Written By Marian
May 20, 2018, 5:41 a.m.(10/11/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Victus
I am sorry my friend but unless that child takes after your sweet wife, you are screwed. That babe will have the same fire as the father in question. Perhaps you can seek a tailor to make you some cloth plugs. I do hear that can help.
Written By Marian
May 20, 2018, 5:32 a.m.(10/11/1008 AR)
My daughter, Nia, had the funniest reaction to seeing her twin baby brothers. She pointed at them and said, "Bye!" As if to say that I should remove these little beings from her life immediately. When I made it clear that babies are staying, she pouted and then insisted in joining us on the bed. She looked at both of them as I told her that she had two little ones to watch out for. Nia crossed her arms and told me, "No!"
So if any parents have any suggestions on how to get my stubborn minx to accept her brothers into the fold, I would appreciate it.
So if any parents have any suggestions on how to get my stubborn minx to accept her brothers into the fold, I would appreciate it.
Written By Belladonna
May 20, 2018, 2:13 a.m.(10/10/1008 AR)
It was so nice to see that a wake for my husband has been set up already. One that I was neither informed of, nor asked about. And one in a manner that he himself would have found abhorrent. But I suppose its less about remembering him and more about seeming the grieving family to a man they hadn't spoken to in months, possibly longer.
Written By Fredrik
May 20, 2018, 1:34 a.m.(10/10/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Delilah
From: The Desk of Lord Fredrik RedTyde
Subject: Musings on history, in response to Lady Delilah Whitehawk's journal posting (same day)
I have yet to meet this charming woman in person, but yet she continues to intrigue and amuse me with her insightful entries. And she touches upon something that I have often, as I sit in the depths of a dusty library, or shifting through scattered papers, wondered on. The correctness of our view of history.
You see, I have always seen facts and observations as one might a field of stars. Often, they seem so scattered, arranged in patternless swarms of points that mean nothing. But when one carefully traces them together, and sees the shapes hidden within? Constellations appear. Lovely images that suddenly are filled with meaning and purpose. But as one sits there and looks through their window and peers at the stars?
They realize one is just a speck of dust, glittering in the candlelight. Wipe it away, and the image is gone, or forever changed. How much of what we call history is just a speck of random dust, reflected by our candlelight?
Ah, but if we did not look up, we would not see the stars at all, and wouldn't that be a far, far worse fate than a bit of dust?
Subject: Musings on history, in response to Lady Delilah Whitehawk's journal posting (same day)
I have yet to meet this charming woman in person, but yet she continues to intrigue and amuse me with her insightful entries. And she touches upon something that I have often, as I sit in the depths of a dusty library, or shifting through scattered papers, wondered on. The correctness of our view of history.
You see, I have always seen facts and observations as one might a field of stars. Often, they seem so scattered, arranged in patternless swarms of points that mean nothing. But when one carefully traces them together, and sees the shapes hidden within? Constellations appear. Lovely images that suddenly are filled with meaning and purpose. But as one sits there and looks through their window and peers at the stars?
They realize one is just a speck of dust, glittering in the candlelight. Wipe it away, and the image is gone, or forever changed. How much of what we call history is just a speck of random dust, reflected by our candlelight?
Ah, but if we did not look up, we would not see the stars at all, and wouldn't that be a far, far worse fate than a bit of dust?
Written By Reigna
May 20, 2018, 1:31 a.m.(10/10/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Kael
You deserve to bask in the glow of a job well done.
Written By Kael
May 20, 2018, 1:30 a.m.(10/10/1008 AR)
There is little more satisfying than a project coming together after a great amount of hard work and dedication.
Written By Victus
May 20, 2018, 1:28 a.m.(10/10/1008 AR)
I'm proud of my wife.
In over a year she's shown remarkable growth in stepping up to the role and responsibility in her rule at my side. Seeing her adapt to our ways and customs, they have washed over her like a hard rock in the storm, yet they've not washed away who she is. She still holds the drive and the passion that she possessed when I'd first met her, through the thick of what the time has brought. The daughter we made now has her first year behind her. One spent with bubbling in her cradle to walloping with a wooden sword.
I never saw myself as a father. Yet, the Stormborn is one of my proudest accomplishments.
I can't think of anyone better I could be spending my life with, and I'm glad that I took the chance when it presented itself. I just hope this next kid(s) won't be such fucking firecrackers to deal with. One screaming baby that keeps trying to steal all the sharp objects is enough. Gimme a calm one next, please.
In over a year she's shown remarkable growth in stepping up to the role and responsibility in her rule at my side. Seeing her adapt to our ways and customs, they have washed over her like a hard rock in the storm, yet they've not washed away who she is. She still holds the drive and the passion that she possessed when I'd first met her, through the thick of what the time has brought. The daughter we made now has her first year behind her. One spent with bubbling in her cradle to walloping with a wooden sword.
I never saw myself as a father. Yet, the Stormborn is one of my proudest accomplishments.
I can't think of anyone better I could be spending my life with, and I'm glad that I took the chance when it presented itself. I just hope this next kid(s) won't be such fucking firecrackers to deal with. One screaming baby that keeps trying to steal all the sharp objects is enough. Gimme a calm one next, please.
Written By Alarissa
May 20, 2018, 12:42 a.m.(10/10/1008 AR)
You are a year old.
Some day you will read this, when I am long gone and this is all you have left of me. I know this because it is stated in my will. But today on the beach, we celebrated. And I sat under a tree with your brother or sister still growing inside of me for months yet, cradling the child of someone else and watched you play. YOu don't play with others yet. I have been told that that will come at some point. But you grasped that little wooden sworn and the Countess Fireviper held your hand to walk you over at your own speed to fall on top of the Lady Signe and the your father.
You have many years to go, much to learn. From him and I, from Genaile and all the others who will come and go in your life. I only hope, that you do your best. For that is the most that anyone can ask of anyone else. And to wear a dress now and then, that makes all jaws drop. You won't wear silk with little lambs embroidered on the hem forever.
Happy birthday dear Astrid. May it be the first of a great many more.
Some day you will read this, when I am long gone and this is all you have left of me. I know this because it is stated in my will. But today on the beach, we celebrated. And I sat under a tree with your brother or sister still growing inside of me for months yet, cradling the child of someone else and watched you play. YOu don't play with others yet. I have been told that that will come at some point. But you grasped that little wooden sworn and the Countess Fireviper held your hand to walk you over at your own speed to fall on top of the Lady Signe and the your father.
You have many years to go, much to learn. From him and I, from Genaile and all the others who will come and go in your life. I only hope, that you do your best. For that is the most that anyone can ask of anyone else. And to wear a dress now and then, that makes all jaws drop. You won't wear silk with little lambs embroidered on the hem forever.
Happy birthday dear Astrid. May it be the first of a great many more.
Written By Delilah
May 20, 2018, 12:38 a.m.(10/10/1008 AR)
Why did someone have to mention a dragon under the city? Indeed, a dragon with a dislike of Oathlanders.
In other words, likely a considerable grudge originating from a source buried in time, possibly due to a misunderstanding, matters of territory, or plausibly any sort of dispute stitched and reworked by bards, storytellers, and historians throughout time.
I wonder if anyone in the past ever seeded these tales with the intent to confound future generations. Imagine sitting around a table with a few friends, bottles of liquor, and stacks of paper. It sounds like the ideal way to pass a rainy night in the most productive fashion, burning through ideas, increasingly more imaginative and ridiculous, and wondering if anyone will pay them credence in ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred years. How we bequeath a slanted view through a wavery looking-glass of the world so often runs out of our biases and limitations.
In other words, likely a considerable grudge originating from a source buried in time, possibly due to a misunderstanding, matters of territory, or plausibly any sort of dispute stitched and reworked by bards, storytellers, and historians throughout time.
I wonder if anyone in the past ever seeded these tales with the intent to confound future generations. Imagine sitting around a table with a few friends, bottles of liquor, and stacks of paper. It sounds like the ideal way to pass a rainy night in the most productive fashion, burning through ideas, increasingly more imaginative and ridiculous, and wondering if anyone will pay them credence in ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred years. How we bequeath a slanted view through a wavery looking-glass of the world so often runs out of our biases and limitations.
Written By Morrighan
May 20, 2018, 12:34 a.m.(10/10/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Joscelin
What did I tell you? I bet he's had enough adventure in the world of questionable liquor for one day.
Fort's paint spirits are probably a decent palate cleanser, at least it'll likely get that nasty taste out of your mouth. Funnily enough, there's a story about how I got that bottle. It wasn't malicious. It was the wrong answer to a riddle, but points definitely were given for creativity. That rum will go down as the weirdest one in my collection, at least so far.
Fort's paint spirits are probably a decent palate cleanser, at least it'll likely get that nasty taste out of your mouth. Funnily enough, there's a story about how I got that bottle. It wasn't malicious. It was the wrong answer to a riddle, but points definitely were given for creativity. That rum will go down as the weirdest one in my collection, at least so far.
Written By Joscelin
May 20, 2018, 12:27 a.m.(10/10/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Merek
I am what I am because of you, all of you. I owe you and the rest of the Guild more than I can ever repay.
Written By Merek
May 20, 2018, 12:26 a.m.(10/10/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Joscelin
You are one of the best friends that I have here in Arx. I just wanted you to know that people appreciate all you do as the Guildmaster of the Crafters. She is always there to assist people when they need it.
Written By Joscelin
May 20, 2018, 12:26 a.m.(10/10/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Morrighan
I spent the last fifteen minutes helping pry that bit of baby-kraken out of that poor boy's mouth. You're right about the little suction cups.
Also that shit tasted terrible. I accidentally grabbed a cup of Fort's paint spirits for cleaning his brushes. This was worse. Whoever gave that to you was not a nice person.
Also that shit tasted terrible. I accidentally grabbed a cup of Fort's paint spirits for cleaning his brushes. This was worse. Whoever gave that to you was not a nice person.
Written By Morrighan
May 20, 2018, 12:21 a.m.(10/10/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Joscelin
I thought my arrangement had been off, now I know why. SOMEBODY HAS BEEN IN MY BOOZE. I suppose if anything it was an educational experience, you got to learn about different types and flavors. Though, you can't really be surprised. I'm pretty sure I've warned you of it before. To tell you the truth I don't honestly know if that squid crawled in that bottle or if it was shoved in there for shock value. I refuse to drink it, but it's interesting to look at. Suppose I ought to put up a little sign on my cabinet that reads, "Abandon all sobriety, ye who enter here."
Woman, I'll have you know that I've cut back and my liver is just -fine-.
I can't believe you're tasting that shit, don't make that poor scholar drink it! If he ends up gagging on those tentacles, I won't be held responsible. Those little suction cups cling, you know.
Woman, I'll have you know that I've cut back and my liver is just -fine-.
I can't believe you're tasting that shit, don't make that poor scholar drink it! If he ends up gagging on those tentacles, I won't be held responsible. Those little suction cups cling, you know.
Written By Joscelin
May 20, 2018, 12:06 a.m.(10/10/1008 AR)
I had a dream the other night. I wrote it down that morning so I could put it here.
I was standing at the edge of a beach. I don't know which one, it wasn't one I remembered. There was a mist setting in, a fog so thick I couldn't see the horizon, the sun taken over by this grayness that couldn't possibly be real, but it wasn't evil either. It was soft, like rabbit fur, dense as soup, and it smelled like damp wood.
There were voices in this fog, and as it roiled over the green-blue waves to the shore I stood at, I realized it wouldn't reach me. It was important that I get close enough to touch. I don't know why.
I ran down the beach, to an outcropping of rocks that jutted out into the waves, tide pools with their colorful creatures and calm waters resting within. Hopping across the rocks, I tripped twice in my efforts to get to the end of it; the sun was coming out! I had to get to this mist before it was burned away!
Finally, I got to the rocks that were swallowed up by the gray softness, stood before it; it was held back by something invisible, something that yielded to my touch. I could reach through! The voices in the fog were ... normal. Everyday voices, people I'd never met and some that I had, all living, all breathing, and those voices pressed with the fog against the unseen barrier. I reached into it.
I can't describe what I felt. Not rabbit fur. Not ... anything, really. Warmth, like the pressing of my palm to skin, but nothing so solid. And then suddenly, there was.
I closed my hand around fingers that reached back, tangled with mine. I grunted with the effort of pulling, the other hand squeezed me in encouragement. I leaned back, farther, farther- ...the sun was coming! I panted with the effort, almost sitting on the rocks with how hard I pulled and-
-with a sound like a pop, the owner of that other hand toppled right into me.
Their arms went around me, I heard a laugh in my ear. I hugged them tightly and laughed with them. I pulled back to look at their face, to see who they were-
-and I woke up.
I don't know what it means. It was a strange dream, vivid, it meant something but I'm not sure what. I woke up trying to remember this person I laughed with, had pulled from the warm chaos of living and into my life. I suspect it's a metaphor of some kind.
I was standing at the edge of a beach. I don't know which one, it wasn't one I remembered. There was a mist setting in, a fog so thick I couldn't see the horizon, the sun taken over by this grayness that couldn't possibly be real, but it wasn't evil either. It was soft, like rabbit fur, dense as soup, and it smelled like damp wood.
There were voices in this fog, and as it roiled over the green-blue waves to the shore I stood at, I realized it wouldn't reach me. It was important that I get close enough to touch. I don't know why.
I ran down the beach, to an outcropping of rocks that jutted out into the waves, tide pools with their colorful creatures and calm waters resting within. Hopping across the rocks, I tripped twice in my efforts to get to the end of it; the sun was coming out! I had to get to this mist before it was burned away!
Finally, I got to the rocks that were swallowed up by the gray softness, stood before it; it was held back by something invisible, something that yielded to my touch. I could reach through! The voices in the fog were ... normal. Everyday voices, people I'd never met and some that I had, all living, all breathing, and those voices pressed with the fog against the unseen barrier. I reached into it.
I can't describe what I felt. Not rabbit fur. Not ... anything, really. Warmth, like the pressing of my palm to skin, but nothing so solid. And then suddenly, there was.
I closed my hand around fingers that reached back, tangled with mine. I grunted with the effort of pulling, the other hand squeezed me in encouragement. I leaned back, farther, farther- ...the sun was coming! I panted with the effort, almost sitting on the rocks with how hard I pulled and-
-with a sound like a pop, the owner of that other hand toppled right into me.
Their arms went around me, I heard a laugh in my ear. I hugged them tightly and laughed with them. I pulled back to look at their face, to see who they were-
-and I woke up.
I don't know what it means. It was a strange dream, vivid, it meant something but I'm not sure what. I woke up trying to remember this person I laughed with, had pulled from the warm chaos of living and into my life. I suspect it's a metaphor of some kind.
Written By Joscelin
May 19, 2018, 11:49 p.m.(10/10/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Morrighan
Today I made the horrible mistake of going through Morrighan's liquor collection. I had no idea so many varieties of spirits existed, there's even one with gold in it, and another with fruit drifting in the bottle, the liquid a bright, pretty red. There's another one with a fancy label that has a dead creature resting at the bottom, and I can't tell if this was on purpose or some poor creature got too adventurous for its own good.
As much as I express concern to me sweet friend that perhaps she drinks too much, she looks stunning, and remarks that this is the effect of being 'pickled'.
If I could stomach the stuff as well as she can, I'd probably have less wrinkles.
Ah, it's just as well. I rather like the little silver strands I have here and there.
Scholar, here, drink this with me. I'm pretty sure that's a squid, so it has to have been put there on purpose. No, we don't have to eat it.
As much as I express concern to me sweet friend that perhaps she drinks too much, she looks stunning, and remarks that this is the effect of being 'pickled'.
If I could stomach the stuff as well as she can, I'd probably have less wrinkles.
Ah, it's just as well. I rather like the little silver strands I have here and there.
Scholar, here, drink this with me. I'm pretty sure that's a squid, so it has to have been put there on purpose. No, we don't have to eat it.
Written By Vanora
May 19, 2018, 11:45 p.m.(10/10/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Driskell
He's here. Back in Arx.
Alive. Changed somewhat, but no more than the rest of us.
I could kill him for abandoning me...me and all of Arx, when he was needed.
Except not really. I'm rather small and not particularly strong and if I managed to succeed I'd be devastated because he would be gone once more.
Break my heart once, I forgive you. Break it twice...still forgive you. Don't try a third time. Please.
Stay here.
Alive. Changed somewhat, but no more than the rest of us.
I could kill him for abandoning me...me and all of Arx, when he was needed.
Except not really. I'm rather small and not particularly strong and if I managed to succeed I'd be devastated because he would be gone once more.
Break my heart once, I forgive you. Break it twice...still forgive you. Don't try a third time. Please.
Stay here.
Written By Candace
May 19, 2018, 10:58 p.m.(10/10/1008 AR)
Know that one thousand and eight years have passed since the Reckoning. Today is the tenth day of the tenth month. I am writing from the city of Arx, in the small room I can afford at the Badger Boarding House, in the Ward of House Grayson. I am Candace Corvo, former sellsword and current proprietor of The Bakery, and this is my white journal.
The week has been an eventful one. I have approached two clients regarding their requests for baked goods. First, for the Duchess Calista Fidante I catered a small array of treats, from tarts to cinnamon rolls. Second, for Count Duarte Amadeo I am working on a cake set to his exacting specifications. During this time I offered my services to Princess Sabella Grayson and produced an exquisite chocolate mirror cake.
I don't think I'd have managed any of this if I'd not spent at least a little time with the Redwing Caravan trading recipes and trying them out on the men and women traveling together. I'd thank Cookie, but I know that is no longer possible. Still, I like to think he was aware of my gratitude when he was still able to receive it.
I have maintained the tradition of offering the malformed and day-old castoffs for free to those in need. Arx is a city of great wealth, and yet there is tremendous poverty if one knows where to look. When I found that a place to look was along the Merchant Road, I decided to continue. Cookie never let anyone go hungry, and neither shall I.
The week has been an eventful one. I have approached two clients regarding their requests for baked goods. First, for the Duchess Calista Fidante I catered a small array of treats, from tarts to cinnamon rolls. Second, for Count Duarte Amadeo I am working on a cake set to his exacting specifications. During this time I offered my services to Princess Sabella Grayson and produced an exquisite chocolate mirror cake.
I don't think I'd have managed any of this if I'd not spent at least a little time with the Redwing Caravan trading recipes and trying them out on the men and women traveling together. I'd thank Cookie, but I know that is no longer possible. Still, I like to think he was aware of my gratitude when he was still able to receive it.
I have maintained the tradition of offering the malformed and day-old castoffs for free to those in need. Arx is a city of great wealth, and yet there is tremendous poverty if one knows where to look. When I found that a place to look was along the Merchant Road, I decided to continue. Cookie never let anyone go hungry, and neither shall I.
Written By Porter
May 19, 2018, 10:31 p.m.(10/10/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Felicia
Dear journal, yesterday I got my hind end smote by a knight. I went to the Sailor's Ball thinking, you know, I'm up for some music and some dancing and maybe a little social drinking. I like having the occasional beverage when I'm out with friends, and it was at the Golden Hart. You know I can't resist going to the Hart.
No dancing.
No.
Dancing.
I am not sure what kind of "ball" it was supposed to be... just kidding, I had a good time, but maybe if they had called it a party I wouldn't have worn those fine leather dancing shoes that I picked up last time I was down to the Lyceum. Mock combat atop barrels, climbing the rigging, and firewalking? Dame Harrow did it all. I wonder if she'd consider taking up sailing.
No dancing.
No.
Dancing.
I am not sure what kind of "ball" it was supposed to be... just kidding, I had a good time, but maybe if they had called it a party I wouldn't have worn those fine leather dancing shoes that I picked up last time I was down to the Lyceum. Mock combat atop barrels, climbing the rigging, and firewalking? Dame Harrow did it all. I wonder if she'd consider taking up sailing.
Written By Thena
May 19, 2018, 10:27 p.m.(10/10/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Harper
I am positive you never saw Orazio playing with orphans in the Tragedy. Why, it would be like him playing ball with children on the Judgment Green, or petting a huge drooly mastiff for hours on end. Simply beyond belief.
You can't tell me not to laugh at Cal. It's like telling the sun not to shine.
You can't tell me not to laugh at Cal. It's like telling the sun not to shine.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.