Written By Fatima
Jan. 18, 2024, 9:51 a.m.(7/28/1021 AR)
Day 10:
Skal'daja was the City of Chains. The home of a hundred thousand slaves. I wonder what it is like there now that all chains have been broken? Will they give it a new name? Did they tear down the Palace of Toil? Are they waiting for someone to come and lead them against the Dune Emperor? Have they already found a leader amongst themselves? A hundred thousand free men and women, and likely very angry.
Ahj'on is also known as the High Court, the City of Mirrors. It is believed to be the home of the Magisters of the Mirror, who are the cult of the Sleeper. This is where the Prophet of the Sands can most often be found, I understand, when he is not in Pyre.
Truths are easier to write than lies.
Skal'daja was the City of Chains. The home of a hundred thousand slaves. I wonder what it is like there now that all chains have been broken? Will they give it a new name? Did they tear down the Palace of Toil? Are they waiting for someone to come and lead them against the Dune Emperor? Have they already found a leader amongst themselves? A hundred thousand free men and women, and likely very angry.
Ahj'on is also known as the High Court, the City of Mirrors. It is believed to be the home of the Magisters of the Mirror, who are the cult of the Sleeper. This is where the Prophet of the Sands can most often be found, I understand, when he is not in Pyre.
Truths are easier to write than lies.
Written By Jaenelle
Jan. 18, 2024, 9:26 a.m.(7/28/1021 AR)
It is no secret that I was not born in the Lyceum, and despite this the Lyceum is where I found my identity, my voice, and my place. It is hard to remember a time in the Mourning Isles where women were given the choice to be more than seen and not heard but I remember when we were not allowed on ships because of tradition. Where weapons were not allowed to sit in our hands because something would be tainted. Where women were meant to smile, to take care of the hearth, and do so quietly and happily. I suffocated beneath my Grandfather's "traditions", beneath his laws and demands.
It took some time, working within the shadows as is necessary, to fit all the places in a row. To convince my grandfather to do anything was a feat but I learned very early in life that when you wanted Donrai Thrax to do anything, you made him think it was his idea, and so I did. "An alliance with House Velenosa, grandfather. They would do well to be connected to the might of House Thrax. Would Archduchess Carlotta do well to hear your wisdom, grandfather? A marriage would certainly solidify such a friendship." I was only a woman, a pawn to be used in Donrai Thrax's game to expand his reach, and I took advantage of this and played as the pawn /so well/. I lost myself in the Mourning Isle, or perhaps I never truly found who I was because I played what was needed when it was needed, and my never ending supply of masks to hide behind were all I had.
I was married to Duchess Carlotta's son, a man who had his own issues and lost his battle with those not long after we were wed. I never knew my husband well, and perhaps I was never meant to and he was simply placed in my life for one purpose and that was my freedom. I know it is a concept that others might look at me with skepticism, what would a Princess of a wealthy House know about a lack of freedom? It is a valid thought, especially in a world of thralls, but it was my own shackle and one I desperately wanted to be free from. Upon Gersard's death Archduchess Carlotta could have sent me back. Upon her death, Archduchess Esera could have decided there was no longer need for her brother's widow and sent me back to my grandfather, but neither did and for that small piece of mercy I owe my existence.
I was a young woman then, who's entire life till that point was lived within shadows and carefully arranged moments, and suddenly I was asked my opinion of matters. Mine. I no longer had to pretend they were those of another in hopes they would be taken seriously. Recognition for my ideas was something that I had never experienced before, and now I was able to write my own name on missives and plans, and I cried over such a small thing I never knew how badly I needed before that. If anyone tells you that a name is but a name, they are lying because a name is everything. As time went on each mask that I clung to for survival was allowed to slip and shatter, and slowly I picked up those pieces and found my own reflection in the mirror. It was a terrifying thing, to have hidden yourself so completely that you must learn who you even are just as you are attempting to navigate an entirely new world. It took time but I learned who I was, I learned the sound of my own voice and the power within it, and vowed then that I would die before I ever allowed anyone to force me to hide again and I would take everyone with me in the process.
So you see, when people say I was not born Lycene that is not right. My mother was of House Thrax and my father was of House Redrain, but Jaenelle Velenosa nee Thrax was most definitely born in the Lyceum and no one will ever convince me otherwise. This is my home, this is my family and those are my people and I will die before I allow any harm to come to them.
It took some time, working within the shadows as is necessary, to fit all the places in a row. To convince my grandfather to do anything was a feat but I learned very early in life that when you wanted Donrai Thrax to do anything, you made him think it was his idea, and so I did. "An alliance with House Velenosa, grandfather. They would do well to be connected to the might of House Thrax. Would Archduchess Carlotta do well to hear your wisdom, grandfather? A marriage would certainly solidify such a friendship." I was only a woman, a pawn to be used in Donrai Thrax's game to expand his reach, and I took advantage of this and played as the pawn /so well/. I lost myself in the Mourning Isle, or perhaps I never truly found who I was because I played what was needed when it was needed, and my never ending supply of masks to hide behind were all I had.
I was married to Duchess Carlotta's son, a man who had his own issues and lost his battle with those not long after we were wed. I never knew my husband well, and perhaps I was never meant to and he was simply placed in my life for one purpose and that was my freedom. I know it is a concept that others might look at me with skepticism, what would a Princess of a wealthy House know about a lack of freedom? It is a valid thought, especially in a world of thralls, but it was my own shackle and one I desperately wanted to be free from. Upon Gersard's death Archduchess Carlotta could have sent me back. Upon her death, Archduchess Esera could have decided there was no longer need for her brother's widow and sent me back to my grandfather, but neither did and for that small piece of mercy I owe my existence.
I was a young woman then, who's entire life till that point was lived within shadows and carefully arranged moments, and suddenly I was asked my opinion of matters. Mine. I no longer had to pretend they were those of another in hopes they would be taken seriously. Recognition for my ideas was something that I had never experienced before, and now I was able to write my own name on missives and plans, and I cried over such a small thing I never knew how badly I needed before that. If anyone tells you that a name is but a name, they are lying because a name is everything. As time went on each mask that I clung to for survival was allowed to slip and shatter, and slowly I picked up those pieces and found my own reflection in the mirror. It was a terrifying thing, to have hidden yourself so completely that you must learn who you even are just as you are attempting to navigate an entirely new world. It took time but I learned who I was, I learned the sound of my own voice and the power within it, and vowed then that I would die before I ever allowed anyone to force me to hide again and I would take everyone with me in the process.
So you see, when people say I was not born Lycene that is not right. My mother was of House Thrax and my father was of House Redrain, but Jaenelle Velenosa nee Thrax was most definitely born in the Lyceum and no one will ever convince me otherwise. This is my home, this is my family and those are my people and I will die before I allow any harm to come to them.
Written By Ann
Jan. 18, 2024, 3:06 a.m.(7/27/1021 AR)
28 minutes.
Tick
Tock
28 minutes.
Not like there isn't anything else to worry about as of late.
Tick
Tock
28 minutes.
Not like there isn't anything else to worry about as of late.
Written By Cambria
Jan. 18, 2024, 1:46 a.m.(7/27/1021 AR)
In every generation there are those who can lead men to hell. There are never many, for the secrets of that kind of leadership have not been written in books. No one quite knows where the great captains come from. They appear when needed - or they do not, and homelands die
Written By Amari
Jan. 18, 2024, 1:25 a.m.(7/27/1021 AR)
I may have overexerted myself. When I woke this morning, my bed was no bed at all, and it was half submerged in the lake and snacking on a tree as if it were a stick of celery. It took me longer than I care to admit to remember what had happened. When I did recall, I couldn't do anything but laugh.
Reveillon looked so beautiful standing there in the dawn. Like a dream. It's a shame to leave her, and honor a promise few remember and no one asked we keep. How tempting it felt in that moment to simply stay forgotten in the heart of the Shadowood. How comfortable it would have been to have drawn that thick verdant cloak tighter around us so we might disappear and sleep again.
What sort of friends would that make us if we had? Not true friends. Duke Ahmad gave our House its words as the War of Stolen Names waged yet unseen. Issued an ultimatum by the elves of Legion to surrender his human vassals to them, he refused with those same three words and died for them:
"No Truer Friend."
We haven't forgotten.
Reveillon looked so beautiful standing there in the dawn. Like a dream. It's a shame to leave her, and honor a promise few remember and no one asked we keep. How tempting it felt in that moment to simply stay forgotten in the heart of the Shadowood. How comfortable it would have been to have drawn that thick verdant cloak tighter around us so we might disappear and sleep again.
What sort of friends would that make us if we had? Not true friends. Duke Ahmad gave our House its words as the War of Stolen Names waged yet unseen. Issued an ultimatum by the elves of Legion to surrender his human vassals to them, he refused with those same three words and died for them:
"No Truer Friend."
We haven't forgotten.
Written By Fortunato
Jan. 17, 2024, 10:55 p.m.(7/27/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Aureth
I love you, brother. I want to say you became real, but you were always real. If you'd stayed reading cards for nobles, you would have still been real, gods, I miss those days, is it so strange? But look how you've flown. Remember all you've seen. What wonders we've experienced together. Stay alive, if you can. Help ensure Arx rebuilds, Arvum rebuilds, and that there's a place for rapscallions to read cards. That there's a place for rapscallions to grow into their wild dreams and past them. And if I make it back, if we both make it, let's just -- look into still pools of water in bowls again. For the old times.
Written By Ainsley
Jan. 17, 2024, 8:48 p.m.(7/27/1021 AR)
I have been told my entire life by a Goddess, directly, that when her dark reflection comes back into the world I need to stop him. I will not let anyone get between me and my Goddess-Given Duty. Azazel wants to devour the world? I can't stop Tyranny if he does.
So Azazel can fuck right off.
I'll be waiting.
Sword in Hand.
I've died for Gloria before.
I'll do it again if I must, but like Tolamar Brand. I'm going to cut Azazel's fucking head off first.
So Azazel can fuck right off.
I'll be waiting.
Sword in Hand.
I've died for Gloria before.
I'll do it again if I must, but like Tolamar Brand. I'm going to cut Azazel's fucking head off first.
Written By Fatima
Jan. 17, 2024, 3:16 p.m.(7/26/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Donrai
I recently learned something about my grandfather that I could not have fathomed. It is a thing that I shall take with me to my grave. But I will say this. I value the things I learned from him. I do not care what anyone else thinks. He was my mentor, and the lessons I learned from him made me what I am today, and I am grateful.
Written By Fatima
Jan. 17, 2024, 3:06 p.m.(7/26/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Denica
You were always there for me. If we do not meet again after I sail, know that I loved you as if you were a sister. You are very dear to me.
Written By Fatima
Jan. 17, 2024, 2:58 p.m.(7/26/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Abbas
I pray one day the Queen of Endings will still be around to spin your thread once more, and that you'll find redemption on another turning of the Wheel.
Written By Renata
Jan. 17, 2024, 12:56 p.m.(7/26/1021 AR)
I saw her upon the waves near beaches of the city. I wept for not knowing her sooner. I wept for her need to cast me upon shores. Her words forever to be burned within my thoughts as now I seek to find my own voice and grasp, learn, and sing.
I don't know if this will change me. If it does, I hope for the best.
I also seek to swim under the waves now. To bring a gentle kindness to all, and remind any that kindness should not be overlooked and abused. For any attempt to take my adoptive home from me will learn what it feels to drown.
I don't know if this will change me. If it does, I hope for the best.
I also seek to swim under the waves now. To bring a gentle kindness to all, and remind any that kindness should not be overlooked and abused. For any attempt to take my adoptive home from me will learn what it feels to drown.
Written By Fatima
Jan. 17, 2024, 12:17 p.m.(7/26/1021 AR)
Day 9:
Glor'Ruus is known as the City of Swords. Within this city, due to the teachings of Mutay'a'sib, also known as the Prophet of the Sands, the rulers for countless generations have found it amusing to pit slaves against one another in games of bloodsports and senseless slaughter. Before and after each match, the priests and the competitors are required to give homage to the great Sleeping God, and pray that the blood spilled be accepted as a sacrament to him. At the end of each bloody match, one of the competitors is sacrificed by the High Priestess of the Bloodied Sword, and the name of the Sleeping God is called upon. I saw a vision of a woman named Dalia, a slave. She was commanded to kill herself, casually, by Az'del'Vash, a slave owner. He did it just for his own amusement, and to deny the crowd the fun of the match. Az'del'Vash exploded, and the Whiplords around him were turned to paste.
Petrioch is home to the great water city, surrounded by verdant wilds. It is a place of hunting beasts and green canals, known for its plagues. It is a dangerous land, and the place where my father, Crown Prince Asad Masah'Malak, is from. It is said that the patron deity of Petrioch is the Great Maw of the Sea, and that human sacrifices are given there to sate its unending hunger. Another tradition, instilled by the preaching of the Prophet of the Sands. I saw a dream of the Grand Vizier appointed by the Dune Emperor, sitting upon my throne. I commanded him to leave it, and he did. I killed him with a touch, and claimed my crown.
Eurus is not important. Its people do not deserve freedom from the yolk of tyranny. There is nothing in Eurus that will help. Only Arvum matters.
Glor'Ruus is known as the City of Swords. Within this city, due to the teachings of Mutay'a'sib, also known as the Prophet of the Sands, the rulers for countless generations have found it amusing to pit slaves against one another in games of bloodsports and senseless slaughter. Before and after each match, the priests and the competitors are required to give homage to the great Sleeping God, and pray that the blood spilled be accepted as a sacrament to him. At the end of each bloody match, one of the competitors is sacrificed by the High Priestess of the Bloodied Sword, and the name of the Sleeping God is called upon. I saw a vision of a woman named Dalia, a slave. She was commanded to kill herself, casually, by Az'del'Vash, a slave owner. He did it just for his own amusement, and to deny the crowd the fun of the match. Az'del'Vash exploded, and the Whiplords around him were turned to paste.
Petrioch is home to the great water city, surrounded by verdant wilds. It is a place of hunting beasts and green canals, known for its plagues. It is a dangerous land, and the place where my father, Crown Prince Asad Masah'Malak, is from. It is said that the patron deity of Petrioch is the Great Maw of the Sea, and that human sacrifices are given there to sate its unending hunger. Another tradition, instilled by the preaching of the Prophet of the Sands. I saw a dream of the Grand Vizier appointed by the Dune Emperor, sitting upon my throne. I commanded him to leave it, and he did. I killed him with a touch, and claimed my crown.
Eurus is not important. Its people do not deserve freedom from the yolk of tyranny. There is nothing in Eurus that will help. Only Arvum matters.
Written By Raymesin
Jan. 17, 2024, 9:07 a.m.(7/26/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Fatima
I am not your ally, crown-seeker, and I never have been. I started with nothing, title-hunter, and everything I have I earned with my own sweat and blood and cunning - save for the love of two of the best people that the world has to offer, for which I will forever be grateful.
My real allies are fighting - and dying - to buy time for the army you bring to arrive. Time is not on our side and you said that yourself, glory-sniffer, but you're willing to waste a little of it to get your crown. You are wasting the lives of my allies and my kin on slaughtering your way to a crown, sacrificing their last breaths on the altar of your own personal ambitions, and only once those are sated will you bother to help the armies already engaged in what you have so loudly announced as a fight just as important as the one that faces us here in Arvum.
I have refused a greater change in station than you seek, Woman Who Would Be Queen For A Week; don't piss on me and tell me it's raining. Fatima the Ruthless, Fatima the Diplomat, Fatima the Sellsail, Fatima the Ambitious; go and do what you will, by your own choice. But don't tell me I can't judge your decision. And don't even think about telling a street orphan who rose to Ulbran Second that he doesn't understand what it means to be ruthless.
My real allies are fighting - and dying - to buy time for the army you bring to arrive. Time is not on our side and you said that yourself, glory-sniffer, but you're willing to waste a little of it to get your crown. You are wasting the lives of my allies and my kin on slaughtering your way to a crown, sacrificing their last breaths on the altar of your own personal ambitions, and only once those are sated will you bother to help the armies already engaged in what you have so loudly announced as a fight just as important as the one that faces us here in Arvum.
I have refused a greater change in station than you seek, Woman Who Would Be Queen For A Week; don't piss on me and tell me it's raining. Fatima the Ruthless, Fatima the Diplomat, Fatima the Sellsail, Fatima the Ambitious; go and do what you will, by your own choice. But don't tell me I can't judge your decision. And don't even think about telling a street orphan who rose to Ulbran Second that he doesn't understand what it means to be ruthless.
Written By Martino
Jan. 17, 2024, 4:18 a.m.(7/26/1021 AR)
There is not any other sound to that of an entire city bracing itself for war.
There is not any other sound than families handing their trusted weapon to the eldest child.
There is not any other sound than that of one bidding farewell to children they may never see again.
There is not any other sound than victory when those who will take everything with us will be defeated.
Neither by chance nor by fate will House Malvici allow this to be our end.
There is not any other sound than families handing their trusted weapon to the eldest child.
There is not any other sound than that of one bidding farewell to children they may never see again.
There is not any other sound than victory when those who will take everything with us will be defeated.
Neither by chance nor by fate will House Malvici allow this to be our end.
Written By Fatima
Jan. 17, 2024, 2:14 a.m.(7/25/1021 AR)
Day 8:
There are a lot of spiders in the world. A lot. Sometimes they are our friends.
Obsidian, Fractal and not your friend, is trying to awaken the Sleeper. There is something precious in Eurus. The armies of the Dune Emperor stand between us and that precious thing. Best way to defeat a large army is with another large army and a sound plan.
Telling your allies to "piss off" is excellent diplomacy.
There are a lot of spiders in the world. A lot. Sometimes they are our friends.
Obsidian, Fractal and not your friend, is trying to awaken the Sleeper. There is something precious in Eurus. The armies of the Dune Emperor stand between us and that precious thing. Best way to defeat a large army is with another large army and a sound plan.
Telling your allies to "piss off" is excellent diplomacy.
Written By Fatima
Jan. 17, 2024, 1:52 a.m.(7/25/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Raymesin
My fight in Eurus is every bit as important as the fight in Arvum. Those who cannot see this, will soon enough.
We all know you are more than a mere pauper, Paladin of Death.
And I am more than just a fancy metal hat.
We all know you are more than a mere pauper, Paladin of Death.
And I am more than just a fancy metal hat.
Written By Geralt
Jan. 17, 2024, 12:31 a.m.(7/25/1021 AR)
Weird days to find myself where I am. Didn't expect to wake up the way I did today, but like I said, damn strange days. Over the years, I've seen my family shrink, either by death, marriage, and simply returning home. Eventually, the Hall got a lot emptier. And in the last year or so, it sometimes felt like I was standing watch over an empty building.
And now, everyone's lives have gone to shit in one way or another. We're running around, trying to make up whatever time we might got left, our own mortality suddenly sneaking up behind our collective asses and letting us know that we're all on borrowed time. Seems weird, don't it? A lot of folks, myself included, would say that you try to live everyday might be your last. And now, when we're all thinking the same thing, that there might be no tomorrow for anybody, every again. Well, changes things I feel like.
And that's why I got married on a lark, to a woman I don't know. Never did get married. Figure no better time than now.
Weird days. Figured I'd be living in the North forever. Couldn't see anything else past that. Didn't really want to. And now, instead of being Sword, I'm suddenly a Baron. Weird days. I don't regret it, but I don't think you should regret your actions. Good ones and bad ones, and the Spirits know just how many bad choices I've made in my life. Terrible ones. Can't take them back. What I do know that after a number of them, I'd spit on Asger's grave for the shit he pulled while he was still breathing. Idiot.
So. Got married. Gonna find myself in Lenosia soon, defending a people I don't know. People that aren't my own. But I also think that shit like that shouldn't matter anymore. If there's one thing that'll reduce a person to their base, it's the realization that everyone, not some house, or even a country might die, but everything will.
Weird days.
So I don't care where I fight, I just want it to mean something. Make it worthwhile. I've drank and eaten and slept to my heart's content over these last couple of decades. And it was *fun*. But was it worthwhile? Did it mean something? Shit, I don't know anymore. I like to think it did. But now, hey, I think this might mean something, even if it's something new. Something strange. Something weird.
Weird days. Yeah. Weird.
And now, everyone's lives have gone to shit in one way or another. We're running around, trying to make up whatever time we might got left, our own mortality suddenly sneaking up behind our collective asses and letting us know that we're all on borrowed time. Seems weird, don't it? A lot of folks, myself included, would say that you try to live everyday might be your last. And now, when we're all thinking the same thing, that there might be no tomorrow for anybody, every again. Well, changes things I feel like.
And that's why I got married on a lark, to a woman I don't know. Never did get married. Figure no better time than now.
Weird days. Figured I'd be living in the North forever. Couldn't see anything else past that. Didn't really want to. And now, instead of being Sword, I'm suddenly a Baron. Weird days. I don't regret it, but I don't think you should regret your actions. Good ones and bad ones, and the Spirits know just how many bad choices I've made in my life. Terrible ones. Can't take them back. What I do know that after a number of them, I'd spit on Asger's grave for the shit he pulled while he was still breathing. Idiot.
So. Got married. Gonna find myself in Lenosia soon, defending a people I don't know. People that aren't my own. But I also think that shit like that shouldn't matter anymore. If there's one thing that'll reduce a person to their base, it's the realization that everyone, not some house, or even a country might die, but everything will.
Weird days.
So I don't care where I fight, I just want it to mean something. Make it worthwhile. I've drank and eaten and slept to my heart's content over these last couple of decades. And it was *fun*. But was it worthwhile? Did it mean something? Shit, I don't know anymore. I like to think it did. But now, hey, I think this might mean something, even if it's something new. Something strange. Something weird.
Weird days. Yeah. Weird.
Written By Aconite
Jan. 16, 2024, 10:06 p.m.(7/25/1021 AR)
Excerpt from my Black Journals
Some overcame the loss of a sensation but I had not lost my sense of touch. My ability to feel. Instead.. I had to clothe it. To wrap myself so that she could not harm others. The fever-pitched faces of loved ones who'd gotten too close or somehow otherwise been exposed to my poison had each been devastating. One had almost died! I sulked in my room at the Villas in Tor. I'd been that way for over a month and it had been far, far too long for Alejandro's liking. If for no other reason than he was getting tired of standing outside my door and waiting to move like a well-trained dog.
"Because you cannot touch a rose, can you not appreciate its beauty?" The gruff Torean asked me. He was over twice my age and he had been there that night on the deserted beach when it had been Fidante, not my mother, that had come to collect me. "Because you cannot /be/ a noble does that mean you cannot /be/ noble? Come, little flower, try not to let the world get you down. For it is beautiful... this whole world is beautiful and you can be beautiful in it without touch. Without being touched."
I didn't cry even though I wished it. It was simply a rule. No tears, no surprise, no anxiety, or reason to sweat, no harm, no spilt blood. Perfect restrained poise that would not allow ANY mistake, any folly that would come of someone accidentally contacting or ingesting the poison that seeped from my very being. But my sullen episodes were epic and this one was no different... I barely spoke and just stared out her window at the people in their gorgeous frocks strolling through the garden below, the blossoms like colorful jewels sparkling in the sun. Loving them and being angry at them all at once.
"Can you feel the silk?" He changed his tactic. This man’s presence had become more like family over time. And thus over sixteen years they had become my beloved ‘Uncle Alejandro’ and I like his Niece. But ‘Jandro He was a good enough soldier to know when an Uncle was needed.
"The breath of lace across your wrist. The embrace of your sea silk gloves or the tickle of fur across your cheek when you wear your fur-lined cloak?" I remember turning towards him, eyes focused almost too intently, they felt like they were burning. He could see that I hadn't been sleeping and said I had less color in my cheeks. "You once told me that you didn't want to die just because you were ‘supposed to’. You are not dead.. you simply cannot touch someone who cannot resist your toxin. But you’re different. There are people out there who shouldn't be touched because they're more poisonous than you could ever be. You do not deserve a fate like them. Your heart is good and you see art and beauty in even the simplest things. You have always been special in that way. You genuinely love the pretty things you are given.” He gestured out the window, “You move the way they move and look. But you forget that because you think you are not allowed to touch, and that means you think that you are not allowed to feel. Do you think all these gifts should not be appreciated in every way?"
Carefully he reached down and picked up the edge of my fur-lined cloak and lifted it to brush against my cheek. "Can you feel that?" I nodded and the Champion smiled, an expression that threatened to crack his stony features. It was a little frightening.
"You are allowed to feel, little flower. You are allowed to be, to be all the things you wish, it will not stop anything or anything else from being beautiful. It will only add to the joy you see in everything. Allow yourself to feel it all. be as enamored with it as you are with your colors and design, taste, and architecture. Let yourself feel everything and I will do my best to continue to protect you from any accident or harm that might befall you."
After that I knew Alejandro wouldn’t ever let me harm anyone if he could prevent it, he may be a mostly dour unfeeling man but I knew that he truly took his duty to keep me and those around me safe very seriously. And I have almost never forgotten to let myself feel ever since...
Some overcame the loss of a sensation but I had not lost my sense of touch. My ability to feel. Instead.. I had to clothe it. To wrap myself so that she could not harm others. The fever-pitched faces of loved ones who'd gotten too close or somehow otherwise been exposed to my poison had each been devastating. One had almost died! I sulked in my room at the Villas in Tor. I'd been that way for over a month and it had been far, far too long for Alejandro's liking. If for no other reason than he was getting tired of standing outside my door and waiting to move like a well-trained dog.
"Because you cannot touch a rose, can you not appreciate its beauty?" The gruff Torean asked me. He was over twice my age and he had been there that night on the deserted beach when it had been Fidante, not my mother, that had come to collect me. "Because you cannot /be/ a noble does that mean you cannot /be/ noble? Come, little flower, try not to let the world get you down. For it is beautiful... this whole world is beautiful and you can be beautiful in it without touch. Without being touched."
I didn't cry even though I wished it. It was simply a rule. No tears, no surprise, no anxiety, or reason to sweat, no harm, no spilt blood. Perfect restrained poise that would not allow ANY mistake, any folly that would come of someone accidentally contacting or ingesting the poison that seeped from my very being. But my sullen episodes were epic and this one was no different... I barely spoke and just stared out her window at the people in their gorgeous frocks strolling through the garden below, the blossoms like colorful jewels sparkling in the sun. Loving them and being angry at them all at once.
"Can you feel the silk?" He changed his tactic. This man’s presence had become more like family over time. And thus over sixteen years they had become my beloved ‘Uncle Alejandro’ and I like his Niece. But ‘Jandro He was a good enough soldier to know when an Uncle was needed.
"The breath of lace across your wrist. The embrace of your sea silk gloves or the tickle of fur across your cheek when you wear your fur-lined cloak?" I remember turning towards him, eyes focused almost too intently, they felt like they were burning. He could see that I hadn't been sleeping and said I had less color in my cheeks. "You once told me that you didn't want to die just because you were ‘supposed to’. You are not dead.. you simply cannot touch someone who cannot resist your toxin. But you’re different. There are people out there who shouldn't be touched because they're more poisonous than you could ever be. You do not deserve a fate like them. Your heart is good and you see art and beauty in even the simplest things. You have always been special in that way. You genuinely love the pretty things you are given.” He gestured out the window, “You move the way they move and look. But you forget that because you think you are not allowed to touch, and that means you think that you are not allowed to feel. Do you think all these gifts should not be appreciated in every way?"
Carefully he reached down and picked up the edge of my fur-lined cloak and lifted it to brush against my cheek. "Can you feel that?" I nodded and the Champion smiled, an expression that threatened to crack his stony features. It was a little frightening.
"You are allowed to feel, little flower. You are allowed to be, to be all the things you wish, it will not stop anything or anything else from being beautiful. It will only add to the joy you see in everything. Allow yourself to feel it all. be as enamored with it as you are with your colors and design, taste, and architecture. Let yourself feel everything and I will do my best to continue to protect you from any accident or harm that might befall you."
After that I knew Alejandro wouldn’t ever let me harm anyone if he could prevent it, he may be a mostly dour unfeeling man but I knew that he truly took his duty to keep me and those around me safe very seriously. And I have almost never forgotten to let myself feel ever since...
Written By Aconite
Jan. 16, 2024, 9:37 p.m.(7/25/1021 AR)
From my Whites as a child:
They had told her to wait.
She stood, her tattered linen dress fluttering at her feet. She scrubbed an eye that burned from the smoke of the torch that burned next to her. Watching the strange floating orange whisps, the approaching light of torches, marching past the cove where the ships bobbed in moonlit waters.
They had said that this is where her mother would come to fetch her.
Her mother who had braided her hair and taught her silly dances that she said would be less silly when she grew into them. Long fingers and almost serpentine orange-gold eyes that greeted her every morning and put her to sleep every night. Her mother more than any one place her father had seized or lost was her home.
And so she stood obediently and waiting. She wanted to see her mother again, to be able to touch her face. To be comforted by that dark brown smell, both bitter and sweet. A darkly fruity scent that was reminiscent of treacle, plum, and figs. Warm. The smell of the resin her mother would burn to drive away from the fetid smells of warriors after battle...
Her mouth pursed in disconcertion as a child's intuition told her that those torches were not her Mother. There were too many and none of them were running to her! They were all moving.. too slow. Her lower lip quivered and she felt the fat tears threatening to run down her cheeks. But those were sacred things her mother had always said and so with a snorking-snuffle which drew a soft chuckle from the Champion left to guard her. Aconite drug her arm under her nose and hugged herself waiting to see who was going to come to greet her...
The man in the front wore the Fidante Crest, the white sword and roses. The men who had taken her originally. She turned liquid black eyes up at the stone-faced man and her fists balled, her chin raised high...
-----
She was warm in a cabin. Tucked in blankets, bathed, and given fresh warm clothes. Despite herself, the soft lull of the sea under the bow of the ship rocked her to sleep and wondered what life had in store and she dreamed of warm amber eyes and gentle fingers petting her hair as she slept.
-----
She only got sick after -leaving- the boat. The air was different, the water was different, everything was /different/ and the world weaved around her. She hung over the edge of the pier to empty the remaining rations she'd scarfed for breakfast into the sea.
The man, Alejandro, who had been assigned to attend to her gently nudged her shoulder once she was done and 'Aconite' stood and followed.
She wanted, very much, to -hate- this place. She wanted to hate everything about it. From their stupid gorgeous roses to their bedamned passion for life. They hadn't even gotten to the Villa yet when Aconite had already nearly run into two people and tripped over a cat because she was so distracted by the gardens, FLOWERS and the foreign designs and fabrics that seemed unreal to her inexperienced eyes.
Alejandro led Aco in through the scullery. gently nudging her to have a seat at a table while he went off to report to his superiors they had arrived. She lifted her hands, carefully bound in rags as if she'd been burned, to rest on the table as her booted feet scuffed. Tears threatened again but she sunk her teeth into her cheek to keep herself from crying, resulting in a particularly ludicrous expression.
The kitchens were his 'domain' in those days- His Mama had started working for the Fidante as a scullery maid two winters prior and by the time Aconite arrived he was already a common part of the household staff. He was a precocious young man with a knack for herbs and a head for books, one who was invested in learning how to help people.
At an age when play begins to wane and real responsibility starts to rear its head, that's when he met Aconite, she looked so small and she was clearly sick from the sea... he had heard that long sea journeys were dangerous. He marveled that this little person had made it across so vast a thing and he spoke softly to her as he looked through jar after jar, glancing over his shoulder in his efforts to find her something for that stomach ache.
It wasn't his place to give her the sprig of mint but Orick never did know how to follow ALL the rules and he set it down on the table with a promise, "Chew on this and plug your finger over your left ear-" Pointing to the left side of her head. "It'll make your tummy feel better." In case she didn't understand he mimed the act with animated flair and tried to make her smile despite her discomfort...
He was older than her but he was scrawny. And he was talking to her in a language she didn't understand but Aco could recognize someone who wanted to be helpful. She shoved the heel of her hand into one eye and sullenly scrubbed at it until it stopped threatening to spill tears.
Aco was quiet, her large endless black eyes investigating everything in this strange kitchen. The weird smells were distracting but not unpleasant. And the strange smell from the jagged little green leaf Orick held out to her made her tilt her head. It took a few tries but finally, 'chew' followed by the Young Apothecary putting his hand to his mouth she took the leaf and repeated, 'chew.' She wasn't sure why her finger had to go into her ear but she figured it was some sort of custom so she complied. He had made such a little play of it.
The sound of adult footsteps scared him off and he sent her a promising smile before running off to hide in a pantry down the hall and listen to the adults discuss her fate.
She kept chewing even as Orick scampered off to hide she thought this was part of the game. Hunt and Hide was a game she knew how to play! She scampered over to a low counter that had bags of grain on it and wedged herself under it to peer out. But what were they hiding from?
They had told her to wait.
She stood, her tattered linen dress fluttering at her feet. She scrubbed an eye that burned from the smoke of the torch that burned next to her. Watching the strange floating orange whisps, the approaching light of torches, marching past the cove where the ships bobbed in moonlit waters.
They had said that this is where her mother would come to fetch her.
Her mother who had braided her hair and taught her silly dances that she said would be less silly when she grew into them. Long fingers and almost serpentine orange-gold eyes that greeted her every morning and put her to sleep every night. Her mother more than any one place her father had seized or lost was her home.
And so she stood obediently and waiting. She wanted to see her mother again, to be able to touch her face. To be comforted by that dark brown smell, both bitter and sweet. A darkly fruity scent that was reminiscent of treacle, plum, and figs. Warm. The smell of the resin her mother would burn to drive away from the fetid smells of warriors after battle...
Her mouth pursed in disconcertion as a child's intuition told her that those torches were not her Mother. There were too many and none of them were running to her! They were all moving.. too slow. Her lower lip quivered and she felt the fat tears threatening to run down her cheeks. But those were sacred things her mother had always said and so with a snorking-snuffle which drew a soft chuckle from the Champion left to guard her. Aconite drug her arm under her nose and hugged herself waiting to see who was going to come to greet her...
The man in the front wore the Fidante Crest, the white sword and roses. The men who had taken her originally. She turned liquid black eyes up at the stone-faced man and her fists balled, her chin raised high...
-----
She was warm in a cabin. Tucked in blankets, bathed, and given fresh warm clothes. Despite herself, the soft lull of the sea under the bow of the ship rocked her to sleep and wondered what life had in store and she dreamed of warm amber eyes and gentle fingers petting her hair as she slept.
-----
She only got sick after -leaving- the boat. The air was different, the water was different, everything was /different/ and the world weaved around her. She hung over the edge of the pier to empty the remaining rations she'd scarfed for breakfast into the sea.
The man, Alejandro, who had been assigned to attend to her gently nudged her shoulder once she was done and 'Aconite' stood and followed.
She wanted, very much, to -hate- this place. She wanted to hate everything about it. From their stupid gorgeous roses to their bedamned passion for life. They hadn't even gotten to the Villa yet when Aconite had already nearly run into two people and tripped over a cat because she was so distracted by the gardens, FLOWERS and the foreign designs and fabrics that seemed unreal to her inexperienced eyes.
Alejandro led Aco in through the scullery. gently nudging her to have a seat at a table while he went off to report to his superiors they had arrived. She lifted her hands, carefully bound in rags as if she'd been burned, to rest on the table as her booted feet scuffed. Tears threatened again but she sunk her teeth into her cheek to keep herself from crying, resulting in a particularly ludicrous expression.
The kitchens were his 'domain' in those days- His Mama had started working for the Fidante as a scullery maid two winters prior and by the time Aconite arrived he was already a common part of the household staff. He was a precocious young man with a knack for herbs and a head for books, one who was invested in learning how to help people.
At an age when play begins to wane and real responsibility starts to rear its head, that's when he met Aconite, she looked so small and she was clearly sick from the sea... he had heard that long sea journeys were dangerous. He marveled that this little person had made it across so vast a thing and he spoke softly to her as he looked through jar after jar, glancing over his shoulder in his efforts to find her something for that stomach ache.
It wasn't his place to give her the sprig of mint but Orick never did know how to follow ALL the rules and he set it down on the table with a promise, "Chew on this and plug your finger over your left ear-" Pointing to the left side of her head. "It'll make your tummy feel better." In case she didn't understand he mimed the act with animated flair and tried to make her smile despite her discomfort...
He was older than her but he was scrawny. And he was talking to her in a language she didn't understand but Aco could recognize someone who wanted to be helpful. She shoved the heel of her hand into one eye and sullenly scrubbed at it until it stopped threatening to spill tears.
Aco was quiet, her large endless black eyes investigating everything in this strange kitchen. The weird smells were distracting but not unpleasant. And the strange smell from the jagged little green leaf Orick held out to her made her tilt her head. It took a few tries but finally, 'chew' followed by the Young Apothecary putting his hand to his mouth she took the leaf and repeated, 'chew.' She wasn't sure why her finger had to go into her ear but she figured it was some sort of custom so she complied. He had made such a little play of it.
The sound of adult footsteps scared him off and he sent her a promising smile before running off to hide in a pantry down the hall and listen to the adults discuss her fate.
She kept chewing even as Orick scampered off to hide she thought this was part of the game. Hunt and Hide was a game she knew how to play! She scampered over to a low counter that had bags of grain on it and wedged herself under it to peer out. But what were they hiding from?
Written By Raymesin
Jan. 16, 2024, 7 p.m.(7/25/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Fatima
Funny, a princess says that a ruler's job is to choose the path that is for the overall benefit of those who look to her for protection.
Now here's a pauper to point out that if there's no world no more it doesn't matter how many fancy metal hats she's got, she's let the people who look to her for protection down.
Go and claim your throne, would-be Queen of Petrioch, but don't claim it's for the good of the world. We can see you and we can see through you. Our very existence is at stake, but you just want a fancy metal hat.
Don't take it personally, please, but do piss off.
Now here's a pauper to point out that if there's no world no more it doesn't matter how many fancy metal hats she's got, she's let the people who look to her for protection down.
Go and claim your throne, would-be Queen of Petrioch, but don't claim it's for the good of the world. We can see you and we can see through you. Our very existence is at stake, but you just want a fancy metal hat.
Don't take it personally, please, but do piss off.
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