Written By Calypso
Feb. 1, 2017, 11:27 p.m.(10/27/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Esera
There is no amount of poetry or flowery words that would do you justice. And certainly not written by me. So I will say simply this:
You were loved and respected. You held the mantle of your position with dignity and grace. And I will sorely miss our chats. I am not often gifted with the presence of one so strong and I fear I will not be again for some time. Loss is felt in ripples. The wake left behind by your departure from this world will be felt for some time.
As to the fate of the one who took you from this life, I have but to look to your family words. - No one may harm us unpunished.
You were loved and respected. You held the mantle of your position with dignity and grace. And I will sorely miss our chats. I am not often gifted with the presence of one so strong and I fear I will not be again for some time. Loss is felt in ripples. The wake left behind by your departure from this world will be felt for some time.
As to the fate of the one who took you from this life, I have but to look to your family words. - No one may harm us unpunished.
Written By Lark
Feb. 1, 2017, 10:19 p.m.(10/27/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Victus
I don't know what all the fuss is about. Quite frankly, I find him to be extremely reasonable.
Written By Muiryn
Feb. 1, 2017, 6:27 p.m.(10/26/1005 AR)
Roark, Marcel and Maeve were some amongst many who came to watch the passing parade at the March. Seemed every man and his mongrel came out to watch Myrna's youngest stumble back on the long march to defend our way. "Fuck", I mumbled as I drew to line, and my brother came to slap me on the back with due regard; Murdoch had put me through the pit a hundred times after my first march, having shown up alone weeks later, rest assured.
Seemed half of the Greenwood turned out to see us leave they lined the long road as we took to the elks, some on foot. They howled it up around up but we were only looking to the future for freedom. I can barely remember us then, looking young strong and clean; kitted out in our hides and greens.
Seemed like months in the rock and forest boarders of Valardin and Telmar lands. On a four-week long skirmish where every single step could be your last one with both legs. Was what I figure living in the abyss would be; falling men, fighting a war as much around you as you are within yourself-- but you can't let your brothers down, not less they have you finished off. So you close your eyes, thought of just about anything else. Someone yelled "dragons!" -- another brother swore then we charged in with an earth shaking roar.
Then Murdoch was cleaved from his elk the day his first boy back home learnt to ride one. Spirits save me, he laughed for having to walk home to rest the beast, too.
And I can still see Murdoch with a flask in his hand, in his prime, in the tavern of the Greenwood.
And I can still hear Murdoch a screaming mess of bleeding flesh.. couldn't have recognised his legs.
You see the Reckoning's legends neglected to mention mud; the fear, the blood, the wails, the tension.
Ma's fables were beyond comprehension, didn't seem quite real until we were in our own story. Chaos and confusion, the fire and steel-- arrow heads in my back I didn't even feel.
Not a Shaman yet can tell me why I can't get to sleep, or some days I can't hardly eat. And the glimpse of blue fields with white dragon overhead still burns me to my core, still fuels my grief. Why the shaking of my hands still comes and goes like the dreams-- just wish I knew what it means.
Spirits help me, I was only eighteen.
Seemed half of the Greenwood turned out to see us leave they lined the long road as we took to the elks, some on foot. They howled it up around up but we were only looking to the future for freedom. I can barely remember us then, looking young strong and clean; kitted out in our hides and greens.
Seemed like months in the rock and forest boarders of Valardin and Telmar lands. On a four-week long skirmish where every single step could be your last one with both legs. Was what I figure living in the abyss would be; falling men, fighting a war as much around you as you are within yourself-- but you can't let your brothers down, not less they have you finished off. So you close your eyes, thought of just about anything else. Someone yelled "dragons!" -- another brother swore then we charged in with an earth shaking roar.
Then Murdoch was cleaved from his elk the day his first boy back home learnt to ride one. Spirits save me, he laughed for having to walk home to rest the beast, too.
And I can still see Murdoch with a flask in his hand, in his prime, in the tavern of the Greenwood.
And I can still hear Murdoch a screaming mess of bleeding flesh.. couldn't have recognised his legs.
You see the Reckoning's legends neglected to mention mud; the fear, the blood, the wails, the tension.
Ma's fables were beyond comprehension, didn't seem quite real until we were in our own story. Chaos and confusion, the fire and steel-- arrow heads in my back I didn't even feel.
Not a Shaman yet can tell me why I can't get to sleep, or some days I can't hardly eat. And the glimpse of blue fields with white dragon overhead still burns me to my core, still fuels my grief. Why the shaking of my hands still comes and goes like the dreams-- just wish I knew what it means.
Spirits help me, I was only eighteen.
Written By Lyiana
Feb. 1, 2017, 5:57 p.m.(10/26/1005 AR)
Today I think I shall relax, at least until I need to do some more work. Getting an outfit done for a lord, and then two clothing bags are probably just what I needed to do to get my mind off things. As it stands so far, I overworked myself yesterday and nearly fell asleep at my worktable. Odd how being tired can pull apart your understanding of things.
Written By Ainsley
Feb. 1, 2017, 4:23 p.m.(10/26/1005 AR)
[Written in precise, but inelegant script.]
Gloria, guide not my hand but my heart,
I will mould myself to your image every day.
I will wield not a sword but honour until it is my art.
May this path be one from which I never stray.
Gloria, protect me not from the sword,
But from dishonour and shameful behaviour.
I will walk with nobility ever onward.
I will lift my sword only in honourable and just combat.
[Written a few lines down, in less precise script.]
Perhaps I should contact a wordsmith.
Gloria, guide not my hand but my heart,
I will mould myself to your image every day.
I will wield not a sword but honour until it is my art.
May this path be one from which I never stray.
Gloria, protect me not from the sword,
But from dishonour and shameful behaviour.
I will walk with nobility ever onward.
I will lift my sword only in honourable and just combat.
[Written a few lines down, in less precise script.]
Perhaps I should contact a wordsmith.
Written By Rowan
Feb. 1, 2017, 4:08 p.m.(10/26/1005 AR)
There is a song my father would sing before he returned to the roots alongside my mother. Though it has been years since I last heard him sing the words, the haunting tune of it, to lull my sister and me to sleep, it still comes to me in times of trouble.
Nature, nurture, spirits and home
Sum of all, and by them, driven
To conquer every mountain shown
But I've never crossed the river
Braved the forests, braved the stone
Braved the icy winds and fire
Braved and beat them on my own
Yet I'm helpless by the river
Spirits, spirits, what have I done?
I've faced the quakes, the wind, the fire
I've conquered mountain, wood, and tribe
Why can't I cross this river?
Pay no mind to the battles you've won
It'll take a lot more than rage and muscle
Open your heart and hands, my son
Or you'll never make it over the river
It'll take a lot more than your war drums
A whole lot more than riches and muscle
The hands of the many must join as one
And together we'll cross the river
Nature, nurture spirits and home
And together we'll cross the river
(( Modified from 'Humbling River' by Puscifer ))
Nature, nurture, spirits and home
Sum of all, and by them, driven
To conquer every mountain shown
But I've never crossed the river
Braved the forests, braved the stone
Braved the icy winds and fire
Braved and beat them on my own
Yet I'm helpless by the river
Spirits, spirits, what have I done?
I've faced the quakes, the wind, the fire
I've conquered mountain, wood, and tribe
Why can't I cross this river?
Pay no mind to the battles you've won
It'll take a lot more than rage and muscle
Open your heart and hands, my son
Or you'll never make it over the river
It'll take a lot more than your war drums
A whole lot more than riches and muscle
The hands of the many must join as one
And together we'll cross the river
Nature, nurture spirits and home
And together we'll cross the river
(( Modified from 'Humbling River' by Puscifer ))
Written By Tobias
Feb. 1, 2017, 3:31 p.m.(10/26/1005 AR)
I figured that the Crimson Blades would be contracted by either the Iron Guard, or for Duke Gabriels force. What actually happened was... interesting, but at this point, it works.
With the Crimson Blades officially assigned as auxiliaries to the Iron Guard, the people of Arx will be seeing a lot of us in the coming days.
With the Boroughs situation, I'm fully expecting the Crimson Blades in the Arx Company to earn their pay keeping the peace. If you see them patrolling Traders Home or the outskirts of Arx, remember: each group of Crimson Blades within the city has an Iron Guard consultant, so they know what they're doing.
Those who meet our Companies patrolling the outskirts? They are there for your safety, and as early warning against any invasion force looking to lay siege to Arx. Please, treat them with respect.
With the Crimson Blades officially assigned as auxiliaries to the Iron Guard, the people of Arx will be seeing a lot of us in the coming days.
With the Boroughs situation, I'm fully expecting the Crimson Blades in the Arx Company to earn their pay keeping the peace. If you see them patrolling Traders Home or the outskirts of Arx, remember: each group of Crimson Blades within the city has an Iron Guard consultant, so they know what they're doing.
Those who meet our Companies patrolling the outskirts? They are there for your safety, and as early warning against any invasion force looking to lay siege to Arx. Please, treat them with respect.
Written By Freja
Feb. 1, 2017, 1:53 p.m.(10/26/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Asger
I feel like I am going to be gifted whiskey or the carcass of an elk by this man, but I find little reason to protest against either.
Written By Alis
Feb. 1, 2017, 10:12 a.m.(10/25/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Talen
It warms my heart to know that you miss our mutual love of stabbing one another Talen. Perhaps soon we can spar, and I can show you my latest shiny precious. I mean, weapon.
Written By Lili
Feb. 1, 2017, 9:54 a.m.(10/25/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Inigo
Very Handsome, Fantastic Conversationalist, Stealer of Kisses
Written By Anze
Feb. 1, 2017, 8:54 a.m.(10/25/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Drea
I think had she not already been used to the fact that I'm an idiot she might have slapped me by now.
Written By Talen
Feb. 1, 2017, 7:31 a.m.(10/25/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Alis
You know, you could just stab the somethings. Or me. You never stab me anymore, your highness.
Written By Silas
Feb. 1, 2017, 3:41 a.m.(10/24/1005 AR)
I wrote a thing.
It is a long thing, but I think the Council will like it.
I think I have hand cramps now.
It is a long thing, but I think the Council will like it.
I think I have hand cramps now.
Written By Lili
Feb. 1, 2017, 3:02 a.m.(10/24/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Max
Pirate Count with a Big Heart
Written By Drea
Feb. 1, 2017, 2:23 a.m.(10/24/1005 AR)
...and so it begins! Not the result I was expecting, but still a result and one I take as a positive. It could've boiled over, but these waters run deep. People are still not ready for the truth, but more and more are willing. We move ever forward, preserve the cycle and let people never forget.
Written By Jeremiah
Feb. 1, 2017, 12:58 a.m.(10/24/1005 AR)
[This entry is written in a precise, flowing, almost delicate hand. It is titled 'A Defense: On The Sin Of Being Circular.']
I was accused of being circular--I had it explained to me. I asked for someone's opinion twice, not having liked the first answer, I'm told(I do not know how or even if this happened, but this is not a defense of that): this is the definition of being circular. By this demerit, I am told I am unfit for my position--perhaps even by one whose opinion would threaten such. It is a humbling thought, at first, but...
I will remain circular--if given an opinion I do not believe is best for Arvum, the Crown, and the Compact, I will speak again. I will batter down any barrier between myself and the betterment of our nation. I will seek to convince--if you are unyielding, I will move on. I hope you will not remain offended by my persistence(two did-- Duke Leo Fidante accepted me for what I was, however, and I respected him all the more for it.), but I will not be any less persistent.
I will remain circular--if presented with an obstacle that I am told I cannot climb over, I will seek a way around it. If it cannot be crossed, may I go under--ever forward. Relentlessly energetic, relentlessly seeking the better tomorrow.
I will remain circular--I will proudly be as I am. I am what is termed circular--I will encircle. I will besiege, I will battle, I will charge--I will give ground where I must. But one defeat is not enough for me--one 'no', one slammed door? There is a -window-. There is ever opportunity. There are some of us in this life who have had to -live- by this creed. I will ever do my best to represent those who have.
I will turn a demerit into a merit, I will remain who I am--young. Eager. Ready, willing, and able to use my talents, such as they are--with a position or without. I remain Crownsworn, Compactsworn, Arvumsworn. I remain circular, proudly--I would term it persistent, but I will bear the badge of circular unashamed.
I was accused of being circular--I had it explained to me. I asked for someone's opinion twice, not having liked the first answer, I'm told(I do not know how or even if this happened, but this is not a defense of that): this is the definition of being circular. By this demerit, I am told I am unfit for my position--perhaps even by one whose opinion would threaten such. It is a humbling thought, at first, but...
I will remain circular--if given an opinion I do not believe is best for Arvum, the Crown, and the Compact, I will speak again. I will batter down any barrier between myself and the betterment of our nation. I will seek to convince--if you are unyielding, I will move on. I hope you will not remain offended by my persistence(two did-- Duke Leo Fidante accepted me for what I was, however, and I respected him all the more for it.), but I will not be any less persistent.
I will remain circular--if presented with an obstacle that I am told I cannot climb over, I will seek a way around it. If it cannot be crossed, may I go under--ever forward. Relentlessly energetic, relentlessly seeking the better tomorrow.
I will remain circular--I will proudly be as I am. I am what is termed circular--I will encircle. I will besiege, I will battle, I will charge--I will give ground where I must. But one defeat is not enough for me--one 'no', one slammed door? There is a -window-. There is ever opportunity. There are some of us in this life who have had to -live- by this creed. I will ever do my best to represent those who have.
I will turn a demerit into a merit, I will remain who I am--young. Eager. Ready, willing, and able to use my talents, such as they are--with a position or without. I remain Crownsworn, Compactsworn, Arvumsworn. I remain circular, proudly--I would term it persistent, but I will bear the badge of circular unashamed.
Written By Jeremiah
Feb. 1, 2017, 12:42 a.m.(10/24/1005 AR)
[This entry is written in a precise, flowing, almost delicate hand.]
I do understand I write quite a lot, at times--fifteen, twenty, thirty pages--so be it.
[A note in the margins reads: I Was Once Accused Of Fifty Pages--Thank You Aleksei, But I Have Yet To Go So Far.]
But two pages? Two pages is too much to be read? Certain things are complicated for some where they are not for others--the process by which a farmer lays hand on his meat it simple. He butchers the hog. But a man in the city goes to the butcher, who bought it from a merchant, who bought it off a farmer. The process is more complicated.
The process by which Lords and Ladies of the Lycene drink ice-chilled wine is an entirely different process--ice from mountains or further north, packed into shipping containers covered in sawdust, shipped south or to the cities hurriedly, sold at a premium--but a man in Whitehold does not wonder why ice in a drink is difficult for the Lycene to get his hands on(I would daresay he barely wonders about the Lycenes at all, or ice--one is too distant, the other too everpresent).
So it is that some things which are simple for the nobility are more complicated for those who are not--one may not simply say 'Why does the common man not address the High Council,' I would hope(if one does, they say it simply--and I mean that). I was told most innocently recently that I should carouse with those I wish to convince--imagine telling that to the poorest man in the Lower Boroughs(I have been so poor). Those are the ones the Common Council was meant to represent. -I- may be able to afford such, at times(from my other work, not this)--it is an excess I am unused to. It is an excess some are unable to. It is an excess.
Simply wine and dine the Lords and Ladies, the Princes and Princesses--simply address the High Council. Why make it so damn complicated, Jeremiah?
It put me in a fit of pique, and not my politest mood--the less said about the rest, the better, save that I am ashamed that I find myself willing to rise insult to insult, blow to blow--in some ways I am unfit, it is true. I accept that--when sacrifices are asked of the Common Council, I have sworn and will swear again--if it leads to improvements on the Common Council, I will help lay my position on the line first. I will be the first to go. I will craft something of worth and remove myself from the picture if only it means something of worth can be made.
But the Gods and Spirits put me in this position, and I am a patriot--I am Crownsworn, a title once borne with the highest honor. I will die and live(the higher sacrifice) by that honor and by that service. The Sentinel, the rest of the Gods, the Spirits--they demand nothing less of men.
But--truly? Two pages were too much to read? Why make it so complicated? The lack of perspective floors me--I am left utterly disarmed. Two pages are too much to read, yet judgments are easy to make beforehand. I stand ashamed, but others should as well.
[A footnote reads: I still stand by my statement--I see no blockage, save in letters unreturned and ignored--Gods and Spirits help the common man, and the poorest of us. Gods and Spirits help me. Come to think of it, Gods and Spirits help us all. Two pages is too much.]
I do understand I write quite a lot, at times--fifteen, twenty, thirty pages--so be it.
[A note in the margins reads: I Was Once Accused Of Fifty Pages--Thank You Aleksei, But I Have Yet To Go So Far.]
But two pages? Two pages is too much to be read? Certain things are complicated for some where they are not for others--the process by which a farmer lays hand on his meat it simple. He butchers the hog. But a man in the city goes to the butcher, who bought it from a merchant, who bought it off a farmer. The process is more complicated.
The process by which Lords and Ladies of the Lycene drink ice-chilled wine is an entirely different process--ice from mountains or further north, packed into shipping containers covered in sawdust, shipped south or to the cities hurriedly, sold at a premium--but a man in Whitehold does not wonder why ice in a drink is difficult for the Lycene to get his hands on(I would daresay he barely wonders about the Lycenes at all, or ice--one is too distant, the other too everpresent).
So it is that some things which are simple for the nobility are more complicated for those who are not--one may not simply say 'Why does the common man not address the High Council,' I would hope(if one does, they say it simply--and I mean that). I was told most innocently recently that I should carouse with those I wish to convince--imagine telling that to the poorest man in the Lower Boroughs(I have been so poor). Those are the ones the Common Council was meant to represent. -I- may be able to afford such, at times(from my other work, not this)--it is an excess I am unused to. It is an excess some are unable to. It is an excess.
Simply wine and dine the Lords and Ladies, the Princes and Princesses--simply address the High Council. Why make it so damn complicated, Jeremiah?
It put me in a fit of pique, and not my politest mood--the less said about the rest, the better, save that I am ashamed that I find myself willing to rise insult to insult, blow to blow--in some ways I am unfit, it is true. I accept that--when sacrifices are asked of the Common Council, I have sworn and will swear again--if it leads to improvements on the Common Council, I will help lay my position on the line first. I will be the first to go. I will craft something of worth and remove myself from the picture if only it means something of worth can be made.
But the Gods and Spirits put me in this position, and I am a patriot--I am Crownsworn, a title once borne with the highest honor. I will die and live(the higher sacrifice) by that honor and by that service. The Sentinel, the rest of the Gods, the Spirits--they demand nothing less of men.
But--truly? Two pages were too much to read? Why make it so complicated? The lack of perspective floors me--I am left utterly disarmed. Two pages are too much to read, yet judgments are easy to make beforehand. I stand ashamed, but others should as well.
[A footnote reads: I still stand by my statement--I see no blockage, save in letters unreturned and ignored--Gods and Spirits help the common man, and the poorest of us. Gods and Spirits help me. Come to think of it, Gods and Spirits help us all. Two pages is too much.]
Written By Rainier
Jan. 31, 2017, 11:44 p.m.(10/24/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Maude
Auntie needs help and I have rarely felt as guilty as I did for my choices. I do not regret them but the burden she carries! And she does it stoically, with grace and even some humor I fail to see how she can summon at all.
Perhaps there will be a last stand on a bridge after all, a call to arms where the last of the willing and the capable will gather and cross the final line together. If that day comes we could all do a lot worse than being marshaled there by this Lady.
Perhaps there will be a last stand on a bridge after all, a call to arms where the last of the willing and the capable will gather and cross the final line together. If that day comes we could all do a lot worse than being marshaled there by this Lady.
Written By Rainier
Jan. 31, 2017, 11:41 p.m.(10/24/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Harald
This one was not at all what I expected; that he enjoys his family's respect and reverence is clear. That he is surrounded by strong women who see the world differently than he does and he's frustrated by all the ways they are pulling away from his vision is also clear. But he wants what is best for them and he understands the truth of the world; that it laughs at our plans and mocks our wishes. Things are as they are. He sees it.
Written By Inigo
Jan. 31, 2017, 11:34 p.m.(10/24/1005 AR)
*excerpt from the travel notes of Lord Inigo Malvici*
I don't know what I expected but I expected more...
More than the eerie calm that had settled over the stretch of landscape where Eos met his end, more than the seemingly endless sheet of sand and landscape turned to black glass, more than the complete utter lack of answers to any of the questions that have presented themselves.
The visions of nightmares and strange oppressive sicknesses... all things pointing to ruin, death, destruction, and despair... not a trace was seen nor even a scrap of a clue to pursue. In some manner this is exactly what I wanted. Southport was fine, Southport would BE fine....
But now there's no manner of assurance for the future...
I don't know what I expected but I expected more...
More than the eerie calm that had settled over the stretch of landscape where Eos met his end, more than the seemingly endless sheet of sand and landscape turned to black glass, more than the complete utter lack of answers to any of the questions that have presented themselves.
The visions of nightmares and strange oppressive sicknesses... all things pointing to ruin, death, destruction, and despair... not a trace was seen nor even a scrap of a clue to pursue. In some manner this is exactly what I wanted. Southport was fine, Southport would BE fine....
But now there's no manner of assurance for the future...
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