Written By Apollo
Jan. 16, 2024, 4:34 p.m.(7/25/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Jaenelle
I hope that our people understand why we chose to stand at Lenosia, rather than Nilanza. I know the journey there cannot possibly be easy. Such a journey is toil for those fit and hale. And we've asked our holdings emptied entirely. There are children, expecting mothers, the elderly, infirm. Refugees and the many injured in wars without respite. They are asked to take little with them, and to trust that there will be enough when they arrive. That they will find welcome, sustenance, solace, safe harbor.
In all of Arvum, there are none I would trust more to provide it than Archduchess Jaenelle Velenosa. Her effort, seen over the last decade, has been to fortify the Lyceum entire. To help us build our holdings and raise up our people, to celebrate their successes and soothe in time of need. At her expense. She might have used her formidable command, her might and cleverness, only for Lenosia itself. The oaths sworn between liege and vassal do not demand the way she has built us all up. Conventional wisdom might have suggested she shouldn't. There are those who might argue that, grown under her watch, we would only use what she's given to usurp her. The world can be a brutal place. The Lyceum, particularly cutthroat.
It takes magnificent vision and extraordinary leadership to achieve what she has.
To the people of Nilanza: we care for you deeply. She has shown she cares no less. We will fight to keep Lenosia whole, and our people - those of Nilanza, Lenosia, and the Lyceum together - safe. We fight together to save us all.
In all of Arvum, there are none I would trust more to provide it than Archduchess Jaenelle Velenosa. Her effort, seen over the last decade, has been to fortify the Lyceum entire. To help us build our holdings and raise up our people, to celebrate their successes and soothe in time of need. At her expense. She might have used her formidable command, her might and cleverness, only for Lenosia itself. The oaths sworn between liege and vassal do not demand the way she has built us all up. Conventional wisdom might have suggested she shouldn't. There are those who might argue that, grown under her watch, we would only use what she's given to usurp her. The world can be a brutal place. The Lyceum, particularly cutthroat.
It takes magnificent vision and extraordinary leadership to achieve what she has.
To the people of Nilanza: we care for you deeply. She has shown she cares no less. We will fight to keep Lenosia whole, and our people - those of Nilanza, Lenosia, and the Lyceum together - safe. We fight together to save us all.
Written By Sen'azala
Jan. 16, 2024, 4:19 p.m.(7/25/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Fatima
No. The path of the ruler is your concern, not mine. I don't want the wolf throne; I let that dream die at the Blood Moon, and made different choices. Regardless, I've little interest in spending time bought with lives to lessen my sense of urgency, even if I hadn't been shown, repeatedly and in great detail, all the horrible ways we'll die if I ignore or neglect the message sent by the Old Gods of Nefer'khat. Grandmother was neither kind nor subtle in delivering it.
I never asked you for your fleet, and I never had any reason to expect you would help, so there's no risk of me taking it personally when you sail off with your own boats to see to your own business. My concern isn't about my personal desires, it's about survival. Everyone's survival. Nothing else could pull me away from Arvum.
All of that said, I think you may have the wrong impression of me. I'd say that you could dig up the Horned God to ask his opinion on my capacity for ruthlessness, but the ravens were hungry and his carcass wasn't worth burying.
I never asked you for your fleet, and I never had any reason to expect you would help, so there's no risk of me taking it personally when you sail off with your own boats to see to your own business. My concern isn't about my personal desires, it's about survival. Everyone's survival. Nothing else could pull me away from Arvum.
All of that said, I think you may have the wrong impression of me. I'd say that you could dig up the Horned God to ask his opinion on my capacity for ruthlessness, but the ravens were hungry and his carcass wasn't worth burying.
Written By Apollo
Jan. 16, 2024, 4:10 p.m.(7/25/1021 AR)
The boiling heat one summer fair,
stood on the cliffs of Nilanza;
a dozen souls were gathered there,
stood on the cliffs of Nilanza.
The word had come for them too late,
now stood on the cliffs of Nilanza;
the banners' mouths bore down their fate,
there on the cliffs of Nilanza.
And so instead, to sea below,
they leapt from the cliffs of Nilanza;
their ending in the undertow,
the sea off the cliffs of Nilanza.
Their answers when the Queen they meet,
there off the cliffs of Nilanza;
"At least the sea is meant to eat,"
their choice, off the cliffs of Nilanza.
stood on the cliffs of Nilanza;
a dozen souls were gathered there,
stood on the cliffs of Nilanza.
The word had come for them too late,
now stood on the cliffs of Nilanza;
the banners' mouths bore down their fate,
there on the cliffs of Nilanza.
And so instead, to sea below,
they leapt from the cliffs of Nilanza;
their ending in the undertow,
the sea off the cliffs of Nilanza.
Their answers when the Queen they meet,
there off the cliffs of Nilanza;
"At least the sea is meant to eat,"
their choice, off the cliffs of Nilanza.
Written By Aconite
Jan. 16, 2024, 3:37 p.m.(7/25/1021 AR)
I will tell my story as many have been.
From what a small Aconite wrote in her whites at the behest of House Fidante recalled and in my memories now my early life was loud. Sheltered in a small but colorful tent with a woman I remember had bright coppery-orange eyes. Laughing and playful, bright and shiny like coins. I remember that I thought she was beautiful. She wore jewel tones, mostly yellows and oranges. They would flicker like fire when we danced. She taught me, I think, to distract me from the sounds of the injured, sick or dying in the man I believed was my fathers war camp. She irned thornbush resin to cover the smells of the war camp. We spoke in Rex'alfar and she gace me a book that i kept with me always and still.hace to this day, describing the Cities of Eurus.. Pre Dune Emperor.
Its hard to say of the beleief that they were going to take me somewhere and perform th dark ritual what wipes a soul completely from existence in exchange for power..
Knowing what I do now makes it less far fetched. They could have also been taking me to the being that created me. Either way Fidante's faithful officers too me to save me from my fate.. death or obliteration. I was the gifted a life and allowed to make it my very own. I promised myself I would not waste any of it.
Either way that is how it all started...
I remember staring into the night as a young Alejandro, just freshly enlisted in Fidante's naval division, held my small hand and spoke softly to me in a language I did not know... but I new that he was trying to show me kindness.
He called me Aconite. And so my name, the Tahjara'al'sindhi was no more...
From what a small Aconite wrote in her whites at the behest of House Fidante recalled and in my memories now my early life was loud. Sheltered in a small but colorful tent with a woman I remember had bright coppery-orange eyes. Laughing and playful, bright and shiny like coins. I remember that I thought she was beautiful. She wore jewel tones, mostly yellows and oranges. They would flicker like fire when we danced. She taught me, I think, to distract me from the sounds of the injured, sick or dying in the man I believed was my fathers war camp. She irned thornbush resin to cover the smells of the war camp. We spoke in Rex'alfar and she gace me a book that i kept with me always and still.hace to this day, describing the Cities of Eurus.. Pre Dune Emperor.
Its hard to say of the beleief that they were going to take me somewhere and perform th dark ritual what wipes a soul completely from existence in exchange for power..
Knowing what I do now makes it less far fetched. They could have also been taking me to the being that created me. Either way Fidante's faithful officers too me to save me from my fate.. death or obliteration. I was the gifted a life and allowed to make it my very own. I promised myself I would not waste any of it.
Either way that is how it all started...
I remember staring into the night as a young Alejandro, just freshly enlisted in Fidante's naval division, held my small hand and spoke softly to me in a language I did not know... but I new that he was trying to show me kindness.
He called me Aconite. And so my name, the Tahjara'al'sindhi was no more...
Written By Mirk
Jan. 16, 2024, 1:08 p.m.(7/24/1021 AR)
As I wait and plan and prepare for the battles ahead, I have been thinking about an old song, passed down from shaman to shaman. One that once, I thought would define my path.
The spirit asked the caller, 'How do you see the world? What would you change and amend?'
I see a world of natural beauty. The cold seas of the Mourning Isles, the warm waters of the Saffron Chain, the jungle-like wilds of the Lyceum, the ancient woodlands of the Gray Forest - all have their own unique beauty. Above it all, it is the snowy mountains and ice-capped peaks of my home that will always resonate with me. However, that beauty is a delicate thing. It can be corrupted, despoiled, destroyed. Even the mountains of my home, which came long before me and will be there long after I am gone, are not immune, as the Second Reckoning now threatens to demonstrate. The Abyss will not destroy the mountain itself, but it will destroy that pristine and unsullied wilderness that I have so treasured. It is a world that storms must defend.
The spirit asked the caller, 'Who are you truly? What is your role?'
I am Mirk Halfshav. I have been given titles in Arx, but none define me. In a past life, I was known as Stormcaller, and that is a title that holds more significance. Unlike others, I do not remember that life; I do not remember his name, nor do I know his story. All I know is that the storms considered him kin, that he was a dragonrider, that he bore the Staff of Winds. I suspect he died in some great magic that proved to be too much for him, but I don't know whether it was a battle or something darker. I had always meant to learn more, but those that could tell me of that life were distant. When I finally had the opportunity, it was time for action, not for reminiscing about the past.
I am, at heart, a traveler. I am most at peace with an open road before me, the sky above and the wind at my back. I have strived to learn the stories of the lands and peoples I have encountered, to leave them better than I found them. I have not always succeeded. But circumstances call me to be more than this. I have, in my ways, assumed the mantle of that life. I have bonded the dragon he once called a partner. I carry the Staff of Winds, though it is a shadow of what it once was. I have called to the storms and seen them answer. It is time, it seems, for a Stormcaller.
It is my role to marshal friends and allies to war. Those whose lives I have touched in Arx or are under my authority in House Halfshav and elsewhere. Those beings who answer my call, be they spirit or dragon or otherwise, for reasons of their own, for no being of such age and power responds solely to mortal whims. Those elements that I call mine, the wind and storm and ice that heed my words and have, in some ways, become a part of mine. I am a guardian, one who will march to battle alongside them.
The spirit asked the caller, 'What are your idols? To whom do you pray?"
Gods both Old and Pantheon. I pray to Tempest and Storm, to Blizzard and the Four Winds. I confess that I felt little need for the Faith when I was young. I paid lip service to the Faith, as the bare minimum of respect to the Compact, but it was the spirits of my home that held my reverence. However, as I have become older, I have found a certain reverence for the Pantheon. I have found my faith in the gods and hold to my faith in the spirits. Where many in the Faith and the Compact see contradiction in that, I see none. It is long past time to let down these artificial walls that separate the one from the other. In ancient times, druids and Sylv'alfar held reverence for both, and called to both spirits and gods in times of crisis. It is a tradition I will uphold. I pray to Petrichor and Mangata and Vellichor, to all of the thirteen, even if one has renounced his godhood.
And I pray for them, for it is a time to test even the spirits and the gods.
The spirit told the caller, 'Sing a song of your world, your soul, and your god,
sing a song of lightning and thunder that we will applaud,
pick a story that fits you and sing it to gods above, without and below,
sing the story of thunder from sea to peak covered in snow,
pick the path that fits you, walk the road mapped in your heart."
I have no deep, dark secrets. I have truths about myself, about the world, that I have hesitated to speak openly. One of them is that I am not what people think. I am not the ideal shaman: I do not invoke the spirits, and for those that do, there is a depth and mystery to their relationship to the spirits that I can never truly understand. I am not as upstanding or flawless as some think: I have worked with Cardians and others that many in the Compact find distasteful, and I will again. I am not all-knowing, as some appear to believe: In times like these, I am as clueless and as desperate as anyone.
I did not walk the path of the Stormbringers, as the song once guided shamans to become. But I have found the path that fits me, and walked the road mapped in my heart, as the spirits taught. I will follow it as far as I am able. I only hope that it will be enough.
The spirit asked the caller, 'How do you see the world? What would you change and amend?'
I see a world of natural beauty. The cold seas of the Mourning Isles, the warm waters of the Saffron Chain, the jungle-like wilds of the Lyceum, the ancient woodlands of the Gray Forest - all have their own unique beauty. Above it all, it is the snowy mountains and ice-capped peaks of my home that will always resonate with me. However, that beauty is a delicate thing. It can be corrupted, despoiled, destroyed. Even the mountains of my home, which came long before me and will be there long after I am gone, are not immune, as the Second Reckoning now threatens to demonstrate. The Abyss will not destroy the mountain itself, but it will destroy that pristine and unsullied wilderness that I have so treasured. It is a world that storms must defend.
The spirit asked the caller, 'Who are you truly? What is your role?'
I am Mirk Halfshav. I have been given titles in Arx, but none define me. In a past life, I was known as Stormcaller, and that is a title that holds more significance. Unlike others, I do not remember that life; I do not remember his name, nor do I know his story. All I know is that the storms considered him kin, that he was a dragonrider, that he bore the Staff of Winds. I suspect he died in some great magic that proved to be too much for him, but I don't know whether it was a battle or something darker. I had always meant to learn more, but those that could tell me of that life were distant. When I finally had the opportunity, it was time for action, not for reminiscing about the past.
I am, at heart, a traveler. I am most at peace with an open road before me, the sky above and the wind at my back. I have strived to learn the stories of the lands and peoples I have encountered, to leave them better than I found them. I have not always succeeded. But circumstances call me to be more than this. I have, in my ways, assumed the mantle of that life. I have bonded the dragon he once called a partner. I carry the Staff of Winds, though it is a shadow of what it once was. I have called to the storms and seen them answer. It is time, it seems, for a Stormcaller.
It is my role to marshal friends and allies to war. Those whose lives I have touched in Arx or are under my authority in House Halfshav and elsewhere. Those beings who answer my call, be they spirit or dragon or otherwise, for reasons of their own, for no being of such age and power responds solely to mortal whims. Those elements that I call mine, the wind and storm and ice that heed my words and have, in some ways, become a part of mine. I am a guardian, one who will march to battle alongside them.
The spirit asked the caller, 'What are your idols? To whom do you pray?"
Gods both Old and Pantheon. I pray to Tempest and Storm, to Blizzard and the Four Winds. I confess that I felt little need for the Faith when I was young. I paid lip service to the Faith, as the bare minimum of respect to the Compact, but it was the spirits of my home that held my reverence. However, as I have become older, I have found a certain reverence for the Pantheon. I have found my faith in the gods and hold to my faith in the spirits. Where many in the Faith and the Compact see contradiction in that, I see none. It is long past time to let down these artificial walls that separate the one from the other. In ancient times, druids and Sylv'alfar held reverence for both, and called to both spirits and gods in times of crisis. It is a tradition I will uphold. I pray to Petrichor and Mangata and Vellichor, to all of the thirteen, even if one has renounced his godhood.
And I pray for them, for it is a time to test even the spirits and the gods.
The spirit told the caller, 'Sing a song of your world, your soul, and your god,
sing a song of lightning and thunder that we will applaud,
pick a story that fits you and sing it to gods above, without and below,
sing the story of thunder from sea to peak covered in snow,
pick the path that fits you, walk the road mapped in your heart."
I have no deep, dark secrets. I have truths about myself, about the world, that I have hesitated to speak openly. One of them is that I am not what people think. I am not the ideal shaman: I do not invoke the spirits, and for those that do, there is a depth and mystery to their relationship to the spirits that I can never truly understand. I am not as upstanding or flawless as some think: I have worked with Cardians and others that many in the Compact find distasteful, and I will again. I am not all-knowing, as some appear to believe: In times like these, I am as clueless and as desperate as anyone.
I did not walk the path of the Stormbringers, as the song once guided shamans to become. But I have found the path that fits me, and walked the road mapped in my heart, as the spirits taught. I will follow it as far as I am able. I only hope that it will be enough.
Written By Jasper
Jan. 16, 2024, 12:30 p.m.(7/24/1021 AR)
No matter what they've said, I am not dead yet.
When Highhill was destroyed, I wasn't in the keep. I was close enough to watch it be destroyed, but not close enough to fight alongside my brethren. All I know is that my relatives are gone. My sisters are gone. Almost every legacy of stone and steel of my family is gone.
What isn't gone is my blood. And the blood in me calls me to defend my new home, Lenosia. I do so for my wife's sake. I do so for our children. Those here and those yet to come.
If the horde marches on Lenosia, let them know that Prince Jasper, the last blooded knight of the Steelharts, will meet them in battle.
Now that I have finally opened my eyes to the underlying truths of this world, this stand will not be my last, for I have many debts to pay in deeds and oaths to fulfill.
I am not defined by my suffering and my agony, but I draw on its power to defeat the enemies of my new House, the glorious and mighty Velenosa.
And I will remind these enemies of a simple truth, written in the words of the House of the Fox: No one may harm us unpunished.
When Highhill was destroyed, I wasn't in the keep. I was close enough to watch it be destroyed, but not close enough to fight alongside my brethren. All I know is that my relatives are gone. My sisters are gone. Almost every legacy of stone and steel of my family is gone.
What isn't gone is my blood. And the blood in me calls me to defend my new home, Lenosia. I do so for my wife's sake. I do so for our children. Those here and those yet to come.
If the horde marches on Lenosia, let them know that Prince Jasper, the last blooded knight of the Steelharts, will meet them in battle.
Now that I have finally opened my eyes to the underlying truths of this world, this stand will not be my last, for I have many debts to pay in deeds and oaths to fulfill.
I am not defined by my suffering and my agony, but I draw on its power to defeat the enemies of my new House, the glorious and mighty Velenosa.
And I will remind these enemies of a simple truth, written in the words of the House of the Fox: No one may harm us unpunished.
Written By Fatima
Jan. 16, 2024, 11:59 a.m.(7/24/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Sen'azala
A ruler knows when a path is closed to her - when a task must be delegated to others. She must set aside emotion and decide where she can do the most good, and choose that path decisively, once committed. She cannot please everyone, nor can she save everyone, nor may she be able to seek personal vengeance or satisfaction. She must choose the path that is for the overall benefit of those who look to her for protection.
It may be that I sound much like my grandfather at the moment, and perhaps there is a little of him in me. I learned all that I know about leadership, about doing what is necessary, from lessons at his knee. But a certain amount of ruthlessness is required of us at times. This is, unfortunately, one of those times. I have a duty that I have been trained for my entire life. I have known for many years that one day, I must go to Eurus and claim my throne in Petrioch, and oppose the Dune Emperor and the Prophet of the Sands. My fleet is for that purpose and only one other, and that is to take any refugees who wish to flee Arvum, to Eurus. It was not rallied to go to Nefer'khat. I cannot help you with that. I hope you do not take it personally.
We cannot afford to take things personally, when our very existence is at stake. And while time is not on our side, I believe we do have some small amount of time. It is time that the Seraph of Death and others are buying for us. The situation is urgent, it is true. But to bow to the pressure of urgency is not the path of the ruler. It is a mistake we cannot afford to make.
I cannot help you with the problem you face, Prima. But I do hope you find the path that is, if not the one you want, at least the best path for the situation.
It may be that I sound much like my grandfather at the moment, and perhaps there is a little of him in me. I learned all that I know about leadership, about doing what is necessary, from lessons at his knee. But a certain amount of ruthlessness is required of us at times. This is, unfortunately, one of those times. I have a duty that I have been trained for my entire life. I have known for many years that one day, I must go to Eurus and claim my throne in Petrioch, and oppose the Dune Emperor and the Prophet of the Sands. My fleet is for that purpose and only one other, and that is to take any refugees who wish to flee Arvum, to Eurus. It was not rallied to go to Nefer'khat. I cannot help you with that. I hope you do not take it personally.
We cannot afford to take things personally, when our very existence is at stake. And while time is not on our side, I believe we do have some small amount of time. It is time that the Seraph of Death and others are buying for us. The situation is urgent, it is true. But to bow to the pressure of urgency is not the path of the ruler. It is a mistake we cannot afford to make.
I cannot help you with the problem you face, Prima. But I do hope you find the path that is, if not the one you want, at least the best path for the situation.
Written By Preston
Jan. 16, 2024, 11:19 a.m.(7/24/1021 AR)
The soul I have is one that brings with it many lessons. Largely lessons of failure, lessons of betrayal, lessons of pride. As many know, it is the soul of A'kioh - king of the Sylv'alfar. Father of Orichalcum.
I cannot profess to be an expert on the elves but as I understand souls have a continuance for the elves, for us it is different. They are lessons that teach us, not so we can continue those lives but so we can live different ones. So we can be better. Souls are created by the Queen of Endings and curated, those who have lessons to teach sent to us as we need them.
I also know that A'kioh's time of rule left the Sylv'alfar a hurt people. Those who survived, they either forsook their oaths and disobeyed their king to remain free or they followed A'kioh and his brash and devious son Orichalcum into Legion's embrace and carry now the memories of all those many years. The stain of actions not of their choice. For that, and for as far as I bear responsible for the actions of my soul, I am sorry. A'kioh would be sorry. Though I could never forgive A'kioh for what he did, I do understand that part of what he wanted was for his people to be safe. His goal may have even been noble. But his means? They were dishonourable. He did not need Legion, he needed Gloria.
For what the words of the one with my soul count for, the Sylv are well led by those who can claim blood or right to that lineage. But I would ask you for one thing. A chance to bury those worst parts of the past. I would ask you to fight, to help. Let charity and honour wash the stains from those relationships between sylv and Arvani. Let it build something new. You have so many skills that could make a difference.
I know this is a lot to ask of a people who have already lost so much. To come to Arx, to go to Sanctum, wherever is closest, and to hold those places against the Abyss. To trust those you saw as invaders. To listen to words from someone who holds the soul of a King, of a father, who so failed your people. Yet, my Gods, my faith, my people are under such threat that I must ask. And I feel I owe some chance to the Sylv to find peace after all A'kioh and his son caused. I know how many of you must feel towards A'kioh, believe me, I know a little about being let down by fathers and leaders. But. There is still a tomorrow, and with your help there will be many more tomorrows. For both our people.
I cannot profess to be an expert on the elves but as I understand souls have a continuance for the elves, for us it is different. They are lessons that teach us, not so we can continue those lives but so we can live different ones. So we can be better. Souls are created by the Queen of Endings and curated, those who have lessons to teach sent to us as we need them.
I also know that A'kioh's time of rule left the Sylv'alfar a hurt people. Those who survived, they either forsook their oaths and disobeyed their king to remain free or they followed A'kioh and his brash and devious son Orichalcum into Legion's embrace and carry now the memories of all those many years. The stain of actions not of their choice. For that, and for as far as I bear responsible for the actions of my soul, I am sorry. A'kioh would be sorry. Though I could never forgive A'kioh for what he did, I do understand that part of what he wanted was for his people to be safe. His goal may have even been noble. But his means? They were dishonourable. He did not need Legion, he needed Gloria.
For what the words of the one with my soul count for, the Sylv are well led by those who can claim blood or right to that lineage. But I would ask you for one thing. A chance to bury those worst parts of the past. I would ask you to fight, to help. Let charity and honour wash the stains from those relationships between sylv and Arvani. Let it build something new. You have so many skills that could make a difference.
I know this is a lot to ask of a people who have already lost so much. To come to Arx, to go to Sanctum, wherever is closest, and to hold those places against the Abyss. To trust those you saw as invaders. To listen to words from someone who holds the soul of a King, of a father, who so failed your people. Yet, my Gods, my faith, my people are under such threat that I must ask. And I feel I owe some chance to the Sylv to find peace after all A'kioh and his son caused. I know how many of you must feel towards A'kioh, believe me, I know a little about being let down by fathers and leaders. But. There is still a tomorrow, and with your help there will be many more tomorrows. For both our people.
Written By Aureth
Jan. 16, 2024, 11:05 a.m.(7/24/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Fortunato
Whatever shape was needful, this one is what you needed to become.
The world is your canvas, little brother, and I'm proud of you.
The world is your canvas, little brother, and I'm proud of you.
Written By Jeffeth
Jan. 16, 2024, 3:32 a.m.(7/24/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Jaenelle
The Seckonding is coming.
But on my honor, Arx will not fall.
And neither will Lenosia!
I pledge my hammer to you and your city for this fight and before the Gods and the eyes of history.
The lore of the future won't be about how humanity was saved.
It will be about how humanity saved itself.
But on my honor, Arx will not fall.
And neither will Lenosia!
I pledge my hammer to you and your city for this fight and before the Gods and the eyes of history.
The lore of the future won't be about how humanity was saved.
It will be about how humanity saved itself.
Written By Iliana
Jan. 16, 2024, 3:15 a.m.(7/23/1021 AR)
I spoke of the last meeting, and now I speak of the last moment.
One of the city's walls exploded. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that it was only a matter of time before Arx would be lost. Defenders went flying with the rubble as nightmares rushed through the opening, the thousands of abyssal beasts forcing their way through into the city.
The world would be lost.
He did not think, he never felt a moment of hesitation as he yelled to those whose loyalties he earned from battles fought beside them "Steel Guard, to me". Even as he drew his sword and prepared to fight till his last breath to give Arx and those he loved as much of a chance to survive as possible. The guard knew this was to be their last battle and with their weapons drawn a second later it was confirmed as Steel shouted "Here we hold!".
He would die there, unbroken, unbent, and with a will of steel.
One of the city's walls exploded. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that it was only a matter of time before Arx would be lost. Defenders went flying with the rubble as nightmares rushed through the opening, the thousands of abyssal beasts forcing their way through into the city.
The world would be lost.
He did not think, he never felt a moment of hesitation as he yelled to those whose loyalties he earned from battles fought beside them "Steel Guard, to me". Even as he drew his sword and prepared to fight till his last breath to give Arx and those he loved as much of a chance to survive as possible. The guard knew this was to be their last battle and with their weapons drawn a second later it was confirmed as Steel shouted "Here we hold!".
He would die there, unbroken, unbent, and with a will of steel.
Written By Iliana
Jan. 16, 2024, 2:52 a.m.(7/23/1021 AR)
The first time was not so different. The faces have changed, and the names are different, but the words? The words spoken then feel the same today.
As the time approaches for Arx to stand ready, I am reminded of a memory that is not my own now but was so many years ago.
The endless rows of soldiers standing guard on the newly built walls of Arx, both the walls and soldiers untested in so many ways and yet ready to defend until nothing remains. The meetings of gathered leaders; winged allies, flying in slow patrol overhead. The Metallic Order, the dragons, and their Cardian commanders. The leaders of the Arvani, and even those who were once enemies but stood strong as allies. They met within the very city that we do today to discuss options and to plan for what would be one of the most difficult things any of them ever had to face. Hope and fear touched features without shame. Determination and doubt were shared with friends and loved ones. Courage and fear could be felt by all.
Even though this memory is mine from another life, I can still feel the terrible pain from this moment.
Platinum spoke, ever the leader, kindness, and compassion that seem so very distant with the passage of a thousand years. The words of the great white dragon on honor. On duty. Of oaths made and kept, no matter what the cost. In Gold, Steel and Iron, there are words of courage and a will that shall never break. In Copper and Silver, there are words of hope, and a sense of audacity given as a prized gift to all that hear them- a sense that this is a war that could be won.
It will be the last time that Steel will see those people he loved so dearly. It will be the last time that they were all together, and as the last words were said, it's the hope merged with grief that comes with the knowledge that come what may, they shall not wholly die.
So today when you speak of hope, do not hide the fear. When you stand determined, do not hide the doubt that will affect us all. And when you find the courage to take your stand remember that those before you did the same thing and you will not be forgotten either.
As the time approaches for Arx to stand ready, I am reminded of a memory that is not my own now but was so many years ago.
The endless rows of soldiers standing guard on the newly built walls of Arx, both the walls and soldiers untested in so many ways and yet ready to defend until nothing remains. The meetings of gathered leaders; winged allies, flying in slow patrol overhead. The Metallic Order, the dragons, and their Cardian commanders. The leaders of the Arvani, and even those who were once enemies but stood strong as allies. They met within the very city that we do today to discuss options and to plan for what would be one of the most difficult things any of them ever had to face. Hope and fear touched features without shame. Determination and doubt were shared with friends and loved ones. Courage and fear could be felt by all.
Even though this memory is mine from another life, I can still feel the terrible pain from this moment.
Platinum spoke, ever the leader, kindness, and compassion that seem so very distant with the passage of a thousand years. The words of the great white dragon on honor. On duty. Of oaths made and kept, no matter what the cost. In Gold, Steel and Iron, there are words of courage and a will that shall never break. In Copper and Silver, there are words of hope, and a sense of audacity given as a prized gift to all that hear them- a sense that this is a war that could be won.
It will be the last time that Steel will see those people he loved so dearly. It will be the last time that they were all together, and as the last words were said, it's the hope merged with grief that comes with the knowledge that come what may, they shall not wholly die.
So today when you speak of hope, do not hide the fear. When you stand determined, do not hide the doubt that will affect us all. And when you find the courage to take your stand remember that those before you did the same thing and you will not be forgotten either.
Written By Aleksei
Jan. 16, 2024, 12:25 a.m.(7/23/1021 AR)
My parents are Hardwicke and Symanthe Morgan. My father is Captain of the Guard at Sanctum, and my mother is the best baker in the city. She's from Farhaven, originally. He's very uptight and she's very Northern, but they make it work.
My father is Hardwicke Morgan. The man who raised me every day of my life until I left. My dad.
But my other father, my father by blood, is Skald.
We're all Children of Skald, because he made humanity, but for some people, it's a bit more literal. It's Skald's bloodline that helped keep Legion bound for all those years, enough of them over centuries that he could be able to wander off without Legion getting loose. His bloodline was strongest up North, because that's where Legion was bound. Probably why the Mad Mage stories were the most popular up there.
(He isn't a mage. He doesn't _do_ magic, he _is_ magic.)
All I knew about my father by blood for years was that 1) he didn't like puns, and 2) he could disappear. I didn't get very far with that for a long time, until I ran into the right person at the right time. When she mentioned the name Skald, all I knew was the stories of the Mad Mage. We didn't know who the Lost Gods were back then. I didn't know anything about who he really was and he mentioned it.
I had a lot of feelings about it. A _lot_ of feelings. They weren't great feelings, for the most part. I didn't act great. There was a lot of yelling and a lot of me antagonizing because I didn't know what the fuck else to do. I'd spent so many years aggressively embracing the fact that I was _different_ from the rest of my family, and suddenly there was this guy that seemed like where all those differences came from, except he was better.
Obviously he was better. He was a god.
It took someone very, very smart, who I loved so much my heart ached, to make me understand: of course he was bigger and stronger and more powerful than me. But it didn't mean he was better at everything. It's kind of a wild thing, comparing yourself to a god, finding things you do better. Swordfighting. _People_. Skald's been around us a long time, so he's learned some things, but he's not human, and it's hard for him to learn how we work. Dumb shit, but somehow it made me feel a bit better about the whole thing.
The thing that's really stuck with me is how much he enjoyed humanity. His Children of Skald. Sure, he hated getting prayers about shit he couldn't do anything about, and he didn't want anyone asking him for guidance. Because he wanted us to choose. Some days, I've actually wondered if he isn't a bit envious of us. We're born, we grow, we learn so much, we fuck up. We become something _different_. That's a thing he can't ever do: be someone different. Be someone who's not him. The gods can only be what they are.
But us? We can do whatever we want. We can _be_ whatever we want. And that's so amazing, so _remarkable_, that it can make at least one god a little jealous.
I asked him what we were made of once, because someone asked me. He said mostly potential. And then a bunch of weird alchemy type words that I didn't know. Ammonia? Phosphorous? _Flourine_?! No fucking clue. I asked, and he said some of them were poison. Just a little bit.
Because he wanted us to be tough. He made us to choose, to be unfettered, and to _survive_. He made us to be capable of anything.
We're capable of this, Arvum. No matter what the odds seem to be. No matter how terrifying it is.
We're capable of this.
I don't know what secrets are worth anymore. I know that secrets makes our enemy stronger, but I don't know if there are enough secrets in the world that could weaken what's coming just by being spilled. But somehow, in this moment, with so many others offering their truth--
I dunno. Just seemed like the right thing to do.
My father is Hardwicke Morgan. The man who raised me every day of my life until I left. My dad.
But my other father, my father by blood, is Skald.
We're all Children of Skald, because he made humanity, but for some people, it's a bit more literal. It's Skald's bloodline that helped keep Legion bound for all those years, enough of them over centuries that he could be able to wander off without Legion getting loose. His bloodline was strongest up North, because that's where Legion was bound. Probably why the Mad Mage stories were the most popular up there.
(He isn't a mage. He doesn't _do_ magic, he _is_ magic.)
All I knew about my father by blood for years was that 1) he didn't like puns, and 2) he could disappear. I didn't get very far with that for a long time, until I ran into the right person at the right time. When she mentioned the name Skald, all I knew was the stories of the Mad Mage. We didn't know who the Lost Gods were back then. I didn't know anything about who he really was and he mentioned it.
I had a lot of feelings about it. A _lot_ of feelings. They weren't great feelings, for the most part. I didn't act great. There was a lot of yelling and a lot of me antagonizing because I didn't know what the fuck else to do. I'd spent so many years aggressively embracing the fact that I was _different_ from the rest of my family, and suddenly there was this guy that seemed like where all those differences came from, except he was better.
Obviously he was better. He was a god.
It took someone very, very smart, who I loved so much my heart ached, to make me understand: of course he was bigger and stronger and more powerful than me. But it didn't mean he was better at everything. It's kind of a wild thing, comparing yourself to a god, finding things you do better. Swordfighting. _People_. Skald's been around us a long time, so he's learned some things, but he's not human, and it's hard for him to learn how we work. Dumb shit, but somehow it made me feel a bit better about the whole thing.
The thing that's really stuck with me is how much he enjoyed humanity. His Children of Skald. Sure, he hated getting prayers about shit he couldn't do anything about, and he didn't want anyone asking him for guidance. Because he wanted us to choose. Some days, I've actually wondered if he isn't a bit envious of us. We're born, we grow, we learn so much, we fuck up. We become something _different_. That's a thing he can't ever do: be someone different. Be someone who's not him. The gods can only be what they are.
But us? We can do whatever we want. We can _be_ whatever we want. And that's so amazing, so _remarkable_, that it can make at least one god a little jealous.
I asked him what we were made of once, because someone asked me. He said mostly potential. And then a bunch of weird alchemy type words that I didn't know. Ammonia? Phosphorous? _Flourine_?! No fucking clue. I asked, and he said some of them were poison. Just a little bit.
Because he wanted us to be tough. He made us to choose, to be unfettered, and to _survive_. He made us to be capable of anything.
We're capable of this, Arvum. No matter what the odds seem to be. No matter how terrifying it is.
We're capable of this.
I don't know what secrets are worth anymore. I know that secrets makes our enemy stronger, but I don't know if there are enough secrets in the world that could weaken what's coming just by being spilled. But somehow, in this moment, with so many others offering their truth--
I dunno. Just seemed like the right thing to do.
Written By Tikva
Jan. 15, 2024, 8:03 p.m.(7/23/1021 AR)
I am Tikva, once Laveer, among other things. I have written before, publicly, about being a bastard and what it has meant to me and to my life. I am a daughter of broken vows. Everything I am I owe to the gifts of those who elevated me, and now I stand on my own two feet -- never alone; without surrender.
My father is the Dirge, once called Elegon. I spent years working to restore his sister, once Lia, once the Lianhan, who sang out her life in the War of Stolen Names. Her ghost clung to my soul like a cloak. It is done now. She is returned to the Wheel. She is free.
This is the most powerful truth I have. The last fragments of a broken soul shadowed me, borrowed pieces of my life and wove them with tears of anguish not my own. Her long horror of an undeath is ended and she has returned to the arms of the Queen of Endings. One day, we will embrace again there, like the sisters we once were in a life before this.
But I have a one last measure to sing before I go.
Let's sing it together.
My father is the Dirge, once called Elegon. I spent years working to restore his sister, once Lia, once the Lianhan, who sang out her life in the War of Stolen Names. Her ghost clung to my soul like a cloak. It is done now. She is returned to the Wheel. She is free.
This is the most powerful truth I have. The last fragments of a broken soul shadowed me, borrowed pieces of my life and wove them with tears of anguish not my own. Her long horror of an undeath is ended and she has returned to the arms of the Queen of Endings. One day, we will embrace again there, like the sisters we once were in a life before this.
But I have a one last measure to sing before I go.
Let's sing it together.
Written By Fortunato
Jan. 15, 2024, 7:49 p.m.(7/23/1021 AR)
Non omnis moriar.
I shall not wholly die.
As the next Reckoning approaches, I will tell the story of Gold. A slightly different story than that which you may have heard.
On the final day of the final stand, Gold's armor was spotless. Gleaming. It was made so with magic. The gleaming of golden armor served no purpose save to gleam. As the king at the time said, "It gives heart to our defenders to see the strongest among us as untouchable." In memorials, statues, stories, the Metallic Order (at least those who died defending Arx) still gleam, untouchably. But as it becomes time for we ourselves to give every bit of ourselves in the world's defense, it is also time to talk about who Gold was.
He was a slave. A slave of the Rex'alfar, as many humans were. He had nothing but a name, and as all chains are broken now, for good and catastrophe both, I will share it. He was Firavan. And he guarded this name as a last, desperate secret, taking it out only in the Eclipse of Mirrors to hold in his mind. He had enough facility with magic, with fire, that his masters would have killed him for it had they taken notice. They did not take notice. Not in time. Anger, bile, you might say, hate, you might say, simmered in him for years before Platinum drew him out and made him Gold. He did not trust elves, he did not trust anyone, save, perhaps, one, who I can no longer remember, for my folly is to sacrifice things I should not. But he took the mantle. He became the mantle. For a better world. For change. Platinum was gleaming, then.
"Fire is the test of gold, and make no mistake, the world is unkind and will test you. Once broken, but never again." And did not Firavan's years-ago taskmaster say, "Gold can be built into anything at all." Mutable. Changeable. He would be Gold, bright and strong of purpose and heart. And he would see every chain broken.
He was militant. He planted the seed of Brass's arming of Cardian slaves years after his death, for these chains could not be tolerated at any cost. The fight would never end, there were so many chains, and there was Ruin that had to be bound, and Zircon making deals with villages that they'd end up breaking (and getting stuck forever in one terrible day), and dragon princesses to rescue (also from Zircon). And, of course, Platinum's brother went and let the Tyrant into the world.
But he also had a family with that one I can no longer remember. He had children. A stupid apron, stupid time with friends, a familiar relationship with Aurumadin, who he loved dearly. And when Steel died defending Arx, and Iron died defending Arx, and Silver died defending Arx, and it was only him remaining, he had plenty to lose that had nothing to do with militant purpose or embodying ideals.
He wanted to be someone else. Somewhere else. Not an option. Gold Guard goes out! They have to. Keep civilians alive. Man the walls. They all die. He knew they would. He's flying out on Aurumadin, facing the Beast of Midnight, reminiscing about how sometimes we have centuries to plan and agonize sometimes there is no /time/. There is only the clash, the flaming sword, the flame and -- then you're in a blackened pit and Aurumadin is crawling out with you, and you're both a wounded mess, but over in what-will-be-Pyre, they're winning. A moment of hope . . .
And then Onyx kills Aurumadin, and you can't prevent it, you watch your friend explode into dust. You didn't expect Onyx. He says he won't insult you by asking you to surrender, but you consider it! Just to see what he'll do. And you have nothing left. You're exhausted. But at least Onyx is the sort of polite fellow to respect dueling etiquette. It's almost a breath of time, making that circle of runes, enough time that you see the children watching and have your last moment of certainty. You can't win this duel, but Onyx can't reach the Thinnest Point.
So you fight until you burn away. I think. I don't have any details here. You go back to the Wheel.
It's not exactly a happy story. I don't know that I help in these dire days, taking the bright monument and talking about the /inside/, but when else can I tell it? Fire is the test of gold and we are immersed in flames. It will be hotter yet and yet. But in the heat is change. I am full of doubts and grief. Was I shaped into who I needed to be this time? I was never any good at the mantle. The mantle is in its way an /appearance/, a gleaming we give ourselves to give others hope while we rattle in terror inside. But mantled or no, we will fight for the Wheel.
We shall not wholly die.
I shall not wholly die.
As the next Reckoning approaches, I will tell the story of Gold. A slightly different story than that which you may have heard.
On the final day of the final stand, Gold's armor was spotless. Gleaming. It was made so with magic. The gleaming of golden armor served no purpose save to gleam. As the king at the time said, "It gives heart to our defenders to see the strongest among us as untouchable." In memorials, statues, stories, the Metallic Order (at least those who died defending Arx) still gleam, untouchably. But as it becomes time for we ourselves to give every bit of ourselves in the world's defense, it is also time to talk about who Gold was.
He was a slave. A slave of the Rex'alfar, as many humans were. He had nothing but a name, and as all chains are broken now, for good and catastrophe both, I will share it. He was Firavan. And he guarded this name as a last, desperate secret, taking it out only in the Eclipse of Mirrors to hold in his mind. He had enough facility with magic, with fire, that his masters would have killed him for it had they taken notice. They did not take notice. Not in time. Anger, bile, you might say, hate, you might say, simmered in him for years before Platinum drew him out and made him Gold. He did not trust elves, he did not trust anyone, save, perhaps, one, who I can no longer remember, for my folly is to sacrifice things I should not. But he took the mantle. He became the mantle. For a better world. For change. Platinum was gleaming, then.
"Fire is the test of gold, and make no mistake, the world is unkind and will test you. Once broken, but never again." And did not Firavan's years-ago taskmaster say, "Gold can be built into anything at all." Mutable. Changeable. He would be Gold, bright and strong of purpose and heart. And he would see every chain broken.
He was militant. He planted the seed of Brass's arming of Cardian slaves years after his death, for these chains could not be tolerated at any cost. The fight would never end, there were so many chains, and there was Ruin that had to be bound, and Zircon making deals with villages that they'd end up breaking (and getting stuck forever in one terrible day), and dragon princesses to rescue (also from Zircon). And, of course, Platinum's brother went and let the Tyrant into the world.
But he also had a family with that one I can no longer remember. He had children. A stupid apron, stupid time with friends, a familiar relationship with Aurumadin, who he loved dearly. And when Steel died defending Arx, and Iron died defending Arx, and Silver died defending Arx, and it was only him remaining, he had plenty to lose that had nothing to do with militant purpose or embodying ideals.
He wanted to be someone else. Somewhere else. Not an option. Gold Guard goes out! They have to. Keep civilians alive. Man the walls. They all die. He knew they would. He's flying out on Aurumadin, facing the Beast of Midnight, reminiscing about how sometimes we have centuries to plan and agonize sometimes there is no /time/. There is only the clash, the flaming sword, the flame and -- then you're in a blackened pit and Aurumadin is crawling out with you, and you're both a wounded mess, but over in what-will-be-Pyre, they're winning. A moment of hope . . .
And then Onyx kills Aurumadin, and you can't prevent it, you watch your friend explode into dust. You didn't expect Onyx. He says he won't insult you by asking you to surrender, but you consider it! Just to see what he'll do. And you have nothing left. You're exhausted. But at least Onyx is the sort of polite fellow to respect dueling etiquette. It's almost a breath of time, making that circle of runes, enough time that you see the children watching and have your last moment of certainty. You can't win this duel, but Onyx can't reach the Thinnest Point.
So you fight until you burn away. I think. I don't have any details here. You go back to the Wheel.
It's not exactly a happy story. I don't know that I help in these dire days, taking the bright monument and talking about the /inside/, but when else can I tell it? Fire is the test of gold and we are immersed in flames. It will be hotter yet and yet. But in the heat is change. I am full of doubts and grief. Was I shaped into who I needed to be this time? I was never any good at the mantle. The mantle is in its way an /appearance/, a gleaming we give ourselves to give others hope while we rattle in terror inside. But mantled or no, we will fight for the Wheel.
We shall not wholly die.
Written By Lucita
Jan. 15, 2024, 7:11 p.m.(7/23/1021 AR)
So much work to be done. Our gardens are lined with tents, communal cook fire areas, and necessities to help shelter incoming refugees. Food, medical and armory stockpiles are now packed in the various gatehouse rooms and a room set aside for birthing or infirmary. The training center jointly owned by Saik and Malvici is busy round the clock polishing skills of all adults and near-adults who take refuge with us. (All citizens of Saik, like those of Malvici, are required to have some degree of weapon training.) Heaps of makeshift weapons-clubs, pitchforks, scythe, sickle, big piles of stones for slings are piled next to racks and chests of knives, swords, spears, bows and arrows, lots and lots of arrows. Barracks are full, soldiers sleeping in shifts and some even putting bedrolls around the inside perimeter of the stable. Perhaps the snorting and whickering of horses is easier to sleep through than snoring of dozens of soldiers. Are we ready? No, of course not, but we're trying to prepare for all that we can, our lives are on the line.
Written By Ann
Jan. 15, 2024, 6:50 p.m.(7/23/1021 AR)
To any who survive this reckoning and know of my children. Tell them their Mama tried her best and loved them all her life.
To the Last.
Choice will always matter.
To the Last.
Choice will always matter.
Written By Lianne
Jan. 15, 2024, 6:09 p.m.(7/23/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Jan
Your hard work is appreciated. A moment such as this merits the profoundest profanity.
Written By Raven
Jan. 15, 2024, 5:20 p.m.(7/23/1021 AR)
Thank gods I the Blackheart blade is back in my hand. Bad enough I felt naked without it but to have to make my last stand without it just didn't feel right.
Written By Victus
Jan. 15, 2024, 3:51 p.m.(7/23/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Donrai
Fuck you.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.