Skip to main content.

Written By Merek

Feb. 6, 2017, 4:51 a.m.(11/11/1005 AR)

Dear Rose,

I know that it has been a while since I wrote about you, but I keep the memory of you alive. I know that you have been taken through the Shining Lands to Elysia, but I still wish you were here. There is not a day that I don't think about you. I remember how you wanted to adopt, so I've been donating to some orphanages as I am able. People just didn't understand you, not like I did. I wish I could change the past, but I can't. I bought that fox that we always wanted, named her Moxie. I know that you also had wanted a cat, and I'll see about that too. Love you, I hope that you somehow know what I'm writing.

Love, Merek.

Written By Preston

Feb. 6, 2017, 2:52 a.m.(11/11/1005 AR)

Everyone knows that I am close with Brother Fawkuhl.

Of all the Templar in the order, who chose me to stand guard of the trial against my mentor?

I can not speak of the specifics, but I was there, and...

Is cruelty a virtue?

Was this a test? Did I need to prove myself loyal to my oaths first and my mentor second? Are you satisfied?

There is nothing-- nothing-- more important to me then my oaths.

I will keep them even if I am not trusted to.

Written By Merek

Feb. 6, 2017, 2:48 a.m.(11/11/1005 AR)

Relationship Note on Reese

Reese has fast become a dear friend to me, about as much that a Princess can. As a fellow Guard, I feel it is my duty to protect her when I am able.

Written By Preston

Feb. 6, 2017, 2:42 a.m.(11/11/1005 AR)

Relationship Note on Aldwin

He is now the Dominus of the Faith, the Most Holy, the Voice of the Pantheon, the Closest of the Gods.

May the gods lead him to see beyond books to see people.

Written By Preston

Feb. 6, 2017, 2:31 a.m.(11/11/1005 AR)

Relationship Note on Fawkuhl

They call you many things. Some may be true. All may be true. Some may be false. All may be false. I am not the Sentinel. I know only what I have seen, and I am only a man.

I know you as the man, then Legate, who saw an orphan child left to the church and in that child saw something of value.

I know you as the man who when I questioned, when I wondered, when I worried, I could always go to and ask for advice, and when I took that advice into the world it made me a better man.

I know you as the man who at every turn encouraged me. When I doubted you showed listened to me and heard me and gave me the time I needed to understand.

I know you as the man who told me that in this world where the future seemed written in the hands of the great, an orphan bound to no family or land could be more then the lowest of the low, that if I had faith I could matter.

I know you as a man who smiled with warmth and laughed.

I know you as a man.




And may the gods have mercy on us all.

Written By Aureth

Feb. 6, 2017, 12:54 a.m.(11/11/1005 AR)

Thoughts on life, on change, on choices, and on where choices take us:

A year ago, my life was, oh, about the same as it was five years before. I lived at the Murder because my clientele was largely in the Lower Boroughs and because the rent was cheap and because, I think, it annoyed Mother -- I never understood why, although now I do, but my fortunes have changed enough that it's far too late to move to the house in the Uppers. I told fortunes and read the cards and read the bowl, and did occasional errands for Michal, or Moira, and why not? I foresaw no change for me. I foresaw none of this. I had no particular responsibilities. I had no particular duties. I had no particular ambitions, or goals, or nightmares.


I run a business now, and people's livelihoods depend on choices I make. People who don't necessarily have anywhere else to go. Murder ain't a charity, but ... times are tough all over. My mother, who I thought would live forever like the dragon her temper made her resemble, is dead. My daughter is one of the foremost weaponsmiths of the whole city. I love her as I have never loved anything in my life and I worry for her every day. I pay a giant hulk of a man to follow her around and keep her safe even though I have no idea what from. I care about everything I never cared about before. I have people ... family ... under my protection and I feel -- things -- about that.

And I pray more. On purpose.

And call down the nightmares. Hah.

Funny old thing, life.

Written By Halsim

Feb. 6, 2017, 12:17 a.m.(11/11/1005 AR)

Relationship Note on Max

Solid Count of Darkwater Watch. We don't always agree, but he has my trust.

Written By Eirlys

Feb. 6, 2017, 12:09 a.m.(11/11/1005 AR)

Relationship Note on Valencia

I have met Princes Valencia before but I got a chance to really spend time with her recently and she is a wonderfully delightful person to be around. She likes my Uncle Ryn, that and she drinks like a Greenmarcher. She was genuinely kind and a pleasure to talk to as well as share a drink with!

Written By Leta

Feb. 6, 2017, 12:04 a.m.(11/11/1005 AR)

I write this because it's a right pain, and if I don't write it I'll yell it, and that'll be worse.

I know some folk don't like titles and nobles and such, and that's fine by me. That's not my way of thinking, and I've my thoughts on how I'd rather not be high-born, but that's all I have to say.

But I'd rather folk would just make up their mind, as it leaves a woman not knowing what to call folk, when one fellow will frown for calling him Prince in the baths, and another will want you flogged for not calling them by their proper title on the street, and it gets so I feel like I ought to be taking notes so I remember who to call this and who to call that, and where and when, and whether that's my Lord or your Highness, or just hey there you bastard, if you pardon.

I'm sure noble sorts get this with their mother's milk, or nursemaid more like it, or they just don't proper care, but they ought to spare a thought for us common folk who haven't had the same learning.

Written By Muiryn

Feb. 6, 2017, 12:03 a.m.(11/11/1005 AR)

Relationship Note on Morrighan

Sweet kid, and reminds me a lot of my Neve-- wild and kind, and no doubt she's equal parts trouble. Keep getting told I need to leave the Lodge more often, good thing the Bear Threads isn't too far from the Ward of Valardin.

Written By Morrighan

Feb. 5, 2017, 11:58 p.m.(11/11/1005 AR)

Relationship Note on Freja

Like many of the nobles in the House, Freja is one I admire. Though I've mentioned it before, I appreciate her brevity. When there is something that needs to be said, she gets straight to the point. There's no sugared words, no lessening a blow, she gives her words to you bluntly, in the way you need to hear it, rather than how you'd like to hear it. Some might perceive her as cold, but she is a woman of great strength, and I think the sort that doesn't let emotions cloud anything. I will say this: She can blush. I didn't think it possible, but I'll be damned, she can. She also has a really cute little baby vulture that apparently when full grown will swoop down on you. Enemies beware. Swooping is bad.

Written By Muiryn

Feb. 5, 2017, 11:58 p.m.(11/11/1005 AR)

The Greenwoods, the March...

Time moves a little slower there. The trees shiver when they freeze 'cause the winters there are so severe. Seemed like we were nowhere near anywhere known, just us and the woods.

The locals there had a sense of pride, more than most, showing up to the March just to show off. Not that it's a small group or nothing, just always seemed like it for the faces you knew, and characters that made it what it was. The four old men that sit about taking a load off, just to watch the sun pass over head; philosophizing between friends like they're born shamans by the bench of the old well. That's where they'd sit pulling out prophecies like they knew something.

Be the same thing every other day: they tell me they got advice; sure thing boys. And they tell me how the harvests will yield profit 'cause a swallow went and sat itself precariously on the right plant; conspiracies of the east and south, something wild about the north and how the spirits whisper it true. I always think to tell them the spirits would have them turned up off that seat for the shit they'd go on about. I'd never say what I'd be thinking though, 'cause I'm a gentleman, but then again most of us are.

Sometimes feels like there's no point saying where I'm from, only where I'm close to. I could bring out a map and show anyone where the March is but I'd still get looked sideways and treated like I'm backwards. And that's just fine, I'd be happy enough to go get back to where the time moves a little slower. Where a day can feel like a week, and a week like it spans a whole damn year.

Here I am, living in the days when it sounds like everyone's saying "What a time to be alive" and I still feel out of place like I'm from another realm; just seems I'm stuck in another time.

It's like we ride through life, right in the shadow of the old world. And it's never quiet at night here, not like the untamed world I left behind.

Not matter where I go, it will always be home.

Written By Fortunato

Feb. 5, 2017, 11:57 p.m.(11/11/1005 AR)

Sketches. Plumes of smoke, all pale. Faces, indistinct, all indistinct, as if their heads were themselves made of smoke, as if they had no eyes save those the viewer might imagine for them. Angles of light piercing through plume and face alike, light drawn long and blade-like. In each of the corners, a small animal. Rat in the northwest, an orange bird in the northeast. A threadling white snake, southeast, a skinny-armed squid, southwest.

Written By Serafine

Feb. 5, 2017, 11:56 p.m.(11/11/1005 AR)

In some ways, I feel guilty for feeling happy when so many others are not. Aye, I ride out, scout, fight, kill, come home bloody and broken-boned and smelling of gods-know-what.

But there's often a bath waiting for me, and bright blue eyes not far away, the smile she saves just for me. She tsks over my wounds and fixes me up, kisses me until I forget about the things I've seen, wraps me up in those powerful arms of hers and puts me to bed in every way she possibly can.

I see her eyes get worried too, when I jump head first into things she doesn't understand. I try to explain to her that it's all tangled, that I don't make sense of it either and I just leave it be, keep turning the wheels to see what the other side brings.

I can't fathom the will of the gods, especially now. But I won't give back what They've given me. Not ever. I will simply say 'thank you' and roll over into her arms and hold tight, and count myself one of the lucky ones.

Written By Brianna

Feb. 5, 2017, 11:53 p.m.(11/11/1005 AR)

Relationship Note on Calathane

Don't let your spirit wander too far, my friend. You might not be able to find it again one day.

Written By Brianna

Feb. 5, 2017, 11:51 p.m.(11/11/1005 AR)

Every day I feel myself slipping, some way or the other. I could burn it all down and dance in the ashes, I could cut down those in my way and enjoy the heat of their blood. Or I could enjoy a strong drink and wait until tomorrow.

Written By Fortunato

Feb. 5, 2017, 11:49 p.m.(11/11/1005 AR)

Relationship Note on Esera

A sketch. She is seated in the high seats of the Blackrose Theater, her eyes fixed on the stage well below, depicted smaller and more remote than perspective would demand, the distance drawn deep. Her hair streams dark against the darkness of her dress, there is hardly a separation between them, her hands are clasped over the fold of her knees. Her expression is almost that of a smile, her expression is balanced precariously on the edge of wonder.

Written By Ferrando

Feb. 5, 2017, 11:48 p.m.(11/11/1005 AR)

I hadn't realized asking "What about the King?" at the Commoners' Court would lead me on the path I'm currently starting down. It seemed a simple enough question, but as with many things I suppose a simple question does not necessarily lead to a simple answer. But thankfully I have friends who have been very helpful in helping me begin to find the answers to questions I hadn't even considered before.

Written By Sylvie

Feb. 5, 2017, 11:36 p.m.(11/11/1005 AR)

[Entered into the Archives of Gemecitta, rather than Arx.]

I cannot state how much better I feel, every day that I breath in Gemecitta air. Every day I wake in my bed on Crowned Hill. Every step I take through the city streets, walking along the crumbled wall. I must return once my task here is done, but sometimes--. I think about staying. Keeping up my evening conversations with my father, debating faith and politics. Breaking bread in the kitchens with my mother in the mornings.

I love you all, my people.

Written By Leta

Feb. 5, 2017, 11:35 p.m.(11/11/1005 AR)

I'm writing again. Don't properly know why, but I was told anything I write will please Vellichor, and I ought to please as many gods as possible. Think I've got some of them covered, others not so much.

War fills my purse, and I don't apologize for it. I don't apologize for the earning or for the spending. I bought myself red steel to fight those things coming our way, and I bought myself an earring with a pearl the size of a walnut, because it's pretty and pricey and because I can.

This time it's not blood money, not the usual kind, but the blood of unnatural things. And this makes a woman wonder whether I'd rather be fighting a proper war against common folk. I'd rather die by steel than by sorcery. But I think I'd rather kill these Bringers than people that bleed like me, not that blood on my silver ever turned my wine bitter.

I keep thinking about such things. Even caught myself wondering if I've a right to be happy when things are the way they are and folk are grieving, and even more folk are bound to be grieving soon. But it could bloody well be me next week, or the other, and in my line of work more than others, and I'd be a right fool if I kept myself from cheer because someone else is in mourning. We live while we live, not a day longer.

So that's all I was thinking of. I think I feel better after writing it. So next time I get asked if I'm happy, I believe I'll just say yes.

Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.

Leave blank if this journal is not a relationship

Mark if this is a private, black journal entry