Written By Damiana
Dec. 22, 2020, 4:14 p.m.(8/12/1014 AR)
I’m thankful for the failures and weaknesses in myself and others, no matter how frustrating it might be to witness. I can only imagine what a terrible thing I’d become were I perfect, turning inwards to my own glory instead of seeking others out. I’m a beautiful creation of the gods, and in their wisdom they made me just so.
Written By Valencia
Dec. 22, 2020, 3:32 p.m.(8/12/1014 AR)
I dreamed of rain last night. So much that the sound thundered in my ears like the angry ocean or avalanche. So loud that I could not hear my thoughts.
It fell relentlessly in sheets that filled and rushed down the streets like savage rivers. Above the sickly hue of the angry skies roared and rumbled with devastating force. Mercilessly, the wind wailed as if in agony and sorrow causing my dripping hair to whip sharply against my face with razorlike licks that bit like ice. It was as if the gods themselves were lost in such a torment that the world had been torn open with the force of their lamenting.
I tried to find shelter for fear I might find my end in the center of this tempest, but it was not to be found. And, though every step became harder and harder, I could not stand down, and so I wandered drenched and lost as the storm railed on.
The harder I tried to keep on, the harder it seemed to fall, and as I looked out the world about me began to dissolve.
I watched in horror as all that was familiar, all that I loved, all that I knew, started to be washed and blown away by rain, wind, sleet and snow.
I reached out to try to fight it, to offer something, anything, to turn the course of what had started, though in my heart I knew I could not stop it. And, as I wet my lips and tried to call out, I suddenly noticed the strange taste of salt.
Then I woke.
My breath fast. My heart aching. The faintest taste of salt still upon my lips.
~~~~~~<~<@
It fell relentlessly in sheets that filled and rushed down the streets like savage rivers. Above the sickly hue of the angry skies roared and rumbled with devastating force. Mercilessly, the wind wailed as if in agony and sorrow causing my dripping hair to whip sharply against my face with razorlike licks that bit like ice. It was as if the gods themselves were lost in such a torment that the world had been torn open with the force of their lamenting.
I tried to find shelter for fear I might find my end in the center of this tempest, but it was not to be found. And, though every step became harder and harder, I could not stand down, and so I wandered drenched and lost as the storm railed on.
The harder I tried to keep on, the harder it seemed to fall, and as I looked out the world about me began to dissolve.
I watched in horror as all that was familiar, all that I loved, all that I knew, started to be washed and blown away by rain, wind, sleet and snow.
I reached out to try to fight it, to offer something, anything, to turn the course of what had started, though in my heart I knew I could not stop it. And, as I wet my lips and tried to call out, I suddenly noticed the strange taste of salt.
Then I woke.
My breath fast. My heart aching. The faintest taste of salt still upon my lips.
~~~~~~<~<@
Written By Allegra
Dec. 22, 2020, 2:16 p.m.(8/12/1014 AR)
For years I have kept them hidden from the public eye; much like I was. Yet now, I feel I have reached the point where I want no part of myself imprisoned any longer. Let them stand as a mark of strength in the face of adversity. I should seek a few backless dresses as I have none.; the weather only grows hotter.
Written By Jyri
Dec. 22, 2020, 12:30 p.m.(8/12/1014 AR)
They told me there is one path, and four paths. That I am charged, that I must act, and that I must walk my path.
But I have sometimes wondered if I was on the right path, even if I never let it bring me to inaction.
Learning that I will know the path when I see it, is comforting. It means I am on the right track right now.
What will be at the end of the path? Whatever it is, I will walk towards it with confidence and hope.
But I have sometimes wondered if I was on the right path, even if I never let it bring me to inaction.
Learning that I will know the path when I see it, is comforting. It means I am on the right track right now.
What will be at the end of the path? Whatever it is, I will walk towards it with confidence and hope.
Written By Duarte
Dec. 22, 2020, 2:34 a.m.(8/11/1014 AR)
Journal
When I awoke this morning I set out to have an uninspired day. But as I received and dealt with my correspondences I could not help but notice the date of each. Come to find it has been nearly eight years since Duchess Belladonna elevated me from my station as a minister for House Pravus to Count of Bravura.
Here as I peruse my entries over the years I see I have been dreadfully derelict in fulfilling what I considered a theological imperative. Call it laziness or, worse perhaps, timidity.
Though I could cast the story of my life to the blacks, I might well be remiss in doing so. I'm sure the details of my ascension are of some interest. If not now, perhaps in the future. Hundreds of years from now, even, when scholars look for what scraps and bits remain to learn what of the culture that was once the Lyceum. Perhaps some of these pages will help progeny see just how fine and honorable were its people. The freedoms they enjoyed. The merits they celebrated.
Here is the first of many installments as I have the chance to write them.
---
It starts as a youth. I never knew my mother but I hear she was homely. There used to be a sketch of her that my father drew and hung above his work bench. Every day he would look at it (he had to, you see?) and he'd say, "I'll make sure the kids eat today." And then he would.
That picture might as well have been the woman. My brothers and I were not allowed to curse in its presence. We could not fight in any space the picture overlooked. Silly, now, looking back upon it, but recent reconciliations have led me to realize I am in many ways as sentimental as he - just perhaps not so mawkish.
He was a cobbler. Primarily he mended shoes and was not much of a crafter, but he did make some on occasion as well. He also made other leather goods like simple satchels and purses. When I was six he made me a coin purse that I would hang off my belt. The merchants could hear me coming to pick up a morning tea or nails for my father because I would run and the coins would clatter in that purse.
I loved my father. I miss him dearly even now. The only person who has spoken to me about my father in ten years is Legate Bianca, and that was five years ago.
But he was a cobbler. I honor him today in the sigil I fashioned for my house. They are cobblers tools but, in many ways, are also emblematic of the creativity and industry of Bravura itself.
When I awoke this morning I set out to have an uninspired day. But as I received and dealt with my correspondences I could not help but notice the date of each. Come to find it has been nearly eight years since Duchess Belladonna elevated me from my station as a minister for House Pravus to Count of Bravura.
Here as I peruse my entries over the years I see I have been dreadfully derelict in fulfilling what I considered a theological imperative. Call it laziness or, worse perhaps, timidity.
Though I could cast the story of my life to the blacks, I might well be remiss in doing so. I'm sure the details of my ascension are of some interest. If not now, perhaps in the future. Hundreds of years from now, even, when scholars look for what scraps and bits remain to learn what of the culture that was once the Lyceum. Perhaps some of these pages will help progeny see just how fine and honorable were its people. The freedoms they enjoyed. The merits they celebrated.
Here is the first of many installments as I have the chance to write them.
---
It starts as a youth. I never knew my mother but I hear she was homely. There used to be a sketch of her that my father drew and hung above his work bench. Every day he would look at it (he had to, you see?) and he'd say, "I'll make sure the kids eat today." And then he would.
That picture might as well have been the woman. My brothers and I were not allowed to curse in its presence. We could not fight in any space the picture overlooked. Silly, now, looking back upon it, but recent reconciliations have led me to realize I am in many ways as sentimental as he - just perhaps not so mawkish.
He was a cobbler. Primarily he mended shoes and was not much of a crafter, but he did make some on occasion as well. He also made other leather goods like simple satchels and purses. When I was six he made me a coin purse that I would hang off my belt. The merchants could hear me coming to pick up a morning tea or nails for my father because I would run and the coins would clatter in that purse.
I loved my father. I miss him dearly even now. The only person who has spoken to me about my father in ten years is Legate Bianca, and that was five years ago.
But he was a cobbler. I honor him today in the sigil I fashioned for my house. They are cobblers tools but, in many ways, are also emblematic of the creativity and industry of Bravura itself.
Written By Mabelle
Dec. 21, 2020, 11:47 p.m.(8/11/1014 AR)
Inventory list of my pantry:
Maple
Toffee
Truffle
Cookie
Taffy
Fudge
Soon to be had: Honeycomb.
Wait that's not the pantry's inventory. It is the census of the kennels.
Maple
Toffee
Truffle
Cookie
Taffy
Fudge
Soon to be had: Honeycomb.
Wait that's not the pantry's inventory. It is the census of the kennels.
Written By Lexir
Dec. 21, 2020, 10:53 p.m.(8/11/1014 AR)
We're going to need a lot more burn salve.
Written By Raven
Dec. 21, 2020, 10:34 p.m.(8/11/1014 AR)
It seems like I've always understood the value of fear. As a girl some would ask why I'd use a knife's edge instead of my pretty face to get what I wanted, and it is because even then I understood the value of fear. There's little time to do complex weighing of risk and benefit for compliance. Whatever else a person may frett or fear was unlikely to be more pressing to them in that moment than the bite of a blade's edge against their skin.
So I know the false choice, the illusion of despair our enemies would contstruct. Along with tales Of figures of legend, of stories in the religious texts, others told to us as children, even these I do not know but who now menace Arvum that apparently command such wicked things and some say the elements themselves. I see the point they would press against our throat, trusting in the face of the unfamiliar or demonstrations of power that sense will leave us and we will comply.
I will not yield. I imagine I cannot win but I refuse to give these blighted beings boasting power my fear. I see you creatures-I know the toll of power is terrible-and I will see to it these wicked ambitions cost them more than they ever imagined.
I'm surely destined for a messy unpleasant death but that is more acceptable than giving these arrogant creatures the fear and awe they so crave. I SEE YOU, creatures-and someday you will come to regret that.
So I know the false choice, the illusion of despair our enemies would contstruct. Along with tales Of figures of legend, of stories in the religious texts, others told to us as children, even these I do not know but who now menace Arvum that apparently command such wicked things and some say the elements themselves. I see the point they would press against our throat, trusting in the face of the unfamiliar or demonstrations of power that sense will leave us and we will comply.
I will not yield. I imagine I cannot win but I refuse to give these blighted beings boasting power my fear. I see you creatures-I know the toll of power is terrible-and I will see to it these wicked ambitions cost them more than they ever imagined.
I'm surely destined for a messy unpleasant death but that is more acceptable than giving these arrogant creatures the fear and awe they so crave. I SEE YOU, creatures-and someday you will come to regret that.
Written By Sorrel
Dec. 21, 2020, 10:23 p.m.(8/11/1014 AR)
Relationship Note on Dio
Marquis:
Having spent several days in reflection regarding how best I might apologize to you regarding my abysmal behavior at your meeting, I have finally decided upon these words. I hope that they are sufficient and that you may see it within yourself to forgive.
I have been short-sighted. I have been disruptive. I have been judgmental. You deserve none of this for trying to run a meeting at which to plan things. I attended the meeting with the hopes of getting a better picture of how you and your fealty would be approaching a threat to the Compact so that I could help coordinate with my own fealty and with my own knights how we might aid you, and I did a particularly poor job of this.
I am sorry for being rude to you. I am particularly sorry for being rude to you in your own home. Your home should be a place where guests appreciate your hospitality, not snark at you or snipe at you with sass.
I am sorry for being disruptive. I should have been more respectful of your time and your energy. I also should have appreciated your willingness to open your meeting to others.
I am sorry for being judgmental. I need to remember my manners and respect decorum and show empathy towards others. I do not know you and judging you on hearsay is foolish.
I am sincere in this apology and I hope that we may make a new beginning with it.
Having spent several days in reflection regarding how best I might apologize to you regarding my abysmal behavior at your meeting, I have finally decided upon these words. I hope that they are sufficient and that you may see it within yourself to forgive.
I have been short-sighted. I have been disruptive. I have been judgmental. You deserve none of this for trying to run a meeting at which to plan things. I attended the meeting with the hopes of getting a better picture of how you and your fealty would be approaching a threat to the Compact so that I could help coordinate with my own fealty and with my own knights how we might aid you, and I did a particularly poor job of this.
I am sorry for being rude to you. I am particularly sorry for being rude to you in your own home. Your home should be a place where guests appreciate your hospitality, not snark at you or snipe at you with sass.
I am sorry for being disruptive. I should have been more respectful of your time and your energy. I also should have appreciated your willingness to open your meeting to others.
I am sorry for being judgmental. I need to remember my manners and respect decorum and show empathy towards others. I do not know you and judging you on hearsay is foolish.
I am sincere in this apology and I hope that we may make a new beginning with it.
Written By Teague
Dec. 21, 2020, 10:08 p.m.(8/11/1014 AR)
Tonight we dinned as a family, my brother, my sister, my betrothed. We toasted to strong unions, love in the past. Shared in stories of the past, it was good. It was good to have the family together. It reminds me why I fight, why I kill, why I war. The reasoning is in front of me again, making me wish to be stronger, to protect but alas to make sure I return to them. I will not fail you, my family.
Written By Teague
Dec. 21, 2020, 10:04 p.m.(8/11/1014 AR)
Relationship Note on Tigarus
My hall was blessed tonight with the return of my brother. Dearest brother, I have missed you. It has been too long. It has been too many moons passed. Too many miles, traveling not on the same path. Now we are one again. Our power will protect our house. Your wisdom and my arm, together nothing will stop us.
Written By Monique
Dec. 21, 2020, 5:39 p.m.(8/11/1014 AR)
Relationship Note on Damik
I sometimes write letters addressed to the fire. Letters never meant to be read by anyone but the lick of flame. Something stayed my hand, and I kept this one.
'Damik,
When I boarded your boat, you claimed I stole your heart. But when you fought at our side, you claimed something even greater than my heart in return. My answer is yes, and I look forward to a life of breaking chains at your side.
Monique'
In the end, I settled for simply ‘Yes’, to avoid an abundance of soft sentiment. But now I wish I had sent my original reply, so he would know I thought the world of him in truth. It is not easy to turn your back on everything you have ever known and fight for a cause greater. I know I won’t see him again in this life, but the ripples of his presence will be with me for the rest of mine.
There will be no mercy for the merciless.
'Damik,
When I boarded your boat, you claimed I stole your heart. But when you fought at our side, you claimed something even greater than my heart in return. My answer is yes, and I look forward to a life of breaking chains at your side.
Monique'
In the end, I settled for simply ‘Yes’, to avoid an abundance of soft sentiment. But now I wish I had sent my original reply, so he would know I thought the world of him in truth. It is not easy to turn your back on everything you have ever known and fight for a cause greater. I know I won’t see him again in this life, but the ripples of his presence will be with me for the rest of mine.
There will be no mercy for the merciless.
Written By Brianna
Dec. 21, 2020, 5:31 p.m.(8/10/1014 AR)
Relationship Note on Ian
Today, while we were sparring, Ian asked me what it means to be a warrior.
I said that it means I use my body to protect those who can't protect themselves. My family. Those kids down at the Tragedy. If I can put my body between them and those who wish to harm them, I'm fulfilling my purpose.
I said that it means I use my body to protect those who can't protect themselves. My family. Those kids down at the Tragedy. If I can put my body between them and those who wish to harm them, I'm fulfilling my purpose.
Written By Damiana
Dec. 21, 2020, 5:24 p.m.(8/10/1014 AR)
The journal entry is a modern watercolor illustration of an older story about Sir Erec meeting the Knight of the Lion on the battlefield. Two knights charging each other on their mounts, lances drawn with their pennants flying behind. You could see one has a white dragon on a blue field while the other has a golden lion on a red field. In the background, there’s a dazzling white tower with a stylized sun and moon each with a face looking down and stars in particular constellations.
The Oathlandic chivalric romantic sonnet below the illustration talks about the chaste and pure Sir Erec, in which his love drove him to great lengths to prove his worth to his beloved. One of many challenges that the knight met without complaint, and his righteous fury let loose upon those named as wicked. But the story of Sir Erec is one of sadness for those who know the whole tale, even if this particular illustration is one that's a resounding victory after a near loss.
Just on the side of the poem is written vertically a small note, the Queen of the Heavens.
The Oathlandic chivalric romantic sonnet below the illustration talks about the chaste and pure Sir Erec, in which his love drove him to great lengths to prove his worth to his beloved. One of many challenges that the knight met without complaint, and his righteous fury let loose upon those named as wicked. But the story of Sir Erec is one of sadness for those who know the whole tale, even if this particular illustration is one that's a resounding victory after a near loss.
Just on the side of the poem is written vertically a small note, the Queen of the Heavens.
Written By Victus
Dec. 21, 2020, 1:51 a.m.(8/9/1014 AR)
The young Prince’s death is unfortunate. We, the Arvani, were fortunate to have a mind well suited to our enemy’s political designs. The tragedy strikes a blow to the war effort. One that we shall recover from.
Condolences to Lady Monique Greenmarch. May the trust placed in Miss Bahiya and Princess Katarina ensure quick healing from our loss.
Condolences to Lady Monique Greenmarch. May the trust placed in Miss Bahiya and Princess Katarina ensure quick healing from our loss.
Written By Ciro
Dec. 21, 2020, 12:59 a.m.(8/9/1014 AR)
Relationship Note on Calla
What kindred spirits we are, Save for the indulgence of wine.
The Saffron Siren always full of surprises, Always ready
with a smile that could melt the most frigid heart.
While some might not see her or hear her I do.
Her thoughts and company always welcome.
The Saffron Siren: White rum infused with Pineapple and ginger.
The Saffron Siren always full of surprises, Always ready
with a smile that could melt the most frigid heart.
While some might not see her or hear her I do.
Her thoughts and company always welcome.
The Saffron Siren: White rum infused with Pineapple and ginger.
Written By Porter
Dec. 20, 2020, 10:50 p.m.(8/9/1014 AR)
Somber news tonight and on a day that seemed to otherwise be pleasant. I guess days don't come with warning labels.
Written By Kedehern
Dec. 20, 2020, 10:22 p.m.(8/9/1014 AR)
It's good to be returned from Brightshore. I've missed little Keirlys and Kristoph especially, and it's a joy to see their smiling faces again.
Written By Lucita
Dec. 20, 2020, 9:57 p.m.(8/9/1014 AR)
Projects and more projects. So much planning to be done!
Written By Shae
Dec. 20, 2020, 9:49 p.m.(8/9/1014 AR)
Cini really loves it when people sing. I think I've come to realize that it is not about how good one can sing. But about how they feel the song that they sing. One can be terrible at singing, but feel what it is they are singing about in their heart. And that is what I think she loves. At least that is what I like to believe that she loves about it. That the song is felt, and expressed. No matter how perfectly, or wonderfully it is sung.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.