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Written By Cybele

Dec. 1, 2016, 7:27 p.m.(4/9/1005 AR)

I am to learn the religious practices of the Southerners. They write in journals, and the pages are bound in books with their name - the white journals a public record. The Black Journals for secrets of the soul.

We have similar rites in the Everwinter - where anyone may leave their mark in stone or wood. And there are sacred sites with hidden learning.

We do not have so many rows of scrolls and books, however. It is a little overwhelming.

Hello, nations of Arvum. I am Cybele. I hope my writings will prove of use to some.

Written By Bethany

Dec. 1, 2016, 4:16 p.m.(4/8/1005 AR)

Mother --

(I don't think there is any need to address my entries. However, this is my journal to do with as I wish)

I peeked into the Vellichorian Academy today. Briefly, yet. It reminds me of you. While I thank your foresight into seeing to my education and paying so much attention to me (nurturing me in ways that the gardener sees to the garden) it does make me wish for things I ought not.

While math is a truly elegant study: numbers and equations with predictable relationships. Languages, music, and books. All rather safe outlets for an curious mind ... and yet.

(I wish to know everything.)

It would have been easier, perhaps, if I had been kept an an ignorant and pretty thing (daffodils and cornflower) with empty blue eyes and a smile that reveals nothing between my ears. Aim for nothing more than to be on the arm of a merchant husband, raise children, and run a shop until my dying days.

A simple life, certainly, but one that I could live without the desire to be ... more ... beating about my chest to the thrum of my heart like angry birds.

(Ach. That was purple prose, Beth. Terrible.)

Written By Eirene

Dec. 1, 2016, 4:12 p.m.(4/8/1005 AR)

So it's poetry you all want, eh?

There once was a girl from Setarco
Who could take six or seven in one go
Hand over your coin--

Actually I can't finish this. I'm too refined a lady to actually tell you the rest, Archivist. Sorry.

Written By Serafine

Dec. 1, 2016, 1 p.m.(4/8/1005 AR)

Gods save me. More bloody poets.

Written By Leona

Dec. 1, 2016, 12:56 p.m.(4/8/1005 AR)

Relationship Note on Leola

I will be taking archery lessons on occasion from Leola Allenatore - whom is an animal trainer for the Saik Lord, and seems a capable teacher who could could with a little more confidence in herself, I think.

(Personal opinions aside: the more skills that I have at my disposal, the better.)

Before doing so, I need to acquire a bow...

Written By Leona

Dec. 1, 2016, 12:44 p.m.(4/8/1005 AR)

I never would have expected to be sitting behind the desk where the former Lord Commander Dayne Valardin once sat. It seemed a strong likelihood that I would have followed in his wake ...

Not like this. Not in such a way.

It feels so ...

I feel so ...

... never the mind. I cannot express my emotions in any kind of coherent way without sounding like a child. Honor, strength, determination, loyalty. Those are concrete, immovable concepts that I can focus on.

I live to serve. I'll die to serve, if it comes to that.

Written By Eleyna

Dec. 1, 2016, 12:28 p.m.(4/8/1005 AR)

Oh, look. More poets.

Written By Branan

Dec. 1, 2016, 11:56 a.m.(4/8/1005 AR)

I came upon a man, yet I did not speak,
But I had voice, ‘You have but one boot’,
Such a barren foot, such a lonely sole,
His claim; a maiden yonder found it cute,
His boot she claimed, his boot she stole.

I came upon a woman, yet I did not speak,
But had I voice, ‘You have drawn a sword’.
Such an angry woman, such a sharp blade,
Her claim; that she was startled by the lord,
Fashion and steel, the conversation of trade.

I came upon a scene, I was compelled to speak,
The lack-booted lord required of me advice,
Of which color would look best on his frame,
To true, I gave him good deed at good price,
Neither black nor blue, but a crimson flame.

I came upon a scene, I was compelled to speak,
The soft-soled Lord of the Lighthouse made ribald jest,
Of sailors and love and the stark loneliness of barren sea,
Forced to speak of myself, I did so only when pressed,
As I can speak at length and write for hours, just not of me.

I was part of a scene, and I was compelled to write,
An offer of island stewardship, I had to sadly reject,
Though it was made in good honor, truly I am blessed,
As no other employment I can take, unless checked,
No insult he took, and instead on his coin, I am dressed.

Praise be to Lord Salazar Argento for his generosity.

Poet for hire – no subject too mundane.

Written By Branan

Dec. 1, 2016, 7:24 a.m.(4/7/1005 AR)

The Inn has closed and the sun has set,
Star-bringing darkness consumes the sky,
Time come for reflection as to not forget,
Time for quill to ink as sleep draws nigh.

From the docks unto the city, winters chill,
Wandering the shops, warm and sunny Aurora,
Finding hospitality and employments thrill,
A fine cloak to warm me made by graceful signora,

A note, a message comes, from Lady Greenmarch,
A conversation to be had, an honorarium paid,
A gift from the generous lady, for dry throat parched,
By such helpful glory, any poet may be swayed.

And yet, from homeward throne thought so distant,
The Grand Duchess Esera Velenosa heard my plea,
Penned so quick was my resume’ titled ‘assistant’,
And her response, inked so quick was ‘Come to me’.

Written By Juliet

Dec. 1, 2016, 3:51 a.m.(4/7/1005 AR)

Second chances are a blessed thing. And I am grateful to those who are willing to grant them.

Written By Preston

Dec. 1, 2016, 3:45 a.m.(4/7/1005 AR)

Relationship Note on Natalia

She is as beautiful as a sunrise and wise, and I fear I have made poor impression upon her. The fault is surely mine.

I have faith in my brothers and sisters, the Templar, the only family I have ever known. I know them.

If they fail, they fell.

That is not arrogance: that is faith. If I can not have faith in the Templar, I do not understand faith at all.

Written By Leola

Dec. 1, 2016, 2:47 a.m.(4/7/1005 AR)

Relationship Note on Leona

She can't shoot a bow. It's understandable, her role being what it is amongst the King's Own, but still, it's useful to know. I was priviledged enough to give her a short lesson in archery, and she's asked to continue her lessons at times with me.

I train -horses-, hounds and hawks. She is -not- a horse. Not even close. Still. There's a certain satisfaction in teaching

Written By Leola

Dec. 1, 2016, 2:45 a.m.(4/7/1005 AR)

Relationship Note on Kima

... I'm still bruised.

Lady Kima and I discussed the upcoming, likely, struggles. I'd assumed, when the Saiks marched, I would accompany them; I'm a fine horsewoman, and I can use a bow, I know the land and I can bind wounds well. I'd be an aid to them, I though. The Lady Kima decided to assist my training in such matters.

By chasing me around the yard with a staff while I learned to avoid it.

... how did I get bruises in those places?

Written By Serafine

Dec. 1, 2016, 2:40 a.m.(4/7/1005 AR)

.... why the -fuck- is there dog shit in my room?

I swear to Gods if this is from that yapping little gray rodent Eleyna is calling a pet these days-

Written By Lark

Dec. 1, 2016, 1:36 a.m.(4/7/1005 AR)

Relationship Note on Tristan

What an unhelpful ass.

Written By Eos

Dec. 1, 2016, 12:12 a.m.(4/6/1005 AR)

Someday, I may best my sister with the sword, but today was not the day. Still, I walked away from her instruction and our spar a little stronger with the sword than I was when I walked into it, paid for with aches and bruises.

Lady Niamh was kind enough to put Sadorius through his paces prior to my lesson. He is a resilient beast, but will require a good deal more training with Mistress Leola if he is expected to survive the battlefield.

Written By Ianthe

Nov. 30, 2016, 11:24 p.m.(4/6/1005 AR)

Did you love me? Were you frightened for me? Were you frightened of me? What were you running from?

Are my eyes like yours? My hair? Or do they resemble my father's, whoever he was?

I dream of you sometimes. In my dreams, you look a bit like Josie and you talk to me like Myrinda does, which I suppose is no surprise.

Would you be proud of what I've become? Would you be ashamed?

I am sorry that I never thought to ask these questions sooner, Mother.

Written By Sina

Nov. 30, 2016, 10:28 p.m.(4/6/1005 AR)

Books. There are books everywhere in my waking hours, when I am not sitting in the taverns or at the dockside. I am beginning to hate the smell of paper and ink. Fruitless pieces of history.

They tell me everything and nothing at once.

When father was alive, the books were associated with teachers. I learned from books, though not as much as I did through spoken word and action. Now, I read them and hope that I can glean information that I desire.

I do not. Day after day, I do not.

They make me miss the sea. They make me miss the Mistress. They make me miss the distant shorelines of worlds away.

Perhaps some day I will return to it all.

Written By Bethany

Nov. 30, 2016, 9:50 p.m.(4/6/1005 AR)

Naturally, the first time upon meeting the prestigious Mistress Greyhope, I would have thought that it would a perfect situation for conversation: the event honoring Jayus at the shrine.

She dropped, ever so casually, a belt so divinely crafted that made me wonder if I could ever aspire to such heights of creativity --

(Aside: the reflecting mirror portrait that the quietly spoken maiden offered as tribute was unsettling. Ever so, but also - interesting. Arresting, in a way that I would never admit to.)

-- and, naturally, I seemed to have stepped into the coals that seem to follow the name, sometimes. Ones that flare tempers.

I will admit that I added just a touch of kindling to that fire.

It was a little satisfying.

Written By Silas

Nov. 30, 2016, 6:51 p.m.(4/6/1005 AR)

I doubt my father expected me to be the one out of his progeny to be appointed as a councilor to the Crown, and yet it is now so. The circumstances which led to it happening are just as strange...

But I am thankful for the opportunity. My fate - if there is such a thing - appears to be rife with unexpected twists and turns.

This will be an awkward letter to pen.

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