Written By Calaudrin
March 21, 2017, 5:26 p.m.(2/18/1006 AR)
I don't know if my soul feels particularly soothed from last night. But I do know that a woman thinks my name is 'Refills' and that my occupation is handing out bread...
Written By Serafine
March 21, 2017, 4:56 p.m.(2/18/1006 AR)
To the person or persons that applauded after I retired to my tent with company ...
You're welcome.
Also I hope I don't get court-martialed for that.
You're welcome.
Also I hope I don't get court-martialed for that.
Written By Eirene
March 21, 2017, 3:24 p.m.(2/18/1006 AR)
Forward from Camp Spearhead -
Butcher's bill is being filled out even now. Scouting parties. A trap on the river. And even a few cases of frost-death for those who didn't heed the warnings about how fucking cold fighting in the snow is going to be.
Normally I write out and burn copies of the list at the temples of Gloria, Tehom, and Lagoma -- guess i have to make a fourth copy for whatever her name is, Death and Rebirth and shit.
So to them I pray. May the list be fucking short.
Butcher's bill is being filled out even now. Scouting parties. A trap on the river. And even a few cases of frost-death for those who didn't heed the warnings about how fucking cold fighting in the snow is going to be.
Normally I write out and burn copies of the list at the temples of Gloria, Tehom, and Lagoma -- guess i have to make a fourth copy for whatever her name is, Death and Rebirth and shit.
So to them I pray. May the list be fucking short.
Written By Dulcinea
March 21, 2017, 1:03 p.m.(2/18/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Ansel
Dear Me,
There are no words for how much I love my brother. He's always understood me best and loved me at my worst. I have nothing clever to say about any of this... it's all... smushy and heartfelt.
Now he's off to battle and the shrine of Gloria is just appallingly crowded. I've had to shove and elbow my way up front to make sure She sees me. Also, some of my best dresses are wearing thin where my knees hit when I kneel. I'm not sure whether this is the dressmaker's fault or the people who keep the floors of the shrines, but you can be sure I'll look into it when all this is past.
Come safely home, Annie. My heart will break and never, ever repair if you don't.
Waiting and Fretting,
Me
There are no words for how much I love my brother. He's always understood me best and loved me at my worst. I have nothing clever to say about any of this... it's all... smushy and heartfelt.
Now he's off to battle and the shrine of Gloria is just appallingly crowded. I've had to shove and elbow my way up front to make sure She sees me. Also, some of my best dresses are wearing thin where my knees hit when I kneel. I'm not sure whether this is the dressmaker's fault or the people who keep the floors of the shrines, but you can be sure I'll look into it when all this is past.
Come safely home, Annie. My heart will break and never, ever repair if you don't.
Waiting and Fretting,
Me
Written By Caelis
March 21, 2017, 3:35 a.m.(2/17/1006 AR)
Written from the war camp-
There have been pranks, sadly not of my doing. There have been losses and people we will mourn and remember when we get home. There has also been waiting. I know the longest part of a war is the lead up to the actual battles, but now I know it as a physical lesson in patience. Fights at see do not seem to linger so long, or at least there is more to keep me busy. I don't begrudge the generals and commanders here. These are a great many people to manage.
On a lighter note, I have deeply enjoyed the notes that have made it up to the camp for me-and I have also become a sea shanty.
May your hopes find safe harbors.
There have been pranks, sadly not of my doing. There have been losses and people we will mourn and remember when we get home. There has also been waiting. I know the longest part of a war is the lead up to the actual battles, but now I know it as a physical lesson in patience. Fights at see do not seem to linger so long, or at least there is more to keep me busy. I don't begrudge the generals and commanders here. These are a great many people to manage.
On a lighter note, I have deeply enjoyed the notes that have made it up to the camp for me-and I have also become a sea shanty.
May your hopes find safe harbors.
Written By Joscelin
March 20, 2017, 10:02 p.m.(2/16/1006 AR)
I'm starting to wonder if I shouldn't look for an apprentice to pass on my knowledge. I've got an extra room attached to my shop besides my quarters, I could provide room and board in exchange for work, as well as payment for any item of their own they sell.
I have no intention of retiring soon. I've helped many jeweler journeymen in advice, and as a journeyman myself, part of my certification required that I teach the apprentices who came into Wolbrand's shop when I was -his- apprentice. But since making master-jeweler myself, I haven't taken on one. I should remedy this.
Would anyone be interested in that, I wonder?
Scholar, if you receive interest in this post, forward such responses by messenger, would you? My thanks.
I have no intention of retiring soon. I've helped many jeweler journeymen in advice, and as a journeyman myself, part of my certification required that I teach the apprentices who came into Wolbrand's shop when I was -his- apprentice. But since making master-jeweler myself, I haven't taken on one. I should remedy this.
Would anyone be interested in that, I wonder?
Scholar, if you receive interest in this post, forward such responses by messenger, would you? My thanks.
Written By Serafine
March 20, 2017, 9:58 p.m.(2/16/1006 AR)
It seems to me if a sexual accoutrement is used inappropriately, be it timing or without common sense in general, it should be the person held accountable for misusing it would be the one who is using it on themselves, not the thoughtful, considerate person who not only put it somewhere it could be appreciated but also -with- the lubricant to use it safely.
I'd like to think most everyone in a war camp would be an adult and if an adult decides to use a holy tribal fertility symbol (or whatever it was) unprepared and without proper knowledge of use, the adult in question is to blame, not this mystical spirit of erotic pleasure who gifted it.
Just my two silver on the subject.
I'd like to think most everyone in a war camp would be an adult and if an adult decides to use a holy tribal fertility symbol (or whatever it was) unprepared and without proper knowledge of use, the adult in question is to blame, not this mystical spirit of erotic pleasure who gifted it.
Just my two silver on the subject.
Written By Silas
March 20, 2017, 9:10 p.m.(2/16/1006 AR)
I have managed to find a spark of brightness in a dark and dismal time.
I will cherish it.
I will cherish it.
Written By Clover
March 20, 2017, 5:52 p.m.(2/16/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Mae
*A rough sketch: loose, wobbly lines form two feminine hands. One has chipped nails, and a hint of callouses on them. The other is a little bit smaller, and wears two rings. One ring has a dragon in flight, and the other two crossed blades. The hands are resting over the edge of a bench or some other flat surface. Their pinkies are just barely not touching. The space between them just visible.*
Written By Clover
March 20, 2017, 5:39 p.m.(2/16/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Silas
*A loose sketch: Drawn in wobbly lines and crude brush work: a gauntleted hand curling over the fingers of much smaller, unarmored hand. This second hand holds two rings on it. One has what might be a dragon in flight pressed on it. The other two crossed blades.*
Written By Eirene
March 20, 2017, 5:15 p.m.(2/16/1006 AR)
Forwarded from the War Camp
People seem surprised to see me in my natural setting. Who I am in the city is not who I really am. That's how I cope with civilian life. All the bullshit, all the politics, all the courtly manners and maneuvers... I swear the day I am drummed out of the military or forced to retire is the day I drink myself to death. This is my true life and calling.
Give me clear cut orders. Give me black and white. We kill them, they try to kill us. Give me a life to keep from ending.
Only then can I truly be myself.
People seem surprised to see me in my natural setting. Who I am in the city is not who I really am. That's how I cope with civilian life. All the bullshit, all the politics, all the courtly manners and maneuvers... I swear the day I am drummed out of the military or forced to retire is the day I drink myself to death. This is my true life and calling.
Give me clear cut orders. Give me black and white. We kill them, they try to kill us. Give me a life to keep from ending.
Only then can I truly be myself.
Written By Eirene
March 20, 2017, 3:27 p.m.(2/16/1006 AR)
Forwarded to the White Archive from the War Camp Spearhead.
When I find the 'brilliant' son of a three-legged jackass who thought bringing a giant ivory double-headed dildo to my camp was the HEIGHT of comedy, I am going to shove it in their mouths and let them gag on it. These kind of things can injure person, whether or not the lube was included (Which thoughtfully it was i must admit).
Seriously, I am not going to be happy if I have to pull the giant fucking thing (literally) out of someone's nethers.
When I find the 'brilliant' son of a three-legged jackass who thought bringing a giant ivory double-headed dildo to my camp was the HEIGHT of comedy, I am going to shove it in their mouths and let them gag on it. These kind of things can injure person, whether or not the lube was included (Which thoughtfully it was i must admit).
Seriously, I am not going to be happy if I have to pull the giant fucking thing (literally) out of someone's nethers.
Written By Max
March 20, 2017, 3:08 p.m.(2/16/1006 AR)
The first week of service up river has passed. And I took an inventory of my goods left in my locker. I came with a full locker of goods that I have distributed to the soldiers. Coffee, chocolate, a bit of drink but not much, we must maintain sobreity, a good deal of soap and other such things a soldier often - especially noble ones, will forget in the rush to get here.
I saw then, that someone has left me a gift. A beautiful work of scrimshaw art carved from ivory. It's about 18 inches long, about the size of my forearm and about as thick as my wrist. It's a glorious double ended penis. I fear for the creature what has a penis with two heads, for I can barely managed my on with but its single head.
I also fear for the person who carved this who thinks that this size of a member is both normal and reasonable. I can only imagine their debauchery.
With interest, mind you.
But I can only image it.
I saw then, that someone has left me a gift. A beautiful work of scrimshaw art carved from ivory. It's about 18 inches long, about the size of my forearm and about as thick as my wrist. It's a glorious double ended penis. I fear for the creature what has a penis with two heads, for I can barely managed my on with but its single head.
I also fear for the person who carved this who thinks that this size of a member is both normal and reasonable. I can only imagine their debauchery.
With interest, mind you.
But I can only image it.
Written By Simone
March 20, 2017, 2:59 p.m.(2/16/1006 AR)
There is a stirring in my soul - (my nerves, my breakfast)
- a wild and restless anticipation.
Knowing that soon I will be facing a very new, very blue horizon.
I will stare out at it, as far as I can,
(not for the romanticism)
but because of the old sailor's advice. That looking out
will keep me steady despite every pitch and roll.
It's my first time. I'll get used to the motion.
Like knowing the secret (not that one) of distance.
Nearness has nothing to do with proximity.
- a wild and restless anticipation.
Knowing that soon I will be facing a very new, very blue horizon.
I will stare out at it, as far as I can,
(not for the romanticism)
but because of the old sailor's advice. That looking out
will keep me steady despite every pitch and roll.
It's my first time. I'll get used to the motion.
Like knowing the secret (not that one) of distance.
Nearness has nothing to do with proximity.
Written By Serafine
March 20, 2017, 1:50 p.m.(2/16/1006 AR)
I always kiss her like its the last chance I'll have. I touch her like she's a gift that I might be worthy of. I hold her like a hawk latching to the stone bower that is her home. I love her ...
...gods.
I love her like the moss loves to rocks, the sea the shore, the rains that come to the steppes every year to bring about the flowers and new life. I love her.
So there is no farewell between us. She can take care of herself and she's with people that can fight at her side or protect her if she falls. I can hope for no better, and where I go there's a measure of stealth my plate-wearing darlin' is incapable. At least, this is what I tell myself and anyone else that might ask why I don't fight at the side of my beloved's.
The truth is, I would worry my hair white knowing she was near, knowing that I had to focus on kill big bads but that it might be too strange or bizarre for her. I know better, I do, but I can't stop the worry. She is good at adapting, she takes the flows and the hits with curses but she keeps going forward. She flees when it's practical to stay alive, she stays when she knows she can handle what's coming.
I know I will still worry. I know I'll steal one of her linen under-armor tunics and wear it against my skin, under the layers of clothing and protective leathers I'll have on me. I'll take her scent with me, I'll think of her every spare moment I have. And I will have no regrets in not saying goodbye because I will see her again.
And if I kiss her with more force and passion then, if I ignore protocols and etiquette and let her scoop me off to her bed or closet or whatever, well. I'm sure it's allowed.
I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine.
Please, my magpie. Fight well, fight hard, and come back mostly in one piece.
I love you.
...gods.
I love her like the moss loves to rocks, the sea the shore, the rains that come to the steppes every year to bring about the flowers and new life. I love her.
So there is no farewell between us. She can take care of herself and she's with people that can fight at her side or protect her if she falls. I can hope for no better, and where I go there's a measure of stealth my plate-wearing darlin' is incapable. At least, this is what I tell myself and anyone else that might ask why I don't fight at the side of my beloved's.
The truth is, I would worry my hair white knowing she was near, knowing that I had to focus on kill big bads but that it might be too strange or bizarre for her. I know better, I do, but I can't stop the worry. She is good at adapting, she takes the flows and the hits with curses but she keeps going forward. She flees when it's practical to stay alive, she stays when she knows she can handle what's coming.
I know I will still worry. I know I'll steal one of her linen under-armor tunics and wear it against my skin, under the layers of clothing and protective leathers I'll have on me. I'll take her scent with me, I'll think of her every spare moment I have. And I will have no regrets in not saying goodbye because I will see her again.
And if I kiss her with more force and passion then, if I ignore protocols and etiquette and let her scoop me off to her bed or closet or whatever, well. I'm sure it's allowed.
I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine.
Please, my magpie. Fight well, fight hard, and come back mostly in one piece.
I love you.
Written By Frederik
March 20, 2017, 1:27 p.m.(2/16/1006 AR)
For the sake of posterity, journal entries regarding Lord Steelhart's relationships with the Peerage, Godsworn and smallfolk have been written by a ghostwriter commoner by the name of Nero.
Written By Arcelia
March 20, 2017, 12:53 p.m.(2/16/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Max
Prickly pear of the sea. You just have to get passed the spines on the outside to get to the delicious Max on the inside. Whether he is teaching me Shav, sailing with me, or simply laying by a fire with me... Max is very kind to me, very respectful, and surprisingly romantic. I care for him and I respect him so no matter what path we end up walking down together, the man will always have a place in my heart.
Written By Frederik
March 20, 2017, 11:54 a.m.(2/16/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Seth
Seth tried to take Lydia, Frederik's late wife (and not the Nightgold woman) and Sara hostage. While Lydia handily beat the boy down, Frederik forgave but never forgot Seth's treachery. Frederik sees his slaying as Padraig as setting the score with the boy, but there will always be tension, and if there was any trust before? There never will be now.
Written By Frederik
March 20, 2017, 11:51 a.m.(2/16/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Orathy
Orathy's one of the Culler men that Frederik happened upon in the market one day. Curious as to why Orathy had men following him and what Orathy's profession was, Frederik believes they established a somewhat shallow rapport. While Frederik has no love for soldiers of fortune, Orathy presented a fresh view of the smallfolk that earned him Frederik's respect.
Written By Alis
March 20, 2017, 10:20 a.m.(2/15/1006 AR)
Lest anyone think it is all doom and gloom out here, however, I have several camp observations.
Thank the Gods, old and new, for Stone Mountain Whiskey
Ditto for Black Mountain Coffee
And campfires
Also, I need stilts as part of my next set of armor. Have you seen how tall some of these people are? :(
Thank the Gods, old and new, for Stone Mountain Whiskey
Ditto for Black Mountain Coffee
And campfires
Also, I need stilts as part of my next set of armor. Have you seen how tall some of these people are? :(
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.