Written By Valencia
Dec. 17, 2023, 8:22 p.m.(5/21/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Theo
I was very happy to hear that my cousin Theo won his duel, though I know it was done in fun.
To be true, I adore good wines from all over our compact. Each vintage can be so different. Same with spirits, I confess I admire the art and the craft of making fine spirits, ales, ciders, meads, teas and wines. All of it.
That said, I also adore seeing someone that I care very much for rise triumphant. I congratulate all on a duel well fought.
~~~~~~~~~~~~<~<~<@
To be true, I adore good wines from all over our compact. Each vintage can be so different. Same with spirits, I confess I admire the art and the craft of making fine spirits, ales, ciders, meads, teas and wines. All of it.
That said, I also adore seeing someone that I care very much for rise triumphant. I congratulate all on a duel well fought.
~~~~~~~~~~~~<~<~<@
Written By Valencia
Dec. 17, 2023, 7:51 p.m.(5/21/1021 AR)
Another wonderful Sip'n Spar event. That is two now. I was heartened to see who attended -- new faces and once well loved and known -- and inspired to see the talents shared. It makes me wish I had taken up the art of the blade with more devotion.
I think we shall have to host some more.
~~~~~~~~~~~<~<~<@
I think we shall have to host some more.
~~~~~~~~~~~<~<~<@
Written By Mattheu
Dec. 17, 2023, 7:20 p.m.(5/21/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Jeffeth
Its been awhile since I've had chance to have a sparring partner which has left me as drunk and filled with laugh as Sir Jeffeth. The man fought bravely and well.
We should all be so lucky to have such a man fighting within the Compact. That we can stand side by side, aside from any duels where there is some performance within each punch.
We should all be so lucky to have such a man fighting within the Compact. That we can stand side by side, aside from any duels where there is some performance within each punch.
Written By Mattheu
Dec. 17, 2023, 7:17 p.m.(5/21/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Ann
It was nothing less than a need to dive, a sought after attempt to find cover within a snowy day as Violeta took upon another want in training. To teach me to always be wary of my surrounding. The city filled with brick and mortar, where a bell's song might find more echo than to find the wind which it wishes to list and dance upon.
A wildly different world where instead of open rivers, trees and grass along a waters edge. Only stones and more stones to be found. Stone underfoot, stone to lean upon, stone to be yelled at for leaning upon. A bustling noise of carriages running past through crowded streets. To find oneself wandering in this space of the capital city, it's both terrifying and a wonderment when you're being hunted. Playfully, mind. Still. Violeta is strong in what she seeks to teach. And I've learned more than one to be upon my toes when she tells me to be wary.
We had found ourselves in drink at the Golden Hart, a place where I would meet another from time to time. Only she had left the city months prior. I had no want nor wishes to find another. Only left to train. Be ready for what might come. Be better for my siblings.
Half way through a drink and our game was running, I ducked out doors into a winter wonderland. The cold hitting me first. Something which over time I have found myself more fond of. That day? I was shivering and seeking to hide behind a bench.
Called out to from two having tea.
It was then that I would first lay eyes upon her...
It would be months later before we even had a complete moment to share a thought. to find ourselves in a dance, climbing to heights, and pondering of ice and rivers.
A moment in which I can look upon now with a laugh. A moment in where I'm left to wonder. As Violeta has her ways. Did she know what the winds wished for me to find that day?
A wildly different world where instead of open rivers, trees and grass along a waters edge. Only stones and more stones to be found. Stone underfoot, stone to lean upon, stone to be yelled at for leaning upon. A bustling noise of carriages running past through crowded streets. To find oneself wandering in this space of the capital city, it's both terrifying and a wonderment when you're being hunted. Playfully, mind. Still. Violeta is strong in what she seeks to teach. And I've learned more than one to be upon my toes when she tells me to be wary.
We had found ourselves in drink at the Golden Hart, a place where I would meet another from time to time. Only she had left the city months prior. I had no want nor wishes to find another. Only left to train. Be ready for what might come. Be better for my siblings.
Half way through a drink and our game was running, I ducked out doors into a winter wonderland. The cold hitting me first. Something which over time I have found myself more fond of. That day? I was shivering and seeking to hide behind a bench.
Called out to from two having tea.
It was then that I would first lay eyes upon her...
It would be months later before we even had a complete moment to share a thought. to find ourselves in a dance, climbing to heights, and pondering of ice and rivers.
A moment in which I can look upon now with a laugh. A moment in where I'm left to wonder. As Violeta has her ways. Did she know what the winds wished for me to find that day?
Written By Denica
Dec. 17, 2023, 7:10 p.m.(5/21/1021 AR)
(A riotous sketch of a little rainbow sticking its tongue out at a dark storm cloud.)
Love Always,
the Little Devil of Thrax
Love Always,
the Little Devil of Thrax
Written By Raven
Dec. 17, 2023, 6:44 p.m.(5/21/1021 AR)
It is absolutely nonsense that there's occasions I want things deeply for myself but am not selfish enough to take them for myself just because being selfish would be counter toward the goals I've worked so long and so hard. If only there was a means to smother the selfish want and be rid of it. Alas, this is now how being human works.
Written By Raymesin
Dec. 17, 2023, 6:18 p.m.(5/21/1021 AR)
I went to a Sip'n'Spar today, Scholar; Lord Ian wanted to offer people some sort of reassurance to people. I trust our sparring session managed that, at the very least.
Written By Gwenna
Dec. 17, 2023, 1:31 p.m.(5/20/1021 AR)
Sometimes, people are so stubborn that you just can't argue with them. It's a source of frustration and, yet, understanding in a way. If I am committed enough in my choice, and sure enough that I am right or doing the right thing, I'd like to think that the people who know me well would also allow me that decision. Being on the other side of that scenario is not so easy.
Written By Jeffeth
Dec. 17, 2023, 11:43 a.m.(5/20/1021 AR)
The Champions Guild plays a vital role in keeping society functioning. Rather than establishing long held grudges and blood feuds that last forever, calling a Champion can resolve a matter once and forever. I hope to see many more Champions being hired and slights and insults resolved through honorable combat and entertainment.
Written By Jeffeth
Dec. 17, 2023, 11:40 a.m.(5/20/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Jaenelle
I am beyond honored to have her as my patron again. Coming back into public life wasn't easy but I am so happy I made it.
Written By Jeffeth
Dec. 17, 2023, 11:40 a.m.(5/20/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Mattheu
What an amazing bout. I feel alive! Well done Lord Mattheu Rivenshari!
Written By Mabelle
Dec. 17, 2023, 9:35 a.m.(5/20/1021 AR)
I've recently learned a piece of information that made me feel betrayed and wronged. I was about to scream to the world of the injustice of things, but as I gathered more information, a story came to my ears of how things came to be that was nothing short of a miracle. Actually, that's what it was probably, a miracle.
Written By Renata
Dec. 16, 2023, 9:12 p.m.(5/19/1021 AR)
I awoke with a song echoing through my mind... I will miss the mirrored crossroads within the hedge maze.
Written By Avary
Dec. 16, 2023, 1:17 p.m.(5/18/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Sunaia
My sister, Sunaia, has departed from this realm. She leaves behind a void filled with silence of our years apart.
I recall the day I took my Godsworn vows and left behind the familial bond of House Ashford. In pursuit of a higher calling I opened a chasm between myself and Sunaia. In the depths of my heart I know I should have bridged the distance and mended the space that time and duty carved between us.
It is today I find that she reached to me through her journals. I don't read the journals as a matter of practice. It is only on occasion I have my clerical aide select a few for me to peruse. For obvious reasons, I took it upon myself to call for Sunaia's this morning.
In her reflections she pondered the nature of trust and deceit. She questioned if trust given could ever be safe from betrayal. And she said she didn't know how to tolerate deceit.
I will answer her now. Not because she needs it, but because I have to.
Deceit is not a thing to be tolerated. The breaking of one's word, the telling of a harmful lie, and bearing false witness are the stock in trade of the con man, swindler and the cheat. We all know on some level that the person who would break a promise and harm with lies should be cut out from our lives. We reserve these actions for use against our enemies. We have little regard for them.
But do not take this to mean trust is a fallacy and betrayal an inevitability. Trust is a precious gift and it is up to each person how they decide to give it. It can be given freely, or at a price; quick or slow. But however it is given, it does not absolve one of dilligence and integrity.
The Sentinel teaches us to be watchful and It teaches us to be truthful to ourselves about what we observe. So you've given trust, however you chose to give it. You must still be watchful. You must still keep your own counsel and continue to extend trust, or withdraw it, based on your observation. Only in this way can trust be justly given.
You ask if it is a necessity to accept that some people who are given the means to hurt us will, despite our trust? I don't know if it's necessary to accept that. But it is necessary to accept that in the course of life, you will be hurt. Whether it's betrayal, disappointment, or loss. You just have to be willing to experience the hurt.
I do not believe it is an inevitability that trust given will be betrayed. But it is always open to betrayal. That's part of the game, isn't it? All I can tell you is to be watchful and above all do not distrust your own observation or good judgment. The person you should trust most is yourself. If you can't, reflect on it. Find out why and mend it.
But it seems to me, dear sister, you chose so so wisely in who you laid your trust. And your integrity resolute. I am so proud of you. And I have always loved you. I do love you.
I recall the day I took my Godsworn vows and left behind the familial bond of House Ashford. In pursuit of a higher calling I opened a chasm between myself and Sunaia. In the depths of my heart I know I should have bridged the distance and mended the space that time and duty carved between us.
It is today I find that she reached to me through her journals. I don't read the journals as a matter of practice. It is only on occasion I have my clerical aide select a few for me to peruse. For obvious reasons, I took it upon myself to call for Sunaia's this morning.
In her reflections she pondered the nature of trust and deceit. She questioned if trust given could ever be safe from betrayal. And she said she didn't know how to tolerate deceit.
I will answer her now. Not because she needs it, but because I have to.
Deceit is not a thing to be tolerated. The breaking of one's word, the telling of a harmful lie, and bearing false witness are the stock in trade of the con man, swindler and the cheat. We all know on some level that the person who would break a promise and harm with lies should be cut out from our lives. We reserve these actions for use against our enemies. We have little regard for them.
But do not take this to mean trust is a fallacy and betrayal an inevitability. Trust is a precious gift and it is up to each person how they decide to give it. It can be given freely, or at a price; quick or slow. But however it is given, it does not absolve one of dilligence and integrity.
The Sentinel teaches us to be watchful and It teaches us to be truthful to ourselves about what we observe. So you've given trust, however you chose to give it. You must still be watchful. You must still keep your own counsel and continue to extend trust, or withdraw it, based on your observation. Only in this way can trust be justly given.
You ask if it is a necessity to accept that some people who are given the means to hurt us will, despite our trust? I don't know if it's necessary to accept that. But it is necessary to accept that in the course of life, you will be hurt. Whether it's betrayal, disappointment, or loss. You just have to be willing to experience the hurt.
I do not believe it is an inevitability that trust given will be betrayed. But it is always open to betrayal. That's part of the game, isn't it? All I can tell you is to be watchful and above all do not distrust your own observation or good judgment. The person you should trust most is yourself. If you can't, reflect on it. Find out why and mend it.
But it seems to me, dear sister, you chose so so wisely in who you laid your trust. And your integrity resolute. I am so proud of you. And I have always loved you. I do love you.
Written By Pasquale
Dec. 15, 2023, 8:38 p.m.(5/17/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Sunaia
When I learned that Sunaia had walked away one day humming a song I knew that it was our enemy, Orichalcum, who took her for I knew that she was a vital link between him and a great atrocity he committed not long after the Elven wars. An atrocity so great that it pursued her through the solace of rebirth and caused her great grief. Nobody should be forced to exist as something worse than a slave, so we went north to free her.
We found what was left of her in a ruined village deep within a tormented forest and gave her back the truth of who she really was. For a brief, beloved moment, she was Sunaia again. She could have returned home - nobody would have blamed her for it - but instead she chose to do what she could to make things better. She died to resolve that ancient wrong.
Finally she is at peace.
We found what was left of her in a ruined village deep within a tormented forest and gave her back the truth of who she really was. For a brief, beloved moment, she was Sunaia again. She could have returned home - nobody would have blamed her for it - but instead she chose to do what she could to make things better. She died to resolve that ancient wrong.
Finally she is at peace.
Written By Medeia
Dec. 15, 2023, 6:26 p.m.(5/17/1021 AR)
News from Saikland was hard to come by in the Lowers. But it did come by. I heard about Kima's disappearance, and I heard about Estaban stepping in as baron. It shook me, and my decision to simply stay gone started to feel shaky. I had been raised well. I loved Saikland, I loved our people, and I could feel the pull of duty within my heart. Still, I stayed where I was. I continued to improve my apothecary skills, I had handled a birth on my own (terrifying, absolutely terrifying, but there was little other option in the moment - that little one was ready to be here). And then? There was news from Saikland.
Estaban was dead.
I had hoped that Saikland would see stability with my brother's guidance. There was no need for me to upset anyone further when everything was going well. Arcelia had married, Estaban had married. It seemed right to let everyone move on. And then he was dead. My brother. I would never again get to catch a glimpse of him on patrol, stealing that little piece of comfort just for myself. My hope had been dashed upon the rocks.
The night I heard, I sat on the beach until sun-up. It felt like home, even if the Bay of Thrax and the Lycene Split lap at the shore differently, it felt like home. I stared at the water and cried until I couldn't cry anymore. My heart was no longer inside of me, it was in Saikland. Sometime during the night, it had taken its leave. I knew where I needed to be.
Looking back, I should have said my goodbyes. I guess some mistakes need to be made twice in order to learn the lesson. What would I have said? (The truth. I should have.) My head was empty of any thought other than getting home. I didn't even think to visit the tower in the Ward of the Lyceum. No, I took what little coin I had managed to scrape together and bribed my way onto a ship headed for Southport, and then made the trip from Southport to Saikland.
It wasn't a warm welcome. Rightfully, Lucita met me with suspicion. But the scar was undeniable.
Estaban was dead.
I had hoped that Saikland would see stability with my brother's guidance. There was no need for me to upset anyone further when everything was going well. Arcelia had married, Estaban had married. It seemed right to let everyone move on. And then he was dead. My brother. I would never again get to catch a glimpse of him on patrol, stealing that little piece of comfort just for myself. My hope had been dashed upon the rocks.
The night I heard, I sat on the beach until sun-up. It felt like home, even if the Bay of Thrax and the Lycene Split lap at the shore differently, it felt like home. I stared at the water and cried until I couldn't cry anymore. My heart was no longer inside of me, it was in Saikland. Sometime during the night, it had taken its leave. I knew where I needed to be.
Looking back, I should have said my goodbyes. I guess some mistakes need to be made twice in order to learn the lesson. What would I have said? (The truth. I should have.) My head was empty of any thought other than getting home. I didn't even think to visit the tower in the Ward of the Lyceum. No, I took what little coin I had managed to scrape together and bribed my way onto a ship headed for Southport, and then made the trip from Southport to Saikland.
It wasn't a warm welcome. Rightfully, Lucita met me with suspicion. But the scar was undeniable.
Written By Apollo
Dec. 14, 2023, 11:32 p.m.(5/15/1021 AR)
They come for us, and think us small,
But measured by a sober eye
Our size is not the point at all.
The history we can't recall:
From labyrinth low and tower high
They come for us, and think us small.
Unshapen dream, bound by no wall,
But formed by attentive eye -
Our size is not the point at all.
Would see us die or have us crawl -
how foolish, when we make to try!
They come for us, and think us small.
While hollow bones weren't made to fall,
Not every leap will make us fly;
Our size is not the point at all.
Wings outstretched, breadth in the caul
Her shape against the vastest sky
They come for us, and think us small:
Our size is not the point at all.
But measured by a sober eye
Our size is not the point at all.
The history we can't recall:
From labyrinth low and tower high
They come for us, and think us small.
Unshapen dream, bound by no wall,
But formed by attentive eye -
Our size is not the point at all.
Would see us die or have us crawl -
how foolish, when we make to try!
They come for us, and think us small.
While hollow bones weren't made to fall,
Not every leap will make us fly;
Our size is not the point at all.
Wings outstretched, breadth in the caul
Her shape against the vastest sky
They come for us, and think us small:
Our size is not the point at all.
Written By Medeia
Dec. 14, 2023, 8:06 a.m.(5/14/1021 AR)
I had heard stories about the capital from family who had been there. They all talked about how the Lower Boroughs were to be avoided - which made them my destination.
I had no plan beyond fading into anonymity so that my uncle could never find me. There was nothing - aside from that new scar running from sternum to right shoulder - that I had brought with me that would identify me. While traveling, I'd swapped clothing and cut my hair. The first time I was asked my name? I panicked. "Dia," I'd said. And so Dia I became.
Medeia melted away. It's ironic how all the lessons my mother had insisted on - and there had been many, my natural aptitude for the social arts had encouraged her to seek out the best tutors, and if she was going to invest in their fees, I was going to get every second of their time - were what saved me from being discovered. Polished mannerisms were pushed aside. I observed and emulated those around me, figuring out quickly what it was they expected from the role I had adopted and providing it. But it was impossible for Dia to be anyone other than Medeia at her core.
Children and elders needed minding, I needed food and shelter. Quickly, I found myself welcomed into homes with that simple exchange. An apothecary woman took me under her wing. And I met Tanith and Samira. With Tanith, I came to learn midwifery and knew that a bowl of stew from the Murder would fill my belly on the harshest winter days. Those bowls were usually accompanied by Brady. He had a way of just being there, ladling out compliments more questionable than the stew. But helping Tanith, holding the hands of mothers, kissing the skinned knees of children? That filled a lot of my time, and it filled a lot of my mind - pushing out thoughts of what I had left behind.
Having gone from a large family to being alone, however, was difficult. I found something of a replacement sister in Samira. We would explore alleys and rooftops, muse about what the future might hold. I can say this: Neither of us was blessed with future sight. Though it surprises me not at all that she has become such a renowned artist. Her passions were always going to be expressed creatively, and it warms my heart to see her known beyond the city, praised for her work.
I eventually learned that my uncle had been executed. It's probably a good thing I didn't really know until this week how close I had come to seeing him face-to-face again. My family had decided I was dead (and they had much more challenging situations to deal with). No one was looking for me, and even on occasions when Estaban was on Iron Guard patrol through the Lowers, I had learned the patterns and only ever had to duck into a shop to avoid him once.
The weeks turned to months turned to years - more than two of them! I'd carved out a little life for myself, even if that life was sometimes hungry and homeless. I was nearly 18. Everything was going to be fine.
I had no plan beyond fading into anonymity so that my uncle could never find me. There was nothing - aside from that new scar running from sternum to right shoulder - that I had brought with me that would identify me. While traveling, I'd swapped clothing and cut my hair. The first time I was asked my name? I panicked. "Dia," I'd said. And so Dia I became.
Medeia melted away. It's ironic how all the lessons my mother had insisted on - and there had been many, my natural aptitude for the social arts had encouraged her to seek out the best tutors, and if she was going to invest in their fees, I was going to get every second of their time - were what saved me from being discovered. Polished mannerisms were pushed aside. I observed and emulated those around me, figuring out quickly what it was they expected from the role I had adopted and providing it. But it was impossible for Dia to be anyone other than Medeia at her core.
Children and elders needed minding, I needed food and shelter. Quickly, I found myself welcomed into homes with that simple exchange. An apothecary woman took me under her wing. And I met Tanith and Samira. With Tanith, I came to learn midwifery and knew that a bowl of stew from the Murder would fill my belly on the harshest winter days. Those bowls were usually accompanied by Brady. He had a way of just being there, ladling out compliments more questionable than the stew. But helping Tanith, holding the hands of mothers, kissing the skinned knees of children? That filled a lot of my time, and it filled a lot of my mind - pushing out thoughts of what I had left behind.
Having gone from a large family to being alone, however, was difficult. I found something of a replacement sister in Samira. We would explore alleys and rooftops, muse about what the future might hold. I can say this: Neither of us was blessed with future sight. Though it surprises me not at all that she has become such a renowned artist. Her passions were always going to be expressed creatively, and it warms my heart to see her known beyond the city, praised for her work.
I eventually learned that my uncle had been executed. It's probably a good thing I didn't really know until this week how close I had come to seeing him face-to-face again. My family had decided I was dead (and they had much more challenging situations to deal with). No one was looking for me, and even on occasions when Estaban was on Iron Guard patrol through the Lowers, I had learned the patterns and only ever had to duck into a shop to avoid him once.
The weeks turned to months turned to years - more than two of them! I'd carved out a little life for myself, even if that life was sometimes hungry and homeless. I was nearly 18. Everything was going to be fine.
Written By Duarte
Dec. 14, 2023, 5:41 a.m.(5/14/1021 AR)
Journal
As I tread upon the cobbled street of Bravura cloaked in dusk's shadow, the city before me unfolded like a canvas painted with the light and life of innovation.
No one knew the Count of Bravura wandered among them. I was just another soul under the night sky. I observed them silently, the people of Bravura - my people - to see how they navigated the tides of change that now lapped at their shore.
Bravura! With its symphony of crashing waves, the cries of street vendors, impromptu poetry slams, and spectral storytelling. It holds a beauty that is both full of life and haunting. A city whose body serves Jayus and Inspiration is its blood.
The vibrant life of Bravura stirred my past. I saw shades of Lianne in the faces of the city's erudite citizens - each one brimming with the same sort of fierce curiosity that she wields like a blade. Their laughter in candle-lit cafes, and their passionate debates spilling into the streets, all echoed an intellectual fervor that she brought to every hushed conversation. The people, with their artistry and brilliant minds, seemed not unlike those I grew up with in Setarco - a city also no stranger to change.
I could hear Belinha's teachings whisper through the thrum of Bravura's heartbeat. The impromptu gatherings and boisterous atmosphere of bards, performers and drink - verse and voice dancing in an unrehearsed cadence across the town square. It all reminded me of her lessons in grace and presence. There was a time when such displays would have been my playground, a stage where I could weave my whispers and fade before applause. How distant that now seemed. How quaint when projected against the backdrop of a role I never sought.
Amidst the beauty and creation lingered an undercurrent of uncertainty. As the new Count, I felt it my duty to understand this city beyond its picturesque facade. It was important to know the heartbeat of Bravura. I wanted to feel its rhythm. I wanted to breathe its air. I wanted to smoke haze with its painters and rub elbows with its inventors!
Instead, I pondered the circuitous route that led me there. From a boy with a clattering coin purse to a man with a title. I even struggle to grasp the journey. The sights and sounds of Bravura brought forth a reflection on all that transpired - the losses, the victories, and the unending game of shadows that had been, to now, my life.
The mantle of my new charge weighed heavily on me. Belladonna had positioned me on the frontlines of a different sort of battlefield. One not strewn with the corpses of war but with the casualties of politics and power. I wondered if my talents were equipped for this new arena. For I was clever enough to be a right hand - but a guiding hand? My place was never the center - always the periphery. For there I could appear when necessary and fade back into the ether in a trice.
I remember I gave myself months before the title hunters would emerge - those who would question Belladonna's choices and see the Count of Bravura as nothing more than a stepping stone in their own ambitions. I was sure they would come as sure as I was the tide comes. I would need to be ready to face them with someone by my side who could withstand the onslaught.
I had Orland.
But they never came.
My life's work had been in the background. I was a ghost in the halls of power - not its overseer. And in the eyes of many, my new title bore an invisible stain regarded with contempt reserved for the lowest of society.
My ascent was a path paved by loyalty - a road chosen for me by the actions of others. Each step, while my own, feels as though it was predestined by the intricate dance of fate and the machinations of those I have served. But loyalty held my focus and steadied my hand to accept. I accepted out of duty. A duty that now saw me walking the streets of my city, cloaked in anonymity, and pondering the path that lay before me.
As night fully embraced Bravura, I too embraced my new role with quiet resolve, but not a quieted mind.
I should have stayed there. But I returned to Arx.
As I tread upon the cobbled street of Bravura cloaked in dusk's shadow, the city before me unfolded like a canvas painted with the light and life of innovation.
No one knew the Count of Bravura wandered among them. I was just another soul under the night sky. I observed them silently, the people of Bravura - my people - to see how they navigated the tides of change that now lapped at their shore.
Bravura! With its symphony of crashing waves, the cries of street vendors, impromptu poetry slams, and spectral storytelling. It holds a beauty that is both full of life and haunting. A city whose body serves Jayus and Inspiration is its blood.
The vibrant life of Bravura stirred my past. I saw shades of Lianne in the faces of the city's erudite citizens - each one brimming with the same sort of fierce curiosity that she wields like a blade. Their laughter in candle-lit cafes, and their passionate debates spilling into the streets, all echoed an intellectual fervor that she brought to every hushed conversation. The people, with their artistry and brilliant minds, seemed not unlike those I grew up with in Setarco - a city also no stranger to change.
I could hear Belinha's teachings whisper through the thrum of Bravura's heartbeat. The impromptu gatherings and boisterous atmosphere of bards, performers and drink - verse and voice dancing in an unrehearsed cadence across the town square. It all reminded me of her lessons in grace and presence. There was a time when such displays would have been my playground, a stage where I could weave my whispers and fade before applause. How distant that now seemed. How quaint when projected against the backdrop of a role I never sought.
Amidst the beauty and creation lingered an undercurrent of uncertainty. As the new Count, I felt it my duty to understand this city beyond its picturesque facade. It was important to know the heartbeat of Bravura. I wanted to feel its rhythm. I wanted to breathe its air. I wanted to smoke haze with its painters and rub elbows with its inventors!
Instead, I pondered the circuitous route that led me there. From a boy with a clattering coin purse to a man with a title. I even struggle to grasp the journey. The sights and sounds of Bravura brought forth a reflection on all that transpired - the losses, the victories, and the unending game of shadows that had been, to now, my life.
The mantle of my new charge weighed heavily on me. Belladonna had positioned me on the frontlines of a different sort of battlefield. One not strewn with the corpses of war but with the casualties of politics and power. I wondered if my talents were equipped for this new arena. For I was clever enough to be a right hand - but a guiding hand? My place was never the center - always the periphery. For there I could appear when necessary and fade back into the ether in a trice.
I remember I gave myself months before the title hunters would emerge - those who would question Belladonna's choices and see the Count of Bravura as nothing more than a stepping stone in their own ambitions. I was sure they would come as sure as I was the tide comes. I would need to be ready to face them with someone by my side who could withstand the onslaught.
I had Orland.
But they never came.
My life's work had been in the background. I was a ghost in the halls of power - not its overseer. And in the eyes of many, my new title bore an invisible stain regarded with contempt reserved for the lowest of society.
My ascent was a path paved by loyalty - a road chosen for me by the actions of others. Each step, while my own, feels as though it was predestined by the intricate dance of fate and the machinations of those I have served. But loyalty held my focus and steadied my hand to accept. I accepted out of duty. A duty that now saw me walking the streets of my city, cloaked in anonymity, and pondering the path that lay before me.
As night fully embraced Bravura, I too embraced my new role with quiet resolve, but not a quieted mind.
I should have stayed there. But I returned to Arx.
Written By Mabelle
Dec. 13, 2023, 7:20 a.m.(5/12/1021 AR)
Stepping into the Shadowoods.
We lost so many to those woods, but what can one do when they need a space they do not mind breaking?
I've taken precaution, but just in case, perhaps I should start thinking who will inherit all my.. all.
We lost so many to those woods, but what can one do when they need a space they do not mind breaking?
I've taken precaution, but just in case, perhaps I should start thinking who will inherit all my.. all.
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