Written By Eirene
Nov. 28, 2016, 12:16 p.m.(3/27/1005 AR)
Since the topic of my love life has come up in a few conversations, I want to go on the record (literally, Ha!) about it.
One: Age, gender. Whatever. Attraction varies. A person's personality comes first, the rest is pretty packaging. A good liquor can come in a beautiful blown glass bottle or an old shoe for all I care as long as it tastes good. The beautiful package makes it much easier to look at, certainly, but it's the inner qualities that I'm drawn to.
Two: Don't -- well, can't quite say it the way I normally would but don't screw where you fight. Don't take friends, comrades in arms, servants, whatever -- don't take them as lovers when there's a chance you'll end up seeing them in pain on a battlefield. I take it a step further and basically extend this to anyone I spend any length of time around.
What are the chances I'll see this person again? If greater than zero, then it's not likely I'll take to bed with them. Avoid emotional entanglements, avoid awkwardness, avoid jealousy, avoid disappointment...
Just easier to go for someone you'll never have to deal with again.
I know many soldiers take it whenever they can get it, where-ever they can get it, and that's fine for them. If I'm passing through a town on a march, I'm not immune to the charms of whomever might be casting them up. But in my line of work, camp followers are fine and dandy as long as they don't actually 'follow' too much.
But when I'm stationed, like I am now - and don't get me wrong, I like being in Arx with the niece and nephew and the old Saik friends of mine... but this is a posting. When this is all over and done I'm going back to Southport to my duties there. But when I'm stationed? I don't want to risk getting too attached to someone I might lose, or disappoint someone I have to fight alongside.
One: Age, gender. Whatever. Attraction varies. A person's personality comes first, the rest is pretty packaging. A good liquor can come in a beautiful blown glass bottle or an old shoe for all I care as long as it tastes good. The beautiful package makes it much easier to look at, certainly, but it's the inner qualities that I'm drawn to.
Two: Don't -- well, can't quite say it the way I normally would but don't screw where you fight. Don't take friends, comrades in arms, servants, whatever -- don't take them as lovers when there's a chance you'll end up seeing them in pain on a battlefield. I take it a step further and basically extend this to anyone I spend any length of time around.
What are the chances I'll see this person again? If greater than zero, then it's not likely I'll take to bed with them. Avoid emotional entanglements, avoid awkwardness, avoid jealousy, avoid disappointment...
Just easier to go for someone you'll never have to deal with again.
I know many soldiers take it whenever they can get it, where-ever they can get it, and that's fine for them. If I'm passing through a town on a march, I'm not immune to the charms of whomever might be casting them up. But in my line of work, camp followers are fine and dandy as long as they don't actually 'follow' too much.
But when I'm stationed, like I am now - and don't get me wrong, I like being in Arx with the niece and nephew and the old Saik friends of mine... but this is a posting. When this is all over and done I'm going back to Southport to my duties there. But when I'm stationed? I don't want to risk getting too attached to someone I might lose, or disappoint someone I have to fight alongside.
Written By Ida
Nov. 28, 2016, 9:43 a.m.(3/27/1005 AR)
After making an inquiry to Sir Silas, I am seriously contemplating throwing my fists into the upcoming melee. Get it? Ha. More seriously, though, I truly am considering competing. It has been far too long since I've been in a good fight, though a melee against weapons is much different than one-on-one fisticuffs. At the very least, I may learn just where I stand with my skills and what yet needs work.
Besides, I think I wish to step away from the forge for a bit, except for particular commission requests and promises already made.
Besides, I think I wish to step away from the forge for a bit, except for particular commission requests and promises already made.
Written By Preston
Nov. 28, 2016, 7:12 a.m.(3/26/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Sophie
She is both gentle and kind, and though I would not claim to call her friend of yet, it would be my honor if she called me so.
I seek make more true my devotion to the Gods, and to Lagoma in particular for the moment, so I will be seeking her out. The Mercies of Lagoma are ever in need of aide, I think.
I seek make more true my devotion to the Gods, and to Lagoma in particular for the moment, so I will be seeking her out. The Mercies of Lagoma are ever in need of aide, I think.
Written By Preston
Nov. 28, 2016, 7:05 a.m.(3/26/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Victus
He questions my worth and the value of my calling: very well, so be it. It is but a small burden to bear in the name of the Gods. I will carry it as any other, and show him I bear it.
Written By Preston
Nov. 28, 2016, 7:02 a.m.(3/26/1005 AR)
Youth is said to be a gift of the Gods, a treasure to have and to hold, and spend wisely. Ah, what would I give to spend my youth and buy instead respect, a thing I would treasure a great deal more. I am young, yes, but I am not untested, and to deny my worth is to disparage the Templar. Is it pride then to wish to challenge those who think so little of me for my face bears few lines? I would like to say it is honor, and not my honor alone, but the honor of the Holy Knights of the Temple and the Most holy whom we serve. But... perhaps that is my own hubris. Oh, pride and vanity. However does one tell the difference between that most honorable and that which is naught but sin?
Written By Silas
Nov. 28, 2016, 5:32 a.m.(3/26/1005 AR)
Darkwater Reach is quite nice.
Written By Serafine
Nov. 28, 2016, 2:43 a.m.(3/26/1005 AR)
The Concordal Melee. Sir Silas was kind enough suggest it and I am happily interested. The discussion I had with him has me convinced it's going to be quite fun.
Perhaps they'll lend me a stool long enough to punch Fergus Redrain in the face! Or even the Shav, Viktarkim!
Hmm. Or I can sit on the shoulders of my partner. Ooh, that could be fun.
Perhaps they'll lend me a stool long enough to punch Fergus Redrain in the face! Or even the Shav, Viktarkim!
Hmm. Or I can sit on the shoulders of my partner. Ooh, that could be fun.
Written By Tristan
Nov. 27, 2016, 11:56 p.m.(3/25/1005 AR)
I hate people. Most of them are idiots. Horses are far more sensible.
I hate princesses. Oh, by everything that's holy, /princesses/.
I swear, something goes soft in people's heads when they hear the word 'princess' as if it means something more magical than it is. Particularly goes soft in princesses' heads.
Especially ones that prance around Arx in silks, wearing a saintly smile and showering everyone with charity and expecting to be loved in return. Bloody hells. It's ten times as annoying as Songbird's thrice-hourly messages asking what her precious Pinenut's eaten today, and her never riding him.
I've pulled dead foals from live mares and live foals from dead mares. I've watched foals take their first tottering steps and grey-muzzled geldings take their last. I've gently shown colts and fillies their first saddle, and how to take the weight of a rider, and carefully earned trust and moulded the gawky youngsters into impressive warhorses and racers and palfreys. I've been up at the darkest hour of the morning to birth foals and walk colicking horses. I've nursed horses from injury and illness over months, and I've looked into the eyes of a horse I raised from foalhood, who trusted me absolutely--and cut his throat, because his leg was in fragments and the only gift I could give him was a peaceful death and the end of pain. My fingers know, before my mind, how to fasten bridle and saddle, to wrap legs and straighten manes, the bump of a splint and the heat of lameness. I can close my eyes and drop my reins, and guide only with the shift of my seat, knowing the horse will see for me, two beings together in perfect trust.
To say nothing of the darkness that befell my friends--my last friends. Blankness and death.
Why would I need anything from some girl who knows nothing of life?
(Note: Lady Regent, if you're reading this, I don't include you as a princess. You never really were, and you're entirely too sensible.)
I hate princesses. Oh, by everything that's holy, /princesses/.
I swear, something goes soft in people's heads when they hear the word 'princess' as if it means something more magical than it is. Particularly goes soft in princesses' heads.
Especially ones that prance around Arx in silks, wearing a saintly smile and showering everyone with charity and expecting to be loved in return. Bloody hells. It's ten times as annoying as Songbird's thrice-hourly messages asking what her precious Pinenut's eaten today, and her never riding him.
I've pulled dead foals from live mares and live foals from dead mares. I've watched foals take their first tottering steps and grey-muzzled geldings take their last. I've gently shown colts and fillies their first saddle, and how to take the weight of a rider, and carefully earned trust and moulded the gawky youngsters into impressive warhorses and racers and palfreys. I've been up at the darkest hour of the morning to birth foals and walk colicking horses. I've nursed horses from injury and illness over months, and I've looked into the eyes of a horse I raised from foalhood, who trusted me absolutely--and cut his throat, because his leg was in fragments and the only gift I could give him was a peaceful death and the end of pain. My fingers know, before my mind, how to fasten bridle and saddle, to wrap legs and straighten manes, the bump of a splint and the heat of lameness. I can close my eyes and drop my reins, and guide only with the shift of my seat, knowing the horse will see for me, two beings together in perfect trust.
To say nothing of the darkness that befell my friends--my last friends. Blankness and death.
Why would I need anything from some girl who knows nothing of life?
(Note: Lady Regent, if you're reading this, I don't include you as a princess. You never really were, and you're entirely too sensible.)
Written By Niccolo
Nov. 27, 2016, 11:53 p.m.(3/25/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Belladonna
My dear Belladonna. You've been gone for too long, but now you're back. I can't help but smile when I see you, even when you find a way to infuriate me.
You are my family, you are my blood and I will love you, even when we see things differently. That bond will always remain strong.
You are my family, you are my blood and I will love you, even when we see things differently. That bond will always remain strong.
Written By Esera
Nov. 27, 2016, 11:42 p.m.(3/25/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Serafine
My cousin Serafine has always been fierce. She is a fighter -- in spirit, and in deed. No, you would never know she was a Velenosa, to look at her. Her destiny pulled her a different direction than the rest of us -- but it pulled her back to us, too. I am sorry for how it happened, but not sorry to have her back. Family is family. We all serve our House.
Written By Hadrian
Nov. 27, 2016, 11:40 p.m.(3/25/1005 AR)
Mangata favored my voyage back to Arx, for I arrived in time for a private dinner at the Velenosa estate for Lyceum heads of house and Voices.
I do so love surprising people. Even my people. This time, though, it was fully justified. Honest! No messenger could have made it there faster than I did.
And what an evening! I would tell you, dear imaginary reader, but it was private. Sub rosa. A chance to speak freely. On a scale from Abandoned to Templar, that trust ranks as _sacred_.
I do so love surprising people. Even my people. This time, though, it was fully justified. Honest! No messenger could have made it there faster than I did.
And what an evening! I would tell you, dear imaginary reader, but it was private. Sub rosa. A chance to speak freely. On a scale from Abandoned to Templar, that trust ranks as _sacred_.
Written By Esera
Nov. 27, 2016, 11:32 p.m.(3/25/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Eleyna
My cousin is cold, like starlight -- a distant, beautiful thing. I grew up with her. Played beside her, as a child. We are family. Through every loss and hurt, we are bonded -- and she has had to carry the burden of so much loss and hurt. So much more than I have lost. Than I could imagine losing. I do not like to see her grief turned against her. Black widow, indeed. It is no wonder she is cold.
Written By Dafne
Nov. 27, 2016, 11:03 p.m.(3/25/1005 AR)
I've taught Nightshade to carry messages. What a clever kitten she is.
Someone asked me if he hallucinated the arrival of kitten-post. That made all the effort worth it.
Someone asked me if he hallucinated the arrival of kitten-post. That made all the effort worth it.
Written By Eleyna
Nov. 27, 2016, 11:01 p.m.(3/25/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Blacktongue
Our verbal sparring is as satisfying as his counsel is valuable. I would not call our friendship unlikely, but it could have just as easily soured into cruelty and sharp words.
I find myself rather glad that it did not.
I find myself rather glad that it did not.
Written By Audric
Nov. 27, 2016, 11 p.m.(3/25/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Costas
A new friend! We ran into him in the Hundred Cities, and I'm fairly certain that he thought we were there to terrify him. We pretended that for a moment, I'll admit, because it was funny. Good taste in whiskey, too.
Written By Audric
Nov. 27, 2016, 10:58 p.m.(3/25/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Dafne
Who uses a cat as a messenger? It's very impressive. I had something to actually write about the woman, but this is far more important. I was vexed with a small cat showed up with a letter tied around its neck, I'll admit.
Written By Audric
Nov. 27, 2016, 10:58 p.m.(3/25/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Victus
You know, I've heard more than a few people mention that he's unpleasant and terrible to be around. I quite disagree. Once you know the man, he's hilarious!
Written By Eleyna
Nov. 27, 2016, 10:50 p.m.(3/25/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Niccolo
My beloved uncle. There is no mistaking that it was his hand that crafted my wits and my mind. I have ever strived to be worthy of his respect and admiration.
Written By Eleyna
Nov. 27, 2016, 10:48 p.m.(3/25/1005 AR)
When I was a little girl, I was in love with the small birds that used to flutter in my mother's menagerie. Birds of all colors with their sweet little voices chirping on the breeze. Perhaps I only loved them because she did and I was ever trying to win myself into her graces.
I remember her as very beautiful, but very cold. Whatever joy she showed was reserved for those birds. I was desperate to hold one, to catch one. I believed that, if I did, I could win my mother's admiration. Maybe even her love.
As any small child does, I chased. I stalked. I tried to devise cunning plans that only resulted in those birds forever eluding my grasp.
One day, in a rare moment that she actually saw me, my mother found me in the menagerie, chasing those birds. She did not scold me, but instead, she taught me how to sit very still, very quiet with a few seeds in my hand. And let the birds come to me.
I thought I sat there for hours, waiting for one of the brightly-feathered darlings to alight into my palm. Finally, just when I had given up hope, a small, bright-eyed little blackbird landed in my palm and pecked at the seed there. I remember the delight I felt as my mother laughed and kissed me, the first I can remember from her.
And the last. She died the following winter. My memories of my mother are few, but her lesson in patience remains even now.
I remember her as very beautiful, but very cold. Whatever joy she showed was reserved for those birds. I was desperate to hold one, to catch one. I believed that, if I did, I could win my mother's admiration. Maybe even her love.
As any small child does, I chased. I stalked. I tried to devise cunning plans that only resulted in those birds forever eluding my grasp.
One day, in a rare moment that she actually saw me, my mother found me in the menagerie, chasing those birds. She did not scold me, but instead, she taught me how to sit very still, very quiet with a few seeds in my hand. And let the birds come to me.
I thought I sat there for hours, waiting for one of the brightly-feathered darlings to alight into my palm. Finally, just when I had given up hope, a small, bright-eyed little blackbird landed in my palm and pecked at the seed there. I remember the delight I felt as my mother laughed and kissed me, the first I can remember from her.
And the last. She died the following winter. My memories of my mother are few, but her lesson in patience remains even now.
Written By Silas
Nov. 27, 2016, 10:23 p.m.(3/25/1005 AR)
The key to getting people to like you is to be likeable... and if you're a likeable person this doesn't entail any effort. If you're not, perhaps you're witty enough to fool people into thinking otherwise.
But the truly enviable people who just don't care.
I have not met such a person.
But the truly enviable people who just don't care.
I have not met such a person.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.