Written By Aureth
April 22, 2017, 12:09 p.m.(4/26/1006 AR)
It is probably not a surprise to anyone that the Sentinel is not a god to whom I have much addressed myself in my life. Abstract justice is a seductive concept that even as a boy I believed practical reality was inclined to neglect. It's not that I don't appreciate the lure, to some degree. But here's the thing.
I wasn't born poor. I've never been poor. Myrinda Grayhope was the foremost seamstress and designer in the city. She had her detractors but she earned them by her tongue, not her work. Her work was unsurpassed. She dressed every High Lord and Lady. She was sponsored by Grand Duchess Esera, a woman whose taste and finesse were unquestionably unsurpassed. When Fortunato and I were little, she was still building to her final pinnacle, but even in those early days after she first escaped the mess that my father left her, well ... we weren't _poor_.
But I was a Boroughs scrapper, a brat. The privileged son of a family that most were wise enough not to cross. But not the _sheltered_ one. I watched lotus eaters die, I watched men beat each other in the street, I watched wealthy people use charity as a stopgap to make themselves feel better and then wander off back to their own luxuries without ever giving any of these people a thought. I saw other children who were my friends disappear to no one notice. It's not that any of this was especially traumatic for me. The point was, I saw.
So did the Sentinel.
I struggled with that more then than I do now. Resentment is an old friend of my heart, it's true, but I have a better, clearer understanding of what it means for a god to act. Of what it means for the gods to watch. And I am newly come to a very clear, up close, and personal understanding of what it feels like to watch cruelty, violence and injustice happen while you are powerless to intervene. For whatever reason. Perhaps because you're actually powerless, or perhaps because the consequences of action would be far worse.
I'm sitting now, waiting as a dent in my brand new armor is repaired, and thinking as I write, about spilled blood in the Cathedral, about dead children, and pain, and violence, and wanton malice for its own sake, and ... the Sentinel saw it all. Because the Sentinel sees everything.
The power of justice is in the hands of men. I feel, like I felt the rush of light through me last night, that the gift of justice is not only from the Sentinel to us, but the gift that we can grant _to_ the Sentinel by the work of our hands, our minds and our honor. Because I can think of no greater gift than the relief I felt when it was finally over.
This is my prayer to the Sentinel. Let the light of righteousness guide more of my choices. May I be more relief to your burden than weight added to it.
In other words, my prayer to the Silent Watcher is that I will not be painful to watch.
I wasn't born poor. I've never been poor. Myrinda Grayhope was the foremost seamstress and designer in the city. She had her detractors but she earned them by her tongue, not her work. Her work was unsurpassed. She dressed every High Lord and Lady. She was sponsored by Grand Duchess Esera, a woman whose taste and finesse were unquestionably unsurpassed. When Fortunato and I were little, she was still building to her final pinnacle, but even in those early days after she first escaped the mess that my father left her, well ... we weren't _poor_.
But I was a Boroughs scrapper, a brat. The privileged son of a family that most were wise enough not to cross. But not the _sheltered_ one. I watched lotus eaters die, I watched men beat each other in the street, I watched wealthy people use charity as a stopgap to make themselves feel better and then wander off back to their own luxuries without ever giving any of these people a thought. I saw other children who were my friends disappear to no one notice. It's not that any of this was especially traumatic for me. The point was, I saw.
So did the Sentinel.
I struggled with that more then than I do now. Resentment is an old friend of my heart, it's true, but I have a better, clearer understanding of what it means for a god to act. Of what it means for the gods to watch. And I am newly come to a very clear, up close, and personal understanding of what it feels like to watch cruelty, violence and injustice happen while you are powerless to intervene. For whatever reason. Perhaps because you're actually powerless, or perhaps because the consequences of action would be far worse.
I'm sitting now, waiting as a dent in my brand new armor is repaired, and thinking as I write, about spilled blood in the Cathedral, about dead children, and pain, and violence, and wanton malice for its own sake, and ... the Sentinel saw it all. Because the Sentinel sees everything.
The power of justice is in the hands of men. I feel, like I felt the rush of light through me last night, that the gift of justice is not only from the Sentinel to us, but the gift that we can grant _to_ the Sentinel by the work of our hands, our minds and our honor. Because I can think of no greater gift than the relief I felt when it was finally over.
This is my prayer to the Sentinel. Let the light of righteousness guide more of my choices. May I be more relief to your burden than weight added to it.
In other words, my prayer to the Silent Watcher is that I will not be painful to watch.
Written By Margot
April 22, 2017, 11:19 a.m.(4/25/1006 AR)
To the Future Duke of Tydehall -
If you would do me the favor of ceasing kicking my bladder, I would have more time available to be improving your future inheritance.
Your mother.
If you would do me the favor of ceasing kicking my bladder, I would have more time available to be improving your future inheritance.
Your mother.
Written By Edward
April 22, 2017, 10:26 a.m.(4/25/1006 AR)
I have a gift. It is a precious gift that was given to me. I will nurture it. And covet it.
Written By Niamh
April 22, 2017, 9:39 a.m.(4/25/1006 AR)
I received a messenger recently from someone I have known for years. This bastion of worldly wisdom has, perhaps more often than she realizes, made me reflect on her words frequently over the years we have known one another. She asked me, in a way, how I felt about honor. I spent a while in the Archives reading about honor, thinking back to the things that Sir Marcel taught me in our time together, and on my own understanding.
Honor began as a reference not for one's character or moral code, but for own's holdings. A freeman's plot of land, a knight's manor and so on where their honor. To stake their honor upon something meant to risk all that they had, a wager against an outcome. It showed that the person in question held the outcome of something in such high regard, such worthiness, that they were willing to gamble all they had to see it through. To say "I stake my honor on it," is to pledge all one's wealth on that statement.
Now, centuries after the concept was born, we have morphed honor into something else. The Scholars tell me that language does that; it changes as the people that speak it change, and the only languages that don't evolve are those belonging to a people who no longer live. Now honor has become the measure of how well one's actions match their stated code of morality. Do their actions match their words?
The question posed to me was: Does your honor make you feel high and mighty, untouchable?
The implication was that honor was a concept of the lofty, and not one that held no value to those who work for a living as it were.
Here I find a flaw. Honor, whether in the original definition or the modern, applies to everyone. We all have those things we would risk everything for. Family, friends, loved ones, neighbors. We all have those lines we will not cross. Actions we will not take.
So does my honor make me feel high and mighty? Untouchable?
No. My honor makes me feel like myself. It's an assurance that I am, at the end of my day, still the person I want to be, and not someone that's become who someone else wants me to be. And I am grateful for this challenge. Thank you, Harpy, for keeping me true to myself.
Honor began as a reference not for one's character or moral code, but for own's holdings. A freeman's plot of land, a knight's manor and so on where their honor. To stake their honor upon something meant to risk all that they had, a wager against an outcome. It showed that the person in question held the outcome of something in such high regard, such worthiness, that they were willing to gamble all they had to see it through. To say "I stake my honor on it," is to pledge all one's wealth on that statement.
Now, centuries after the concept was born, we have morphed honor into something else. The Scholars tell me that language does that; it changes as the people that speak it change, and the only languages that don't evolve are those belonging to a people who no longer live. Now honor has become the measure of how well one's actions match their stated code of morality. Do their actions match their words?
The question posed to me was: Does your honor make you feel high and mighty, untouchable?
The implication was that honor was a concept of the lofty, and not one that held no value to those who work for a living as it were.
Here I find a flaw. Honor, whether in the original definition or the modern, applies to everyone. We all have those things we would risk everything for. Family, friends, loved ones, neighbors. We all have those lines we will not cross. Actions we will not take.
So does my honor make me feel high and mighty? Untouchable?
No. My honor makes me feel like myself. It's an assurance that I am, at the end of my day, still the person I want to be, and not someone that's become who someone else wants me to be. And I am grateful for this challenge. Thank you, Harpy, for keeping me true to myself.
Written By Merek
April 22, 2017, 1:09 a.m.(4/25/1006 AR)
I am hopeful that the siege will be finished in the upcoming battle. I worry about many friends, but I hold hope for them.
Written By Harper
April 22, 2017, 12:50 a.m.(4/25/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Ford
Bruises dun last. Losin' temporary. Unless you die, I guess. But, yeah, I did get to play with Grit - that's 'er name and she's beautiful, so thanks for that Popinjay. I liked dancin' with rubicund.
But - why - why everyone I fight gotta smack me on m'fuckin ass? Th'shit smarts. Makes sittin' hard. Least I can stand sentry duty til all the bruises turn yellow.
(Scholar, quit laughin'.)
But - why - why everyone I fight gotta smack me on m'fuckin ass? Th'shit smarts. Makes sittin' hard. Least I can stand sentry duty til all the bruises turn yellow.
(Scholar, quit laughin'.)
Written By Abbas
April 21, 2017, 10:39 p.m.(4/24/1006 AR)
I pray.
Written By Charlaine
April 21, 2017, 10:28 p.m.(4/24/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Edain
Let no one tell you that you are not a good friend, I enjoy working for the family.
Written By Charlaine
April 21, 2017, 10:26 p.m.(4/24/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Philippe
Met with my father who made me in charge of my own voice, and for a small time as to when I wed, Blanchard affairs.
Written By Ulfric
April 21, 2017, 9:49 p.m.(4/24/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Valencia
Today, I met a princess. She was a very nice princess at that, not quite as feisty as the princess I saw beat up that other girl. But she was still very nice. Invited me out to a party as well. Could hardly believe me ears at that, a party with me innit? I been to a lot of parties, but I mean a party with other noble types. I hardly ever got to even see the captain's cabin when I was a youngin. Britches were always too filled with the sea water. I'm very excited, she was very pretty.
Maybe I'll get to drink even better wine at a fancier place. I hope.
Maybe I'll get to drink even better wine at a fancier place. I hope.
Written By Seva
April 21, 2017, 6:36 p.m.(4/24/1006 AR)
Today I sat down and rolled, dipped, and dried 120 sticks of incense. My hands smell wonderful but I can no longer feel them.
The room Dominic is letting me stay in is now filled with them, various tinctures, bundles of herbs, and two live plants.
I’m grateful that all of it can fit into a corner but it all makes me wonder. To own a crafting business as a noble is frowned upon. Yet I still desire to see my work sitting in a store front window.
I don’t need the money nor really want it. So it makes little sense for my daydreams to be filled with visions of me working as a store clerk. Have I inhaled too much plant dust?
The last sentence is scratched out and written next to it is a note. “That’s not a thing. I need to stop using that as an excuse.”
The room Dominic is letting me stay in is now filled with them, various tinctures, bundles of herbs, and two live plants.
I’m grateful that all of it can fit into a corner but it all makes me wonder. To own a crafting business as a noble is frowned upon. Yet I still desire to see my work sitting in a store front window.
I don’t need the money nor really want it. So it makes little sense for my daydreams to be filled with visions of me working as a store clerk. Have I inhaled too much plant dust?
The last sentence is scratched out and written next to it is a note. “That’s not a thing. I need to stop using that as an excuse.”
Written By Stefano
April 21, 2017, 4:28 p.m.(4/24/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Armel
A fellow Knight of Solace, Sir Armel is knight commander. It's been years since we last met back in Southport. A gruff and rough man, he is nonetheless straightforward and direct, which even as a southern lord I can appreciate. A stout leader and knight, he is a man worth following into combat.
Written By Simone
April 21, 2017, 2:18 p.m.(4/24/1006 AR)
My Stowaway,
Times passes, doesn't it? It feels as though you are moving more, and I less. I am nothing but the one that bends to your will and whims. I am merely the container. You are the water. As some point you will no longer be contained. You will go your own way. Untamed, like a stream. Like the sea.
It feels as though you are the most strange, and the most familiar to me - I don't know how it feels like that. It feels less that I am getting to know you, and more as though I am beginning to remember who you are. How you'll smile, how you'll cry, how everything brings me closer to the impossible conclusion that I am hoping for. Perhaps I loved you - another time, a different place - some other lifetime. Although I know it more than knowing ...
When the time comes, I will not be restrained.
M. Simone Greenmarch
4/24/1006 AR.
Times passes, doesn't it? It feels as though you are moving more, and I less. I am nothing but the one that bends to your will and whims. I am merely the container. You are the water. As some point you will no longer be contained. You will go your own way. Untamed, like a stream. Like the sea.
It feels as though you are the most strange, and the most familiar to me - I don't know how it feels like that. It feels less that I am getting to know you, and more as though I am beginning to remember who you are. How you'll smile, how you'll cry, how everything brings me closer to the impossible conclusion that I am hoping for. Perhaps I loved you - another time, a different place - some other lifetime. Although I know it more than knowing ...
When the time comes, I will not be restrained.
M. Simone Greenmarch
4/24/1006 AR.
Written By Estaban
April 21, 2017, 12:58 p.m.(4/24/1006 AR)
Thank you my friend for a most excellent evening, I know the circumstances were not the best but it turned out to be a good evening. To just sit and relax and to speak was very refreshing. I hope that it can be done again some time in the near future.
Written By Edward
April 21, 2017, 12:32 p.m.(4/24/1006 AR)
Prince Aiden hosted a spectacular event at The Golden Heart. It was well put together and featured some great talent, with an ending that should see some bardic gossip in the coming days.
Written By Armel
April 21, 2017, 12:28 p.m.(4/24/1006 AR)
*From the Journal of Sir Armel Godsworn (real surname unknown), submitted and logged*
Tonight, we go to face a demon of might and power second only to the likes of Brand himself. He knows we are coming, so no point in hiding it. We will either stand victorious, with all the dead avenged..Or we will all be dead for nothing, and many, many more will suffer.
To all those I have promised not to go off and die? I hope you understand why I have to do this.
To all those depending on me to help lead the Knights in the final battle? I hope you forgive me for why I must take this risk.
To the woman who I made a promise to always be there to....I hope you will be able to forgive me for this. I know you understand, but that's not the same.
Walk in the Light.
Tonight, we go to face a demon of might and power second only to the likes of Brand himself. He knows we are coming, so no point in hiding it. We will either stand victorious, with all the dead avenged..Or we will all be dead for nothing, and many, many more will suffer.
To all those I have promised not to go off and die? I hope you understand why I have to do this.
To all those depending on me to help lead the Knights in the final battle? I hope you forgive me for why I must take this risk.
To the woman who I made a promise to always be there to....I hope you will be able to forgive me for this. I know you understand, but that's not the same.
Walk in the Light.
Written By Harper
April 21, 2017, 10:56 a.m.(4/23/1006 AR)
Been quiet these last coupla days, like, patrollin and drinkin. Trainin. Readin. I CAN RUN FASTER in my kit now, patron. You'd like that. Gettin sneakier like, too. But I'm MODEST 'bout my successes.
Got some real nice letters from Nim. Yeah, you needs an insult - you get 'em from her.
Missed that feast at the Hart th' other day, blast, I'd woulda love to stuff my face while honorin Gloria - but, some of us gotta work when th' other guys are playin. That's a fact. But that really ain't the point of this entry (ain't rambling, Scholar. Eat yer lemon cake and let me write.)
I woke up this mornin at th' Crown and there was a messenger at the door with a package from Lord Boss. Boss Whitehawk. Bosshawk. Yeah, Bosshawk. From a shy (I laughed) and anonymous benefactor.
It's. Rubicund. It's the tits.
Got some real nice letters from Nim. Yeah, you needs an insult - you get 'em from her.
Missed that feast at the Hart th' other day, blast, I'd woulda love to stuff my face while honorin Gloria - but, some of us gotta work when th' other guys are playin. That's a fact. But that really ain't the point of this entry (ain't rambling, Scholar. Eat yer lemon cake and let me write.)
I woke up this mornin at th' Crown and there was a messenger at the door with a package from Lord Boss. Boss Whitehawk. Bosshawk. Yeah, Bosshawk. From a shy (I laughed) and anonymous benefactor.
It's. Rubicund. It's the tits.
Written By Octavia
April 21, 2017, 10:21 a.m.(4/23/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Ford
Brother dear, every time you come home from a battle injured, I see Renatta's face, hear her pleas, and remember how all of my planning didn't save her. Every wound you take is a dagger in my heart. You've always been the bold one and I the resolute one, but if you die on me
**scholar's note: this journal was found on a desk in the archive, incomplete, and has been filed as it was.
**scholar's note: this journal was found on a desk in the archive, incomplete, and has been filed as it was.
Written By Aiden
April 21, 2017, 10:10 a.m.(4/23/1006 AR)
The Tribute feast went well, I think.
Gloria was praised well.
Gloria was praised well.
Written By Thena
April 21, 2017, 10 a.m.(4/23/1006 AR)
I had a very good time at Prince Aiden's tribute feast. That was...unexpected.
I'm sorry, Petrae, even if you're probably dead. I feel the city pulling me back in. Maybe this is how it was always going to be and it was just a matter of time.
I'm sorry, Petrae, even if you're probably dead. I feel the city pulling me back in. Maybe this is how it was always going to be and it was just a matter of time.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.