Written By Rowan
Dec. 23, 2016, 2:39 a.m.(6/17/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Muiryn
The very fact that he has not throttled me and skinned me alive and strung my flayed body up by my toes by now assures me that somewhere...under all that surly stoicism...he cares.
He'll grump, he'll growl, he'll curse the day I was born, but I am well certain he'll also be among the first to stand with me if I needed it.
He's a teddy bear.
He'll grump, he'll growl, he'll curse the day I was born, but I am well certain he'll also be among the first to stand with me if I needed it.
He's a teddy bear.
Written By Valencia
Dec. 23, 2016, 1:30 a.m.(6/16/1005 AR)
There are days when all I want to do is just run away and go to sea. Why should my beloved brother and pirates have all the fun? I could flee land and fall in love with the ocean and the mysteries she harbors. A pretty but impractical thought.
~~~<~<@
~~~<~<@
Written By Leta
Dec. 23, 2016, 12:28 a.m.(6/16/1005 AR)
I haven't dared write here after that last one, even if I've been assured by Archscholar Aldwin himself, in person that it didn't cause an offense to Vellichor, and he ought to know. I never know what to write, so it can't be helped.
All in all it's good to be back in Arx. I haven't visited my folk. Last time da was still mad at me, and we don't have much to talk about, so be it. They'd rather I didn't earn my coin the way I do, so my coin is my own.
I've made some easy silver, but I'm spending more than I'm earning by my account. I fear there will be plenty of work and I'm not too worried. I'm sure I'll like the pay, but not what that means for the people caught in it all. There's trouble brewing, even if I haven't been paying attention to the criers and the gossip mongers to know what's coming.
I've taken a pair of solid beatings in training. The truth is that scaring off bandits is one thing, having a proper fight with some northern giant is another.
I ought to write more about people, the way people do, but here in Arx there's some scholars for hire that go and read everything folk wrote. I haven't read anyone's journal but I know enough just from hearing folk talk. I don't think anyone would read mine besides the Archscholar, but writing anything of worth seems like yelling out my heart's fancy off the city walls, and writing anything else seems like a waste of my time and Vellichor's patience.
Writing this has always helped me make sense of things sometimes, and that's no small thing, so I'll try harder. I still think the quill's more likely to land me into trouble than the sword, as I've told someone, but more's the reason to learn how to wield it.
All in all it's good to be back in Arx. I haven't visited my folk. Last time da was still mad at me, and we don't have much to talk about, so be it. They'd rather I didn't earn my coin the way I do, so my coin is my own.
I've made some easy silver, but I'm spending more than I'm earning by my account. I fear there will be plenty of work and I'm not too worried. I'm sure I'll like the pay, but not what that means for the people caught in it all. There's trouble brewing, even if I haven't been paying attention to the criers and the gossip mongers to know what's coming.
I've taken a pair of solid beatings in training. The truth is that scaring off bandits is one thing, having a proper fight with some northern giant is another.
I ought to write more about people, the way people do, but here in Arx there's some scholars for hire that go and read everything folk wrote. I haven't read anyone's journal but I know enough just from hearing folk talk. I don't think anyone would read mine besides the Archscholar, but writing anything of worth seems like yelling out my heart's fancy off the city walls, and writing anything else seems like a waste of my time and Vellichor's patience.
Writing this has always helped me make sense of things sometimes, and that's no small thing, so I'll try harder. I still think the quill's more likely to land me into trouble than the sword, as I've told someone, but more's the reason to learn how to wield it.
Written By Abbas
Dec. 23, 2016, 12:23 a.m.(6/16/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Dagon
Thraxian. A swordsman to make our people proud. And the heir. Hisself makes no mistakes. He has a fire within him. When it comes time to do the killing for him I shall bring the fury and cold murder to compliment his will.
Written By Abbas
Dec. 23, 2016, 12:21 a.m.(6/16/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Donella
Blood first. Blood forever. It has taken time for me to thaw to a woman as the Voice. But I must admit Hisself makes no errors of judgement.
As time passes I find myself seeing her more as my cousin and ally than as someone standing in the face of custom.
As time passes I find myself seeing her more as my cousin and ally than as someone standing in the face of custom.
Written By Abbas
Dec. 23, 2016, 12:19 a.m.(6/16/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Darrow
When you venture into the Salt where the dread terror of the deep unknown tugs at your essence. It is good to know that the killers at your side have true Thraxian hard-light that shines in their eyes. I watched Darrow butcher personally a dozen men without a second thought. The fleet is better for him. His veins pump the Salt of our people; I will pile corpses with him any day and spread the terror of the serpent banners.
Written By Calypso
Dec. 22, 2016, 11:34 p.m.(6/16/1005 AR)
Black paint swept across eyes narrowed and focused. The raptor seeking its prey.
Red razor sharp cheek bones. Fiercely angled and blood thirsty. Merciless in pursuit.
I have been out of the field for far too long. My warrior's edge is dulling. Like any steel I must be kept sharp. Used as the instrument of death that I am. Endless words have dulled me. Twisting plots thick with lies and misplaced ambition. Promises broken through inaction and inconsequential gestures of false friendship. Intrigue distorting the reflections we see when we look in to the mirror.
In my reflection - I see nothing but strength. This raptor will waste away no more.
Red razor sharp cheek bones. Fiercely angled and blood thirsty. Merciless in pursuit.
I have been out of the field for far too long. My warrior's edge is dulling. Like any steel I must be kept sharp. Used as the instrument of death that I am. Endless words have dulled me. Twisting plots thick with lies and misplaced ambition. Promises broken through inaction and inconsequential gestures of false friendship. Intrigue distorting the reflections we see when we look in to the mirror.
In my reflection - I see nothing but strength. This raptor will waste away no more.
Written By Dagon
Dec. 22, 2016, 11:24 p.m.(6/16/1005 AR)
I am about to go to the Shrine of Mangata.
I know not how many days I will remain here in quiet contemplation, but I know that water will be my sustenance. There is much for me to think about and recent news gives me pause. It is my every hope that the Goddess who gives us Islanders life with the bounties of her waters and the winds that she provides for our vessels to sail freely will give me some sort of sign as to what I may do.
I know not how many days I will remain here in quiet contemplation, but I know that water will be my sustenance. There is much for me to think about and recent news gives me pause. It is my every hope that the Goddess who gives us Islanders life with the bounties of her waters and the winds that she provides for our vessels to sail freely will give me some sort of sign as to what I may do.
Written By Darrow
Dec. 22, 2016, 10:30 p.m.(6/16/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Abbas
Sailed upon the salt with Prince Abbas. One is hard pressed to find a swifter commander of warships.
Even the Reaper would have its speed challenged by his ships, and mine only a single craft, his a coordinated squadron.
In battle he is bloodthirsty, and the decks were awash with the blood of the taken.
Even the Reaper would have its speed challenged by his ships, and mine only a single craft, his a coordinated squadron.
In battle he is bloodthirsty, and the decks were awash with the blood of the taken.
Written By Sophie
Dec. 22, 2016, 10:23 p.m.(6/16/1005 AR)
Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses
your understanding.
Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its
heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.
And could you keep your heart in wonder at the
daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem
less wondrous than your joy;
And you would accept the seasons of your heart,
even as you have always accepted the seasons that
pass over your fields.
And you would watch with serenity through the
winters of your grief.
your understanding.
Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its
heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.
And could you keep your heart in wonder at the
daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem
less wondrous than your joy;
And you would accept the seasons of your heart,
even as you have always accepted the seasons that
pass over your fields.
And you would watch with serenity through the
winters of your grief.
Written By Joscelin
Dec. 22, 2016, 8:38 p.m.(6/16/1005 AR)
I'm trying my hand at some of the knotwork Morrighan is fond of, but in metal form.
This is fucking hard.
This is fucking hard.
Written By Serafine
Dec. 22, 2016, 7:07 p.m.(6/16/1005 AR)
[It is noted by the scholar that Serafine Velenosa came in and as has been done previous, sang a song, smiled, and left, but the diligent scholar got down every word]
It was on one bright March morning I bid Setarco 'good bye'
and I took the road to another town my fortune to retry.
I cursed all my foreign money, no credit could I gain,
which filled my heart with longing
for the shores of the Saffron Chain.
I stepped on board a coastal skiff
beneath the morning sun.
I rode the winds 'til evening and I laid me down again.
All strangers there, no friends to me until a dark girl towards me came,
and I fell in love with an island girl by the shores of the Saffron Chain.
I said, "My pretty island girl, my money here's no good,
and if it weren't for the alligators
I'd sleep out in the wood."
"You're welcome here, kind stranger. Our house is very plain,
but we never turned a stranger out on the banks of the Saffron Chain."
She took me into her mother's house and she treated me right well.
The hair upon her shoulders in jet black ringlets fell.
To try to paint her beauty I'm sure 't would be in vain,
So handsome was my island girl by the shores of the Saffron Chain.
I asked her if she'd marry me, she said that this could never be,
for she had got a lover and he was far at sea.
She said that she would wait for him and true she would remain
until he'd return to his island girl
by the shores of the Saffron Chain.
So fare thee well, my bonny own girl, I never may see you more,
but I'll ne'er forget your kindness in the cottage by the shore,
and at each social gathering a flowing glass I'll drain,
and I'll drink a health to my island girl
by the shores of the Saffron Chain.*
[*adopted from an old Irish song called 'The Lakes of Pontchartrain', adjusted for Arx. I highly recommend the version sung by Aiofe O'Donovan]
It was on one bright March morning I bid Setarco 'good bye'
and I took the road to another town my fortune to retry.
I cursed all my foreign money, no credit could I gain,
which filled my heart with longing
for the shores of the Saffron Chain.
I stepped on board a coastal skiff
beneath the morning sun.
I rode the winds 'til evening and I laid me down again.
All strangers there, no friends to me until a dark girl towards me came,
and I fell in love with an island girl by the shores of the Saffron Chain.
I said, "My pretty island girl, my money here's no good,
and if it weren't for the alligators
I'd sleep out in the wood."
"You're welcome here, kind stranger. Our house is very plain,
but we never turned a stranger out on the banks of the Saffron Chain."
She took me into her mother's house and she treated me right well.
The hair upon her shoulders in jet black ringlets fell.
To try to paint her beauty I'm sure 't would be in vain,
So handsome was my island girl by the shores of the Saffron Chain.
I asked her if she'd marry me, she said that this could never be,
for she had got a lover and he was far at sea.
She said that she would wait for him and true she would remain
until he'd return to his island girl
by the shores of the Saffron Chain.
So fare thee well, my bonny own girl, I never may see you more,
but I'll ne'er forget your kindness in the cottage by the shore,
and at each social gathering a flowing glass I'll drain,
and I'll drink a health to my island girl
by the shores of the Saffron Chain.*
[*adopted from an old Irish song called 'The Lakes of Pontchartrain', adjusted for Arx. I highly recommend the version sung by Aiofe O'Donovan]
Written By Juliet
Dec. 22, 2016, 6:56 p.m.(6/16/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Eirene
The Lady Eirene has been a font of good advice and even better stories.
I appreciate her visits. And I've been quite fond of her since the very first time we met.
I appreciate her visits. And I've been quite fond of her since the very first time we met.
Written By Cicero
Dec. 22, 2016, 4:55 p.m.(6/15/1005 AR)
Friend facing danger
Will not underestimate
Old foe time made new
Will not underestimate
Old foe time made new
Written By Cicero
Dec. 22, 2016, 4:12 p.m.(6/15/1005 AR)
Pleasant Company
The Superfluous Beauty
Brain that needs no air?
The Superfluous Beauty
Brain that needs no air?
Written By Cara
Dec. 22, 2016, 4:08 p.m.(6/15/1005 AR)
Notes on an investigation:
The bodies I have found bear similar wounds to those inflicted on the scholar and the servant, all with their throats cut, their guts slashed, and cuts on each palm. Scorches were found with at least two of the deceased.
It killed my father the same way.
Gods. I can only hope that there are not more of us to die this way, before we can stop it.
The bodies I have found bear similar wounds to those inflicted on the scholar and the servant, all with their throats cut, their guts slashed, and cuts on each palm. Scorches were found with at least two of the deceased.
It killed my father the same way.
Gods. I can only hope that there are not more of us to die this way, before we can stop it.
Written By Bethany
Dec. 22, 2016, 4:01 p.m.(6/15/1005 AR)
( From the desk of B. Mercier, Steward: )
After reading an entry of interest, curiosity leads me to pen a question posed to any that might read this --
How do you define beauty?
Intellect and good character is beautiful. Survivors, struggling out of the mud like a lotus are beautiful. Perfectly flawed and honest about fault is beautiful. Lit from within, burning bright passion is beautiful.
After reading an entry of interest, curiosity leads me to pen a question posed to any that might read this --
How do you define beauty?
Intellect and good character is beautiful. Survivors, struggling out of the mud like a lotus are beautiful. Perfectly flawed and honest about fault is beautiful. Lit from within, burning bright passion is beautiful.
Written By Mydas
Dec. 22, 2016, 1:12 p.m.(6/15/1005 AR)
I wrote of beauty earlier, without giving definitions beyond the broad strokes of paint meant to inspire rather than state. But perhaps I should revisit the topic, and add my small contribution to the eternal question: What is beauty?
That which elates your heart is beautiful.
That which enslaves your mind is beautiful.
That which silences you is beautiful.
That which draws soulful tears is beautiful.
That which lives among us is beautiful.
And that which we most mourn is beautiful.
That which elates your heart is beautiful.
That which enslaves your mind is beautiful.
That which silences you is beautiful.
That which draws soulful tears is beautiful.
That which lives among us is beautiful.
And that which we most mourn is beautiful.
Written By Juliet
Dec. 22, 2016, 12:30 p.m.(6/15/1005 AR)
It comes down to choice.
The Dark Reflection does not care what you do once you've stared into the mirror - only that you do so. Only that you become comfortable with what you see.
His is the realm of the dead - his children are demons. It is a Lycene custom to view these demons as a metaphor for dark passions run amuck.
Everyone will at some point feel the urge to kill someone. Yet the great majority of us will never be murderers.
Every moment you live, you choose who you are.
You choose if your jealousy will drive poison into the cup of your cousin, to bring you into consideration for succession.
The Thirteenth has certainly seen enough people do that, or worse.
You choose if your sense of pride and the need to be recognised as a great person will drive you to do great works.
I expect the Thirteenth has seen that, too, albeit more rarely.
What Tehom asks of us, is to gaze into the mirror and accept all that we are.
And to make ourselves into the persons we want to be, with our eyes open and with true knowledge of ourselves.
To deny ourselves - our passions, even the darkest ones - is to, to continue to metaphor, summon a demon into this world.
And demon summoning is the greatest of blasphemies against Him.
The Dark Reflection does not care what you do once you've stared into the mirror - only that you do so. Only that you become comfortable with what you see.
His is the realm of the dead - his children are demons. It is a Lycene custom to view these demons as a metaphor for dark passions run amuck.
Everyone will at some point feel the urge to kill someone. Yet the great majority of us will never be murderers.
Every moment you live, you choose who you are.
You choose if your jealousy will drive poison into the cup of your cousin, to bring you into consideration for succession.
The Thirteenth has certainly seen enough people do that, or worse.
You choose if your sense of pride and the need to be recognised as a great person will drive you to do great works.
I expect the Thirteenth has seen that, too, albeit more rarely.
What Tehom asks of us, is to gaze into the mirror and accept all that we are.
And to make ourselves into the persons we want to be, with our eyes open and with true knowledge of ourselves.
To deny ourselves - our passions, even the darkest ones - is to, to continue to metaphor, summon a demon into this world.
And demon summoning is the greatest of blasphemies against Him.
Written By Mason
Dec. 22, 2016, 12:25 p.m.(6/15/1005 AR)
I consider myself something of a blessed man. I think I have been smacked down by the gods as many times as I've been lifted up, so I like to think myself somewhat lucky. Or at the least, blessed.
But now that I've been able to collect my thoughts, I now consider the idea that I have now seen real, true evil twice in my life. Once was unwillingly, the other more recent was done knowing exactly what was involved.
I have seen evil before, and I now know that it's face takes many different shapes and forms. Twisted, and it corrupts everything around it. Nature, animals, people. The most disturbing part about it is the simple fact that it does not bother me as much as I had thought. It still bothers me, but after Pyre, I realize that I am simply...used to it. I have come to know what to expect. And the horror that others see, it's like a veil being pulled from their eyes. And they finally see, in that first moment, realize what I have been carrying for so long. Maybe understand why I tried so hard to warn them about. I had no desire for them to see what I already have. But I think at this point, where we are, that's wishful thinking.
Demons are not allegorical. They are real. Very real.
But now that I've been able to collect my thoughts, I now consider the idea that I have now seen real, true evil twice in my life. Once was unwillingly, the other more recent was done knowing exactly what was involved.
I have seen evil before, and I now know that it's face takes many different shapes and forms. Twisted, and it corrupts everything around it. Nature, animals, people. The most disturbing part about it is the simple fact that it does not bother me as much as I had thought. It still bothers me, but after Pyre, I realize that I am simply...used to it. I have come to know what to expect. And the horror that others see, it's like a veil being pulled from their eyes. And they finally see, in that first moment, realize what I have been carrying for so long. Maybe understand why I tried so hard to warn them about. I had no desire for them to see what I already have. But I think at this point, where we are, that's wishful thinking.
Demons are not allegorical. They are real. Very real.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.