Written By Max
April 11, 2017, 12:28 a.m.(4/3/1006 AR)
And now I rest.
Written By Orazio
April 10, 2017, 11:21 p.m.(4/2/1006 AR)
To the Faithful Reader:
A long list of horrors occupies my sleepless thoughts of late, and my nightmares - ever fertile ground - have an ever-widening array of seeds from which to grow a bountiful harvest. And yet, on this night, as I study the reports in front of me, accounts of those lost, honorably and otherwise, it is not to the recent past that my mind returns.
Sometimes, it does not seem very long ago that I was a very young man in the Saiklands, a man with a large family, and parents who had in the last few years been blessed with twins, my youngest siblings. I was the second born, and I suspect that many who only know me since I joined the Faith would be surprised at that young man, before he changed completely.
You see, that was the summer plague came to the Saiklands.
It began among the workers in the vineyards, as a peculiar rash that began on the forearms. It spread quickly, and I remember how the summer heat beat down on the shelters we erected to try and quarantine the sick. My father ordered my eldest brother away; he was the heir, and the hope of the main family's continuing line. I stayed, for the rash had already appeared on my mother's arms, and my other brother was studying in Arx. The twins caught it next. They were too young to understand why their mother was too weak to hold them, or why their bodies had suddenly become prisons of agony. A toddler does not understand the concept of plague. They wish to be held by their parents. They want their big brother to take the pain away. They beg, and when begging fails, they cry. I remember that it took them almost a fortnight to die, and how they screamed from the fourth day until their throats became so swollen and bloodied that all the noise they could make was a throaty croak, rising and falling with their labored breaths. I remember how the plague pustules grew and swelled, turning purple and hard beneath their delicate skin, until it seemed like the Saikland's grapes were trying to be born from their thrashing, sweat-soaked bodies. I remember working with the house healer, making draughts of drugged wine to try and give them a few moments of peace, here and there. I remember finding their still bodies, already going rigid, and breathing a prayer to Lagoma that she, in her mercy, had finally allowed them to escape back to her side.
My parents took longer to die, being stronger and better able to care for themselves. Once their strength failed, the healer and I worked to keep them as cool as possible, to change them and bathe them, and dose them. After the healer caught the disease, I worked alone, trying to make them as comfortable as I could while I watched the light in their eyes burn and burn and burn until there was nothing left but ashes and meat, which we, the survivors, buried.
I can say, without any doubt or hesitation, that without the plague, I would not be where I am today. I certainly would not have joined the Faith; there is something about seeing injustice on such a horrific scale that makes the heart and soul yearn for light. I can also say that I would not inflict that experience on even the worst of my enemies. Not even those whose humanity is doubtful or nonexistent, and certainly not on noncombatants. Tens of thousands.
May the gods have mercy on our souls, although sometimes I doubt that we deserve it.
A long list of horrors occupies my sleepless thoughts of late, and my nightmares - ever fertile ground - have an ever-widening array of seeds from which to grow a bountiful harvest. And yet, on this night, as I study the reports in front of me, accounts of those lost, honorably and otherwise, it is not to the recent past that my mind returns.
Sometimes, it does not seem very long ago that I was a very young man in the Saiklands, a man with a large family, and parents who had in the last few years been blessed with twins, my youngest siblings. I was the second born, and I suspect that many who only know me since I joined the Faith would be surprised at that young man, before he changed completely.
You see, that was the summer plague came to the Saiklands.
It began among the workers in the vineyards, as a peculiar rash that began on the forearms. It spread quickly, and I remember how the summer heat beat down on the shelters we erected to try and quarantine the sick. My father ordered my eldest brother away; he was the heir, and the hope of the main family's continuing line. I stayed, for the rash had already appeared on my mother's arms, and my other brother was studying in Arx. The twins caught it next. They were too young to understand why their mother was too weak to hold them, or why their bodies had suddenly become prisons of agony. A toddler does not understand the concept of plague. They wish to be held by their parents. They want their big brother to take the pain away. They beg, and when begging fails, they cry. I remember that it took them almost a fortnight to die, and how they screamed from the fourth day until their throats became so swollen and bloodied that all the noise they could make was a throaty croak, rising and falling with their labored breaths. I remember how the plague pustules grew and swelled, turning purple and hard beneath their delicate skin, until it seemed like the Saikland's grapes were trying to be born from their thrashing, sweat-soaked bodies. I remember working with the house healer, making draughts of drugged wine to try and give them a few moments of peace, here and there. I remember finding their still bodies, already going rigid, and breathing a prayer to Lagoma that she, in her mercy, had finally allowed them to escape back to her side.
My parents took longer to die, being stronger and better able to care for themselves. Once their strength failed, the healer and I worked to keep them as cool as possible, to change them and bathe them, and dose them. After the healer caught the disease, I worked alone, trying to make them as comfortable as I could while I watched the light in their eyes burn and burn and burn until there was nothing left but ashes and meat, which we, the survivors, buried.
I can say, without any doubt or hesitation, that without the plague, I would not be where I am today. I certainly would not have joined the Faith; there is something about seeing injustice on such a horrific scale that makes the heart and soul yearn for light. I can also say that I would not inflict that experience on even the worst of my enemies. Not even those whose humanity is doubtful or nonexistent, and certainly not on noncombatants. Tens of thousands.
May the gods have mercy on our souls, although sometimes I doubt that we deserve it.
Written By Donella
April 10, 2017, 11:05 p.m.(4/2/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Branan
Master Branan has become Brother Branan, a Godsworn, but I enjoy his company just the same as though we were not living each moment under a shadow. He made a fine gift to me of two volumes of his Mirrorguard series, after I commented how I like the stones of the character of dashing Talane. A good adventure is needed, because as he said: fiction teaches us where we can go, what could be possible. A lot of history of late has turned out to be less based in fact. Perhaps if I read about bold characters, I will absorb some of their boldness. Remember though, to go round to the shop again; there are many new friends on his shelves waiting to be discovered. Sirikit the Crownbreaker, and Orlando, next, I think.
Written By Harald
April 10, 2017, 10:21 p.m.(4/2/1006 AR)
I hear the recent proclamations with disappointment, but not surprise.
My house has sent its sons to fight in every great battle the Compact has faced in this war. We were at Pridehall, at Giant's Fall, at Krakensmaw, and at Arx, where half our strength remains.
Where is the list of our atrocities? Where is a single complaint given voice at our loyalty or obedience? Let any speak who would claim that Grimhall has offended the Gods with our conduct in this war.
We fought with valor under command of Calypso Malvici when the Formorian was slain and the Bringers' host broken, and we fought with honor: let her name me a liar if I am false.
We have supported the Iron Guard and the defense of Arx as much as any House, with no thought of greed or profit. Let Silas Mercier name me a liar if I am false.
My son Valdemar led Grimhall's men against the Gyre with courage and honor unstained. I defy any to claim otherwise.
Yet now I must hear Legate Orazio use the deeds of other men as a flimsy cause to attack thralldom, heedless of the damage it would do to the Mourning Isles and to my House, which has committed no wrongs. I am not so learned in the ways of the Gods as he, so perhaps there is good precedent to punish the innocent in this manner.
I await it.
My house has sent its sons to fight in every great battle the Compact has faced in this war. We were at Pridehall, at Giant's Fall, at Krakensmaw, and at Arx, where half our strength remains.
Where is the list of our atrocities? Where is a single complaint given voice at our loyalty or obedience? Let any speak who would claim that Grimhall has offended the Gods with our conduct in this war.
We fought with valor under command of Calypso Malvici when the Formorian was slain and the Bringers' host broken, and we fought with honor: let her name me a liar if I am false.
We have supported the Iron Guard and the defense of Arx as much as any House, with no thought of greed or profit. Let Silas Mercier name me a liar if I am false.
My son Valdemar led Grimhall's men against the Gyre with courage and honor unstained. I defy any to claim otherwise.
Yet now I must hear Legate Orazio use the deeds of other men as a flimsy cause to attack thralldom, heedless of the damage it would do to the Mourning Isles and to my House, which has committed no wrongs. I am not so learned in the ways of the Gods as he, so perhaps there is good precedent to punish the innocent in this manner.
I await it.
Written By Merek
April 10, 2017, 8:50 p.m.(4/2/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Selene
The Radiant Whisper of the Whisper House. She is kind and caring, and she has accepted my membership as a patron within the Whisper House. I hope to have intellectual discussions with her sometime when she is free, and I should send her a copy of some of my work.
Written By Magpie
April 10, 2017, 8:47 p.m.(4/2/1006 AR)
Decided to go over to the Thrax side of the city today. (More blood stains, but much cleaner) I like visiting the Ebb and Flow Inn there, lots of my people. (Sailors, that is. People of the sea!!) I bumped into Mae (always a delight! she's like a delicious spiced rum on a cold day), and she introduced me to some well-to-do folk. The princess was nice (like a cake with some light pink frosting). One of the other nobles got offended when I took too close of interest in her card game. (yesterday's bread. A bit stiff, but still good.) Look. I bathed two days ago, I really don't see what I did wrong.
Whatever.
So I met with a friend about some business. Then I met with some other friends about some other business. Then Thena dropped in, on break from a guard patrol. She told me about how Calaudrin was terribly concerned for my welfare and seeking only the best of health for me. He's such a sweetheart. <3 <3 <3
While we were talking a man came in that bore a striking resemblance to some sketches I was given by Aleksei. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Tall. Strong. It could have been him! I slipped the pictures quietly to Thena and then went over to strike up a conversation with the fellow. You know, ask a few questions? Get a feel for things. Turns out the man in question? Marquis Ford Kennex. (A tall drink of water... Darkwater.)
Kennex didn't seem to like me. I'm not sure why, but that's two for two that I struck out on today. I have decided after no deliberation what-so-ever it had something to do with my shirt. Therefore, I have commissioned the lovely Lyiana (that I only just met, courtesy of the also just-met Simone) for a fine seasilk shirt. Blue. I am certain this will make the difference in future meetings with nobility and/or royalty.
I dedicate this journal entry to you, Lyiana Averdeen. You're a top-notch lady.
Whatever.
So I met with a friend about some business. Then I met with some other friends about some other business. Then Thena dropped in, on break from a guard patrol. She told me about how Calaudrin was terribly concerned for my welfare and seeking only the best of health for me. He's such a sweetheart. <3 <3 <3
While we were talking a man came in that bore a striking resemblance to some sketches I was given by Aleksei. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Tall. Strong. It could have been him! I slipped the pictures quietly to Thena and then went over to strike up a conversation with the fellow. You know, ask a few questions? Get a feel for things. Turns out the man in question? Marquis Ford Kennex. (A tall drink of water... Darkwater.)
Kennex didn't seem to like me. I'm not sure why, but that's two for two that I struck out on today. I have decided after no deliberation what-so-ever it had something to do with my shirt. Therefore, I have commissioned the lovely Lyiana (that I only just met, courtesy of the also just-met Simone) for a fine seasilk shirt. Blue. I am certain this will make the difference in future meetings with nobility and/or royalty.
I dedicate this journal entry to you, Lyiana Averdeen. You're a top-notch lady.
Written By Margot
April 10, 2017, 8:26 p.m.(4/2/1006 AR)
Here is to bloodless victories. Julia is now a Marquessa, and her husband has yielded to myself and House Thrax. Not only giving us more men and boats but each a lost arm and sail from the Gyre's forces.
I am not a tactician but I believe that can be classified as a double victory, and the sort we ought to strive more for.
Now... if only the Compact would give such as much attention as they do a handful of flayings done by Abbas and his over zealous reavers.
I am not a tactician but I believe that can be classified as a double victory, and the sort we ought to strive more for.
Now... if only the Compact would give such as much attention as they do a handful of flayings done by Abbas and his over zealous reavers.
Written By Ariel
April 10, 2017, 8:15 p.m.(4/2/1006 AR)
The moonlight
our spotlight,
the ground is
our stage.
The stars
our audience,
the night is
our music.
As the light fades,
we pick up the pace.
We dance together
in the moon's embrace.
The moonlight
our spotlight,
the ground is
our stage.
The stars
our audience,
the night is
our music.
You are
my partner,
and this is
our dance.
our spotlight,
the ground is
our stage.
The stars
our audience,
the night is
our music.
As the light fades,
we pick up the pace.
We dance together
in the moon's embrace.
The moonlight
our spotlight,
the ground is
our stage.
The stars
our audience,
the night is
our music.
You are
my partner,
and this is
our dance.
Written By Ariel
April 10, 2017, 8:15 p.m.(4/2/1006 AR)
My eyes meet yours,
And the music in my mind,
Reaches its crescendo,
As I make my way towards you.
We danced all night,
With names unknown,
Just the pure bliss,
Of being in your arms.
I lost sight of you,
In the confusion of the night's end,
I know not your name,
Nor you, mine.
But the thoughts of me,
Folded in your arms,
Shall never leave me,
So remember me as I remember you
And the music in my mind,
Reaches its crescendo,
As I make my way towards you.
We danced all night,
With names unknown,
Just the pure bliss,
Of being in your arms.
I lost sight of you,
In the confusion of the night's end,
I know not your name,
Nor you, mine.
But the thoughts of me,
Folded in your arms,
Shall never leave me,
So remember me as I remember you
Written By Ariel
April 10, 2017, 8:14 p.m.(4/2/1006 AR)
Like flames on a candlestick
Taste each other like Lyceum wine
Make our hearts feel divine
And write our dance into rhyme
Taste each other like Lyceum wine
Make our hearts feel divine
And write our dance into rhyme
Written By Ariel
April 10, 2017, 8:13 p.m.(4/2/1006 AR)
I dance for you in the safety of solitude
feathers all gleaming the sun sparkling my eyes
I sing for my beloved from dawn till dusk
and fall into the dreaming world of pure love
feathers all gleaming the sun sparkling my eyes
I sing for my beloved from dawn till dusk
and fall into the dreaming world of pure love
Written By Thena
April 10, 2017, 7:47 p.m.(4/2/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Magpie
So Korka and Officer Estardes might be right about Mags being demented...still. Only /family/ gets to say that sort of thing.
Written By Isolde
April 10, 2017, 7:30 p.m.(4/2/1006 AR)
It seems I have fallen behind on journals, keeping my own or reading others.
Write About Isolde Day is retroactively cancelled. Don't be weird.
A lot on my mind lately. Too much, perhaps. Maybe these coming days are the days I catch up on writing.
Write About Isolde Day is retroactively cancelled. Don't be weird.
A lot on my mind lately. Too much, perhaps. Maybe these coming days are the days I catch up on writing.
Written By Armel
April 10, 2017, 7:21 p.m.(4/2/1006 AR)
That was too far. Even for a demonspawn with no soul, that was too far.
I will see you roasted alive for this. But I am patient. I will wait. I will carry on. And in the end...
You won't see me coming.
I will see you roasted alive for this. But I am patient. I will wait. I will carry on. And in the end...
You won't see me coming.
Written By Ford
April 10, 2017, 5:47 p.m.(4/2/1006 AR)
To the owner of the mountain of clothes laying in one of the hallways of the Redrain Villa,
Your hastily discarded adornments are now hidden in various places throughout Arx.
Good luck.
Your hastily discarded adornments are now hidden in various places throughout Arx.
Good luck.
Written By Aureth
April 10, 2017, 3:11 p.m.(4/2/1006 AR)
A little while ago, in this process I have undertaken prior to taking my vows before all the gods rather than only one, I was composing an essay on Gloria. At that time, I struggled a little with myself over the meaning of honor for a man who does not fight. I found the idea of my own honor nebulous; I struggled with the root of pride, and had to think hard about what it meant to me, where to seed Gloria's particular integrity within my own spirit. I reached a conclusion, and I will not rehash that now.
Yet I can answer that question another way, now, having heard the first horrific news of what Abbas Thrax has done to thousands of Shav'Arvani in the Isles.
It is so much easier to comprehend the necessity of honor to a moral life when confronted with its glaring lack.
If there is any among the people of the Compact who does not find this behavior shocking to your conscience ... I can only conclude that they must have lost their way. I hope that they consider a return to the Faith.
The gods are with us, but must we not be worthy of their grace?
Yet I can answer that question another way, now, having heard the first horrific news of what Abbas Thrax has done to thousands of Shav'Arvani in the Isles.
It is so much easier to comprehend the necessity of honor to a moral life when confronted with its glaring lack.
If there is any among the people of the Compact who does not find this behavior shocking to your conscience ... I can only conclude that they must have lost their way. I hope that they consider a return to the Faith.
The gods are with us, but must we not be worthy of their grace?
Written By Eirene
April 10, 2017, 2:12 p.m.(4/2/1006 AR)
The thing about tending to the wounded in a crisis like this - you find little time to do otherwise. Socialization is reduced to a minimum. Self-care is reduced to a minimum. Hygiene is the only thing I insist upon as a necessity but anything more than a soldier's bath for what's under my armor is a luxury. Cleaning and purifying the body and surgical instruments is not only a sacred ritual, it seems to work better when tools are clean. I can only assume that bodies do not like mingling humours between two different patients. Keep your fluids to yourself, thank you. We can't always ask for that in a battlefield condition - Lagoma knows you don't have time between every crisis patient to wash the blood off your hands before moving to the next, but we try, dammit. Wash the hands, bless the needles and saws in fire - even if it's not the holy fire exactly it seems to help by heating them over flame first to burn away the remnants of the last patient.
What was the point? I'm not even in the Archive proper, I'm dictating to a scribe who has the sad fate of recording wills and testimony of my patients. You poor fucker, this must be the shit job. Taking the words of the dying and giving them to a God who may not even be listening...
Ah. Point. I'm missing the horrible crisis explosions around the city. This fucking necromancer. An attack on the Hall of Heroes... A gods-damned goddess manifesting to half the city, my relatives included.
All I see are the aftermaths. A flood of new patients, here or the Grace. Stories. Prayers. Curses. Regrets. I keep dogs outside the hospitals to try to sniff out the mimics and invisibles. I keep mirrors on me to make sure my patients have souls. I touch wounds with the alaricite blade to make sure they're not abyssally tainted. I deal with superstition, fact, and fate on a regular basis and do everything I can to reduce it to fact and truth and keep that kind of thing -far- far far away from my wounded patients. They've been through enough.
I will everything I can do undo the damages done to our people and our lives. Greedy bitch that I am.
What was the point? I'm not even in the Archive proper, I'm dictating to a scribe who has the sad fate of recording wills and testimony of my patients. You poor fucker, this must be the shit job. Taking the words of the dying and giving them to a God who may not even be listening...
Ah. Point. I'm missing the horrible crisis explosions around the city. This fucking necromancer. An attack on the Hall of Heroes... A gods-damned goddess manifesting to half the city, my relatives included.
All I see are the aftermaths. A flood of new patients, here or the Grace. Stories. Prayers. Curses. Regrets. I keep dogs outside the hospitals to try to sniff out the mimics and invisibles. I keep mirrors on me to make sure my patients have souls. I touch wounds with the alaricite blade to make sure they're not abyssally tainted. I deal with superstition, fact, and fate on a regular basis and do everything I can to reduce it to fact and truth and keep that kind of thing -far- far far away from my wounded patients. They've been through enough.
I will everything I can do undo the damages done to our people and our lives. Greedy bitch that I am.
Written By Belladonna
April 10, 2017, 1:08 p.m.(4/2/1006 AR)
Guilty conscience, much? I wonder how many people are going to assume (quite incorrectly) that I referred to them.
Written By Sameera
April 10, 2017, 12:36 p.m.(4/2/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Wilhem
Wilhem. Known him for quite some time. He is allowed to touch. He is a wicked man, I am certain. Not entirely a bad thing. He's a tailor. Very good one.
Written By Freja
April 10, 2017, 12:36 p.m.(4/2/1006 AR)
Thrown into not one, but two walls by the demon in Queensrest Inn. The gash on my back is just to add insult to injury.
Thing is, I heard them. All of them and him. Every soul he took. In the middle of that chaos no one tried to touch me, except him. I almost got him, felt against the brush of my fingertips before he tried to tear me in two.
Apparently, this gives him no end of pleasure of attempting to torment me with his missives. He is watching, I know. By the sound of it he intends to meet me again and I won't miss a second time.
Thing is, I heard them. All of them and him. Every soul he took. In the middle of that chaos no one tried to touch me, except him. I almost got him, felt against the brush of my fingertips before he tried to tear me in two.
Apparently, this gives him no end of pleasure of attempting to torment me with his missives. He is watching, I know. By the sound of it he intends to meet me again and I won't miss a second time.
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