Written By Dominique
Jan. 22, 2017, 9:54 a.m.(9/23/1005 AR)
I had the honor of losing to Duke Leo this week in a spar. I was at least able to land one blow before he danced around all the others. I need to be faster and train harder.
Written By Leola
Jan. 22, 2017, 9:38 a.m.(9/23/1005 AR)
I'm now a Deputy Minister. Of Agriculture, appropriately.
Lady Niamh thanked me for my work with her so far and asked me to step into the role. I assume she's either an inflated sense of my worth or wishes to court the good graces of the Church. Either way, I'm thankful, and I intend to do all I can to ensure I am worthy of the position.
Between this, and my work with the Lodge finding a place to be, I'm quite busy of late!
Lady Niamh thanked me for my work with her so far and asked me to step into the role. I assume she's either an inflated sense of my worth or wishes to court the good graces of the Church. Either way, I'm thankful, and I intend to do all I can to ensure I am worthy of the position.
Between this, and my work with the Lodge finding a place to be, I'm quite busy of late!
Written By Abbas
Jan. 22, 2017, 9:17 a.m.(9/23/1005 AR)
War comes to Arvum and the Salt seems still. While everyone looks to the obvious I shall tend to what I know to be true. Under the calm surface the currents always rage and flow. There never is stillness only the lull of the illusion that is the folly of men and fleets alike. I have always had a natural sense of the current and her pull right now is more treacherous than ever.
It reminds me of a poem I once read. Or perhaps a woman reminds me thus. I'm unsure.
Ocean, if you were to give, a measure, a ferment, a fruit
of your gifts and destructions, into my hand,
I would choose your far-off repose, your contour of steel,
your vigilant spaces of air and darkness,
and the power of your white tongue,
that shatters and overthrows columns,
breaking them down to your proper purity.
Not the final breaker, heavy with brine,
that thunders onshore, and creates
the silence of sand, that encircles the world,
but the inner spaces of force,
the naked power of the waters,
the immoveable solitude, brimming with lives.
It is Time perhaps, or the vessel filled
with all motion, pure Oneness,
that death cannot touch, the visceral green
of consuming totality.
Only a salt kiss remains of the drowned arm,
that lifts a spray: a humid scent,
of the damp flower, is left,
from the bodies of men. Your energies
form, in a trickle that is not spent,
form, in retreat into silence.
The falling wave,
arch of identity, shattering feathers,
is only spume when it clears,
and returns to its source, unconsumed.
Your whole force heads for its origin.
The husks that your load threshes,
are only the crushed, plundered, deliveries,
that your act of abundance expelled,
all those that take life from your branches.
Your form extends beyond breakers,
vibrant, and rhythmic, like the chest, cloaking
a single being, and its breathings,
that lift into the content of light,
plains raised above waves,
forming the naked surface of earth.
You fill your true self with your substance.
You overflow curve with silence.
The vessel trembles with your salt and sweetness,
the universal cavern of waters,
and nothing is lost from you, as it is
from the desolate crater, or the bay of a hill,
those empty heights, signs, scars,
guarding the wounded air.
Your petals throbbing against the Earth,
trembling your submarine harvests,
your menace thickening the smooth swell,
with pulsations and swarming of schools,
and only the thread of the net raises
the dead lightning of fish-scale,
one wounded millimetre, in the space
of your crystal completeness.
(Pablo Neruda: The Wide Ocean)
It reminds me of a poem I once read. Or perhaps a woman reminds me thus. I'm unsure.
Ocean, if you were to give, a measure, a ferment, a fruit
of your gifts and destructions, into my hand,
I would choose your far-off repose, your contour of steel,
your vigilant spaces of air and darkness,
and the power of your white tongue,
that shatters and overthrows columns,
breaking them down to your proper purity.
Not the final breaker, heavy with brine,
that thunders onshore, and creates
the silence of sand, that encircles the world,
but the inner spaces of force,
the naked power of the waters,
the immoveable solitude, brimming with lives.
It is Time perhaps, or the vessel filled
with all motion, pure Oneness,
that death cannot touch, the visceral green
of consuming totality.
Only a salt kiss remains of the drowned arm,
that lifts a spray: a humid scent,
of the damp flower, is left,
from the bodies of men. Your energies
form, in a trickle that is not spent,
form, in retreat into silence.
The falling wave,
arch of identity, shattering feathers,
is only spume when it clears,
and returns to its source, unconsumed.
Your whole force heads for its origin.
The husks that your load threshes,
are only the crushed, plundered, deliveries,
that your act of abundance expelled,
all those that take life from your branches.
Your form extends beyond breakers,
vibrant, and rhythmic, like the chest, cloaking
a single being, and its breathings,
that lift into the content of light,
plains raised above waves,
forming the naked surface of earth.
You fill your true self with your substance.
You overflow curve with silence.
The vessel trembles with your salt and sweetness,
the universal cavern of waters,
and nothing is lost from you, as it is
from the desolate crater, or the bay of a hill,
those empty heights, signs, scars,
guarding the wounded air.
Your petals throbbing against the Earth,
trembling your submarine harvests,
your menace thickening the smooth swell,
with pulsations and swarming of schools,
and only the thread of the net raises
the dead lightning of fish-scale,
one wounded millimetre, in the space
of your crystal completeness.
(Pablo Neruda: The Wide Ocean)
Written By Cicero
Jan. 22, 2017, 9:05 a.m.(9/23/1005 AR)
Extending the reach
The North now represented
The dream near realized
The North now represented
The dream near realized
Written By Cicero
Jan. 22, 2017, 9:02 a.m.(9/23/1005 AR)
Smoke, heat, but no fire.
Extinguished before the flame
The coals still smolder
Extinguished before the flame
The coals still smolder
Written By Leta
Jan. 22, 2017, 9:02 a.m.(9/23/1005 AR)
I ought to worry more about Arx and this mess that's going on. Ought to worry more about the rest of Arvum too, if I'm to live in southern parts with my woman some day. And maybe there's something I can do, and maybe there's not. But I'm not a noble, am I? They get born in their silks, and in pay they get to lead and they get to worry about the messes they make, unless they give the whole thing up.
And sometimes I can tell all these regents and councils and ministers and all sort of highborn sorts are about to step in a bog. And since we're all tied together because of Limerance and Gild and all, if they go down then a bunch of us go down with them.
But I can't say I envy them. Maybe some Lycene princeling that ain't got a worry in the world but which silk to wear, him I'll envy, but I reckon I'm happier with a single pair of gloves than he is with a full wardrobe. Silk's like water to a fish for him, I wager.
I've my own worries. I care about mine, and sometimes I get to care about other folk. And maybe I'm tangled up in all this, and I'd rather not be, and maybe I ought to be doing something about that, but I won't. And gods forgive me, but if they wanted me to bear the burden they had better stick a silver spoon up my ass, if you pardon me, when I was born, and I don't remember one.
And sometimes I can tell all these regents and councils and ministers and all sort of highborn sorts are about to step in a bog. And since we're all tied together because of Limerance and Gild and all, if they go down then a bunch of us go down with them.
But I can't say I envy them. Maybe some Lycene princeling that ain't got a worry in the world but which silk to wear, him I'll envy, but I reckon I'm happier with a single pair of gloves than he is with a full wardrobe. Silk's like water to a fish for him, I wager.
I've my own worries. I care about mine, and sometimes I get to care about other folk. And maybe I'm tangled up in all this, and I'd rather not be, and maybe I ought to be doing something about that, but I won't. And gods forgive me, but if they wanted me to bear the burden they had better stick a silver spoon up my ass, if you pardon me, when I was born, and I don't remember one.
Written By Darrow
Jan. 22, 2017, 7:26 a.m.(9/23/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Ianthe
I have personally offered Ianthe, the woman that Maximilian is "acquainted" with, my protection. I believe she will be targetted by things beyond, things which are hostile to our people in the Saffron Chain and the Mourning Isles.
The Lament does not have much to offer, but it does have me.
The Lament does not have much to offer, but it does have me.
Written By Darrow
Jan. 22, 2017, 7:22 a.m.(9/23/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Margot
The woman's family killed mine.
My uncles, my aunts, my cousins...
But hers are dead, too.
We have lost the same thing.
My uncles, my aunts, my cousins...
But hers are dead, too.
We have lost the same thing.
Written By Julea
Jan. 22, 2017, 6:26 a.m.(9/23/1005 AR)
I am tired today. This has been a long and exhausting week, longer than most. And I can feel that weight of all of this on my shoulders and bearing down on me till my feet sink into the mud. Each step more hard fought than the last. But through all of that, people saw me today, I think. A lot of people who do not normally see me at all, saw me. Just for a few minutes all eyes were on me and they were asking -me- what to do. And for those few seconds, I was almost able to forget everything, all of this mess that we're in, and then reality came crashing back.
I still have one method of escape, one person that does help me forget. I hope to see them again soon.
I still have one method of escape, one person that does help me forget. I hope to see them again soon.
Written By Reese
Jan. 22, 2017, 6:22 a.m.(9/23/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Iona
Duchess Iona is a good woman. So mature and wise. She is certainly a mother too. I think she is mothering many of the Graysons, but that is alright some of us really stand to benefit from it. I know I can.
Written By Reese
Jan. 22, 2017, 6:19 a.m.(9/23/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Laric
Cousin Laric was a grown man when I was still a little girl. He doesn't remember me all that well, but I used to wear a lot of pink and ribbons, so it is understandable. Maybe I could still wear pink ribbons along with my armor, but they would get frayed so quickly, so probably is a waste of time. Anyways, he didn't like my hugs. I think because I was stinky from running around in the Grayson grounds in my armor. That is how I am working on getting stronger.
Written By Reese
Jan. 22, 2017, 6:15 a.m.(9/23/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Killian
He beat me the last time we fought. I plan to win the next time. However, if I don't win that just means I will have to keep trying until I do win. The best way to become better is keep sparing and fighting until finally you are the one wining. Sometimes the best sparing partners are those who can win against you, because that just means there is more room for improvement.
Written By Reese
Jan. 22, 2017, 6:13 a.m.(9/23/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Dawn
Dawn said she would spar me. She looked rather exhausted when she said that. Still I think that some sparing might just be the thing to cheer her up. It always makes me feel better.
Written By Reese
Jan. 22, 2017, 6:11 a.m.(9/23/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Lou
My sister seems to be doing quite well. Mason is treating her well and her baby is so adorable. It is rather impressive how she is just as much of an adventurer as she always was. I hope that I will be around when she needs my protection. She is quite intelligent too. I come from such a wonderful family. My sisters are great.
Written By Drea
Jan. 22, 2017, 6:04 a.m.(9/23/1005 AR)
I feel like something is going to happen, something in a good way. I get the sense that things are coming together. Day in and day out, we keep moving towards something. I hope it's good. I think its good.
Written By Aislin
Jan. 22, 2017, 5:18 a.m.(9/23/1005 AR)
Relationships are an odd thing for me; I see some people who just leap into bed with another, and... well, that's not me. I need a lot more build-up, I think. Time to make a connection. I want a partner in life before I want a partner in bed. Someone who I can rely on out in the field, someone at my back, willing to share those adventures. To drink with me to toast successes, or to mourn a loss. To stay by my side.
Anything else? That comes later.
I've found only a few people I could see myself someday reaching that point with, and they're all quite happy already with what they have. And I'm happy for all of them in turn; there's little enough joy to be found lately, and seeing those I care about seize it while they can... that's something precious in and of itself. I wouldn't trade that, especially now.
I guess that makes me somewhat picky.
But still, for all that I'm not one prone to physical affection or contact, I admit there are moments when I do dearly wish I could just let my guard down and lean against someone else for a while. Close my eyes and know someone would watch over me, just long enough that I could /rest/ for a spell. Feel someone there with me while I drift off to sleep.
Still, relationships are certainly the lowest thing on my priority list these days. The problems out there are a hell of a lot larger than personal relationships, and I damned well know I should focus there. Especially since I've known for years my life expectancy isn't great; no small number of Ashfords die young, and I push limits even by Ashford standards. Leaving someone behind to grieve seems just cruel; I've seen far too many go through that.
Maybe, in the end, this is actually for the best? Relationships, I suppose, can wait until we've dealt with an impending apocalypse or three.
_____
Ugh, looking back on this entry, I realize I've written something frivolous and self-indulgent, a product of sleep-deprivation more than any real constructive self-examination. But now that I've written it, I suppose the damned thing should go into the stacks anyway; I'm too much a Vellichorian to just tear it out of my journal. I'll just have to make up for it by writing some ungodly long serious entry soon about... hells, I don't know. The nature of reflections, or what evidence I was able to piece together about the Teind's history and purpose. Something more properly /me/. Either way, I can bury this mess beneath actual useful information.
Anything else? That comes later.
I've found only a few people I could see myself someday reaching that point with, and they're all quite happy already with what they have. And I'm happy for all of them in turn; there's little enough joy to be found lately, and seeing those I care about seize it while they can... that's something precious in and of itself. I wouldn't trade that, especially now.
I guess that makes me somewhat picky.
But still, for all that I'm not one prone to physical affection or contact, I admit there are moments when I do dearly wish I could just let my guard down and lean against someone else for a while. Close my eyes and know someone would watch over me, just long enough that I could /rest/ for a spell. Feel someone there with me while I drift off to sleep.
Still, relationships are certainly the lowest thing on my priority list these days. The problems out there are a hell of a lot larger than personal relationships, and I damned well know I should focus there. Especially since I've known for years my life expectancy isn't great; no small number of Ashfords die young, and I push limits even by Ashford standards. Leaving someone behind to grieve seems just cruel; I've seen far too many go through that.
Maybe, in the end, this is actually for the best? Relationships, I suppose, can wait until we've dealt with an impending apocalypse or three.
_____
Ugh, looking back on this entry, I realize I've written something frivolous and self-indulgent, a product of sleep-deprivation more than any real constructive self-examination. But now that I've written it, I suppose the damned thing should go into the stacks anyway; I'm too much a Vellichorian to just tear it out of my journal. I'll just have to make up for it by writing some ungodly long serious entry soon about... hells, I don't know. The nature of reflections, or what evidence I was able to piece together about the Teind's history and purpose. Something more properly /me/. Either way, I can bury this mess beneath actual useful information.
Written By Mirari
Jan. 22, 2017, 3:58 a.m.(9/22/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Lianne
Scent: Light's Glow, vetiver, lavender, rosewood, and rose.
Written By Calandra
Jan. 22, 2017, 3:47 a.m.(9/22/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Mirari
Mirari donated a voucher for a costume made perfume by her for the festival. Yay!
Written By Calandra
Jan. 22, 2017, 3:45 a.m.(9/22/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Silas
The Radiant Whisper donated two crowns to the Festival. This means we will have a queen an a king. I still haven't decided if we should marry them I a marriage meant to last the duration of the festival or not.
Written By Pietro
Jan. 22, 2017, 3:23 a.m.(9/22/1005 AR)
I know that I have friends walking into peril. I have soldiers marching towards war. The threat of catastrophe looms like stormclouds on every horizon...
And I just -- I'm sorry, I can't stop smiling.
And I just -- I'm sorry, I can't stop smiling.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.