Written By Jaenelle
March 3, 2019, 10:14 p.m.(9/5/1010 AR)
I found a muse when I arrived at Lady Videl's encouraging social. Though I may not have had the chance to pick up a brush, it has given me new ideas for picking up a hobby. Sometimes it is good to be able to extend yourself into something that is not a meeting, though they require a special set of skills as well.
Written By Ouida
March 3, 2019, 9:35 p.m.(9/4/1010 AR)
These last weeks have been mostly occupied by a journey to the southern islands, and a brief but quite pleasant meeting. I almost feared that I would not make it back in time for my dear cousin's wedding, but I should have known better than to doubt the promises of a Fair Harbour captain and crew! The last night from the journey, however, I was woken from my sleep with the lingering remembrances of freezing cold, and it lingered so, not even the warm summer breeze upon the seas could thaw it, and the sparse clouds that veiled the stars here and there as I stood upon the deck looking at their expanse seemed almost like a winter's fog, to my mind.
Written By Victus
March 3, 2019, 8:22 p.m.(9/4/1010 AR)
A dream of ice and fear. It seems my mind has been especially creative while I sleep.
Written By Sudara
March 3, 2019, 6:01 p.m.(9/4/1010 AR)
Friendship is a curious thing. Sometimes appearing out of nowhere, sometimes developing slowly over a great deal of time, sometimes becoming what antagonism or even enmity turns into. Of late I have found myself with some new amicable contacts, which are all the more welcome for being wholly unexpected. From an earnestly eager newcomer to the Compact to someone who inherited a domain before I could talk, it would seem that I have a great deal to learn from those who were recently strangers. I very much look forward to doing so.
Written By Evonleigh
March 3, 2019, 5:35 p.m.(9/4/1010 AR)
Strange times and strange dreams. I too woke feeling cold after dreaming of snow and ice. One would think they would be a nice respite in this humid heat, but today the warmth of summer is rather welcome. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll feel different.
Written By Bliss
March 3, 2019, 5:17 p.m.(9/4/1010 AR)
<A more recently post-dated journal>
Iriscal.
I remember when he first brought me in here. Oh, the promises he made, promises to capture a girl's heart. We had been together maybe a week at that point, and all I could see was how handsome he was, how that smile pulled on my heart, and how skilled he was with his sword.
I knew this was a trading hub now, and I knew about the silkworks here, and yet, I wasn't really prepared to see bolts of aeterna and umbra for sale in the stalls in the market square. I think he saw how I boggled, and he laughed and told me that by the time we were done, I would have so many dresses of white and black I would be almost sick of them, that he would take me to the fanciest balls and that I would never want for anything again.
That was almost exactly ten years ago. It still feels like yesterday.
I opened a chest on the way in, making sure no one saw. I ran my fingers along the umbra. Formal gowns for the formal meetings I've been having when I need to. The aeterna, for looking brilliant in the rays of the sun. The other one, in case there's another ball, so I don't have to pretend to be someone else this time.
You were just off by a few years, Stefano. You always did have a problem with overestimating your longevity.
The second time I was here, I was done with you. You knew as well as I did that you had nothing more to offer me, and you made me no more promises. We rarely slept in the same bed anymore. I would find someone, and so would you, and off we went. No more promises of silks that you would never give me, your smile just turned my stomach, and your fancy swordplay just bored me to tears. I have no idea how you managed to kill that man in Granato. He must have wanted to die.
Excitement had become boredom. We only made it a few days across the Split before I was done with you. Saying goodbye to you was just as easy as saying goodbye to Tor. I know your heart still broke, but mine didn't, Stefano. It was never yours to tie your anchor to.
* * * * *
I thought I was done writing about Iriscal, but I'm not. I went to the walls of the fortress today, and climbed to the top. It's a clear day, and the winds are calm, and in the distance I can barely - just barely - make out the walls of Tor. I think maybe I can even smell the roses, but that's probably a conjuration of my mind.
It's not time yet. Not quite. But I can feel it inside me, and sometimes, I just know what needs to be done. This is one of those moments.
Iriscal.
I remember when he first brought me in here. Oh, the promises he made, promises to capture a girl's heart. We had been together maybe a week at that point, and all I could see was how handsome he was, how that smile pulled on my heart, and how skilled he was with his sword.
I knew this was a trading hub now, and I knew about the silkworks here, and yet, I wasn't really prepared to see bolts of aeterna and umbra for sale in the stalls in the market square. I think he saw how I boggled, and he laughed and told me that by the time we were done, I would have so many dresses of white and black I would be almost sick of them, that he would take me to the fanciest balls and that I would never want for anything again.
That was almost exactly ten years ago. It still feels like yesterday.
I opened a chest on the way in, making sure no one saw. I ran my fingers along the umbra. Formal gowns for the formal meetings I've been having when I need to. The aeterna, for looking brilliant in the rays of the sun. The other one, in case there's another ball, so I don't have to pretend to be someone else this time.
You were just off by a few years, Stefano. You always did have a problem with overestimating your longevity.
The second time I was here, I was done with you. You knew as well as I did that you had nothing more to offer me, and you made me no more promises. We rarely slept in the same bed anymore. I would find someone, and so would you, and off we went. No more promises of silks that you would never give me, your smile just turned my stomach, and your fancy swordplay just bored me to tears. I have no idea how you managed to kill that man in Granato. He must have wanted to die.
Excitement had become boredom. We only made it a few days across the Split before I was done with you. Saying goodbye to you was just as easy as saying goodbye to Tor. I know your heart still broke, but mine didn't, Stefano. It was never yours to tie your anchor to.
* * * * *
I thought I was done writing about Iriscal, but I'm not. I went to the walls of the fortress today, and climbed to the top. It's a clear day, and the winds are calm, and in the distance I can barely - just barely - make out the walls of Tor. I think maybe I can even smell the roses, but that's probably a conjuration of my mind.
It's not time yet. Not quite. But I can feel it inside me, and sometimes, I just know what needs to be done. This is one of those moments.
Written By Venturo
March 3, 2019, 5 p.m.(9/4/1010 AR)
Relationship Note on Amari
Normally I would tell some witty story about boasting and humility about your, 'winners stein for winners'... but after your stalwart and amazing showing, in not just one but three games? I'd say you deserve to be a bit of a show off with it if you want to be.
Written By Venturo
March 3, 2019, 4:57 p.m.(9/4/1010 AR)
I had the benefit of attending the Marquessa's Lianne birthday party a few days prior, though I was content to mostly observe during the proceedings. It was a perfect affair, just the right touches in how it was put together to hold an opportune time just to enjoy the company of others. Between this and the present Lady Beatrice put together for her which was a most remarkable and touching undertaking, it is almost enough to drive me to figure out exactly when my birthday is, rather than quietly celebrating it each year whenever I see fit.
Written By Tibault
March 3, 2019, 4:54 p.m.(9/4/1010 AR)
I have made the journey once more to Arx. It is far too often that I find an excuse to remain in Brighthold doing the work that needs to be done, but with any luck this trip will yield new alliances and friendships that will help us accomplish more than we could have on our own.
Written By Bliss
March 3, 2019, 4:38 p.m.(9/4/1010 AR)
Relationship Note on Audric
<A posr-dated journal entry>
I didn't spend long at Fen de Lire. A shot of whiskey, a mug of beer. I threw them both on the road and crushed them under my heel, laughed at your foolhardiness, then moved on.
I think that's what you would have wanted. Our Lady of Terrible Puns is lucky to be the one getting to hear your stories now.
I didn't spend long at Fen de Lire. A shot of whiskey, a mug of beer. I threw them both on the road and crushed them under my heel, laughed at your foolhardiness, then moved on.
I think that's what you would have wanted. Our Lady of Terrible Puns is lucky to be the one getting to hear your stories now.
Written By Luca
March 3, 2019, 4:34 p.m.(9/4/1010 AR)
Relationship Note on Carita
Why don't crabs have eyebrows? Mangata took them away because they were irresponsible with them.
My protege's daughter spent some time with me while her mother was in Maelstrom. Not all of it, otherwise I might not have survived. I never realized a child could have so many questions in them as Nerissa Darkwater does. I started running out of real answers long before she started running out of hard questions. In the end, I turned the tables on her and started asking the questions. I'm a wiser man now than I was before.
Did you know owls are not turtles? It means they're active at night. I have it on good authority.
She was rather taken with the large painting of Queen Alarice astride a golden-feathered griffin. Questions about Alarice were mostly easier to answer than questions about griffins, though we did make the attempt to hunt one down in the mansion. I thought for sure there would be at least one hiding somewhere, under a bed perhaps or in the kitchens. Alas.
After she was gone, I searched the wine cabinets in a last ditch effort. No griffins, either, but I found some memories worth keeping.
My protege's daughter spent some time with me while her mother was in Maelstrom. Not all of it, otherwise I might not have survived. I never realized a child could have so many questions in them as Nerissa Darkwater does. I started running out of real answers long before she started running out of hard questions. In the end, I turned the tables on her and started asking the questions. I'm a wiser man now than I was before.
Did you know owls are not turtles? It means they're active at night. I have it on good authority.
She was rather taken with the large painting of Queen Alarice astride a golden-feathered griffin. Questions about Alarice were mostly easier to answer than questions about griffins, though we did make the attempt to hunt one down in the mansion. I thought for sure there would be at least one hiding somewhere, under a bed perhaps or in the kitchens. Alas.
After she was gone, I searched the wine cabinets in a last ditch effort. No griffins, either, but I found some memories worth keeping.
Written By Bliss
March 3, 2019, 4:30 p.m.(9/4/1010 AR)
<A journal postdated from a few days back>
Today I met an old man who had lived in the same village his entire life. It was just on the outskirts of the Fen de Lire, and there were really only two streets, at an angle to each other, and about ten houses total. This man - his name is Ernesto - had been born there - he pointed out the window of the tavern to his house. He had married a woman who came by on a caravan. True love, he claimed, and since she lived with him until she died, maybe he was right.
He pointed to where they had lived, where they had raised their four children, all with families of their own now. One died in the war at Southport - a mercenary who met a mercenary's end. The Silent War got another, his whole family wiped out during one of the skirmishes there - they had moved to the Gray Forest for safety. The third he hadn't heard from in a long time. He assumed they were still alive, but wondered why they hadn't written.
The fourth was a wandering duelist like me.
Here was a man who had, by all accounts, lost everything. For whom so much had changed, even though he remained a fisher in a little hut by a river. Even though he would likely die that way. I asked him if he had ever traveled, and he assured me he had - but when I pressed him, he admitted that it was not more than two towns over to the market to buy some presents.
I don't know a lot about Ernesto, but I do know that he chose a life that was in almost every way, entirely the opposite of mine. A life I could not even begin to imagine. A life that would have me screaming.
But he smiled, happy for the attention of a beautiful woman. He shared the dirty jokes he had picked up over the years. And damned if he couldn't see things I couldn't at a glance.
I don't understand him. But I'm glad that I met him.
Today I met an old man who had lived in the same village his entire life. It was just on the outskirts of the Fen de Lire, and there were really only two streets, at an angle to each other, and about ten houses total. This man - his name is Ernesto - had been born there - he pointed out the window of the tavern to his house. He had married a woman who came by on a caravan. True love, he claimed, and since she lived with him until she died, maybe he was right.
He pointed to where they had lived, where they had raised their four children, all with families of their own now. One died in the war at Southport - a mercenary who met a mercenary's end. The Silent War got another, his whole family wiped out during one of the skirmishes there - they had moved to the Gray Forest for safety. The third he hadn't heard from in a long time. He assumed they were still alive, but wondered why they hadn't written.
The fourth was a wandering duelist like me.
Here was a man who had, by all accounts, lost everything. For whom so much had changed, even though he remained a fisher in a little hut by a river. Even though he would likely die that way. I asked him if he had ever traveled, and he assured me he had - but when I pressed him, he admitted that it was not more than two towns over to the market to buy some presents.
I don't know a lot about Ernesto, but I do know that he chose a life that was in almost every way, entirely the opposite of mine. A life I could not even begin to imagine. A life that would have me screaming.
But he smiled, happy for the attention of a beautiful woman. He shared the dirty jokes he had picked up over the years. And damned if he couldn't see things I couldn't at a glance.
I don't understand him. But I'm glad that I met him.
Written By Domonico
March 3, 2019, 4:17 p.m.(9/4/1010 AR)
Lord Dariel and Lady Miranda are both utter tricksters when the mood takes them. Be warned.
Written By Fortunato
March 3, 2019, 11:41 a.m.(9/4/1010 AR)
Relationship Note on Lisebet
Ahaha! You are never too old for nightmares.
Written By Elgana
March 3, 2019, 10:48 a.m.(9/4/1010 AR)
Cold. So cold. This chill lingers with me and will not let me go. I should be thankful considering it is still summer but this dread looms over me. I should visit the gardens to clear the lingering frost of this dream of mine.
Written By Martino
March 3, 2019, 5:35 a.m.(9/3/1010 AR)
Relationship Note on Videl
At seeing the notice of the encouragement of arts event being hosted by the Lady Videl; as one who appreciates the galleries here in the city I thought it prudent to test ones own ability. Not before have I spent time behind a canvas for long, so I am quite certain this was luck more than natural talent, it seems the painting of the Princess came out better than thought.
Perhaps, really, once is not enough and I must don the overalls again.
Perhaps, really, once is not enough and I must don the overalls again.
Written By Mirari
March 3, 2019, 3:55 a.m.(9/3/1010 AR)
This brings I'll tidings, indeed. I feel chilled to my soul.
Written By Sabella
March 3, 2019, 2:08 a.m.(9/3/1010 AR)
In her more amused moments my mother used to say that she sometimes thought the world itself bent over backwards so as not to disappoint me. That I could hope and dream for something so fervently the gods didn't have the heart to shatter such belief and nudged things in place accordingly. I don't think that's really true, but recent events might have me wondering.
My father disappeared when I was ten years old, presumed dead in a shipwreck. I cannot tell you of how many nights I dreamed that he was still alive and wished on every star I could find that he could come home. My tutors often warned me away from such things saying I would only find disappointment in life if I lived with my head in the clouds and my heart full of dreams, but as a small child who missed her father so dearly, I couldn't help but hold onto that thin strand of hope that somewhere he was alive and would find his way back to us.
And as all childhood memories, that hope faded over time. It never went away completely, just a wistful sigh lost in a breeze on a random morning, but it was not longer the hope that I used my wishes on. I looked to the stars with other dreams in mind.
Yet I must be thankful to those old stars that carried my wishes with them all those years, because my father has returned to us! Where he has been and what he has been through I cannot imagine, but the fact that he is here now is a truth that even I am having a hard time coming to terms with. My father is alive and he is home and I could not be happier! It was a shock--a happy one--and I have enjoyed getting to know him once again. I have been able to introduce him to my husband and his grandchildren and tell him all the happy tales he has missed while he was away. And all of this just enforced one simple fact to me: you should never give up hope. Keep wishing and hoping and dreaming and be so thankful for those miracles that happen.
Because they do happen. My father is living proof of that!
My father disappeared when I was ten years old, presumed dead in a shipwreck. I cannot tell you of how many nights I dreamed that he was still alive and wished on every star I could find that he could come home. My tutors often warned me away from such things saying I would only find disappointment in life if I lived with my head in the clouds and my heart full of dreams, but as a small child who missed her father so dearly, I couldn't help but hold onto that thin strand of hope that somewhere he was alive and would find his way back to us.
And as all childhood memories, that hope faded over time. It never went away completely, just a wistful sigh lost in a breeze on a random morning, but it was not longer the hope that I used my wishes on. I looked to the stars with other dreams in mind.
Yet I must be thankful to those old stars that carried my wishes with them all those years, because my father has returned to us! Where he has been and what he has been through I cannot imagine, but the fact that he is here now is a truth that even I am having a hard time coming to terms with. My father is alive and he is home and I could not be happier! It was a shock--a happy one--and I have enjoyed getting to know him once again. I have been able to introduce him to my husband and his grandchildren and tell him all the happy tales he has missed while he was away. And all of this just enforced one simple fact to me: you should never give up hope. Keep wishing and hoping and dreaming and be so thankful for those miracles that happen.
Because they do happen. My father is living proof of that!
Written By Lisebet
March 3, 2019, 12:02 a.m.(9/3/1010 AR)
I am too old to be having nightmares - awakening from a dream that terrifies me. But it was just a dream.
Why am I still cold?
Why am I still cold?
Written By Rysen
March 2, 2019, 11:34 p.m.(9/3/1010 AR)
I had the good fortune to attend two parties in recent days of quite different character. The first was in celebration of the birth of Marquessa Lianne Malespero, the liberator of fine wines and patron of the master brewer Venturo. The Lycene style is new to me. Celebrations in the North are generally of two species: the solemn and sacred, or the raucous and wild, but Lady Lianne sat in the grass in the courtyard of her tower, surrounded by friends, family and strangers attracted to free and delicious drinks, and it was a relaxing and enjoyable experience. It was my second time meeting Lord Pasquale. He seems a dour man, but intelligent and good hearted - the sort that will tell you if your poem fails, or your swordplay has gotten lazy. Such men make invaluable friends.
The second party was hosted by Princess Liara Grayson, and was an extravagant, exciting affair. I hoped to congratulate Princess Sabella and Prince Niklas in person on the recent birth of their son, and was happy to find the Nightingale present, who, as usual, was dressed in such resplendent beauty as will not be soon forgot. There were games, drinks, food, music, dancing, and His Majesty the King arrived as well, which provided an opportunity for Prince Niklas to prove himself not only the greatest wit in Arvum, but also, its greatest dancer.
As for my own dance partner, on my pride as a poet, I will never do her justice in prose. I have read her books, observed her lessons, watched her show grace in defeat, strength and skill in the arts of combat, and compassion to those she meets. She is the embodiment of the ideals of chivalry and virtue, and the beating heart of what it means to be a knight. They say there are none above Grayson. Indeed, there are none.
The second party was hosted by Princess Liara Grayson, and was an extravagant, exciting affair. I hoped to congratulate Princess Sabella and Prince Niklas in person on the recent birth of their son, and was happy to find the Nightingale present, who, as usual, was dressed in such resplendent beauty as will not be soon forgot. There were games, drinks, food, music, dancing, and His Majesty the King arrived as well, which provided an opportunity for Prince Niklas to prove himself not only the greatest wit in Arvum, but also, its greatest dancer.
As for my own dance partner, on my pride as a poet, I will never do her justice in prose. I have read her books, observed her lessons, watched her show grace in defeat, strength and skill in the arts of combat, and compassion to those she meets. She is the embodiment of the ideals of chivalry and virtue, and the beating heart of what it means to be a knight. They say there are none above Grayson. Indeed, there are none.
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