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Written By Cambria

Oct. 13, 2019, 2:43 a.m.(1/3/1012 AR)

If one wishes to express his or her opinion in public, then one must expect public criticism in return. Speaking personally, I have found that the only truly painful criticism is that which is justified.

Written By Mabelle

Oct. 13, 2019, 2:24 a.m.(1/3/1012 AR)

Happiness is the perfect crime.

Written By Delia

Oct. 12, 2019, 10:54 p.m.(1/3/1012 AR)

Whenever we meet, I always come away with something new. Planned or unplanned, my time with her is never boring, and I love that about her.

Written By Cambria

Oct. 12, 2019, 8:16 p.m.(1/3/1012 AR)

You should live each day as if it were your last, but also as if you were going to live forever. The latter is easier to do, perhaps, than the former because, as Marach is said to have replied when asked before his death by an Orthodox Godsworn to renounce the Thirteenth, your last day alive is no time to be making enemies. However, it is very difficult, especially in these times of inflamed sentiment and opinion, to avoid making enemies. It often seems as if you have only to pick up a quill to do so.

PS. I made that bit up about Marach.

Written By Juniper

Oct. 12, 2019, 6:39 p.m.(1/3/1012 AR)

To Prince Victus and Thrax, to Princess Zara and Valardin, to Princess Berenice and Velenosa, to Princess Gwenna and Redrain, to Princess Sabella and Grayson, I offer up my heartfelt thanks and gratitude. They have granted their permission for a hospice in each of their capital cities and I could not be more humbled by their generosity. A place where the dying and destitute may go, each of them run by veterans who have recovered from the darkness and addiction which plagued them, trained by me to care for those with nowhere else to go, to tend the hearts and minds facing their return to the Wheel.

When I began my hospice, I thought it would just be a little place, a small lantern set in a tiny window of the world.

Such a light they bring. Thank you.

Written By Rosalind

Oct. 12, 2019, 6:32 p.m.(1/3/1012 AR)

The first snow is on the ground! I watched it last night, while walking in the woods. I have always loved it. The peace, the stillness. The walking through the forest where everything has yet to be touched. This has to be my favorite time!

Written By Mara

Oct. 12, 2019, 5:08 p.m.(1/3/1012 AR)

Bunnies are evil, no matter what color. All of them, evil.

Written By Josephine

Oct. 12, 2019, 1:35 p.m.(1/2/1012 AR)

YEs, this is my yearly grousing.

Snow. Water from the sky frozen. Off with it, begone. No good comes of the sea, and no good comes of the snow.

Written By Willow

Oct. 12, 2019, 1:21 p.m.(1/2/1012 AR)

Lay before the gardener
Your saddest blooms

The hungry
The weak
The withered
And the suffering

Such flowers as require
Extra love and tender care
The gardener loves
No blossom less than the other

Their great value
Lies in numbers
For sweet smelling beauty
Is fleeting

Written By Willow

Oct. 12, 2019, 12:02 p.m.(1/2/1012 AR)

As Spring, So Fall.
Once Summer, Now Winter.

There is only what a man can stand to do.

What luxury, to feel liberated
to condemn those walking with the downtrodden
More strongly than those who deny your gods.

Is weakness worth such contempt,
Or is that strength so feared?

Insulated in the down of sleeping geese
I weep

Written By Sydney

Oct. 12, 2019, 10:13 a.m.(1/2/1012 AR)

When I was a girl, I used to gather up all of my clothes into a pile and hide inside of them. I'm sure, looking back, that my folks were able to see a little Sydney foot sticking out, because I didn't own many clothes to begin with. More than I do now, to be sure.

Am I still hiding there, now only behind fists, status, and a grin?

The commoner isn't a threat.
The brawler hasn't a thought.
The smiling haven't a care.

Hiding, indeed.

Written By Marian

Oct. 12, 2019, 6:26 a.m.(1/2/1012 AR)

Once again another year has passed.

I suppose I could have thrown a large celebration to herald the event. However, I spent the day with my children. We did have a cake, a special treat. Nia and Fergus begged to sit on my lap so we fairly left the matter up to chance. Valen prevailed much to his siblings ire. He's such a quiet boy but very clever. Great scholars will have to mentor him when he gets older since his clever mind figured out the best way to win.

In the coming days, I shall be visiting my brother and sister, a simple dinner. Truly, I need nothing more than the love and support of my family. Perhaps I shall drag my liege out for a boar hunt. Princess Gwenna and I might have a quick drink to catch up on matters of state. It's just another day in my life. Nothing to put in parchment.

Written By Marian

Oct. 12, 2019, 6:16 a.m.(1/2/1012 AR)

Relationship Note on Aiden

When I was young, my mother taught me the meanings of animals. They had a place in our lives and our dreams. The goose in a dream typically meant fertility and family. A flock of geese could indicate a partnership or marriage. It was considered a good omen to have geese at your wedding which is why these sacred birds would be used in ceremonies.

Since embracing my Faith, I have put aside such superstitions. However, I find myself at the Shrine of Petrichor, praying on this matter. Because even if we discount the symbolism, groups of birds dying mid-flight does not speak well of our environment. I have made a point of keeping my own companion, Ender, grounded when outdoors until a better explanation can be made. I am encouraging others with knowledge of these events to speak to Duke Aiden Rubino since his extensive knowledge of birds might assist in averting further tragedy to other flocks.

Written By Arcadia

Oct. 12, 2019, 2:50 a.m.(1/1/1012 AR)

The first snow of the season has always been my favorite. I remember as a child that feeling that the snow was coming. That crispness in the air and how everything fell silent and still. I remember trying my hardest to stay awake all night in hopes of seeing the first flake fall. Tonight I caught it. My small daughter, the future countess of Bonespire cuddled close to me, we watched the snow fall and I promised her that one day, she will love this day as much as I do.

I suppose it feels fitting that I became the countess-consort of a place that boarders the everwinter. Perhaps it was destined from when I was a small child. I wonder if that means somewhere, someone argued that I could do this, be a leader. Some days, it sure feels like someone is playing a joke on me.

Written By Elisha

Oct. 12, 2019, 1:27 a.m.(1/1/1012 AR)

"I dreamed of a harbor facing south, in bright daylight," the Archlector of Death reports to her olive-skinned archscholar. "Gentle waves kiss the retaining walls; stone steps descend, warmed by the sun. Boats with tidy rigging sway beneath arriving passengers who rush laughing onto the quay to greet families weeping with relief and welcome."

"A blessed vision," the archscholar murmurs, her gray eyes downcast in obedience.

"Search the archives," the Archlector of Death commands, "until you find the place to which my dream corresponds."

"Forgive me, Voice of the Mother of Furrows," the archscholar replies. "But while there is no doubt that I could find the precise citation in the archives, I could not come back to share it with you."

"And why is that?" the Archlector of Death demands.

"Because the place of which you dreamed knows only arrivals, not departures," the archscholar says,

and the Archlector of Death sees in
her dew-touched web
that the harbor is a fallow field
where the waves dance not with water but with grain
and the warm stones enclose pasturage,
and the shapes swaying across the rolling hills are plows.

"What of the passengers," she asks, "rushing onto the quay?"

They smell of carbon and water,
ammonia and lime,
phosphorous and iron and salt.

Written By Elisha

Oct. 12, 2019, 12:54 a.m.(1/1/1012 AR)

Newly exiled, and quite ignorant of the languages of the shav'Arxani, the charlatan can express herself only by drawing objects from her steelsilk pack--tambourines, salted pike, necklaces of monkey's tails and bats' wings--and pointing to them with gestures, leaps, moans of pleasure, cries of horror, by imitating the squeak of the rat, the hoot of the owl.

The connections between one element of her story and another are not always obvious to the patrons in her storefront chapel; an empty sheath might indicate war or battle, a polite duel on a wide green lawn, or a woman who lost her man; a mirror might mean vanity or reflection or the place where mirrors are made. But what enhances for the patrons every tale shared by the inarticulate charlatan is the space that remains around it, the void bereft of words. The descriptions of the charlatan have this virtue, if none other:

However, time touches even shopfront chapels, eventually, and words begin to replace objects and gestures and cries. First the charlatan barks exhortations, then she makes herself understood with sentences. She will soon descend into metaphor and sermon and discourse. Still, no matter how eloquently she speaks, she will not know if the patrons have mastered her language, or if she has learned theirs.

* * *

(The strong build embassies in the capitals of the weak, with permission or without. What is that half-seen doorway on the leafy Upper street, between the perfumer's shop and the adulterer's window?)

Written By Tikva

Oct. 12, 2019, 12:10 a.m.(1/1/1012 AR)

It is time for the first snow sculptures of 1012.

Written By Icelyn

Oct. 11, 2019, 11:07 p.m.(1/1/1012 AR)

I feel close to the gods every day of my life. I do not always feel close to people.

Today, less so. I thank the gods for those who not only listen, but also understand.

Written By Calandra

Oct. 11, 2019, 10:55 p.m.(1/1/1012 AR)

A wondrous event at Elegant Impressions! A gorgeous steelsilk gown that gleamed like starlight was up for auction by the ever talented Mistress Talia and, to my delight, it happened to be a sister gown to my moonlight dress that I'm so terribly fond of. My sadness that I do not have the sunlight one, but I'm quite happy with two of these stunning outfits in my wardrobe now. I also commend Her Highness, Princess Alarissa Thrax for her bid against me, it was a very close battle. My purse will hurt a little, surely, but looking at this dress in the mirror more than soothes the sting. Now to find the perfect accessory to match!

Written By Wren

Oct. 11, 2019, 6:01 p.m.(1/1/1012 AR)

I didn't see it, but I heard a rumor that a flock of geese tumbled out of the sky dead as dead can be. How dreadful. I hope no one was injured by an unexpected goose while carrying on with their business.

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