Written By Sunaia
June 17, 2020, 10:38 p.m.(6/28/1013 AR)
This morning I woke up without even a moderate headache, thanks to all the pacing - sorry, exercising - that I was doing as I ran laps around the Grayson Ward today. It cleared my head. I was even able to get a hour or two of actual rest before the sun rose. Settled in and waking up, the dogs waited for me to show signs of life before they jumped in and all over me, all with entirely too much energy. So - we needed to go out again. Before the miserable heat had a chance to spoil was otherwise going to be a brilliant day.
(No, Scholar, it wasn't that hot -- I just prefer certain times of day over others. Don't fault me for that.)
I miss East terribly today, and I tried very hard to keep myself in the present tense and I made plans for myself. I'm going to set my own pace now and pick my own direction.
(I need a horse, I think, in order to go on longer rides in the woods when the weather's dry and the conditions are right. I miss the smell of sweet straw and the mustiness of horse and stable and even manure. Yes, it's a very specific scent memory. It's comforting. And, the proper place to breathe in the scent of horse to really understand what I mean - it's behind the ears. Where their coat's soft and napped like velvet. Don't believe me yet, Scholar? We'll go to the stables after this and I'll show you.)
Lastly, I wrote a lot of letters. A lot. I told Kaia that it felt like my hand was going to fall off. It didn't, of course. Letters are safe. Safer, for now, until I summon up the grit to go to the Shrine today and apologize to the Archlector. I'll do it. Yes, I will do that today.
(No, Scholar, it wasn't that hot -- I just prefer certain times of day over others. Don't fault me for that.)
I miss East terribly today, and I tried very hard to keep myself in the present tense and I made plans for myself. I'm going to set my own pace now and pick my own direction.
(I need a horse, I think, in order to go on longer rides in the woods when the weather's dry and the conditions are right. I miss the smell of sweet straw and the mustiness of horse and stable and even manure. Yes, it's a very specific scent memory. It's comforting. And, the proper place to breathe in the scent of horse to really understand what I mean - it's behind the ears. Where their coat's soft and napped like velvet. Don't believe me yet, Scholar? We'll go to the stables after this and I'll show you.)
Lastly, I wrote a lot of letters. A lot. I told Kaia that it felt like my hand was going to fall off. It didn't, of course. Letters are safe. Safer, for now, until I summon up the grit to go to the Shrine today and apologize to the Archlector. I'll do it. Yes, I will do that today.
Written By Eirene
June 17, 2020, 4:10 p.m.(6/28/1013 AR)
We played a game the other day. "Name four people you wanted by your side in a fight."
Many of the people I would have chosen were dead or gone.
Costas. Leo. Anze. Talen. Luca. Armel.
I miss you all, motherfuckers. I hope those of you who live are still fighting the good fight. And I hope someday to see those I've lost in another body, so we can be friends again and fight even harder the second time around.
Many of the people I would have chosen were dead or gone.
Costas. Leo. Anze. Talen. Luca. Armel.
I miss you all, motherfuckers. I hope those of you who live are still fighting the good fight. And I hope someday to see those I've lost in another body, so we can be friends again and fight even harder the second time around.
Written By Aureth
June 17, 2020, 2:07 p.m.(6/28/1013 AR)
I am weary, yet whole. A new day dawns. Each new day, a new beginning; each turn of the seasons, a chance for the bloom of change. Jokes aside, I genuinely believe that a man of my age is in the prime of life, provided he keeps fit and lays off the pastries, but this morning, my bones ache. Yesterday I walked the city the way I used to, down the hill to the Murder and back.
Never forget how large this city is. We are vast. We contain multitudes. We are a microcosm of the grand sweep of the lands of the Compact. And as the reach of the Compact grows, so too does the order and form of the faces that you see out on the street here.
Unrelated to these lofty thoughts and plaints of years, the bird has decided to crib several pairs of my underwear for his lair. Maybe he, too, is sore and in need of something soft to lie on.
Never forget how large this city is. We are vast. We contain multitudes. We are a microcosm of the grand sweep of the lands of the Compact. And as the reach of the Compact grows, so too does the order and form of the faces that you see out on the street here.
Unrelated to these lofty thoughts and plaints of years, the bird has decided to crib several pairs of my underwear for his lair. Maybe he, too, is sore and in need of something soft to lie on.
Written By Jael
June 17, 2020, 11:24 a.m.(6/28/1013 AR)
This has been a week of revelations.
And heartburn. Ugh. It wasn't like this with Nora.
And heartburn. Ugh. It wasn't like this with Nora.
Written By Raziel
June 17, 2020, 8:49 a.m.(6/27/1013 AR)
To simplify my last entry even further:
Don't count on others being there when you need them. That way, if they are, it'll be a pleasant surprise.
If they're not? It's what you had prepared for anyway.
Don't count on others being there when you need them. That way, if they are, it'll be a pleasant surprise.
If they're not? It's what you had prepared for anyway.
Written By Raziel
June 17, 2020, 8:29 a.m.(6/27/1013 AR)
Something that has recently come to mind: To blame others for not being there when you needed them is a waste of time. Perhaps they indeed are all traitors worthy of scorn. Or they were late in showing up when you needed them. Or they just have no idea who you are and you've grossly overstated your importance to the common mortal.
Whatever the case, if you expect everyone to always be there, you will be unprepared for when the times when you have to stand alone. There are always such times, no matter how many friends you have, no matter how loyal.
You can prepare for them and when they come fight harder than you ever have. Or you can pretend you will never be alone and afterwards whine that there was nobody there to save you. If you're lucky enough to still have a voice.
Whatever the case, if you expect everyone to always be there, you will be unprepared for when the times when you have to stand alone. There are always such times, no matter how many friends you have, no matter how loyal.
You can prepare for them and when they come fight harder than you ever have. Or you can pretend you will never be alone and afterwards whine that there was nobody there to save you. If you're lucky enough to still have a voice.
Written By Piccola
June 17, 2020, 8:17 a.m.(6/27/1013 AR)
I spent years walking through life without any family. Now that I have reconnected with them, however, I cannot imagine how I got by without them. And hearing that another must do the same, I can feel the terror from so many years ago come down upon me.
Written By Lys
June 16, 2020, 11:55 p.m.(6/27/1013 AR)
It's quite strange how a single moment of kindness, can cause you to have faith in your fellow man again.
Written By Lucita
June 16, 2020, 7:48 p.m.(6/26/1013 AR)
Relationship Note on Ailith
A Song of Hope, and songs of hope are a weapon against disheartenment, against sorrow. It was a wonder to see how it affected those who heard and sang it. Thank you for sharing it with others.
Written By Cyril
June 16, 2020, 7:25 p.m.(6/26/1013 AR)
Relationship Note on Victus
I think Prince William Thrax said the same thing...
Written By Sunaia
June 16, 2020, 7:07 p.m.(6/26/1013 AR)
The first thing I did was run.
I ran and ran and ran. This isn't as romantic nor as dramatic as it sounds. I ran until exhaustion overtook me and at least I was able to sleep. I don't remember where - but the spring evening was mild and that pile of dogs was comfortable to snuggle between.
Sweet, the warm smell of their fur and their terrible hare-baited breath. It was a comfort. Gods, having a couple of uninterrupted hours didn't salvage the aftermath of that frantic pace come morning. I was, in truth, a mess. Hair disordered, cheeks rough red and tear-streaked. Moonlight flatters me. But, sunlight? Never. It reveals. It lays bare everything beneath its merciless shine. Unforgiving. Bright. Even that open swathe of robin's egg blue sky seemed strangely accusatory. It wasn't. It was just me. My thoughts.
It took me far too long to reconcile my situation. I had run out of tears, run out of the energy to run further, run out of reasons not to face myself - to face my missteps. Countless missteps.
(It almost doesn't seem like such a big deal, does it Scholar? When I phrase it that way - misstep.)
But they were mistakes. I held myself firm, made myself as impassive as carved marble, and I forced myself to be accountable for my mistakes. For how long? I don't remember. There was enough time to be uncomfortable in my own company. I've been used to that. Familiar with keeping to myself in the forests between the capital city and Ashford lands. Surviving, meditating. There were days that I never spoke a word. Neither to myself nor the dogs. Keeping my eyes vaguely focused on some tree - or some large rock that was slightly off-center of the lake that I kept my camp near. I meditated.
Honestly, there are so many days of inconsolable drooping in the shadows of a willow that one can take before it's too much. There's still so much to do, learn, explore, mend, and if I should stumble - I know I'm agile enough to catch my footing and begin again. Emotions are weapons, aren't they? In a fit of uncontrollable temper one can wield emotions like a mace, and if that someone (me - I mean me) wields my emotions as carelessly as I did it's like handing a mace to an untrained soldier. They can cause damage.
They can, irrevocably, fuck things up.
(I really, really hope that I didn't fuck it all up.)
And I am my father's daughter - my mother's daughter. An Ashford. With the training and raising that they did of me, their youngest, in the image that they allowed _me_ to shape and form. Why has it taken me so long to acknowledge that, Scholar? (Rhetorical question, mostly. Mostly.) My choices are my own. My will is my own. My reactions to all that I am exposed to are my own. Why would I spoil that gift of choice, of freedom - in my own self-misery? In pettiness? In useless anger? These are not things I should be spending this time - my life - on.
And the sky, again, turned from black - to gray - to sleepy pastel dawn. I broke down my camp. I called the dogs to heel at my side.
I walked back home.
I ran and ran and ran. This isn't as romantic nor as dramatic as it sounds. I ran until exhaustion overtook me and at least I was able to sleep. I don't remember where - but the spring evening was mild and that pile of dogs was comfortable to snuggle between.
Sweet, the warm smell of their fur and their terrible hare-baited breath. It was a comfort. Gods, having a couple of uninterrupted hours didn't salvage the aftermath of that frantic pace come morning. I was, in truth, a mess. Hair disordered, cheeks rough red and tear-streaked. Moonlight flatters me. But, sunlight? Never. It reveals. It lays bare everything beneath its merciless shine. Unforgiving. Bright. Even that open swathe of robin's egg blue sky seemed strangely accusatory. It wasn't. It was just me. My thoughts.
It took me far too long to reconcile my situation. I had run out of tears, run out of the energy to run further, run out of reasons not to face myself - to face my missteps. Countless missteps.
(It almost doesn't seem like such a big deal, does it Scholar? When I phrase it that way - misstep.)
But they were mistakes. I held myself firm, made myself as impassive as carved marble, and I forced myself to be accountable for my mistakes. For how long? I don't remember. There was enough time to be uncomfortable in my own company. I've been used to that. Familiar with keeping to myself in the forests between the capital city and Ashford lands. Surviving, meditating. There were days that I never spoke a word. Neither to myself nor the dogs. Keeping my eyes vaguely focused on some tree - or some large rock that was slightly off-center of the lake that I kept my camp near. I meditated.
Honestly, there are so many days of inconsolable drooping in the shadows of a willow that one can take before it's too much. There's still so much to do, learn, explore, mend, and if I should stumble - I know I'm agile enough to catch my footing and begin again. Emotions are weapons, aren't they? In a fit of uncontrollable temper one can wield emotions like a mace, and if that someone (me - I mean me) wields my emotions as carelessly as I did it's like handing a mace to an untrained soldier. They can cause damage.
They can, irrevocably, fuck things up.
(I really, really hope that I didn't fuck it all up.)
And I am my father's daughter - my mother's daughter. An Ashford. With the training and raising that they did of me, their youngest, in the image that they allowed _me_ to shape and form. Why has it taken me so long to acknowledge that, Scholar? (Rhetorical question, mostly. Mostly.) My choices are my own. My will is my own. My reactions to all that I am exposed to are my own. Why would I spoil that gift of choice, of freedom - in my own self-misery? In pettiness? In useless anger? These are not things I should be spending this time - my life - on.
And the sky, again, turned from black - to gray - to sleepy pastel dawn. I broke down my camp. I called the dogs to heel at my side.
I walked back home.
Written By Ravna
June 16, 2020, 6:23 p.m.(6/26/1013 AR)
D'you think all the dudes from the old stories and shit, y'know, the ones that deal with like, monsters and shit, d'you think they just have...y'know...real small di--I mean, think about it, y'know? They always summon this like, thing, y'know? In the story. That thing always has a - DARK AND TERRIBLE PRIIIICE - like, man, just hire some goons. Damn.
Written By Mikani
June 16, 2020, 5:08 p.m.(6/26/1013 AR)
So much to learn. So much to research. Back to the library with me.
Written By Bahiya
June 16, 2020, 4:53 p.m.(6/26/1013 AR)
I always look forward to the rain. I suspect the seasons here will suit me fine.
Written By Ravna
June 16, 2020, 11:09 a.m.(6/26/1013 AR)
If you had to pick, which would you choose?
No, no, no. You only get these three choices, man. You get to only pick one, and, all you know is: 'Gee, Ravna Culler did, yes, just put three cups down in front of me. Claims there's a shiny thing there, too. Under one. Mhmm. Yes. Certainly.'
So, to play my man, you gotta give me ten silve-- well OF COURSE IT IS A GAMBLE, IT IS AN ANALOGY ON LIFE!
Hahaaaaaa! So, you don't play. That's a choice too. So four choices. But if you play in life...you gotta gamble, baby. Always gotta gamble. Always a thing you can lose.
Everyone has a thing they can lose. Or gain. There's winning for gambling, yeah? Yeeeaaah - oooh, NOW you wanna play?
Nope. You chose. Bored now byyyyeeeeee!
No, no, no. You only get these three choices, man. You get to only pick one, and, all you know is: 'Gee, Ravna Culler did, yes, just put three cups down in front of me. Claims there's a shiny thing there, too. Under one. Mhmm. Yes. Certainly.'
So, to play my man, you gotta give me ten silve-- well OF COURSE IT IS A GAMBLE, IT IS AN ANALOGY ON LIFE!
Hahaaaaaa! So, you don't play. That's a choice too. So four choices. But if you play in life...you gotta gamble, baby. Always gotta gamble. Always a thing you can lose.
Everyone has a thing they can lose. Or gain. There's winning for gambling, yeah? Yeeeaaah - oooh, NOW you wanna play?
Nope. You chose. Bored now byyyyeeeeee!
Written By Mabelle
June 16, 2020, 6:32 a.m.(6/25/1013 AR)
Not all gems sparkle and not all that sparkle is a gem.
Written By Malcolm
June 15, 2020, 1:56 p.m.(6/24/1013 AR)
Back to the start. That's not such a terrible thing. There's no real way to go about it -- I got to continue on. I'm sure I'll find it. (Whatever it is. Is that TOO vague, Scholar? Fine.) It has to do with answers to questions I didn't know needed asking. Like: What's next?"
Written By Raziel
June 15, 2020, 1:13 p.m.(6/24/1013 AR)
To put my last entry into simpler terms.
You have the mirror that won't tell you that your outfit makes you look like a bloated buffoon and the one that will.
It's up to you whether you want to know before or when everyone at the party is laughing at you.
You have the mirror that won't tell you that your outfit makes you look like a bloated buffoon and the one that will.
It's up to you whether you want to know before or when everyone at the party is laughing at you.
Written By Raziel
June 15, 2020, 12:56 p.m.(6/24/1013 AR)
I will not speak in the name of Mirrormasks, Scholar, because for one I am a disciple, not a Godsworn, and second because by their nature Mirrormasks are as far as could be from united in thought.
That's the point.
So while some of my brethren are happy to embrace their passions and do the same for others', I offer a different reflection. If you're a lying, slothful, ignorant fool of a man, then that's what you are and there is no reason for you to stay that way. Being aware one has flaws and failings is all well and good, but they must be acted upon. Simply sitting there and saying you're an angry person without doing anything about it is a waste of time. Mine especially.
And no, there is no upside to being a lying, slothful, ignorant fool of a man. Trying to justify it is also a waste of time.
Some mirrors are happy to soothe egos and tell them they're special and beautiful in their moral failings. I prefer the mirrors that speak the truth and do away with the nonsense.
That's the point.
So while some of my brethren are happy to embrace their passions and do the same for others', I offer a different reflection. If you're a lying, slothful, ignorant fool of a man, then that's what you are and there is no reason for you to stay that way. Being aware one has flaws and failings is all well and good, but they must be acted upon. Simply sitting there and saying you're an angry person without doing anything about it is a waste of time. Mine especially.
And no, there is no upside to being a lying, slothful, ignorant fool of a man. Trying to justify it is also a waste of time.
Some mirrors are happy to soothe egos and tell them they're special and beautiful in their moral failings. I prefer the mirrors that speak the truth and do away with the nonsense.
Written By Iseulet
June 15, 2020, 8:09 a.m.(6/23/1013 AR)
Relationship Note on Valdemar
I heard that heating up a silver spoon and pressing it to the bite takes the itch right out.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.