Written By Freja
Nov. 6, 2016, 8:57 p.m.(1/18/1005 AR)
My dreams have brought me not whispers this week, but memories. I recall my father honing Redrain's ancestral blade, allowing me to watch him with rapt fascination. The singing of the whetstone against the alaricite was its own euphony against the crackling of the roaring fire in the hearth, its backdrop the howling of Northern winter winds outside the window panes.
We never spoke. I only watched as if this was its own intricate storytelling we never need to verbally acknowledge. It was known between he and I that when I saw the leather wrap that held the tools and heard the blade being unsheathed that I would appear at his feet, child that I was. It was a process that took what seemed hours and as soon as it was done I would leave, or he would impart some wisdom to me.
I dreamed of a night I still bare the scars from. It was a period of when I was growing particularly daring in my adventures, vanishing for hours or even a full day in the deep dungeons or Farhaven. If the wanderlust truly took hold of me I would go outside of the safety of our walls. I was gone for a week once, only three weeks shy of my thirteenth birthday. Fergus was already gone and winning his own well-earned reputation. I thought I would test my own mettle.
They weren't too happy about that.
I returned and no one made any fuss about it and I thought I was so clever, so sly that I had made none the wiser. Father knew, everyone knew, but he had instructed them to act otherwise.
I saw him take out the tools and start the process as always and there I was, at his feet and quietly thinking that life would continue as it always had. The sharpening stopped and he looked at me, turning suddenly and offering Demonslayer to me, the whetstone in his other hand. Naturally, the sword was too cumbersome for me to heft by myself but he watched in stoic silence as I tried in vain. My pride got the best of me and I tried to work it as I must, the first slide of the whetstone slipping and my hands along with it. My palms were sliced so fast that I couldn't help but stare at them. It seemed a small eternity before the blood actually welled up and spilt over onto the carpet, slipping through my fingers.
The servants were distraught and help was called for the foolish Princess that dared to try and sharpen her father's sword, but all the while he and I looked at one another. We said nothing. We expressed nothing, even as the whiskey was poured on my hands to cleanse the wounds and the strips laid in place to act as tourniquet. I never cried out.
When it was all said and done and I was back in my room, my father came and found me and said in his usual gruff way, which I'm certain Fergus inherited, "What have we learned?" My answer was some foolish, trying too hard nonsense he saw right through. I was trying to tell him what I thought he wanted to hear, but I was wrong. He held up a single hand to silence me mid-sentence. "No. Your lesson was already learned. You did no bow, you did not bend. Even when you inflicted your own pain, you recognized not to let me see it, but more importantly none of the others. I thought you would return brandishing bravado about how you survived the elements, which is no great feat considering the countless Northmen who have done it before you." He paused pointedly there. "But, you were quiet. You took your lessons, how you tested yourself, and learnt from it. Same as the sword. You tested yourself and learned." He made me start my scout training the very next day.
He was always a man of unexpected lessons and morality, unorthodox ones at that.
Some say, Fergus particularly, that I take my lessons from him far too seriously. But we do not bend, we do not break. Redrain remains until the last. The North is unforgiving and why should I not take the wisdom from my greatest teacher? If you cannot find the courage and strength to pull yourself up from your knees, then stay there. If you want to stay in your bed bundled with your trite tears and worries, your grief, then die there for all I care.
But greater is the poor sod that has pride and does not know the strength of his hand, its limits. You have to test yourself, challenge yourself to face the pains of this world and not show your fear. Know the reach of your sword and the keenness of its bite. Strength is not an absence of weakness, it is the outright refusal to accept it.
And to those that would deem it wise to test me for weaknesses by brandishing their own "strengths"? Well, I only advise, darlings:
If you cannot bite, never show your teeth.
We never spoke. I only watched as if this was its own intricate storytelling we never need to verbally acknowledge. It was known between he and I that when I saw the leather wrap that held the tools and heard the blade being unsheathed that I would appear at his feet, child that I was. It was a process that took what seemed hours and as soon as it was done I would leave, or he would impart some wisdom to me.
I dreamed of a night I still bare the scars from. It was a period of when I was growing particularly daring in my adventures, vanishing for hours or even a full day in the deep dungeons or Farhaven. If the wanderlust truly took hold of me I would go outside of the safety of our walls. I was gone for a week once, only three weeks shy of my thirteenth birthday. Fergus was already gone and winning his own well-earned reputation. I thought I would test my own mettle.
They weren't too happy about that.
I returned and no one made any fuss about it and I thought I was so clever, so sly that I had made none the wiser. Father knew, everyone knew, but he had instructed them to act otherwise.
I saw him take out the tools and start the process as always and there I was, at his feet and quietly thinking that life would continue as it always had. The sharpening stopped and he looked at me, turning suddenly and offering Demonslayer to me, the whetstone in his other hand. Naturally, the sword was too cumbersome for me to heft by myself but he watched in stoic silence as I tried in vain. My pride got the best of me and I tried to work it as I must, the first slide of the whetstone slipping and my hands along with it. My palms were sliced so fast that I couldn't help but stare at them. It seemed a small eternity before the blood actually welled up and spilt over onto the carpet, slipping through my fingers.
The servants were distraught and help was called for the foolish Princess that dared to try and sharpen her father's sword, but all the while he and I looked at one another. We said nothing. We expressed nothing, even as the whiskey was poured on my hands to cleanse the wounds and the strips laid in place to act as tourniquet. I never cried out.
When it was all said and done and I was back in my room, my father came and found me and said in his usual gruff way, which I'm certain Fergus inherited, "What have we learned?" My answer was some foolish, trying too hard nonsense he saw right through. I was trying to tell him what I thought he wanted to hear, but I was wrong. He held up a single hand to silence me mid-sentence. "No. Your lesson was already learned. You did no bow, you did not bend. Even when you inflicted your own pain, you recognized not to let me see it, but more importantly none of the others. I thought you would return brandishing bravado about how you survived the elements, which is no great feat considering the countless Northmen who have done it before you." He paused pointedly there. "But, you were quiet. You took your lessons, how you tested yourself, and learnt from it. Same as the sword. You tested yourself and learned." He made me start my scout training the very next day.
He was always a man of unexpected lessons and morality, unorthodox ones at that.
Some say, Fergus particularly, that I take my lessons from him far too seriously. But we do not bend, we do not break. Redrain remains until the last. The North is unforgiving and why should I not take the wisdom from my greatest teacher? If you cannot find the courage and strength to pull yourself up from your knees, then stay there. If you want to stay in your bed bundled with your trite tears and worries, your grief, then die there for all I care.
But greater is the poor sod that has pride and does not know the strength of his hand, its limits. You have to test yourself, challenge yourself to face the pains of this world and not show your fear. Know the reach of your sword and the keenness of its bite. Strength is not an absence of weakness, it is the outright refusal to accept it.
And to those that would deem it wise to test me for weaknesses by brandishing their own "strengths"? Well, I only advise, darlings:
If you cannot bite, never show your teeth.
Written By Dagon
Nov. 6, 2016, 8:52 p.m.(1/18/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Donella
I feel fortunate to have a sister like Donella. It is sometimes hard for me to put into words just how much I appreciate her and all she does for House Thrax. I feel a sense of pride when I see or hear about what she's doing here in Arx.
Written By Luca
Nov. 6, 2016, 8:47 p.m.(1/18/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Gareth
Met this fellow the other day. Here's a guy that knows how to make conversation. You'd expect someone like him to be bitter and thin-skinned like anyone, but he seems to have his shit together. I'll look out for him, in the future.
Written By Luca
Nov. 6, 2016, 8:45 p.m.(1/18/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Victus
Fought Victus Thrax today. He's pretty good - maybe even a match for me at full effort? Hard to say, it was just to first blood, and while he got it, the cut is already sealed. I don't know. I should be excited to spar against him and see if this is a challenge worth working to overcome, but somehow I'm not. Maybe it's because he's such an unpleasant guy.
Written By Luca
Nov. 6, 2016, 8:43 p.m.(1/18/1005 AR)
Dear Diary, today I fought an honor duel as a Champion. It's been so long since someone has requested me, I pretty much forgot that was a thing. It was a mildly pleasant surprise, until the time came to actually fight. I lost, which really means Mistress Joscelin lost - but it was a stalemate for a long time, so one reasons that if she'd been less in the wrong, Gloria would have guided my sword, instead. Whatever.
Written By Eleyna
Nov. 6, 2016, 8:37 p.m.(1/18/1005 AR)
The Gala was an interesting event, very different from the other parties I've attended so far in the city. Princess Natalia's flair for the dramatic extends, to wonderful effect, to her taste in decor and clothing.
Written By Natalia
Nov. 6, 2016, 8:27 p.m.(1/18/1005 AR)
I must admit and I do not mind saying this about myself. I thought the gala went off splendidly. Everyone was receptive and a few got a little too into the spirit (I'm talking about you Lady of Scandal). However, it was great.
I have just sent out the favors for the party. I do hope that they are liked and appreciated. As well as I am already onto my next planned gala with Princess Sophie.
I do have the drinking night, but that is really just free drinks. Maybe I should find a person to play a game or I should look into it.
I have just sent out the favors for the party. I do hope that they are liked and appreciated. As well as I am already onto my next planned gala with Princess Sophie.
I do have the drinking night, but that is really just free drinks. Maybe I should find a person to play a game or I should look into it.
Written By Serafine
Nov. 6, 2016, 8:26 p.m.(1/18/1005 AR)
While the fall that came and went was all too brief, the colder weather reminds me of home. The home I had, anyway. Always cooler in those cliimes, must say I miss it. The ice in the air is pleasant on the skin, and it feels good to run outside of the training center after several rounds of 'toss the tosser'.
It still surprises me that the people have been more accommodating than I expected. Sure, I have the asses and their prejudices to combat, but either my reputation is doing wonders to keep the fighting to a minimum, or working out the tension through sparring has done more good than I'd guessed.
Either way.
Arx, you beautiful, exquisite, deadly mistress. I have missed you and it pains me not at all to say that.
It still surprises me that the people have been more accommodating than I expected. Sure, I have the asses and their prejudices to combat, but either my reputation is doing wonders to keep the fighting to a minimum, or working out the tension through sparring has done more good than I'd guessed.
Either way.
Arx, you beautiful, exquisite, deadly mistress. I have missed you and it pains me not at all to say that.
Written By Serafine
Nov. 6, 2016, 8:17 p.m.(1/18/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Freja
Barstools, Freja. Always barstools.
Written By Sylvie
Nov. 6, 2016, 7:54 p.m.(1/18/1005 AR)
Winter in the city has grown tense, silent. I suppose that is to be expected.
I am almost relieved that Prince Donrai has called for the Assembly. Brave enough to take a step forward for us all.
I can only imagine what changes the next season will bring.
I am almost relieved that Prince Donrai has called for the Assembly. Brave enough to take a step forward for us all.
I can only imagine what changes the next season will bring.
Written By Freja
Nov. 6, 2016, 7:49 p.m.(1/18/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Serafine
She speaks openly about a past many in Arx would make every attempt to conceal. They, whoever they are, say that if you wear your weaknesses as armor than none can use it against you. There goes that chink in the chainmail. Does this woman have any weakness?
She has lost, as I have, but in greater capacity. Then again, who can compare human suffering?
Fuck this, I'm lapsing into poetics for a woman that would smirk at it as much as I tend to.
She eschewed her family to build her own, only to return back to her birthright. She's strong in all the right ways and I can't wait to see where her swords take her. Weapon Preference: Swords, or a barstool?
She has lost, as I have, but in greater capacity. Then again, who can compare human suffering?
Fuck this, I'm lapsing into poetics for a woman that would smirk at it as much as I tend to.
She eschewed her family to build her own, only to return back to her birthright. She's strong in all the right ways and I can't wait to see where her swords take her. Weapon Preference: Swords, or a barstool?
Written By Darren
Nov. 6, 2016, 7:20 p.m.(1/18/1005 AR)
Noblesse oblige isn't a term I'm overly familiar with, but House Redrain was more than happy to contribute to Princess Donella's event in honour of the late Queen Genevieve. I brought along with me no less than several men carrying bundles of leather cloaks and heavy clothes to stave off the cold. And of course, another man with a barrel of whiskey, the perfect thing for a winter's night.
I also put myself between Princess Donella of House Thrax and a crazy fool with a dagger. He might've only been trying to cut his own hair to make some sort of absurd statement, but you never know how these sorts of things could go.
I also put myself between Princess Donella of House Thrax and a crazy fool with a dagger. He might've only been trying to cut his own hair to make some sort of absurd statement, but you never know how these sorts of things could go.
Written By Sudara
Nov. 6, 2016, 7:09 p.m.(1/18/1005 AR)
Ill in Arx. In some ways, being under the weather in Arx is particularly frustrating. True, I can count upon the staff of the Hundred Cities to cater to virtually any whim communicated to them. True also that the medical care available here is of the highest standard. But it is not home. The servants are not my own. My children remain far out of reach. And the work and worries continue to pile up. Still, I can hope that this will serve me well in fostering patience, at the very least. And I could assuredly be much worse off: too ill to receive visitors still falls a long way short of the maladies suffered by many others in the sprawling mass of humanity who call the city home.
Written By Joscelin
Nov. 6, 2016, 6:21 p.m.(1/18/1005 AR)
The duel is over. Prince Luca fought on my behalf and was the first to bleed.
But it means everything else is over as well, and I must apologize for my slight against Lord Victus Thrax.
So here it is, my public apology:
I am sorry I insulted you.
Now that that is done, I have a great many things to do. Scholar, if you would-
But it means everything else is over as well, and I must apologize for my slight against Lord Victus Thrax.
So here it is, my public apology:
I am sorry I insulted you.
Now that that is done, I have a great many things to do. Scholar, if you would-
Written By Signe
Nov. 6, 2016, 6:20 p.m.(1/18/1005 AR)
I woke up.
I looked toward the door.
I decided to stay in my room.
I love my warm sheets more than people.
I looked toward the door.
I decided to stay in my room.
I love my warm sheets more than people.
Written By Margot
Nov. 6, 2016, 6:06 p.m.(1/18/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Max
Pink skies in morning, sailors take warning.
Written By Victus
Nov. 6, 2016, 5:31 p.m.(1/18/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Max
I knew the boy from he was about this (...the Lord Victus indicates to me about chest high...) so tall, when he first came to serve aboard my ship. It didn't take all that long for me to determine that the little shit was going to have his own ship sooner rather than later.
He was quick, he was able, and he didn't cower before a storm. Whether it was Mangata calling it or came in the shape of men.
He may hate the responsibilities of rulership, but I like him better than I did his brother, so as far as I'm concerned the elder Darkwater did us all a favor by getting killed.
Well, all of us but Maximilian.
He was quick, he was able, and he didn't cower before a storm. Whether it was Mangata calling it or came in the shape of men.
He may hate the responsibilities of rulership, but I like him better than I did his brother, so as far as I'm concerned the elder Darkwater did us all a favor by getting killed.
Well, all of us but Maximilian.
Written By Edain
Nov. 6, 2016, 5:26 p.m.(1/18/1005 AR)
Sir Leonard of Cohen was a famed bard of the Oathland's. This is somewhat lost to history, but he was known more for lyrical poetry than he was for having a lovely singing voice himself. There is one of his songs that has survived, and is perhaps sung but just about every knight at some point when he has had to much to drink and he wants to make their lord or lady swoon. My brother Prince Velen especially liked to sing this to Princess Marian, often drunk, at state dinners, while my father would sigh in exasperation. It is catchy to myself and I will admit, I sometimes hum it to myself when I remember him. I think what this song means is entirely up to the interpretation of the listener, but I have always thought it was about how love is messy, frustrating, heart crushing, and still worth every moment. So I thought I would share what were my brother's favorite verses:
I've heard there was a secret chord, Lagoma made for Vellichor.
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this: The fourth, the fifth. The minor fall, the major lift.
The humbled knight composing Hallelujah.
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah.
Your sword was strong but you needed proof. You both crossed blades on the roof.
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you.
She tied you to a kitchen chair. She broke your throne, she cut your hair.
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah.
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah.
Maybe I've been here before. I know this room, I've walked this floor.
I used to live alone before I knew you.
I've seen your flag on the marble arch. Love is not a victory march,
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah.
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah.
There was a time you'd let me know What's real and going on below.
But now you never show it to me, do you?
Remember when I moved in you? The Holy Dove was moving too.
And every breath we drew was hallelujah.
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah.
Maybe there are Gods above. And all I ever learned from love
Was how to strike down someone who outdrew you.
It's not a cry you can hear at night. It's not somebody who's seen the light.
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah.
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
I've heard there was a secret chord, Lagoma made for Vellichor.
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this: The fourth, the fifth. The minor fall, the major lift.
The humbled knight composing Hallelujah.
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah.
Your sword was strong but you needed proof. You both crossed blades on the roof.
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you.
She tied you to a kitchen chair. She broke your throne, she cut your hair.
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah.
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah.
Maybe I've been here before. I know this room, I've walked this floor.
I used to live alone before I knew you.
I've seen your flag on the marble arch. Love is not a victory march,
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah.
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah.
There was a time you'd let me know What's real and going on below.
But now you never show it to me, do you?
Remember when I moved in you? The Holy Dove was moving too.
And every breath we drew was hallelujah.
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah.
Maybe there are Gods above. And all I ever learned from love
Was how to strike down someone who outdrew you.
It's not a cry you can hear at night. It's not somebody who's seen the light.
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah.
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Written By Victus
Nov. 6, 2016, 5:22 p.m.(1/18/1005 AR)
I'm not a duelist.
But I do not let other men fight for my honor. That is for women and weaklings and the cowards.
Or Lords of Houses that can ill afford succession on matters little importance, I suppose. A general does not lead from the front if he wants to stay a general long. The front is where men go to die.
I'll say one more thing of duels to the first blood: They're not very satisfying.
But I do not let other men fight for my honor. That is for women and weaklings and the cowards.
Or Lords of Houses that can ill afford succession on matters little importance, I suppose. A general does not lead from the front if he wants to stay a general long. The front is where men go to die.
I'll say one more thing of duels to the first blood: They're not very satisfying.
Written By Kima
Nov. 6, 2016, 5:13 p.m.(1/18/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Max
I won't waste ink on what is surely being written about by many others. Instead, I want to talk about the new friend I made, Count Maximilian Darkwater. Can we waste ink by bolding Darkwater? Make it look a touch more...dastardly?
Thank you, Scholar.
To whit, I met this dread Count at the Ebb and Flow in the company of Princess Jaenelle and Lord Victus Thrax. I freely admit, I tried to steal his sausage. I missed, unfortunately, but he was a good sport about it and offered me more. He talks a lot. Much more than either Victus or Abbas. Which is wonderful, as a woman can only talk and talk and talk for so long before she needs more than a grunt or a flat stare to get by.
We then made a bet, which I lost, but only because I foolishly misunderstood. (I'd never bet AGAINST Victus, that is preposterous). But a loss is a loss and I am a woman of honor. Drinks on me, at the Hundred Cities Bed and Bordello.
And yes, it goes without saying he's easy on the eyes. I don't befriend men who aren't.
Thank you, Scholar.
To whit, I met this dread Count at the Ebb and Flow in the company of Princess Jaenelle and Lord Victus Thrax. I freely admit, I tried to steal his sausage. I missed, unfortunately, but he was a good sport about it and offered me more. He talks a lot. Much more than either Victus or Abbas. Which is wonderful, as a woman can only talk and talk and talk for so long before she needs more than a grunt or a flat stare to get by.
We then made a bet, which I lost, but only because I foolishly misunderstood. (I'd never bet AGAINST Victus, that is preposterous). But a loss is a loss and I am a woman of honor. Drinks on me, at the Hundred Cities Bed and Bordello.
And yes, it goes without saying he's easy on the eyes. I don't befriend men who aren't.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.