Written By Mattheu
Jan. 12, 2024, 11:58 p.m.(7/17/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Ann
I find what we have been through to where we are today a journey which I never expected to find.
The first meeting with the children in their entirety. Silain, Thuraya, and Ilandere, each a unique soul with a vibrant spirit, brought with them a tidal wave of joy and laughter.
Upon our first encounter, Ilan, the youngest of the trio, made her presence known in the most endearing manner. With an earnest look in her eyes, she demanded to be an alliance, her innocent mispronunciation of "ally" as "a-lance" adding a touch of whimsy to the moment. It was an introduction that spoke volumes about her gentle yet determined nature.
Raya, the regal force of the trio, proudly declared herself a princess, a title she laid no claim to by birth but held as her own truth. With a twinkle in her eye and a posture of regality, she embodied the essence of a princess. We accepted her truth, recognizing the strength and determination in her proclamation.
Sil, the eldest, charmed his way into our hearts with his infectious energy and love for my brother, our chieftain and marquis. His eyes sparkled with admiration as he spoke of the drums my brother played. In a moment of spontaneity, my brother allowed Sil to play upon the drums, and the joy that radiated from the young boy was nothing short of enchanting.
The drums resonated with the laughter of Sil, the determination of Ilan, and the regal spirit of Raya. In that moment, I felt a profound sense of unity and the promise of a shared journey ahead. The walls that separated us crumbled, and the foundation of our familial bond was laid with the beats of the drums and the joyous laughter of the children.
This first meeting with Sil, Raya, and Ilan was more than just an introduction; it was a celebration of unity, diversity, and the endless possibilities that lay ahead for a family, which I didn't know would soon be one where they would call me Flounder (Father.)
The first meeting with the children in their entirety. Silain, Thuraya, and Ilandere, each a unique soul with a vibrant spirit, brought with them a tidal wave of joy and laughter.
Upon our first encounter, Ilan, the youngest of the trio, made her presence known in the most endearing manner. With an earnest look in her eyes, she demanded to be an alliance, her innocent mispronunciation of "ally" as "a-lance" adding a touch of whimsy to the moment. It was an introduction that spoke volumes about her gentle yet determined nature.
Raya, the regal force of the trio, proudly declared herself a princess, a title she laid no claim to by birth but held as her own truth. With a twinkle in her eye and a posture of regality, she embodied the essence of a princess. We accepted her truth, recognizing the strength and determination in her proclamation.
Sil, the eldest, charmed his way into our hearts with his infectious energy and love for my brother, our chieftain and marquis. His eyes sparkled with admiration as he spoke of the drums my brother played. In a moment of spontaneity, my brother allowed Sil to play upon the drums, and the joy that radiated from the young boy was nothing short of enchanting.
The drums resonated with the laughter of Sil, the determination of Ilan, and the regal spirit of Raya. In that moment, I felt a profound sense of unity and the promise of a shared journey ahead. The walls that separated us crumbled, and the foundation of our familial bond was laid with the beats of the drums and the joyous laughter of the children.
This first meeting with Sil, Raya, and Ilan was more than just an introduction; it was a celebration of unity, diversity, and the endless possibilities that lay ahead for a family, which I didn't know would soon be one where they would call me Flounder (Father.)
Written By Viviana
Jan. 12, 2024, 11:21 p.m.(7/17/1021 AR)
She was there all along --
Verona.
It amazes the fuck out of me. She amazes me.
I would be vague, but, she is I and we.
Never do I regret it, saving her, me - myself - and her -- that she deserved that right eye.
Here's to our future.
No matter what side of the reflection glass you're borne on.
Verona.
It amazes the fuck out of me. She amazes me.
I would be vague, but, she is I and we.
Never do I regret it, saving her, me - myself - and her -- that she deserved that right eye.
Here's to our future.
No matter what side of the reflection glass you're borne on.
Written By Donella
Jan. 12, 2024, 10:49 p.m.(7/17/1021 AR)
I have said my goodbyes, and I am riding North. My children should be told their mother loves them, and asks them to be brave for themselves if not for their father or for me. It only means doing what they must, even when they are afraid, even when it is hard and victory seems a fool's hope. I am so proud of them, and I know we will be together again. As for my husband, he knows all that is in my heart already. I wish him and all our friends luck in the battles to come. I remain to the very last,
—Nell
—Nell
Written By Aconite
Jan. 12, 2024, 7:59 p.m.(7/17/1021 AR)
All my pretty and fashionable possessions have been tucked away in my old Chambers within the Villa.
All of the fashion and knick-knacks Whisper has collected have been stored as well.
Both are to be returned to Whisper House and the Whispers as soon as it is safe.
All of the fashion and knick-knacks Whisper has collected have been stored as well.
Both are to be returned to Whisper House and the Whispers as soon as it is safe.
Written By Mabelle
Jan. 12, 2024, 5:37 p.m.(7/17/1021 AR)
Marriage again.
The last time I found myself engaged I was a completely different person, sent by the late Duke Edmund to marry an older man for the sake of duty. I was shy and meek, quiet and disposable. I wonder if he knew what would happen. I wonder if he knew that defining moment in my life would commit me to a life of even bigger duty.
For that was all my life has ever been, duty for the people of Artshall. Through construction, innovation, wealth. From the first project of the way station - the Domestique Belle, through the hospital, the orphanages, and the Art District, which has been to highlight of my noble career, to the moment when it all burned down and the city had to be built anew.
It's true, I did do some things for myself, that in a way benefited them too. The fashion was for me. From that hot day at the beach when I wished there was a luxurious fabric to wear in the summer which brought the inspiration to all my creations, even when people laughed at the idea of naming a fabric honeysilk. Who's laughing now?
My hands and funds were in the creations of others as well, I still remember having to walk for weeks with long gloves in the summer to hide the spider bites or assisting with herding sheep. While wearing silks.
Traveling for my marriage to the Lyceum has also awoken my shadows which I've come to rely on nowadays. They are also what brought smokeweave into the world, for the curious minds who were wondering. They also helped me hide the moon during the battle outside Harrow Hall the night the Traitor died.
Reading back on all I've just written it all feels shallow to me. My life was deeper than that. I have fought and killed, defended and lost, learned and taught, loved and hated, made peace and war, sold and bought, negotiated and threatened, ruined and built, was struck and healed, grew, planted, plucked, burned, faced demons, monsters, and false gods. And all of it was for the sake of my people.
And out of all those hardships I've experienced in my life, nothing will ever be harder for me than changing my name from Laurent.
The first time was easy.
Lady Mabelle Hawkmour.
But that was when I was just Mabelle.
Once I was back, I was Laurent.
It was always Laurent.
I will always be, at the core, Mabelle of Artshall.
The last time I found myself engaged I was a completely different person, sent by the late Duke Edmund to marry an older man for the sake of duty. I was shy and meek, quiet and disposable. I wonder if he knew what would happen. I wonder if he knew that defining moment in my life would commit me to a life of even bigger duty.
For that was all my life has ever been, duty for the people of Artshall. Through construction, innovation, wealth. From the first project of the way station - the Domestique Belle, through the hospital, the orphanages, and the Art District, which has been to highlight of my noble career, to the moment when it all burned down and the city had to be built anew.
It's true, I did do some things for myself, that in a way benefited them too. The fashion was for me. From that hot day at the beach when I wished there was a luxurious fabric to wear in the summer which brought the inspiration to all my creations, even when people laughed at the idea of naming a fabric honeysilk. Who's laughing now?
My hands and funds were in the creations of others as well, I still remember having to walk for weeks with long gloves in the summer to hide the spider bites or assisting with herding sheep. While wearing silks.
Traveling for my marriage to the Lyceum has also awoken my shadows which I've come to rely on nowadays. They are also what brought smokeweave into the world, for the curious minds who were wondering. They also helped me hide the moon during the battle outside Harrow Hall the night the Traitor died.
Reading back on all I've just written it all feels shallow to me. My life was deeper than that. I have fought and killed, defended and lost, learned and taught, loved and hated, made peace and war, sold and bought, negotiated and threatened, ruined and built, was struck and healed, grew, planted, plucked, burned, faced demons, monsters, and false gods. And all of it was for the sake of my people.
And out of all those hardships I've experienced in my life, nothing will ever be harder for me than changing my name from Laurent.
The first time was easy.
Lady Mabelle Hawkmour.
But that was when I was just Mabelle.
Once I was back, I was Laurent.
It was always Laurent.
I will always be, at the core, Mabelle of Artshall.
Written By Ann
Jan. 12, 2024, 2:32 p.m.(7/16/1021 AR)
Scholar, I am taking the time to be creative in these troubling times. There may be some truth in this story. One can take it as they will.
Once upon a time, in the majestic kingdom of Farhaven, there lived a royal family whose story was destined to be etched in the annals of history. King Aldric and Queen Seraphina were blessed with four children – Ann, Valerian, Torrus, and Iona. Their family was completed by the youngest, Angus. Each child brought a unique charm and spirit to the grand halls of the castle.
Farhaven, nestled in the northern reaches of the kingdom, was a land of icy beauty and regal traditions. The children grew up amidst the towering snow-capped mountains and vast forests that surrounded the castle. They shared tales of heroes and legends, played in the courtyard, and learned the ways of their people.
As the years passed, the kingdom faced challenges. The cold winters were harsh, and whispers of distant lands filled with warmth and unknown wonders reached Farhaven. The royal family, bound by duty, remained steadfast, guiding their people through thick and thin.
Ann, however, harbored a desire for exploration and a thirst for knowledge beyond the northern realms. Her heart yearned to see the world beyond the icy borders of Farhaven. Her brothers and sister supported her dreams, understanding that destiny often called each soul in a different direction.
One day, a messenger arrived with news of an opportunity for Ann to travel to Riva, a distant land with a rich tapestry of cultures and landscapes. The decision weighed heavy on her heart, torn between her love for Farhaven and the beckoning call of the unknown.
In a grand farewell, the royal family gathered to bid Ann goodbye. Valerian, Torrus, Angus, and Iona stood by her side, their eyes reflecting a mix of pride and sadness. The people of Farhaven gathered to witness the departure of their beloved princess.
As Ann embarked on her journey to Riva, leaving the snowy landscapes of Farhaven behind, she carried with her the memories of her childhood, the lessons learned, and the love of her family. The horizon held the promise of adventure, discovery, and the unknown. And though Farhaven might not be seen in her lifetime, the spirit of the northern kingdom would forever reside in her heart, guiding her through the uncharted waters that lay ahead.
Once upon a time, in the majestic kingdom of Farhaven, there lived a royal family whose story was destined to be etched in the annals of history. King Aldric and Queen Seraphina were blessed with four children – Ann, Valerian, Torrus, and Iona. Their family was completed by the youngest, Angus. Each child brought a unique charm and spirit to the grand halls of the castle.
Farhaven, nestled in the northern reaches of the kingdom, was a land of icy beauty and regal traditions. The children grew up amidst the towering snow-capped mountains and vast forests that surrounded the castle. They shared tales of heroes and legends, played in the courtyard, and learned the ways of their people.
As the years passed, the kingdom faced challenges. The cold winters were harsh, and whispers of distant lands filled with warmth and unknown wonders reached Farhaven. The royal family, bound by duty, remained steadfast, guiding their people through thick and thin.
Ann, however, harbored a desire for exploration and a thirst for knowledge beyond the northern realms. Her heart yearned to see the world beyond the icy borders of Farhaven. Her brothers and sister supported her dreams, understanding that destiny often called each soul in a different direction.
One day, a messenger arrived with news of an opportunity for Ann to travel to Riva, a distant land with a rich tapestry of cultures and landscapes. The decision weighed heavy on her heart, torn between her love for Farhaven and the beckoning call of the unknown.
In a grand farewell, the royal family gathered to bid Ann goodbye. Valerian, Torrus, Angus, and Iona stood by her side, their eyes reflecting a mix of pride and sadness. The people of Farhaven gathered to witness the departure of their beloved princess.
As Ann embarked on her journey to Riva, leaving the snowy landscapes of Farhaven behind, she carried with her the memories of her childhood, the lessons learned, and the love of her family. The horizon held the promise of adventure, discovery, and the unknown. And though Farhaven might not be seen in her lifetime, the spirit of the northern kingdom would forever reside in her heart, guiding her through the uncharted waters that lay ahead.
Written By Medeia
Jan. 12, 2024, 9:44 a.m.(7/16/1021 AR)
Somewhere between being left dazed by the sudden retreat of that one lord and the murder of my uncle, I had found myself unexpectedly betrothed.
It wasn't a love match. Some people have told me they thought it was, that it seemed to be, and while there was certainly an energy between us - not unlike the alchemical reaction that occurs when adding certain metal-salts to water, I was the only one to ever use that word. What one needs to know is that Marquessa-consort Norah Eswynd and the late Duchess Margot Tyde (cousins in addition to vassal-liege) were decisive women who didn't take "no" for an answer.
There was a wish for Eswynd, still less than a decade knelt at the time, to have a connection to a 'proper' noble house of the Lyceum. I had met and impressed the marquessa in a chance encounter, and she orchestrated a meeting for me with her husband's cousin. Haakon was blisteringly funny, confident to the point of being cocky, and felt entirely familiar - he reminded me the sailors (of course) that were always in the Lowers.
It was only a matter of weeks. Weeks. Of knowing each other when the marquessa approached Lucita to discuss formal courtship. I was so floored by the request that I literally wound up sitting on the floor and saying "no." Leave Saikland? Again? That was a condition. I couldn't imagine it. But.
I was raised with the understanding that I was to be married off, someday. That I was to take my lessons and be a good lady and match with someone who would provide a connection to a house that would benefit Saik. And I wanted to do that, didn't I? I wanted to do what was right for my family and my people. Haakon's oh-so-romantic take was similar: He wouldn't refuse what was good for his house. And so, I changed my "no" to a "yes" - besides, I had the rest of the courtship to change my mind.
However, the rest of the courtship saw barbed comments from people about the match. Comments that opened my eyes to the state of things for Prodigals and made me more certain that this was a path I could, should, walk and a cause for me to lend my voice to. And then came the attack on the city. The Helianthus Traditionalists in Crimson Square left the marquessa with a broken arm. And Haakon? Haakon left three Traditionalists flayed on crosses outside the Grimkin estate (where some had fled for sanctuary). That sight should have turned me away. I had never seen anything so brutal or gruesome, but in the immediate aftermath of kneeling beside my uncle's corpse? That sight twisted something inside of me, and it would take years to fix.
I received the Faith's stamp of approval on our marriage contract just days after the attack. At the exact same time, Haakon and High Lord Victus Thrax were being threatened with excommunication (a circumstance I have never fully understood, given everything else that occurred that day) over the flayings. This confluence of events, all the grief and desire for vengeance, left me certain that "yes" was the correct answer.
Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn't. Yesterday would have been our seventh anniversary if I hadn't left. Leaving was the correct answer.
It wasn't a love match. Some people have told me they thought it was, that it seemed to be, and while there was certainly an energy between us - not unlike the alchemical reaction that occurs when adding certain metal-salts to water, I was the only one to ever use that word. What one needs to know is that Marquessa-consort Norah Eswynd and the late Duchess Margot Tyde (cousins in addition to vassal-liege) were decisive women who didn't take "no" for an answer.
There was a wish for Eswynd, still less than a decade knelt at the time, to have a connection to a 'proper' noble house of the Lyceum. I had met and impressed the marquessa in a chance encounter, and she orchestrated a meeting for me with her husband's cousin. Haakon was blisteringly funny, confident to the point of being cocky, and felt entirely familiar - he reminded me the sailors (of course) that were always in the Lowers.
It was only a matter of weeks. Weeks. Of knowing each other when the marquessa approached Lucita to discuss formal courtship. I was so floored by the request that I literally wound up sitting on the floor and saying "no." Leave Saikland? Again? That was a condition. I couldn't imagine it. But.
I was raised with the understanding that I was to be married off, someday. That I was to take my lessons and be a good lady and match with someone who would provide a connection to a house that would benefit Saik. And I wanted to do that, didn't I? I wanted to do what was right for my family and my people. Haakon's oh-so-romantic take was similar: He wouldn't refuse what was good for his house. And so, I changed my "no" to a "yes" - besides, I had the rest of the courtship to change my mind.
However, the rest of the courtship saw barbed comments from people about the match. Comments that opened my eyes to the state of things for Prodigals and made me more certain that this was a path I could, should, walk and a cause for me to lend my voice to. And then came the attack on the city. The Helianthus Traditionalists in Crimson Square left the marquessa with a broken arm. And Haakon? Haakon left three Traditionalists flayed on crosses outside the Grimkin estate (where some had fled for sanctuary). That sight should have turned me away. I had never seen anything so brutal or gruesome, but in the immediate aftermath of kneeling beside my uncle's corpse? That sight twisted something inside of me, and it would take years to fix.
I received the Faith's stamp of approval on our marriage contract just days after the attack. At the exact same time, Haakon and High Lord Victus Thrax were being threatened with excommunication (a circumstance I have never fully understood, given everything else that occurred that day) over the flayings. This confluence of events, all the grief and desire for vengeance, left me certain that "yes" was the correct answer.
Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn't. Yesterday would have been our seventh anniversary if I hadn't left. Leaving was the correct answer.
Written By Cufre
Jan. 12, 2024, 7:05 a.m.(7/16/1021 AR)
I wish I knew more about the Laws of the Dream.
Written By Duarte
Jan. 12, 2024, 4:24 a.m.(7/16/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Rinel
I won't soon or ever forget the night I met the Oathlands scholar - the loveliest of scholars, as I would come to call her (much to her dismay).
It was at the Ambassador. She came into a bar with a stubborn refusal to drink anything but non-alcoholic cider. The selection made me cringe to my core. She was there, bright-eyed and naive, yammering on about some form of lichen she was intent on studying to some pointless end.
Of course, we toyed with her. She was eccentric and prideful, sanctimonious and stubborn. But she was abundantly optimistic with a sense of wonder and almost an endearing hopefulness - traits that would fade from my lovely, dear Rinel in time until she was less than a shell of the person I met that night.
Several at the bar took to merrymaking and in doing so began to chant a Valardin folk tune. Rinel joined in and it wasn't long before they hoisted her upon their shoulders and carried her around the Ambassador as if she were a banner. The bright smile on her face then, I would never see again after that night.
Rinel's time in Arx was fraught with confrontation and haughty insistence. For these, she alone was to blame. I nearly killed her myself, once. And though I tried to speak sense to her, in the end, even I had to turn my back on her.
But lest you think this is written to run her down, I shall dispatch promptly with the notion. For this is a hero's story. While it might take some time to reveal the arc of her redemption and bring an explanation to the enduring gratitude that I will hold for her, everlasting, I may as well just spoil the punchline: Rinel Tern saved me.
Your experiences may vary.
It was at the Ambassador. She came into a bar with a stubborn refusal to drink anything but non-alcoholic cider. The selection made me cringe to my core. She was there, bright-eyed and naive, yammering on about some form of lichen she was intent on studying to some pointless end.
Of course, we toyed with her. She was eccentric and prideful, sanctimonious and stubborn. But she was abundantly optimistic with a sense of wonder and almost an endearing hopefulness - traits that would fade from my lovely, dear Rinel in time until she was less than a shell of the person I met that night.
Several at the bar took to merrymaking and in doing so began to chant a Valardin folk tune. Rinel joined in and it wasn't long before they hoisted her upon their shoulders and carried her around the Ambassador as if she were a banner. The bright smile on her face then, I would never see again after that night.
Rinel's time in Arx was fraught with confrontation and haughty insistence. For these, she alone was to blame. I nearly killed her myself, once. And though I tried to speak sense to her, in the end, even I had to turn my back on her.
But lest you think this is written to run her down, I shall dispatch promptly with the notion. For this is a hero's story. While it might take some time to reveal the arc of her redemption and bring an explanation to the enduring gratitude that I will hold for her, everlasting, I may as well just spoil the punchline: Rinel Tern saved me.
Your experiences may vary.
Written By Titus
Jan. 12, 2024, 12:01 a.m.(7/15/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Khanne
My Khanne,
In the dwindling sands of our hourglass, time's a luxury we can't afford anymore. The relentless march of days is bringing us closer to a precipice, beyond which lies a void, a day devoid of tomorrow's promise. Thirty days from now, Arx will stand on the edge of oblivion, facing a devouring darkness, an insatiable maelstrom hungry for the essence of our being. This abominable force, blind to distinction or rank, whether you're a Godsworn, a valiant Knight, a mighty King or a humble Cobbler, sees us all as mere specks to be consumed in its ravenous gluttonous fury. It threatens not just the great city of Arx but the Shining Lands beyond and aims to shatter the chains binding it to Arvum, to unleash its catastrophic hunger upon the world in a final, apocalyptic reckoning.
In this fleeting existence, as we walk our divergent paths, laden with triumphs and failings, we must live with purpose and integrity. Make sure the trail you blaze has a lasting mark with your essence, your resolve unshaken, your honour unblemished, and your determination to do what's right unwavering. Leave behind a legacy that echoes your final, valiant stand long after you've left this realm.
In this hour of dire need, let heroes emerge from despair's depths. Harness this moment; let it be the crucible that forges unity from discord, strength from weakness, and resilience from despair. Extend your hand to those you once opposed, for the entity seeking our annihilation is indifferent to our squabbles; in its eyes, we're but fleeting morsels in its path of destruction. Insects to squash.
Let's come together as one indomitable force. Bolster each other, fortify our resolve, and engage in this ultimate battle for the existence of all.
To the Last. Stand unyielding, united in the face of darkness. To the Last. Let our final cry be a testament to our courage and tenacity. To the Last.
In the dwindling sands of our hourglass, time's a luxury we can't afford anymore. The relentless march of days is bringing us closer to a precipice, beyond which lies a void, a day devoid of tomorrow's promise. Thirty days from now, Arx will stand on the edge of oblivion, facing a devouring darkness, an insatiable maelstrom hungry for the essence of our being. This abominable force, blind to distinction or rank, whether you're a Godsworn, a valiant Knight, a mighty King or a humble Cobbler, sees us all as mere specks to be consumed in its ravenous gluttonous fury. It threatens not just the great city of Arx but the Shining Lands beyond and aims to shatter the chains binding it to Arvum, to unleash its catastrophic hunger upon the world in a final, apocalyptic reckoning.
In this fleeting existence, as we walk our divergent paths, laden with triumphs and failings, we must live with purpose and integrity. Make sure the trail you blaze has a lasting mark with your essence, your resolve unshaken, your honour unblemished, and your determination to do what's right unwavering. Leave behind a legacy that echoes your final, valiant stand long after you've left this realm.
In this hour of dire need, let heroes emerge from despair's depths. Harness this moment; let it be the crucible that forges unity from discord, strength from weakness, and resilience from despair. Extend your hand to those you once opposed, for the entity seeking our annihilation is indifferent to our squabbles; in its eyes, we're but fleeting morsels in its path of destruction. Insects to squash.
Let's come together as one indomitable force. Bolster each other, fortify our resolve, and engage in this ultimate battle for the existence of all.
To the Last. Stand unyielding, united in the face of darkness. To the Last. Let our final cry be a testament to our courage and tenacity. To the Last.
Written By Eithne
Jan. 11, 2024, 10:27 p.m.(7/15/1021 AR)
The world is on fire and all I can focus on is how my daughter, my once super adorable little girl is going to be thirteen soon. She's going to be thirteen and I spent a better part of my evening assuaging Ferrando that 'my daughter' (because she's my daughter today) is pulling away from him, giving his sass and obsessed with Champion Bliss. He feels distant, unimportant, and obviously bullied (thirteen year olds are bullies).
How I wish this were the extend of the crisis we were facing. Any other day I might allow this to get to me, but today, I sat in the moment of this family issue and gave quiet thanks to the gods for giving me this beautiful gift. Now, we just have to protect it with our all so that Carson can continue bullying Ferrando throughout the rest of her teenage years.
How I wish this were the extend of the crisis we were facing. Any other day I might allow this to get to me, but today, I sat in the moment of this family issue and gave quiet thanks to the gods for giving me this beautiful gift. Now, we just have to protect it with our all so that Carson can continue bullying Ferrando throughout the rest of her teenage years.
Written By Mattheu
Jan. 11, 2024, 4:32 p.m.(7/15/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Ann
With a horde once again finding its way to the city. I find myself remembering of the first trip to Riva where we brought the children.
Sil, Raya, and Ilan were like eager fledglings, their excitement palpable in the air as we entered the heart of Riva. Cobblestone paths wound their way through the lively market square, bustling with merchants hawking goods from every corner of the realm. The children were entranced by the vibrant tapestry of life in the Rivenshari enclave.
The towering longhouse, perched on a hill overlooking the confluence of rivers, beckoned like a sentinel of history. Sil, true to his adventurous spirit, proposed a climb to the very top, where the cascading waterfall behind it provided a backdrop of mesmerizing beauty. Raya, with the regality that came so naturally to her, and Ilan, the quiet observer, all eagerly accepted the challenge.
Sil led the way, his copper hair catching the sunlight as he moved with the confidence of a future Rivenshari leader. Raya, head held high, followed suit, while Ilan, with her gentle demeanor, silently observed every detail.
Finally reaching the summit, the panoramic view of the rivers' confluence stretched before us like a living tapestry. The waters sparkled in the sunlight, and the greenery surrounding the settlement painted a picture of timeless beauty. The children's eyes widened, absorbing the grandeur of Riva and the legacy it held.
The majestic sight of our navy, the floatila, gliding on the river below was both awe-inspiring and slightly awkward from our elevated vantage point. The colorful sails billowed in the wind, carrying stories of Rivenshari seafaring prowess. As we stood there, a sense of unity with our people settled upon us, a reminder of the Rivenshari's legacy of strength and resilience.
The children chattered excitedly about the sights and the tales they would share with their cousins back home. Sil, Raya, and Ilan forged memories that would become a part of their own stories in the ongoing saga of our house.
Sil, Raya, and Ilan were like eager fledglings, their excitement palpable in the air as we entered the heart of Riva. Cobblestone paths wound their way through the lively market square, bustling with merchants hawking goods from every corner of the realm. The children were entranced by the vibrant tapestry of life in the Rivenshari enclave.
The towering longhouse, perched on a hill overlooking the confluence of rivers, beckoned like a sentinel of history. Sil, true to his adventurous spirit, proposed a climb to the very top, where the cascading waterfall behind it provided a backdrop of mesmerizing beauty. Raya, with the regality that came so naturally to her, and Ilan, the quiet observer, all eagerly accepted the challenge.
Sil led the way, his copper hair catching the sunlight as he moved with the confidence of a future Rivenshari leader. Raya, head held high, followed suit, while Ilan, with her gentle demeanor, silently observed every detail.
Finally reaching the summit, the panoramic view of the rivers' confluence stretched before us like a living tapestry. The waters sparkled in the sunlight, and the greenery surrounding the settlement painted a picture of timeless beauty. The children's eyes widened, absorbing the grandeur of Riva and the legacy it held.
The majestic sight of our navy, the floatila, gliding on the river below was both awe-inspiring and slightly awkward from our elevated vantage point. The colorful sails billowed in the wind, carrying stories of Rivenshari seafaring prowess. As we stood there, a sense of unity with our people settled upon us, a reminder of the Rivenshari's legacy of strength and resilience.
The children chattered excitedly about the sights and the tales they would share with their cousins back home. Sil, Raya, and Ilan forged memories that would become a part of their own stories in the ongoing saga of our house.
Written By Titus
Jan. 11, 2024, 4:17 p.m.(7/15/1021 AR)
If you've ever been lax at recording your life and thoughts in journals and the power of confession, now is a good time to start recording everything. You might die, this is true, but your words you write can live on for others to find. There is power in words, in memory. It shapes how people think and in shaping thoughts you have the ability to shape the Dream itself.
If you choose not to scribe your journal, you leave vast amounts of your life to be consumed by forgetfulness, lost forever to oblivion. That seems a poor trade when you're given such an opportunity to live a life how you want.
If you choose not to scribe your journal, you leave vast amounts of your life to be consumed by forgetfulness, lost forever to oblivion. That seems a poor trade when you're given such an opportunity to live a life how you want.
Written By Fatima
Jan. 11, 2024, 12:34 p.m.(7/14/1021 AR)
Day 4
Confession has its uses, but does not often cause us to change our course or our convictions.
When you gaze into the mirror, what lies within gazes back at you.
I never dumped a bucket of water on Lady Medeia's head.
Day 5
Sometimes our convictions blind us to the truth. As a result, alternate paths may be obscured.
Shadowmeld is made of Elysian silk and dragon hide.
The monsters are real, and have us surrounded. And yet, we still cling to hope.
Confession has its uses, but does not often cause us to change our course or our convictions.
When you gaze into the mirror, what lies within gazes back at you.
I never dumped a bucket of water on Lady Medeia's head.
Day 5
Sometimes our convictions blind us to the truth. As a result, alternate paths may be obscured.
Shadowmeld is made of Elysian silk and dragon hide.
The monsters are real, and have us surrounded. And yet, we still cling to hope.
Written By Duarte
Jan. 11, 2024, 6:24 a.m.(7/14/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Ennettia
Journal
In the months leading up to my venture to Halfway House, I found myself fallen for the lady, Ennettia Igniseri, born to House Saik. I met her in the Velenosan Ward on a springtime day picnicing on a yellow blanket beneath the warm, cloudless sky. Her eyes were a brilliant hazel that seemed half asleep to the world for the strain of keeping them open would be much too efforty an endeavor. Her skin an olive compexion that reminded me of home. Her hair a deep, dark brown visible beneath the sun but in other settings it was a lovely black. But it wasn't her figure or form that was captivating. It was how she moved - or didn't move much. Her grace was defined by effortlessness, except hers was not a practiced perfection. It was effortlessness in its raw form - truly, no effort, whatsoever. I'm not being poetic.
Ennettia is the most honest person I have ever met, and I endlessly adored her for it. She was determined to revel in life's simplicities and anything just out of reach was a reach too far and she could skip it. She would not skimp on luxury. Her very being demanded service to her indolence. My gods was she charming.
She never walked, she drifted. She never sat, she lazed. She never laid down, she would sort of fall into the furniture and drape over it. I would toy with her languid proclivities. When we would drink together, I would place her cup just a finger's nail out of reach - knowing it would be too far. Or I would present it to her lips, to save her the strength of holding the glass herself.
She was not without depth. And her life was not easy as it seemed. I trust in her way she did work for the lifestyle she came to enjoy, and once attained with a sufficient degree of opulence, she was content to soak in it forever. And her life was not without its tragedy. Born of Saik, she married to Igniseri and bore a son. Though the marriage was political in its nature, like so many she grew a fondness for her husband and was tragically widowed. She was a kind and patient mother, but also knew there was a reason nannies and tutors were on hire and gladly let them to their work. Her mind was sharp. Her wit could cut a man to size with words carelessly offered to the wind without so much of a turn of the head lest her comfort be impacted. She enjoyed puzzles, and was great with numbers, and was studious. I suspect, anything she could do whilst reclined with a bowl of fruit nearby - or better yet - offered to her mouth by a servant - was a thing in which she excelled. And you always knew where you stood with Ennettia, for it would be just too much work to play pretend. But it would also be too much work to loathe - she seemed to get along with most. Like anyone, she had her limits and when I explored these her warnings would be sharp and I would relent, for I loved her.
She attained to herself a contentment and complacency that any might envy. Her joy in life once acquired was simple. She was easy to be around. A person who required only not to be bored, there was no need for masks or shadows or flamboyance. She liked to talk. And she liked her comforts. Ennettia was an end out of grasp. And if I had to do it again, I would sacrifice everything that came after to return to that comfort found in the luxury of languorous simplicity.
In the months leading up to my venture to Halfway House, I found myself fallen for the lady, Ennettia Igniseri, born to House Saik. I met her in the Velenosan Ward on a springtime day picnicing on a yellow blanket beneath the warm, cloudless sky. Her eyes were a brilliant hazel that seemed half asleep to the world for the strain of keeping them open would be much too efforty an endeavor. Her skin an olive compexion that reminded me of home. Her hair a deep, dark brown visible beneath the sun but in other settings it was a lovely black. But it wasn't her figure or form that was captivating. It was how she moved - or didn't move much. Her grace was defined by effortlessness, except hers was not a practiced perfection. It was effortlessness in its raw form - truly, no effort, whatsoever. I'm not being poetic.
Ennettia is the most honest person I have ever met, and I endlessly adored her for it. She was determined to revel in life's simplicities and anything just out of reach was a reach too far and she could skip it. She would not skimp on luxury. Her very being demanded service to her indolence. My gods was she charming.
She never walked, she drifted. She never sat, she lazed. She never laid down, she would sort of fall into the furniture and drape over it. I would toy with her languid proclivities. When we would drink together, I would place her cup just a finger's nail out of reach - knowing it would be too far. Or I would present it to her lips, to save her the strength of holding the glass herself.
She was not without depth. And her life was not easy as it seemed. I trust in her way she did work for the lifestyle she came to enjoy, and once attained with a sufficient degree of opulence, she was content to soak in it forever. And her life was not without its tragedy. Born of Saik, she married to Igniseri and bore a son. Though the marriage was political in its nature, like so many she grew a fondness for her husband and was tragically widowed. She was a kind and patient mother, but also knew there was a reason nannies and tutors were on hire and gladly let them to their work. Her mind was sharp. Her wit could cut a man to size with words carelessly offered to the wind without so much of a turn of the head lest her comfort be impacted. She enjoyed puzzles, and was great with numbers, and was studious. I suspect, anything she could do whilst reclined with a bowl of fruit nearby - or better yet - offered to her mouth by a servant - was a thing in which she excelled. And you always knew where you stood with Ennettia, for it would be just too much work to play pretend. But it would also be too much work to loathe - she seemed to get along with most. Like anyone, she had her limits and when I explored these her warnings would be sharp and I would relent, for I loved her.
She attained to herself a contentment and complacency that any might envy. Her joy in life once acquired was simple. She was easy to be around. A person who required only not to be bored, there was no need for masks or shadows or flamboyance. She liked to talk. And she liked her comforts. Ennettia was an end out of grasp. And if I had to do it again, I would sacrifice everything that came after to return to that comfort found in the luxury of languorous simplicity.
Written By Duarte
Jan. 11, 2024, 5:08 a.m.(7/14/1021 AR)
Journal
We had half a map and it is all that we had. Lady Olivia Ashford, Lady Tessa Moore, Sir Jordan Ober (of House Ashford), Violet Marjawn (now Baroness Violet Farwatch), Sister Astraea Valardin, and me. Much went into the planning for our venture to Halfway House, but much was not enough.
Wandering the woods to which the map took us, the shardhaven's taunts began well before the location was in our sights. The map itself seemed to laugh at us as it withheld its final destination when under scrutiny. We had to view it with half a gaze to get anywhere. It was terribly annoying, if punny. All about us the shadows themselves seemed to twist and grin menacingly for our approach. We were all too welcome guests to a night that would be fraught with terror.
Everything about the Halfway House was half. It was half decrepit and half new construction. It was half open, and half closed in doors and window. Ominous music played on a loop, but only to half the song. The only full completion of a thing on the premises was a grave just outside the building. In hindsight, an all too obvious thing to have dug up. We missed it entirely.
The smell of fresh popcorn permeated the air as we considered our first moves. It was well determined much ahead of time that we would not /enter/ the Halfway House. We decided our best course of action would be to walk a perimeter and - as you might imagine - that proved to be impossible because we could only get as far as half way around it. We walked to no end and had no choice but to double back along a tall stone wall covered in lush, beautiful vines and half-bloomed flowers with a glorious scent.
We began our prayers. Prayers to Petrichor, for we knew the nature of corruption here was that of his dark reflection. And the prayers stung the keep like a rapier piercing the flesh of a giant. The vines began to twist and come alive. They came for me and Jordan. Quickly, Violet and he fought them off, but it was the least of our concerns. For so as quickly, I became afflicted with a violent hunger. The ground began to shake as if rebelling against the prayer. The wall crumbled to reveal a garden of beautiful flowers, greenery, and lovely, supple berries. The aching of gnawing hunger was unsatiable for Sir Jordan and I, as we stuffed our faces with what rations Lady Olivia had carried. But the reveal of the garden, and its tender fruit, was all too obvious a trap.
But one by one, the shardhaven took its hold on us. Not with twisted monsters and physical threat. It attacked us at our minds and our wits. Lady Tessa was hungry and insatiable for curiosity. She broke from the group and went around to enter the house at the door. Violet became inexplicably and painfully ill, retching and nauseated. Sir Jordan and I were hungry - so, so very hungry. Only Lady Olivia was without ailment and her continued prayer alleviated our senses, somewhat, for a small while.
Inexplicably, Sir Jordan was pegged in the back of his head by a piece of popcorn. But no one was around who could've possibly thrown it.
We could only half-return from halfway around the house. It was terribly frustrating. And, eventually, the shardhaven warped its way to Lady Olivia's mind as well, and Violet's. They became hungry. And suddenly, that obvious trap of the garden seemed like a mercy. The Halfway House was our salvation! Not our doom. All we had to do was hack through those horrible vines - and how readily they yielded as we sought after, in a righteous cause, the garden and its array of plump, juicy springtime berries.
We fell upon the bushes and devoured them until we were full - staining our lips and fingers. And just as we were on the brink of gluttony, the vines snapped us up and threw us out.
And this piece of the story just ended? That was the easy part.
We had half a map and it is all that we had. Lady Olivia Ashford, Lady Tessa Moore, Sir Jordan Ober (of House Ashford), Violet Marjawn (now Baroness Violet Farwatch), Sister Astraea Valardin, and me. Much went into the planning for our venture to Halfway House, but much was not enough.
Wandering the woods to which the map took us, the shardhaven's taunts began well before the location was in our sights. The map itself seemed to laugh at us as it withheld its final destination when under scrutiny. We had to view it with half a gaze to get anywhere. It was terribly annoying, if punny. All about us the shadows themselves seemed to twist and grin menacingly for our approach. We were all too welcome guests to a night that would be fraught with terror.
Everything about the Halfway House was half. It was half decrepit and half new construction. It was half open, and half closed in doors and window. Ominous music played on a loop, but only to half the song. The only full completion of a thing on the premises was a grave just outside the building. In hindsight, an all too obvious thing to have dug up. We missed it entirely.
The smell of fresh popcorn permeated the air as we considered our first moves. It was well determined much ahead of time that we would not /enter/ the Halfway House. We decided our best course of action would be to walk a perimeter and - as you might imagine - that proved to be impossible because we could only get as far as half way around it. We walked to no end and had no choice but to double back along a tall stone wall covered in lush, beautiful vines and half-bloomed flowers with a glorious scent.
We began our prayers. Prayers to Petrichor, for we knew the nature of corruption here was that of his dark reflection. And the prayers stung the keep like a rapier piercing the flesh of a giant. The vines began to twist and come alive. They came for me and Jordan. Quickly, Violet and he fought them off, but it was the least of our concerns. For so as quickly, I became afflicted with a violent hunger. The ground began to shake as if rebelling against the prayer. The wall crumbled to reveal a garden of beautiful flowers, greenery, and lovely, supple berries. The aching of gnawing hunger was unsatiable for Sir Jordan and I, as we stuffed our faces with what rations Lady Olivia had carried. But the reveal of the garden, and its tender fruit, was all too obvious a trap.
But one by one, the shardhaven took its hold on us. Not with twisted monsters and physical threat. It attacked us at our minds and our wits. Lady Tessa was hungry and insatiable for curiosity. She broke from the group and went around to enter the house at the door. Violet became inexplicably and painfully ill, retching and nauseated. Sir Jordan and I were hungry - so, so very hungry. Only Lady Olivia was without ailment and her continued prayer alleviated our senses, somewhat, for a small while.
Inexplicably, Sir Jordan was pegged in the back of his head by a piece of popcorn. But no one was around who could've possibly thrown it.
We could only half-return from halfway around the house. It was terribly frustrating. And, eventually, the shardhaven warped its way to Lady Olivia's mind as well, and Violet's. They became hungry. And suddenly, that obvious trap of the garden seemed like a mercy. The Halfway House was our salvation! Not our doom. All we had to do was hack through those horrible vines - and how readily they yielded as we sought after, in a righteous cause, the garden and its array of plump, juicy springtime berries.
We fell upon the bushes and devoured them until we were full - staining our lips and fingers. And just as we were on the brink of gluttony, the vines snapped us up and threw us out.
And this piece of the story just ended? That was the easy part.
Written By Mattheu
Jan. 11, 2024, 1:28 a.m.(7/13/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Jeffeth
there was a scarf, hair bells, and cookies.
It was a good roll withing the mud. laughter and friendship was found
It was a good roll withing the mud. laughter and friendship was found
Written By Lianne
Jan. 10, 2024, 11:08 p.m.(7/13/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Apollo
We worship those we think, rightly or otherwise, above ourselves, such as Gods, heroes, parents. It is an act of reverence.
We may demonstrate devotion to our equals, to whoever we feel merits it. It is not a passive thing. It is an act of consistent care.
We may demonstrate devotion to our equals, to whoever we feel merits it. It is not a passive thing. It is an act of consistent care.
Written By Lianne
Jan. 10, 2024, 11:02 p.m.(7/13/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Valerius
Transcribed from my Blacks by my own hand:
(7/6/1008 AR)
He was crying when he told me he loves me, that he has never felt so comfortable with anyone in his entire life, that he didn't want to return to a life without me. I cried, too. With relief, with joy, with ache and worry for the burden he must carry in being close to me.
I love him, too. I sometimes find myself thinking of ways I might bend my world to better fit him in it.
I don't think anyone would imagine he's where I would put my heart, my time, all my attention. I would argue that they don't know either of us very well. He is honest, always. He is made of light and laughter and bravery. He is not without fear, but I have yet to see him shy away from either responsibility or challenge, no matter how he might say he avoids the former. He loves deeply. He answers all my questions, even when they make him uncomfortable. He lets me see him. And I think he, too, sees me, even if he doesn't always understand.
I woke beside him this morning after a night of crying and confessions. I woke with his skin beneath my fingers, and I can't remember the last time I felt such peace.
This will not be easy, but I have no doubt that it will be worth it, if only for moments like those.
(7/6/1008 AR)
He was crying when he told me he loves me, that he has never felt so comfortable with anyone in his entire life, that he didn't want to return to a life without me. I cried, too. With relief, with joy, with ache and worry for the burden he must carry in being close to me.
I love him, too. I sometimes find myself thinking of ways I might bend my world to better fit him in it.
I don't think anyone would imagine he's where I would put my heart, my time, all my attention. I would argue that they don't know either of us very well. He is honest, always. He is made of light and laughter and bravery. He is not without fear, but I have yet to see him shy away from either responsibility or challenge, no matter how he might say he avoids the former. He loves deeply. He answers all my questions, even when they make him uncomfortable. He lets me see him. And I think he, too, sees me, even if he doesn't always understand.
I woke beside him this morning after a night of crying and confessions. I woke with his skin beneath my fingers, and I can't remember the last time I felt such peace.
This will not be easy, but I have no doubt that it will be worth it, if only for moments like those.
Written By Fortunato
Jan. 10, 2024, 8:57 p.m.(7/13/1021 AR)
I think that we will make it. I hope we will make it. I would like the Dream to persist. I would not like the Eater to end it. What a miserable end that would be.
I must grieve, though. I must grieve, and grieve, and grieve at so many lost. Countless lost. Peoples and settlements and nations. Gone. I think we will make it. I think we will preserve the seed of Arvum to regrow in another season. I think, perhaps, the world will not utterly end.
But the loss is incalculable. All I wanted, all I have wanted, was to prevent this. Do you remember the empty pages raining on Arx? Do you remember the terrible visions of his depredations? I wanted it to stop. I wanted the common folk, the every day folk, the people that perhaps have little weight on either the Dream or on society, I wanted them to live. I'm just from the Lowers myself.
I think we will preserve a seed to regrow in another season. I think we will come together with unlikely allies. I think perhaps we will be able to perform a great working with help. Or we will have a way or another way. I have this hope. But the loss is incalculable. The world will not be the same world and for a long time Arvum will be barren. Arx a faint shoot in a land of desolation. Spring will come. But I have not prevented this winter. Should I survive this end, I do not think I can stay. I will walk the ruined roads and remember the loss.
I must grieve, though. I must grieve, and grieve, and grieve at so many lost. Countless lost. Peoples and settlements and nations. Gone. I think we will make it. I think we will preserve the seed of Arvum to regrow in another season. I think, perhaps, the world will not utterly end.
But the loss is incalculable. All I wanted, all I have wanted, was to prevent this. Do you remember the empty pages raining on Arx? Do you remember the terrible visions of his depredations? I wanted it to stop. I wanted the common folk, the every day folk, the people that perhaps have little weight on either the Dream or on society, I wanted them to live. I'm just from the Lowers myself.
I think we will preserve a seed to regrow in another season. I think we will come together with unlikely allies. I think perhaps we will be able to perform a great working with help. Or we will have a way or another way. I have this hope. But the loss is incalculable. The world will not be the same world and for a long time Arvum will be barren. Arx a faint shoot in a land of desolation. Spring will come. But I have not prevented this winter. Should I survive this end, I do not think I can stay. I will walk the ruined roads and remember the loss.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.