Written By Ophelia
March 15, 2017, 8:08 a.m.(2/5/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Artorius
I don't know how Artorius sleeps.
Having another human being to look after is quite possibly the most stressful thing I have ever experienced in my entire life.
She's not even mine! And it's what, for a few days? A week? Two weeks? And she's not even the terribly helpless tiny pink kind of child that's 90% potato.
I can't sleep. I just stay awake and stare at her and occasionally go into panic mode.
Should have seen the face of the waiter that convinced me we were finally under attack when he dropped a tea kettle in the stairwell. I'm proud to say I mobilized us within 30 seconds and made him have an accident in his pants within 45 when I showed up on the staircase wielding a sword in one hand and a chamber pot in the other.
She does keep me on my toes, however. She finds the strangest things to do. I think we'll make strawberry jam tomorrow. She assures me she knows just how.
Having another human being to look after is quite possibly the most stressful thing I have ever experienced in my entire life.
She's not even mine! And it's what, for a few days? A week? Two weeks? And she's not even the terribly helpless tiny pink kind of child that's 90% potato.
I can't sleep. I just stay awake and stare at her and occasionally go into panic mode.
Should have seen the face of the waiter that convinced me we were finally under attack when he dropped a tea kettle in the stairwell. I'm proud to say I mobilized us within 30 seconds and made him have an accident in his pants within 45 when I showed up on the staircase wielding a sword in one hand and a chamber pot in the other.
She does keep me on my toes, however. She finds the strangest things to do. I think we'll make strawberry jam tomorrow. She assures me she knows just how.
Written By Serafine
March 15, 2017, 2:38 a.m.(2/5/1006 AR)
Dire circumstances. A war on the horizon. An army of soldiers more monster than human.
And still, we must not forget ourselves.
Many of us write as a way to give offering to the gods, a piece of ourselves immortalized by scholars and the Faith. We write about our fears and our prayers, hopes for the battles to come and the fights we must step forward to meet whether we want to or not. Gird our loins, sharpen our blades, bring our comrades and our beasts of war; we -fight-.
And yet.
I see pockets of humanity. Moments preserved that last no more than a heartbeat, the flap of a butterfly's wing, the few strumming notes of a song.
Land and power and money hold nothing to these precious seconds of our lives, strung together like beads on a necklace.
I saw an Iron Guard, off duty, take a bite of a pastry sold from a cart. A stolen moment between protective authority and proud baker. The icing dribbled clean from the stubbled chin of the guard, the proprietor a grinning, beaming woman with silver hair and a face full of wrinkles, a little boy wrapped in furs at her side, clinging to her cloak in the cold.
I didn't see fear or sorrow. I saw three people in a moment, joy in all of them, the little boy with round brown eyes gazing at the armored guard, the woman, coins in her hand, watching as the same man lost himself to the bliss of her baking.
Simple. Small. A minute or two, a simple pleasure that lit the corner of the street. Only I bore witness.
These moments are everywhere, they are precious because it reminds me that, mistake of birth having placed us where it might in this world, we are all the same. We breath and laugh and eat and shit and fuck and love and fight. We sing, whether we're good at it or not, we hug the people we care for the most, we howl and rage at those that anger us and do us wrong.
So this fleshy exterior we march around in, these ribbons on bones and guts, it's deceptive. This isn't what we fight for.
We fight for the moments of joy we've had, the rich sorrows and the singing light, and for the ones yet to come. The kiss of a loved one, the bitter fight in a family, the raging grief we pay for loving so deeply.
Not all of it is sweet. Much of it is bitter. And I say, savor all of it, and fight for more to come.
Fight for the chances and the time to experience more before we discard these clumsy vehicles of skin and carrying onward beyond.
Or take a page from Lord Commander Silas' book, and fight for chocolate.
And still, we must not forget ourselves.
Many of us write as a way to give offering to the gods, a piece of ourselves immortalized by scholars and the Faith. We write about our fears and our prayers, hopes for the battles to come and the fights we must step forward to meet whether we want to or not. Gird our loins, sharpen our blades, bring our comrades and our beasts of war; we -fight-.
And yet.
I see pockets of humanity. Moments preserved that last no more than a heartbeat, the flap of a butterfly's wing, the few strumming notes of a song.
Land and power and money hold nothing to these precious seconds of our lives, strung together like beads on a necklace.
I saw an Iron Guard, off duty, take a bite of a pastry sold from a cart. A stolen moment between protective authority and proud baker. The icing dribbled clean from the stubbled chin of the guard, the proprietor a grinning, beaming woman with silver hair and a face full of wrinkles, a little boy wrapped in furs at her side, clinging to her cloak in the cold.
I didn't see fear or sorrow. I saw three people in a moment, joy in all of them, the little boy with round brown eyes gazing at the armored guard, the woman, coins in her hand, watching as the same man lost himself to the bliss of her baking.
Simple. Small. A minute or two, a simple pleasure that lit the corner of the street. Only I bore witness.
These moments are everywhere, they are precious because it reminds me that, mistake of birth having placed us where it might in this world, we are all the same. We breath and laugh and eat and shit and fuck and love and fight. We sing, whether we're good at it or not, we hug the people we care for the most, we howl and rage at those that anger us and do us wrong.
So this fleshy exterior we march around in, these ribbons on bones and guts, it's deceptive. This isn't what we fight for.
We fight for the moments of joy we've had, the rich sorrows and the singing light, and for the ones yet to come. The kiss of a loved one, the bitter fight in a family, the raging grief we pay for loving so deeply.
Not all of it is sweet. Much of it is bitter. And I say, savor all of it, and fight for more to come.
Fight for the chances and the time to experience more before we discard these clumsy vehicles of skin and carrying onward beyond.
Or take a page from Lord Commander Silas' book, and fight for chocolate.
Written By Kima
March 15, 2017, 2:08 a.m.(2/5/1006 AR)
I was once told that people can only disappoint you.
Yet if they are important to you, you will love them all the same. Because we none of us are perfect.
Yet if they are important to you, you will love them all the same. Because we none of us are perfect.
Written By Dagon
March 15, 2017, 1:25 a.m.(2/5/1006 AR)
I am a simple man. Put an enemy in front of me and I will cut them down. Put the innocent behind me and I will protect them. But what can simple men do against the forces arrayed against us? Forces whose names they have told me not to speak. Forces that a sword cannot touch, that a fire cannot harm, and that an army cannot diminish. Forces that can erase your very existence from the face of the world.
Soon, we go out to meet these forces. Soon, I may die against these forces. But that thought doesn't scare me. I would gladly give my life, if it meant success: if it meant the death of the Triarch, and of the face that haunts me in the Mirror.
What terrifies me is that I might die, and that it will be for nothing. That these armies will trample over my corpse and go on to slaughter those that I love. I won't let that happen. I can't let fear sway me.
Gods, if you are listening... if you ever listen, like they say you do... we could use a miracle.
Soon, we go out to meet these forces. Soon, I may die against these forces. But that thought doesn't scare me. I would gladly give my life, if it meant success: if it meant the death of the Triarch, and of the face that haunts me in the Mirror.
What terrifies me is that I might die, and that it will be for nothing. That these armies will trample over my corpse and go on to slaughter those that I love. I won't let that happen. I can't let fear sway me.
Gods, if you are listening... if you ever listen, like they say you do... we could use a miracle.
Written By Costas
March 15, 2017, 12:10 a.m.(2/5/1006 AR)
There are no paragons save for in stories. At best an exemplar is only that until glimpsed with sufficient attention. In the moment when they are faced with the thing that makes them weak.
How bitter faith tastes when it turns to disappointment.
How bitter faith tastes when it turns to disappointment.
Written By Simone
March 15, 2017, midnight(2/5/1006 AR)
Dear Gentle Readers:
Everyone that you will meet will play a part in your story (or a role in your play, if you have a flair for the dramatic.) While some will take chapters, others will take paragraphs, most will only fit a sentence or two. You, my gentle readers, need to make sure that you are the notes in the margins - that you live so full that the excess of scribbling overflows into the lives (books, plays) of those you hold most dear.
But, my dears, you must come first.
Unless you meet someone so deeply important that you'll put their name in the title.
M. Simone Greenmarch
2/5/1006 AR.
Everyone that you will meet will play a part in your story (or a role in your play, if you have a flair for the dramatic.) While some will take chapters, others will take paragraphs, most will only fit a sentence or two. You, my gentle readers, need to make sure that you are the notes in the margins - that you live so full that the excess of scribbling overflows into the lives (books, plays) of those you hold most dear.
But, my dears, you must come first.
Unless you meet someone so deeply important that you'll put their name in the title.
M. Simone Greenmarch
2/5/1006 AR.
Written By Silas
March 14, 2017, 11:43 p.m.(2/5/1006 AR)
I love chocolate.
Whoever discovered how to create this concoction deserves eternal praise.
Whoever discovered how to create this concoction deserves eternal praise.
Written By Harald
March 14, 2017, 10:32 p.m.(2/4/1006 AR)
Armies gather in the deepening dark, brave hearts hone keen spears while trembling against a distant dread. They wonder if their strength will fail, when all the evils of the world are roused, when all sins are called to account before the bloody handed headsman of destiny. They regard the lives lived behind them and wonder, of all the days between this and their first, which might have been better spent? They wonder, for such is the mark of a wandering mind seeking solace in dark days, and such is natural.
Many do this, but we do not. Regret is an iron chain dragging down the shield that no warrior should need to hear in battle. Our deeds will endure, the fine alongside the foul. Death cares naught for regrets or intents, but marches ever on, unforgiving and grim, the fisherman drawing his due harvest of souls.
Fear him if you wish, fight him if you must, but let his shadow fall upon your mind in times of trial, for his shroud is a comfort: which path stretching before me into distant days to come will I choose? Which path, when my dying day dawns, will I be proud to state before Death: I chose this course, and with my blood and breath I have kept it.
Let the judgment of death be your conscience and never fear. For fear is the guardian of hate.
Many do this, but we do not. Regret is an iron chain dragging down the shield that no warrior should need to hear in battle. Our deeds will endure, the fine alongside the foul. Death cares naught for regrets or intents, but marches ever on, unforgiving and grim, the fisherman drawing his due harvest of souls.
Fear him if you wish, fight him if you must, but let his shadow fall upon your mind in times of trial, for his shroud is a comfort: which path stretching before me into distant days to come will I choose? Which path, when my dying day dawns, will I be proud to state before Death: I chose this course, and with my blood and breath I have kept it.
Let the judgment of death be your conscience and never fear. For fear is the guardian of hate.
Written By Zhayla
March 14, 2017, 10:06 p.m.(2/4/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Fortunato
Fortunato is not only the master of metaphors, he is absolutely, definitely, completely, ENTIRELY the master of pictures of kittens. If he's not careful he'll miss his calling as an artist of nothing but small fluffy things. I'm sure that picture will be remembered centuries from now. A thousand years from now!
Written By Fortunato
March 14, 2017, 9:57 p.m.(2/4/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Zhayla
A kitten. A puffy kitten in a nest of sand and bleached driftwood, her bright orange fur in stark contrast to the pale. She is sleeping, or at least relaxed, her paw crept over her nose, her tail crooked, but still and placid along her side. Only the perk of her ears hint at anything like alertness. Moon shines down on her, its full, round shape shaky and silver, shaky as a reflection in the water.
Labeled at the bottom, "There, Zhayla. A kitten."
Labeled at the bottom, "There, Zhayla. A kitten."
Written By Dominique
March 14, 2017, 9:01 p.m.(2/4/1006 AR)
A ship is safest at the shore. But, that is not what it is built for
Written By Calypso
March 14, 2017, 8:07 p.m.(2/4/1006 AR)
Half of my job as Minister of Defense is making battle plans, coordinating unified military movements and seeing that the compact forces are well informed.
The other half is chasing down ridiculous rumors and squashing them in to oblivion.
The other half is chasing down ridiculous rumors and squashing them in to oblivion.
Written By Alis
March 14, 2017, 5:38 p.m.(2/4/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Clover
Energetic, determined... and.. unfortunately not as good with a bow as she (or people nearby when she uses it) would like. But if effort and enthusiasm counted as skill, she would be the best archer in Arx I have no doubt. Hopefully some of our own can help her along the path to a better aim. Apparently also a good friend to Sir Roland (the Knight, not the Owl). He calls her Lady Pickle, and she calls him Sir Magnificent. I definitely encourage asking for the meanings behind these charming nicknames.
Written By Serafine
March 14, 2017, 5:14 p.m.(2/4/1006 AR)
Seriously, just let me borrow your family heirloom demon-killing sword. I promise to bring it back and/or provide funding to retrieve it from my decaying body. I'll even pay in advance!
Anyone?
Anyone?
Written By Artorius
March 14, 2017, 5:06 p.m.(2/4/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Caelis
My dear sister and my baby girl Serah have really bonded. I am happy of this, Serah needs that female influence in her life.
My heart warms at the sight of their connection every time I think of it. I'm happy Caelis never lost her love of children, she seems to feed her dreams and pride rather nicely.
It does me proud to call both of them my family.
My heart warms at the sight of their connection every time I think of it. I'm happy Caelis never lost her love of children, she seems to feed her dreams and pride rather nicely.
It does me proud to call both of them my family.
Written By Artorius
March 14, 2017, 5:04 p.m.(2/4/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Inigo
Inigo, good cousin and even better friend.
We grew up together as children, he was always better with words. In a sense we were often messing around, training together, and other shenanigans.
It is good to see him again, I hope to talk with him more soon.
- On a side note, he and Serah haven't missed a beat. I'm glad they get along just as well as before.
We grew up together as children, he was always better with words. In a sense we were often messing around, training together, and other shenanigans.
It is good to see him again, I hope to talk with him more soon.
- On a side note, he and Serah haven't missed a beat. I'm glad they get along just as well as before.
Written By Artorius
March 14, 2017, 5:02 p.m.(2/4/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Caelis
Caelis, my dear sister and closest companion.
We have always had small bickers on what we disagreed with each other with, so long as it was a serious topic. We recently butted heads on what love should be...which could have gone better.
Recently, we made peace and caught up what we have missed for the past few years. I told her about Victoria, my late wife, and she told me about the man who turned her view on love sore. I love my sister, to my innermost being, I truly do.
I hope she finds what she's looking for, with all my heart I do.
We have always had small bickers on what we disagreed with each other with, so long as it was a serious topic. We recently butted heads on what love should be...which could have gone better.
Recently, we made peace and caught up what we have missed for the past few years. I told her about Victoria, my late wife, and she told me about the man who turned her view on love sore. I love my sister, to my innermost being, I truly do.
I hope she finds what she's looking for, with all my heart I do.
Written By Rymarr
March 14, 2017, 4:46 p.m.(2/4/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Aleksei
Sir Aleksei Morgan. Talented swordsman, avoids blows as succinctly as responsibilities, and a friend who will go to great lengths to ensure your needs are met. He's not my own personal acquaintance, but he will harass you in order to ensure that his friend's needs are met, that much I've learned. While normally I would not concern myself with letting him down, under these particular circumstances I believe such a sentiment is warranted.
At least he cares enough to get involved. That's worth something, I imagine.
It would seem that the plan that the Legate and I hatched worked marvelously. Go us.
At least he cares enough to get involved. That's worth something, I imagine.
It would seem that the plan that the Legate and I hatched worked marvelously. Go us.
Written By Serafine
March 14, 2017, 4:42 p.m.(2/4/1006 AR)
Relationship Note on Sparte
After a long night of patrols through the lowers, I took a chance at the Training Center to get a relaxing spar in. Thankfully, Sparte was there and he was happy to accommodate me.
The man has improved greatly. Faster, he met me point for point, dealt me some serious blows that drove me to my knees and even then, gave me a moment, of his own accord, to catch my breath.
Made no difference. In the end, we were well matched and he finally got me. It was a great fight. Wow!
The man has improved greatly. Faster, he met me point for point, dealt me some serious blows that drove me to my knees and even then, gave me a moment, of his own accord, to catch my breath.
Made no difference. In the end, we were well matched and he finally got me. It was a great fight. Wow!
Written By Luca
March 14, 2017, 2:18 p.m.(2/4/1006 AR)
I may have to become a pirate.
All the sailing and frantic people bustling about put me to sleep on the rail, but when we found the drug smugglers we were hunting, things got a lot more fun.
When we missed them with the ballista I had a fun insane moment and boarded them by jumping the gap with Sir Perrach's prodigious strength helping toss my comparatively tiny self across the waters trailing a rope.
Given the smugglers and Thrax reactions to this, it isn't exactly a standard approach.
The slaughter after was... Delightful really. Not exactly challenging after bringers and other things but at least a relief from the boredom.
Eh, maybe not worth effort of learning to sail though.
How many more chances will I ever get to pull off something that stupid and fun again after all and once you've pillaged one ship, how different could it be to pillage some more?
All the sailing and frantic people bustling about put me to sleep on the rail, but when we found the drug smugglers we were hunting, things got a lot more fun.
When we missed them with the ballista I had a fun insane moment and boarded them by jumping the gap with Sir Perrach's prodigious strength helping toss my comparatively tiny self across the waters trailing a rope.
Given the smugglers and Thrax reactions to this, it isn't exactly a standard approach.
The slaughter after was... Delightful really. Not exactly challenging after bringers and other things but at least a relief from the boredom.
Eh, maybe not worth effort of learning to sail though.
How many more chances will I ever get to pull off something that stupid and fun again after all and once you've pillaged one ship, how different could it be to pillage some more?
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.