Written By Cirroch
Dec. 26, 2017, 2:19 a.m.(11/5/1007 AR)
Relationship Note on Logan
Logan, you are on a dark path. You dare invoke our ancestors.
No one has released you from your oaths. Proceed with caution, son.
No one has released you from your oaths. Proceed with caution, son.
Written By Logan
Dec. 26, 2017, 1:51 a.m.(11/5/1007 AR)
Relationship Note on Shard
Thank you for the insight.
Written By Shard
Dec. 26, 2017, 1:40 a.m.(11/5/1007 AR)
Relationship Note on Logan
You're referencing a feud I neither know the details of nor particularly care about; it's none of my business. But if you're going to style yourselves wolves, know what skin you're wrapping yourself with. Particularly since the Horned One and his master love to lie about it.
When I first learned the Arvani tongue, it took me some time to understand the word 'alpha', because it only ever seemed to be used in reference to wolves, and it never made any fucking sense in context. I had to pick out meaning bit by bit, but I'll admit it's still a little baffling at times. Let me try to paint this more clearly: when you talk about wolves, and you use the word 'alpha', what you mean is 'parent', and what you really mean is 'parents', because unless one has died, there are two, because each pack has a mated pair. The rest of the pack are their children. Wolf packs are families. That's it. Occasionally there are adopted members, or packs made up of unrelated members out of necessity, but this is rare. When the parents become too old and weak, they usually just die, sometimes in battle against other packs, sometimes in hunting, sometimes by simply wandering off into the winter, but their own children don't usually kill them any more than human children have a tradition of killing their own parents.
When I first learned the Arvani tongue, it took me some time to understand the word 'alpha', because it only ever seemed to be used in reference to wolves, and it never made any fucking sense in context. I had to pick out meaning bit by bit, but I'll admit it's still a little baffling at times. Let me try to paint this more clearly: when you talk about wolves, and you use the word 'alpha', what you mean is 'parent', and what you really mean is 'parents', because unless one has died, there are two, because each pack has a mated pair. The rest of the pack are their children. Wolf packs are families. That's it. Occasionally there are adopted members, or packs made up of unrelated members out of necessity, but this is rare. When the parents become too old and weak, they usually just die, sometimes in battle against other packs, sometimes in hunting, sometimes by simply wandering off into the winter, but their own children don't usually kill them any more than human children have a tradition of killing their own parents.
Written By Logan
Dec. 26, 2017, 1:06 a.m.(11/4/1007 AR)
While I did not know that my journal entries were in the purview of such fine folks as Baron Audric of de Lire and the mercenary Shard of the Valorous Few, I will say that I appreciate the attention and lecture when it comes to how wolves behave, I hope both of you could make the exception for my fubar, and accept it as the metaphor I intended it to be.
Written By Shard
Dec. 26, 2017, 12:51 a.m.(11/4/1007 AR)
Relationship Note on Logan
That's not how wolves work, damn it.
Written By Audric
Dec. 26, 2017, 12:50 a.m.(11/4/1007 AR)
Relationship Note on Logan
Shard's the wolf enthusiast that I know, but I'm pretty sure wolves don't eat their alphas when they get sick. Or have alphas.
Written By Logan
Dec. 26, 2017, 12:23 a.m.(11/4/1007 AR)
Years of service to a house, put out like the flickering flame of a candle. Not by gods, spirits or self fulfillment but by a man unworthy of the name he carries. Who's blood is so thin, he forgets about ancient oaths made between brothers and spirits. A man so threaten by you that the mere rumor of ambition by those beneath him is enough to warrant such an extreme response rather than cultivate it and together build something greater. Vercyn and Khanne, you may have taken my title, you may have taken my family, but I swear to my parents, my grandparents, and my ancestors that I will take them back from you. Your first mistake was breaking my bonds of servitude and the oaths of loyalty I made to your line because now I am free. Free to make my demands and free to enforce them. The only way to stop this pebble is to catch it before it turns to an avalanche. Good luck.
To House Sanna, how low you have fallen, lap dogs at the feet of an idiot. You forget of your blood feud with the Halfshav and you forget how it was with the union of my father and my mother, and the promise of a child of both houses that, that hunger was sedated. Now that is no longer the case, what is your excuse? For exposing your belly when the master orders you to roll over demands either the highest of punishment or retribution to the spirits of Man, our ancestors, the FREE northern men. You were supposed to be there for blood and you were not. Instead, you lowered your head and closed your lips, like a good little boy. We are not dogs, we are wolves. We follow our leaders not because we are told to but because like a pack, we feel that spirit in our core, and when that alpha grows weak and sick, it is ripped apart by said pack. That is my truth now and my loyalties bound by oath to myself, my blood, my pack, and Skald but my services... to highest bidder.
*A crudely done sigil of two stags locked by their antlers and a silver Compact coin hovering above them, is printed on the bottom of the journal entry.*
To House Sanna, how low you have fallen, lap dogs at the feet of an idiot. You forget of your blood feud with the Halfshav and you forget how it was with the union of my father and my mother, and the promise of a child of both houses that, that hunger was sedated. Now that is no longer the case, what is your excuse? For exposing your belly when the master orders you to roll over demands either the highest of punishment or retribution to the spirits of Man, our ancestors, the FREE northern men. You were supposed to be there for blood and you were not. Instead, you lowered your head and closed your lips, like a good little boy. We are not dogs, we are wolves. We follow our leaders not because we are told to but because like a pack, we feel that spirit in our core, and when that alpha grows weak and sick, it is ripped apart by said pack. That is my truth now and my loyalties bound by oath to myself, my blood, my pack, and Skald but my services... to highest bidder.
*A crudely done sigil of two stags locked by their antlers and a silver Compact coin hovering above them, is printed on the bottom of the journal entry.*
Written By Magpie
Dec. 26, 2017, 12:06 a.m.(11/4/1007 AR)
Relationship Note on Victus
I can only write about how immensely pleased I am to have the High Lord of Thrax's review of my hard work at story writing. I feel so inspired. I may write another... I may.
Written By Marian
Dec. 25, 2017, 10:27 p.m.(11/4/1007 AR)
Relationship Note on Victus
I find that when I'm drunk it's best that I put down the pen. Nothing good ever comes of it.
Written By Victus
Dec. 25, 2017, 7:07 p.m.(11/4/1007 AR)
So I decided to take some time recently to read through my good brother Magpie's recent literature. He hinted that he wanted to know what I thought when I was done, so today I'll be launching a Victus-certified review of the 4 part series "The Soldier and the Sailor".
As a disclaimer, I don't like reading books. Too many words on a page gives me a headache and headaches make me mad. Usually I tear books that make me mad, but I like Magpie so I only ripped his work a little bit through the course of this. Granted Magpie is also what I call a 'shitter', so part of the book probably deserved it and I'll damn well fight you if you wanna tell me otherwise.
So the book starts with who I'm guessing is the protagonist, 'Calurdun' laying in bed. There's a lot of detail that goes into how he's partially naked, how musky he is and how muscular he looks. This was the first tip that this book was gonna about two men rubbing their asses together (or whatever they do, it got explained to me once and honestly I wasn't listening) but I pressed on anyway. So then we have this other character, Mapgie, who's bringing a breakfast sandwich. Two loaves of bread with tomato and sauces and all kinds of other shit. It made me hungry so I took a break to go get a sandwich of my own. When I came back, the cat was sitting on the cover and kept clawing the shit out of me when I tried to read again. I think she was a fan? I dunno, it took me about an hour to get back to it. The sandwich I had was good.
Carrying on into the book, Calurdun wakes up and he realizes he's late. But not before he inhales the musky aroma of the sandwich and begins to have thoughts to who could have left it. There's some sappy shit here about heart fluttering. Mapgie makes it painfully obvious that there's some deep, unrequited sexual tension between the two of them. So the theory I had about ass rubbing was pretty much correct and for a moment I had to stand up and take a walk to prepare for what I was about to get into. Going really deep in a metaphorical and soon to be literal way.
Anyway, musky protagonist man gets dressed and runs off to the Iron Guard with his friend Spitte. There's some kinda banjo concert that's supposed to be happening but really it's more of a backdrop while Mapgie and Calurdun fantasize about fucking each other. This is where the book started to frustrate me a bit, because these two men do not adhere to Thrax courting standards at all. Why did Mapgie, the larger of the two, not simply conquer Calurdun's bedchambers for bareback dirty dancing right when he brought him the musky sandwich? I'm not well-versed on male on male action but I expected a lot more brawling and clawing for the top and bottom bunk than this. It confuses and pisses me off. This is where I started ripping pages, so I missed some extra plot because I could only read half of it.
I know you can make the point that tryin' to deliver the business to somebody in full metal armor is a real chafing task in more ways than one, but Mapgie clearly has some intelligence on him. He orchestrated the musky sandwich deliver and we clearly see that Calurdun loses his blankets 'accidentally'. You're telling me you couldn't set this up to be some kind of clever, romantic trap? Have you never hunted for a cut of prime meat before? You definitely know what it looks like because you describe it in ten goddamn paragraphs on this Calurdun fellow. For GOD'S SAKE PUT A GODDAMN BOX WITH A STRING UNDER THAT SANDWICH. IT'S THE EASIEST SHIT IN THE WORLD. WHY THE FUCK ARE WE CONCERNING OURSELVES WITH BANJOS RIGHT NOW? YOU HAVE THE OPPORTUNITY IN YOUR SIGHTS AND YOU DECIDE TO GO PLUCK SOME BANJOS?
GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER MAPGIE, YOU'RE FUCKING TERRIBLE AT GETTING ASS
(The rest of journal's page has been torn violently)
Anyway, so we move on to the banjo part of the story which was kinda an unexpected twist. Props for that, it did make me feel emotions for how pissed I got we were moving away from hunting and tracking a lover. Mapgie literally shoves his soul into a banjo called Heartstrings, which is apparently beautiful enough that it makes kittens cry. I wanted to test that for myself, so I showed the book to the cat again.
She tore it in half and hissed at me. I should've known better, she's not a kitten. So I cleaned up the paper shreds and put together what I could. But the book was pretty unsalvageable at this point, I mean it was fucked. It was really fucked. But I got to the epilogue at least which was only kind of ripped. It's got a pretty happy ending, but it also leaves you wanting for more. Like a thirst that can't be quenched. This book made me thirsty is what I'm getting at. Thirsty for what, I don't know.
Pros and Cons-
Pros:
You'll get hot, steamy, hungry, thirsty and have an in-depth reflection on love and courting. Also if you got pets, they'll probably like sitting and chewing on it.
Cons:
I tried to eat a sandwich after the book and I felt really uncomfortable putting any of it in my mouth. Fuck you Magpie, I liked breakfast sandwiches.
...
...
...
I'm really drunk.
As a disclaimer, I don't like reading books. Too many words on a page gives me a headache and headaches make me mad. Usually I tear books that make me mad, but I like Magpie so I only ripped his work a little bit through the course of this. Granted Magpie is also what I call a 'shitter', so part of the book probably deserved it and I'll damn well fight you if you wanna tell me otherwise.
So the book starts with who I'm guessing is the protagonist, 'Calurdun' laying in bed. There's a lot of detail that goes into how he's partially naked, how musky he is and how muscular he looks. This was the first tip that this book was gonna about two men rubbing their asses together (or whatever they do, it got explained to me once and honestly I wasn't listening) but I pressed on anyway. So then we have this other character, Mapgie, who's bringing a breakfast sandwich. Two loaves of bread with tomato and sauces and all kinds of other shit. It made me hungry so I took a break to go get a sandwich of my own. When I came back, the cat was sitting on the cover and kept clawing the shit out of me when I tried to read again. I think she was a fan? I dunno, it took me about an hour to get back to it. The sandwich I had was good.
Carrying on into the book, Calurdun wakes up and he realizes he's late. But not before he inhales the musky aroma of the sandwich and begins to have thoughts to who could have left it. There's some sappy shit here about heart fluttering. Mapgie makes it painfully obvious that there's some deep, unrequited sexual tension between the two of them. So the theory I had about ass rubbing was pretty much correct and for a moment I had to stand up and take a walk to prepare for what I was about to get into. Going really deep in a metaphorical and soon to be literal way.
Anyway, musky protagonist man gets dressed and runs off to the Iron Guard with his friend Spitte. There's some kinda banjo concert that's supposed to be happening but really it's more of a backdrop while Mapgie and Calurdun fantasize about fucking each other. This is where the book started to frustrate me a bit, because these two men do not adhere to Thrax courting standards at all. Why did Mapgie, the larger of the two, not simply conquer Calurdun's bedchambers for bareback dirty dancing right when he brought him the musky sandwich? I'm not well-versed on male on male action but I expected a lot more brawling and clawing for the top and bottom bunk than this. It confuses and pisses me off. This is where I started ripping pages, so I missed some extra plot because I could only read half of it.
I know you can make the point that tryin' to deliver the business to somebody in full metal armor is a real chafing task in more ways than one, but Mapgie clearly has some intelligence on him. He orchestrated the musky sandwich deliver and we clearly see that Calurdun loses his blankets 'accidentally'. You're telling me you couldn't set this up to be some kind of clever, romantic trap? Have you never hunted for a cut of prime meat before? You definitely know what it looks like because you describe it in ten goddamn paragraphs on this Calurdun fellow. For GOD'S SAKE PUT A GODDAMN BOX WITH A STRING UNDER THAT SANDWICH. IT'S THE EASIEST SHIT IN THE WORLD. WHY THE FUCK ARE WE CONCERNING OURSELVES WITH BANJOS RIGHT NOW? YOU HAVE THE OPPORTUNITY IN YOUR SIGHTS AND YOU DECIDE TO GO PLUCK SOME BANJOS?
GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER MAPGIE, YOU'RE FUCKING TERRIBLE AT GETTING ASS
(The rest of journal's page has been torn violently)
Anyway, so we move on to the banjo part of the story which was kinda an unexpected twist. Props for that, it did make me feel emotions for how pissed I got we were moving away from hunting and tracking a lover. Mapgie literally shoves his soul into a banjo called Heartstrings, which is apparently beautiful enough that it makes kittens cry. I wanted to test that for myself, so I showed the book to the cat again.
She tore it in half and hissed at me. I should've known better, she's not a kitten. So I cleaned up the paper shreds and put together what I could. But the book was pretty unsalvageable at this point, I mean it was fucked. It was really fucked. But I got to the epilogue at least which was only kind of ripped. It's got a pretty happy ending, but it also leaves you wanting for more. Like a thirst that can't be quenched. This book made me thirsty is what I'm getting at. Thirsty for what, I don't know.
Pros and Cons-
Pros:
You'll get hot, steamy, hungry, thirsty and have an in-depth reflection on love and courting. Also if you got pets, they'll probably like sitting and chewing on it.
Cons:
I tried to eat a sandwich after the book and I felt really uncomfortable putting any of it in my mouth. Fuck you Magpie, I liked breakfast sandwiches.
...
...
...
I'm really drunk.
Written By Aislin
Dec. 25, 2017, 5:41 p.m.(11/4/1007 AR)
Relationship Note on Killian
Grief is a strange thing. It can dull thoughts -- lead to hasty words and angry recrimination -- or sharpen them to new clarity.
I still don't know which my grief has done to me. I just know that it's made it hard to find the words to put down in this journal.
I just know that my cousin Killian was like a little brother to me.
When he returned to our family after his time wandering Arvum, we became far closer than we ever had when we were younger. The difference in our ages that put us so far apart when he was young seemed unimportant when we were both grown. He was eager to trade tales of our adventures, he joined my Society of Explorers, he aided me in my investigations. We even finally got to travel together on an expedition -- one that will always stick with me.
And he listened, when I needed to talk about a personal crisis of identity.
The truth is, I selfishly never thought I'd outlive him. We both have -- both /had/ -- the Ashford drive to get out and /do/ things, to see the world. We both take risks, gods know. But Killian was by far the better fighter -- the one who wore solid armor, the rock on whom others can depend. I rely on speed, dexterity, and the fact that better than half of the things that try to kill me don't want to bother following me up a tree.
I always sort of half-assumed that if one of us died, it would be me going missing in the field on one of my expeditions. I never considered that I might outlive him. I never thought I'd have to grieve him.
And now he's gone. There's a hole in my family -- in /me/ -- where he used to be, an emptiness, and I don't know how to fill it. You're fiercely missed already, little brother, by me -- and by all those who knew and loved you.
And I hope whatever your next trip around the wheel brings, you keep that sense of adventure in your soul.
I still don't know which my grief has done to me. I just know that it's made it hard to find the words to put down in this journal.
I just know that my cousin Killian was like a little brother to me.
When he returned to our family after his time wandering Arvum, we became far closer than we ever had when we were younger. The difference in our ages that put us so far apart when he was young seemed unimportant when we were both grown. He was eager to trade tales of our adventures, he joined my Society of Explorers, he aided me in my investigations. We even finally got to travel together on an expedition -- one that will always stick with me.
And he listened, when I needed to talk about a personal crisis of identity.
The truth is, I selfishly never thought I'd outlive him. We both have -- both /had/ -- the Ashford drive to get out and /do/ things, to see the world. We both take risks, gods know. But Killian was by far the better fighter -- the one who wore solid armor, the rock on whom others can depend. I rely on speed, dexterity, and the fact that better than half of the things that try to kill me don't want to bother following me up a tree.
I always sort of half-assumed that if one of us died, it would be me going missing in the field on one of my expeditions. I never considered that I might outlive him. I never thought I'd have to grieve him.
And now he's gone. There's a hole in my family -- in /me/ -- where he used to be, an emptiness, and I don't know how to fill it. You're fiercely missed already, little brother, by me -- and by all those who knew and loved you.
And I hope whatever your next trip around the wheel brings, you keep that sense of adventure in your soul.
Written By Serafine
Dec. 25, 2017, 3:37 a.m.(11/3/1007 AR)
Relationship Note on Talen
Ha ha hah haaa haaaaa haaaaa.
Written By Serafine
Dec. 25, 2017, 3:36 a.m.(11/3/1007 AR)
Relationship Note on Silas
Shit, you got -married-?
Slap my ass and call me wenched, what a wonderful surprise. Congratulations!
Slap my ass and call me wenched, what a wonderful surprise. Congratulations!
Written By Serafine
Dec. 25, 2017, 3:34 a.m.(11/3/1007 AR)
So I was out and about, south of the city and beyond the woods. Ran into some of the People, the Shav'arvani in Lycene territory speak a particular dialect, and I'm happy to say I've still no accent and no decay of fluency, as the Lady Aislin would perhaps coin the phrase. Decided to spend the summer and fall with a tribe in the Wilds, not exactly similar to my folk that lived a little north. While I was with them, got some new ink to add to that I'd gathered living with my tribe less than a handful of years ago
has it already been so long since then?
and it hurt less than I'd thought it might to live and run with the Shav again. I mean, don't get me wrong. Miss my family, I do, my spouses, my children, the little mobile village we lived in. But I didn't slip into true nostalgia, not like grief. Just ... well. They're not the same, right? Not the same people. Speak the same language, or at least one of them, but some of the traditions are different but again, that's not exactly unusual.
Oh right, yeah, the ink. So it turns out I don't see everything that's on me. I keep finding new stuff, new words, and the ink-master of this particular tribe pointed out a scribbled serpent on the upper back of my left thigh. Now, I've always caught Leta kissing back there, tracing something, thought it was just... you know. Some people like legs. Others, breasts. Some like that line right where the butt meets the thigh? Yeah, that. Anyway, turns out there's words in the scales of this serpent-thing. Or at least, that's what the ink-master told me. I've had Leta's mirror in the tub the last hour or so, after scrubbing myself clean, and I don't know if that old coot was full of shite or what because I don't see anything. Maybe it's in a language I don't know, maybe he was just fucking with me.
Sense of humor is pretty universal, guy had a glint in his one good eye something awful. I'm choosing to believe he's full of it and the elder of my tribe didn't sneak something else into my tattoos. I've found a few surprises, but Tehom's tits, I don't need anymore of those.
What was that, lad? Oh, aye, yes. It's good to be home.
Hmm? Aye, they've no fruit tarts in the wild. I've got four, here, you want one-?
[there are berry smears at the bottom edges of the page]
has it already been so long since then?
and it hurt less than I'd thought it might to live and run with the Shav again. I mean, don't get me wrong. Miss my family, I do, my spouses, my children, the little mobile village we lived in. But I didn't slip into true nostalgia, not like grief. Just ... well. They're not the same, right? Not the same people. Speak the same language, or at least one of them, but some of the traditions are different but again, that's not exactly unusual.
Oh right, yeah, the ink. So it turns out I don't see everything that's on me. I keep finding new stuff, new words, and the ink-master of this particular tribe pointed out a scribbled serpent on the upper back of my left thigh. Now, I've always caught Leta kissing back there, tracing something, thought it was just... you know. Some people like legs. Others, breasts. Some like that line right where the butt meets the thigh? Yeah, that. Anyway, turns out there's words in the scales of this serpent-thing. Or at least, that's what the ink-master told me. I've had Leta's mirror in the tub the last hour or so, after scrubbing myself clean, and I don't know if that old coot was full of shite or what because I don't see anything. Maybe it's in a language I don't know, maybe he was just fucking with me.
Sense of humor is pretty universal, guy had a glint in his one good eye something awful. I'm choosing to believe he's full of it and the elder of my tribe didn't sneak something else into my tattoos. I've found a few surprises, but Tehom's tits, I don't need anymore of those.
What was that, lad? Oh, aye, yes. It's good to be home.
Hmm? Aye, they've no fruit tarts in the wild. I've got four, here, you want one-?
[there are berry smears at the bottom edges of the page]
Written By Shard
Dec. 25, 2017, 3:17 a.m.(11/3/1007 AR)
Relationship Note on Cirroch
The North has never been safe for the Abandoned, and often that's been because of the Compact. Understand that first. The lure of the Horned One, when he isn't forcing tribes to join him, is protection from you. Part of this is built on a lie, but he sells that lie so well because it fits perfectly with the actual truth. The Horned One says he will let them keep their ways and continue living as they always have. This is also a lie, but it sounds much better than changing their entire way of life and giving up everything they've known for centuries in order to come and live under the rule of strangers who will never fully accept them until their children's children have so fully adapted to this new way of living that no one can tell the difference any more and their old traditions have been mostly erased and their stories and histories forgotten, which is what the Compact usually offers...when it offers anything at all.
You say you need these people? Consider that they've been living all this time without you, often in spite of you. Are they allowed to refuse you? If so, good. If not, you aren't negotiating, you're simply offering terms of servitude or death, and they'll see it for what it is, even if they end up accepting. Food and healing are good, but Abandoned can feed themselves and have their own healers. And if a tribe is in need, you're offering short term gifts for the lifelong oaths of their entire tribe. Consider: how honorable is it, exactly, to ask them to choose between the lives of their friends and family, and their loyalty?
Think about these things, before you go to any of them. If you're looking for allies, treat them as potential allies, not resources to be mined, and consider what actual benefits--not trinkets--you can offer them, long term, in exchange for what you think you'll get out of it. It isn't a small thing you're asking them to do.
You say you need these people? Consider that they've been living all this time without you, often in spite of you. Are they allowed to refuse you? If so, good. If not, you aren't negotiating, you're simply offering terms of servitude or death, and they'll see it for what it is, even if they end up accepting. Food and healing are good, but Abandoned can feed themselves and have their own healers. And if a tribe is in need, you're offering short term gifts for the lifelong oaths of their entire tribe. Consider: how honorable is it, exactly, to ask them to choose between the lives of their friends and family, and their loyalty?
Think about these things, before you go to any of them. If you're looking for allies, treat them as potential allies, not resources to be mined, and consider what actual benefits--not trinkets--you can offer them, long term, in exchange for what you think you'll get out of it. It isn't a small thing you're asking them to do.
Written By Serafine
Dec. 25, 2017, 12:49 a.m.(11/2/1007 AR)
Relationship Note on Cirroch
Be warned, friend: If you come across an elder that -insists- you eat something? Don't question. Just eat it.
Written By Lucita
Dec. 25, 2017, 12:36 a.m.(11/2/1007 AR)
Relationship Note on Ian
The message received was 'I'm not dead.' Knowing Lord Ian that translates to 'bring whiskey or rum, pleasant company and a good healer.' None the less it is a very nice thought that one is remembered by a friend and that they have returned from some dangerous situation intact, or enough intact to send a message.
Written By Cirroch
Dec. 25, 2017, 12:14 a.m.(11/2/1007 AR)
Relationship Note on Oddmun
It is good to have my cousin here in Arx. He already gets along with Sasha. He is going to help us on our peace missions to the tribes.
Written By Cirroch
Dec. 25, 2017, 12:10 a.m.(11/2/1007 AR)
Relationship Note on Tila
I'm glad to have my sister in Arx to champion and support my efforts to build up our House. I'm already getting whiffs of her own efforts. I look forward to the Halfshav/Sanna party she is planning.
Written By Serafine
Dec. 25, 2017, 12:04 a.m.(11/2/1007 AR)
Relationship Note on Eleyna
It's your fault, you know.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.