Drizzt stopped him. â€Å"To the table,† he explained. â€Å"You are too excited for such business; Bruenor can take care of it.† Wulfgar started to protest, but was cut short. â€Å"Come on,† Regis offered. â€Å"Sit with Drizzt and me. No one will bother a tough old dwarf, but a tiny halfling and a skinny elf might look like good sport to the brutes in here. We need your size and strength to deter such unwanted attention.† Wulfgar’s chin firmed up at the compliment and he strode boldly toward the table. Regis shot Drizzt a knowing wink and turned to follow. â€Å"Many lessons you will learn on this journey, young friend,† Drizzt mumbled to Wulfgar, too softly for the barbarian to hear. â€Å"So far from your home.† Bruenor came back from the bar bearing four flagons of mead and grumbling under his breath. â€Å"We’re to get our business finished soon,† he said to Drizzt, â€Å"and get back on the road. The cost of a room in this orc-hole is open thievery!† â€Å"The rooms were not meant to be taken for a whole night,† Regis snickered. But Bruenor’s scowl remained. â€Å"Drink up,† he told the drow. â€Å"Rat Alley is but a short walk, by the tellin’s of the barmaid, and it might be that we can make contact yet this night.† Drizzt nodded and sipped the mead, not really wanting any of it, but hoping that a shared drink might relax the dwarf. The drow, too, was anxious to be gone from Luskan, fearful that his own identity – he kept his cowl pulled even tighter in the tavern’s flickering torchlight – might bring them more trouble. He worried further for Wulfgar, young and proud, and out of his element. The barbarians of Icewind Dale, though merciless in battle, were undeniably honorable, basing their society’s structure entirely on strict and unbending codes. Drizzt feared that Wulfgar would fall easy prey to the false images and treachery of the city. On the road in the wild lands Wulfgar’s hammer would keep him safe enough, but here he was likely to find himself in deceptive situations involving disguised blades, where his mighty weapon and battle-prowess offered little help. Wulfgar downed his flagon in a single gulp, wiped his lips with zeal, and stood. â€Å"Let us be going,† he said to Bruenor. â€Å"Who is it that we seek?† â€Å"Sit yerself back down and shut yer mouth, boy,† Bruenor scolded, glancing around to see if any unwanted attention had fallen upon them. â€Å"This night’s work is for me and the drow. No place for a too-big fighter like yerself! Ye stay here with Rumblebelly an’ keep yer mouth shut and yer back to the wall!† Wulfgar slumped back in humiliation, but Drizzt was glad that Bruenor seemed to have come to similar conclusions about the young warrior. Once again, Regis saved a measure of Wulfgar’s pride. â€Å"You are not leaving with them!† he snapped at the barbarian. â€Å"I have no desire to go, but I would not dare to remain here alone. Let Drizzt and Bruenor have their fun in some cold, smelly alley. We’ll stay here and enjoy a well-deserved evening of high entertainment!† Drizzt slapped Regis’s knee under the table in thanks and rose to leave. Bruenor quaffed his flagon and leaped from his chair. â€Å"Let’s be going, then,† he said to the drow. And then to Wulfgar, â€Å"Keep care of the halfling, and beware the women! They’re mean as starved rats, and the only thing they aim to bite at is your purse!† * * * Bruenor and Drizzt turned at the first empty alleyway beyond the Cutlass, the dwarf standing nervous guard at its entrance while Drizzt moved down a few steps into the darkness. Convinced that he was safely alone, Drizzt removed from his pouch a small onyx statuette, meticulously carved into the likeness of a hunting cat, and placed it on the ground before him. â€Å"Guenhwyvar,† he called softly. â€Å"Come, my shadow.† His beckon reached out across the planes, to the astral home of the entity of the panther. The great cat stirred from its sleep. Many months had passed since its master had called, and the cat was anxious to serve. Guenhwyvar leaped out across the fabric of the planes, following a flicker of light that could only be the calling of the drow. Then the cat was in the alley with Drizzt, alert at once in the unfamiliar surroundings. â€Å"We walk into a dangerous web, I fear,† Drizzt explained. â€Å"I need eyes where my own cannot go.† Without delay and without a sound, Guenhwyvar sprang to a pile of rubble, to a broken porch landing, and up to the rooftops. Satisfied, and feeling much more secure now, Drizzt slipped back to the street where Bruenor waited. â€Å"Well, where’s that blasted cat?† Bruenor asked, a hint of relief in his voice that Guenhwyvar was actually not with the drow. Most dwarves are suspicious of magic, other than the magical enchantments placed upon weapons, and Bruenor had no love for the panther. â€Å"Where we need him most,† was the drow’s answer. He started off down Half-Moon Street. â€Å"Fear not, mighty Bruenor, Guenhwyvar’s eyes are upon us, even if ours cannot return their protective gaze!† The dwarf glanced all around nervously, beads of sweat visible at the base of his horned helm. He had known Drizzt for several years, but had never gotten comfortable around the magical cat. Drizzt hid his smile under his cowl. Each lane, filled with piles of rubble and refuse, appeared the same, as they made their way along the docks. Bruenor eyed each shadowed niche with alert suspicion. His eyes were not as keen in the night as those of the drow, and if he had seen into the darkness as clearly as Drizzt, he might have clutched his axe handle even more tightly. But the dwarf and drow weren’t overly concerned. They were far from typical of the drunkards that usually stumbled into these parts at night, and not easy prey for thieves. The many notches on Bruenor’s axe and the sway of the two scimitars on the drow’s belt would serve as ample deterrent to most ruffians. In the maze of streets and alleyways, it took them a long while to find Rat Alley. Just off the piers, it ran parallel to the sea, seemingly impassable through the thick fog. Long, low warehouses lined both its sides, and broken crates and boxes cluttered the alley, reducing the already narrow passage in many places to single-file breadth. â€Å"Nice place to be walkin’ down on a gloomy night,† Bruenor stated flatly. â€Å"Are you certain that this is the lane?† Drizzt asked, equally unenthused about the area before them. â€Å"By the words o’ the merchant in Ten-Towns, if one’s alive that can get me the map, the one be Whisper. An’ the place to find Whisper is Rat Alley – always Rat Alley.† â€Å"Then on with it,† said Drizzt. â€Å"Foul business is best finished quickly.† Bruenor slowly led the way into the alley. The two had barely gone ten feet when the dwarf thought he heard the click of a crossbow. He stopped short and looked back at Drizzt. â€Å"They’re on us,† he whispered. â€Å"In the boarded window above and to the right of us,† Drizzt explained, his exceptional night vision and hearing having already discerned the sound’s source. â€Å"A precaution, I hope. Perhaps a good sign that your contact is close.† â€Å"Never called a crossbow aimed at me head a good sign!† argued the dwarf. â€Å"But on, then, and keep yerself at the ready. This place reeks of danger!† He started again through the rubble. A shuffle to their left told them that eyes were upon them from that way as well. But still they continued, understanding that they couldn’t have expected any different a scenario when they had started out from the Cutlass. Rounding a final mound of broken planks, they saw a slender figure leaning against one of the alleyway’s walls, cloak pulled tightly against the chill of the evening mist. Drizzt leaned over Bruenor’s shoulder. â€Å"May that be the one?† he whispered. The dwarf shrugged, and said, â€Å"Who else?† He took one more step forward, planted his feet firmly, wide apart, and addressed the figure. â€Å"I be looking for a man named Whisper,† he called. â€Å"Might that be yerself?† â€Å"Yes, and no,† came the reply. The figure turned toward them, though the low-pulled cloak revealed little. â€Å"What games do ye play?† Bruenor shot back. â€Å"Whisper I am,† replied the figure, letting the cloak slip back a little. â€Å"But for sure no man!† They could see clearly now that the figure addressing them was indeed a woman, a dark and mysterious figure with long black hair and deeply set, darting eyes that showed experience and a profound understanding of survival on the street. How to cite Streams of Silver 2. City of Sails, Essay examples

Reflective cycle after watching video of Miss Colo Essay Example For Students

Reflective cycle after watching video of Miss Colo Essay rado speaking about the role of the Nurse. Introduction It is very important that wedevelop a reflective style in nursingto improve our nursing practice.For the reflective process I will be using the Gibbs reflective process which is a six stage processofdescription,feelings/thoughts, evaluation, analysis, conclusion and action planCITATION GGi88 l 3081(Briggs, 2012).There are a large number of models to choose from,the Gibbs methodallows for a clear description of situation, an expression of how you felt about the situation and an analysis and plan to make sense of the situationCITATION Jay12 l 3081(Jayatilleke Mackie, 2012)CITATION Som04 l 3081(Sommerville Keeling, 2004).Reflection is a skill which helps us develop as nurses and make us improve our practices in nursing and utilize the knowledge that we have gained in class, and begin to perfect it in practice. Description: The YouTube videohas Miss Colorado describing her role as a nurse and discussingthat one patient that reminds them of why they became a nurse in the first place. Her story is of Joe who was an Alzheimers patient and is so touched by her care that he says to her she has changed his life and she is more than just a nurse.Miss Colorado reflects on this conversation and realizes she is more than just a nurse, she is a comforter and a life saver, not just a number. Ms. Colorado somewhat downplays her role when compared to other health professionals and makes it seem small in proportion to other health care professionals and to the role of doctors.WhenJoe says to her canyou change the medication for me,and can change thetreatment status for me she said I am just the Nurse, I am not your doctor. This is an odd description of the situation given that she walks on to the stage with a stethoscope, implying some role in themonitoring and reporting of the health status and treatment effectiveness of the current health intervention.Her discussion concerns the actions of a good nurse, and in particular that of patient centered care which has been identified by the Institute of Medicines, quality chasm report as one of the six key elements of the New Health Care SystemCITATION Eps11 l 3081(Epstein Street, 2011). The role of the nurse is a critical element in the process of patient centered careand their role is equal to all other members of a multidisci plinary healthteam despite the difficulties and skepticism that many nurses have for multidisciplinary team workCITATION Atw06 l 3081(Ke, et al., 2013). Feelings I felt that the speech was very emotive and true and also she managed to get a very positive response from the audience.Iwas drawn in byher story of Joe as it reminded me of the very human element of our jobs, andmany of the patients and families that I have come into contact with.She mentions her impact on Joe but of course does not go into much detail as to the role of modern nurses.She was trying to be empathetic to the patient in the video whichI feel is very important howevermuch of the descriptiondoes not match my personal experience of the nursing profession, and possibly does not give a real insight into modern nursing and the core role of nurses and their everyday experience.I felt the video gives a romantic view of what being a nurse is like and so lacks some realism. Good Feelings: At a patient care level, she demonstrates a lot of good qualities in terms of how she deals with Joe in that she is aware of the effect of his treatment on the people around him like his family and how this impacts on them which I feel is a very important trait for nurses and secondly, even thoughshe has not mentioned about the roleof every day nursing other than just holding Joes hand when he has night terrors,which is lacking in the video she tries to tell the patient identity in the respectful way which isa very good way of communicating with a patient with Alzheimers. The Video showed thateven though she will not be able to save the life of Joe, she plays an important role in the comforting and assistance of Joe. In some ways the video significantlydownplays the role of nursing as not being responsible for changing treatments, medication and having no opinions or voice as to the treatment that Joe should be receiving. Another important thing is that she was taking about the twitter and Facebook and she was trying to bring the Nursing professionals together in order todiscuss ideas and concerns online which I feel is a great idea and can improve nursingprofessionalismthrough sharing ideas online and comparing the experiences of everyone Bad Feelings When the patientasks her tochange the medication andasks if shecan change the treatmenthowever she does reinstate a negative to her argument when she says that I am just the Nurse thus downplaying the importance of her role in diagnosis and treatment which I felt was a negative comment and not in line with the rest of her monologue. Thus in some ways she has downplayed the role of nurses as being lower to that of doctors and other health professionals.The nursing profession is becoming increasingly specialized with training and education being at the heart of developing modern nursesCITATION Cro09 l 3081(Crookes, 2009).Shehas therefore lowered the standing of nursing in the eyes of the public with that comment. Despite her strong confidence in how she presents herself, I felt that in some ways the videoshows a negative impression to the nursing professionand also forwomen.Her role is subjugated to that of other more important professionals and as a women I found that hard to justify.The good thing about this video is that she has mentioned that every patient is not called by the disease name and by the bed number which is true.This has put a publicface to nursing and importantly shown that Registered Nurse plays a very important role to the health service and we play a vital role in providing comfort and dignified care to people like Joe who really need it. . The High Cost of Junk Foods EssayConclusionI have drawn two main conclusions from the above reflection. The first is that there are misunderstandings of the role of nurses in the monitoring and evaluation of health interventions, and the second is that we should never forget the importance of empathy in order to be good nurses that can make a difference to the lives of patients. The first is that in the publics eye, there is some confusion as to the role that nurses play in the administration and monitoring of the medical needs of patients. The second conclusion is that it is important that we never forget the importance of caring for patients in a manner that can genuinely have some positive impact on the lives of patients, their families and our own lives. To become great nurses we should never forget that we play a major role in the lives of people, often shortly before they pass away. It is clear from the comments on the view and the discussion of nursing and the role of nursin g as a result of the monologue from Ms. Colorado that more needs to be done to lift up the role of nurses in our society and to ensure that the profession achieves the respect that it deserves. Many people may feel that the role of nurses is lower than that of doctors and other health professionals, and that nurses simply have a role in listening to doctors in a passive manner and simply following instructions. Action PlanFrom the conclusions above I think it is important that we educate patients and families as to our roles in the health service. As discussed there is some confusion as to the role that nurses play in the administration and monitoring of the medical needs of patients. In the future I will ensure that I talk to patients and families about what I do and how I will care for them while they are in hospital and it is also important to continually communicate with their families and loved ones. Many people may feel that the role of nurses is lower than that of doctors and other health professionals and that nurses simply have a role in listening to doctors in a passive manner and simply following instructions. On a personal level, it is important to continually educate myself as to improve my job performance as it is clear that my responsibilities will continually evolve and become more complex and more diagnostic. Secondly I think it is important for us as nurses to continue to communicate with patients and try to make a difference in their lives. From the video we can see the importance that Joe places in Ms. Colorado as his nurse and that she has genuinely made a difference to his life. . References BIBLIOGRAPHYAiken, L. (2011, January 20). 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