Written By Sydney
Nov. 29, 2019, 2:16 p.m.(4/14/1012 AR)
Relationship Note on Alexis
Let it be known that Alexis is capable of making metal sing. When presented with a unique request, she did not shy away from the commission, but met it and exceeded all expectations. Exceptional craftsmanship that makes me wonder if I should ever want for another pair of these unique gauntlets for as long as I live. Should the day come that I find myself with coin enough to do business again, I would not hesitate to do so.
To those who would discount a pit fighter's ability to strike in battles that matter, reserve judgement until you see what a talented armorsmith can come up with, when given creative freedom.
My gratitude is immeasurable.
To those who would discount a pit fighter's ability to strike in battles that matter, reserve judgement until you see what a talented armorsmith can come up with, when given creative freedom.
My gratitude is immeasurable.
Written By Sydney
Nov. 27, 2019, 2:53 p.m.(4/10/1012 AR)
If I test myself hard enough, I'll find the line which I cannot cross. The boundary which cannot be broken, and the threshold I'll not pass.
I've reflected at length upon my weaknesses, but I've done little lipservice to that which makes me strong. I can put it more elegantly to pen, as I have time enough to find the right words.
Tenacity. Ferocity. Conviction.
I stand when others sit, and sit when others stand. I don't mistake the nature of a person by the quality of their lineage, nor gauge their worth in similar means.
I laugh long, I love viciously and fully, I charge forth, and when I see my flaws, I examine them. I give them proper study, and I act. Seldom will the same trick strike me when I've seen it once.
And though this journal shall be white, I am not full of bluster and self praise. My back is not sore from the patting I've given it, for my touch is light.
I write better than I speak, and I speak better than most assume, when they pry the bottle from my hand.
This felt good to put to paper, and I suspect avid readers of every submitted entry shall if nothing else be relieved not to hear of ill tidings and vitriol.
Not that it ever was for you, dearest reader.
I've reflected at length upon my weaknesses, but I've done little lipservice to that which makes me strong. I can put it more elegantly to pen, as I have time enough to find the right words.
Tenacity. Ferocity. Conviction.
I stand when others sit, and sit when others stand. I don't mistake the nature of a person by the quality of their lineage, nor gauge their worth in similar means.
I laugh long, I love viciously and fully, I charge forth, and when I see my flaws, I examine them. I give them proper study, and I act. Seldom will the same trick strike me when I've seen it once.
And though this journal shall be white, I am not full of bluster and self praise. My back is not sore from the patting I've given it, for my touch is light.
I write better than I speak, and I speak better than most assume, when they pry the bottle from my hand.
This felt good to put to paper, and I suspect avid readers of every submitted entry shall if nothing else be relieved not to hear of ill tidings and vitriol.
Not that it ever was for you, dearest reader.
Written By Sydney
Nov. 24, 2019, 10:27 p.m.(4/5/1012 AR)
Relationship Note on Cassandra
Time is my enemy, above all else.
I will always wish that I had more of it, but I need to use what I have.
I will use what I have.
I will always wish that I had more of it, but I need to use what I have.
I will use what I have.
Written By Sydney
Nov. 22, 2019, 12:28 p.m.(3/28/1012 AR)
I do not recognize myself in the glimpses I catch in windows and stream.
I am not the woman I was even six months ago, destitute and desperate. My hair grows longer, the list of those I trust grows longer, and with it all comes a yawning unease.
I no longer recognize this woman.
She no longer resembles me.
I am not the woman I was even six months ago, destitute and desperate. My hair grows longer, the list of those I trust grows longer, and with it all comes a yawning unease.
I no longer recognize this woman.
She no longer resembles me.
Written By Sydney
Nov. 18, 2019, 4:07 p.m.(3/20/1012 AR)
Relationship Note on Colette
Allow the record to show that although I dearly enjoy a good spar, I less enjoy the morning after.
How did my ribs get so purple?
No, no. I recall. Jabbing the same spot is something I could stand to remember. The pain has a way of compounding. A little pain is a cheap way to learn a valuable lesson.
How did my ribs get so purple?
No, no. I recall. Jabbing the same spot is something I could stand to remember. The pain has a way of compounding. A little pain is a cheap way to learn a valuable lesson.
Written By Sydney
Nov. 17, 2019, 2:15 a.m.(3/17/1012 AR)
A busy day. Too busy by far.
The path to self-improvement is riddled with setbacks and truths that are bitter to hear.
I endeavor to meditate on what I've learned - probably with as much whiskey as it takes to take the edge off. After that?
The work begins.
The path to self-improvement is riddled with setbacks and truths that are bitter to hear.
I endeavor to meditate on what I've learned - probably with as much whiskey as it takes to take the edge off. After that?
The work begins.
Written By Sydney
Nov. 15, 2019, 11:54 p.m.(3/15/1012 AR)
What an utterly black day, for being covered in snow.
Written By Sydney
Nov. 14, 2019, 10:28 p.m.(3/13/1012 AR)
A noble, challenging a commoner. Scandal. Shock.
We all wake up with the shits after a night of heavy drinking. We all bleed. Challenge who you will, if they've pissed you off.
Just don't hide behind your coin.
We all wake up with the shits after a night of heavy drinking. We all bleed. Challenge who you will, if they've pissed you off.
Just don't hide behind your coin.
Written By Sydney
Nov. 14, 2019, 10:07 p.m.(3/13/1012 AR)
Oh, praise be to tanners. I can scarce remember since I've last felt so warm and snug this winter, but the new clothing that I was helped to afford is absolutely divine.
It won't go turning heads, but it's got no holes. No gashes from axes. No mysterious stains that I'd rather not discuss the particulars of.
It's tournament legal, to boot. Not that I'm thrilled by the prospect of another mishap akin to the Rite of Gloria, but... perhaps after I've bettered myself.
It won't go turning heads, but it's got no holes. No gashes from axes. No mysterious stains that I'd rather not discuss the particulars of.
It's tournament legal, to boot. Not that I'm thrilled by the prospect of another mishap akin to the Rite of Gloria, but... perhaps after I've bettered myself.
Written By Sydney
Nov. 10, 2019, 9:50 p.m.(3/5/1012 AR)
My last entry was as a touch... incoherent. That will teach me to write while in the House of Solace.
There was a fire the other night in the Lowers. It 'only' claimed a single building. A no-name tenement building that didn't look like much on the outside, and looked like even less on the inside. Rooms barely big enough to comfortably cram a straw mattress, lots of stairs, lots of wood, and it looked like half of the rooms didn't even have windows. I mention the inside because I was visiting an old friend when the place caught flame.
I scarcely escaped with my life - wouldn't, in fact, if it weren't for the company I'd brought with me. I am now nauseatingly intimate with the burnt-pork smell of people burning alive, trapped in that rat's nest of a tenement building, likely suffocated by the same smoke that nearly did me in. One central staircase was the only point of succor, and the thing collapsed in on itself not long after I left it, stranding the way out for anyone else inside. I write this here, because otherwise, it will likely stay in the Lowers, as most things that happen in the Lowers tend to. There must be a way to see to it that buildings meant to serve as lodging are not constructed in such a deadly way as this, all in the name of greed.
Greed is the only explanation for packing in people like shipping freight, for rooms covered in mold, and... I'm rambling. Almost dying, then spending a night hacking my lungs out while listening to the screams of people with burns all over their bodies tends to have that effect on me.
It's difficult not to feel as though these problems are invisible to those in the wards above. Wonder, do you, why resentment breeds in the Lowers, and you need look no further than the lack of intervention that leads to situations like these.
There was a fire the other night in the Lowers. It 'only' claimed a single building. A no-name tenement building that didn't look like much on the outside, and looked like even less on the inside. Rooms barely big enough to comfortably cram a straw mattress, lots of stairs, lots of wood, and it looked like half of the rooms didn't even have windows. I mention the inside because I was visiting an old friend when the place caught flame.
I scarcely escaped with my life - wouldn't, in fact, if it weren't for the company I'd brought with me. I am now nauseatingly intimate with the burnt-pork smell of people burning alive, trapped in that rat's nest of a tenement building, likely suffocated by the same smoke that nearly did me in. One central staircase was the only point of succor, and the thing collapsed in on itself not long after I left it, stranding the way out for anyone else inside. I write this here, because otherwise, it will likely stay in the Lowers, as most things that happen in the Lowers tend to. There must be a way to see to it that buildings meant to serve as lodging are not constructed in such a deadly way as this, all in the name of greed.
Greed is the only explanation for packing in people like shipping freight, for rooms covered in mold, and... I'm rambling. Almost dying, then spending a night hacking my lungs out while listening to the screams of people with burns all over their bodies tends to have that effect on me.
It's difficult not to feel as though these problems are invisible to those in the wards above. Wonder, do you, why resentment breeds in the Lowers, and you need look no further than the lack of intervention that leads to situations like these.
Written By Sydney
Nov. 10, 2019, 1:22 a.m.(3/3/1012 AR)
I dreamt of fire and smoke, of ash, howls and screams.
A Wibby sat upon my chest, staring down at me with lifeless black eyes, face sloughing off where his skin burned away.
What in the abyss is a Wibby?
A Wibby sat upon my chest, staring down at me with lifeless black eyes, face sloughing off where his skin burned away.
What in the abyss is a Wibby?
Written By Sydney
Nov. 7, 2019, 11:56 p.m.(2/27/1012 AR)
Would that I could simply take all of my years in the pits building up my fists and put them to use swinging a hammer, but circumstances just didn't allow for that to happen.
Be careful what you get good at. I didn't have much choice, so the road ahead is long and winding.
It's to be walked with patience, a resource I'm quickly exhausting.
Be careful what you get good at. I didn't have much choice, so the road ahead is long and winding.
It's to be walked with patience, a resource I'm quickly exhausting.
Written By Sydney
Nov. 5, 2019, 6:19 p.m.(2/23/1012 AR)
There's a small voice in all of us, I think - or most, surely - that whispers that we're destined for something greater than the sum of our parts.
Lately, I've been thinking on that.
How does one earn skill without time?
How does one earn time without coin?
How does one earn coin without sacrifice?
What do you earn?
What do you leave behind?
It's the reality of being born without everything handed down to me from my sire, and his sire's sire. I make no secret of the fact that I've cast my surname to the wind. You'll not see it written, and you'll not hear it spoken. It exists only in memory, and bitter ones, at that.
Who do we become when we have nothing? Does a tree battered by wind make it grow stronger and taller, or does it simply weaken its roots and make it prone to falling over sooner?
Questions. Nothing but questions without answers.
My fists aren't enough to solve my problems, that much has become crystal clear. I need to harden myself. I need to soften myself. I need to learn. I need to sacrifice. I need time. I need coin. I need skill. I'll thrash, and I'll kick, and I'll make an ass of myself along the way, because it's the path granted to me.
This is not a poem - It's the reality of being born on the wrong end of a coin toss.
This is the lament of the Lowers, to those in the world above.
Lately, I've been thinking on that.
How does one earn skill without time?
How does one earn time without coin?
How does one earn coin without sacrifice?
What do you earn?
What do you leave behind?
It's the reality of being born without everything handed down to me from my sire, and his sire's sire. I make no secret of the fact that I've cast my surname to the wind. You'll not see it written, and you'll not hear it spoken. It exists only in memory, and bitter ones, at that.
Who do we become when we have nothing? Does a tree battered by wind make it grow stronger and taller, or does it simply weaken its roots and make it prone to falling over sooner?
Questions. Nothing but questions without answers.
My fists aren't enough to solve my problems, that much has become crystal clear. I need to harden myself. I need to soften myself. I need to learn. I need to sacrifice. I need time. I need coin. I need skill. I'll thrash, and I'll kick, and I'll make an ass of myself along the way, because it's the path granted to me.
This is not a poem - It's the reality of being born on the wrong end of a coin toss.
This is the lament of the Lowers, to those in the world above.
Written By Sydney
Nov. 2, 2019, 11:54 p.m.(2/17/1012 AR)
Okay, so I don't want to say that went disastrously, but...
Axes sharding HURT. While I'm at it, plate armor? Plate armor ALSO hurts. My knuckles are screaming. I am absolutely covered in blood.
The healers are fast at these events, but I still have to wear these clothes, and now they're completely sodden with the lovely result of taking a blow from an axe. Thank you, Lowers Leather, for at least keeping me alive enough to limp over to the healer.
I need a bath, to wash these clothes, and to not challenge a fully armored axeman.
No. Very much no, thank you.
Hail Gloria.
Axes sharding HURT. While I'm at it, plate armor? Plate armor ALSO hurts. My knuckles are screaming. I am absolutely covered in blood.
The healers are fast at these events, but I still have to wear these clothes, and now they're completely sodden with the lovely result of taking a blow from an axe. Thank you, Lowers Leather, for at least keeping me alive enough to limp over to the healer.
I need a bath, to wash these clothes, and to not challenge a fully armored axeman.
No. Very much no, thank you.
Hail Gloria.
Written By Sydney
Nov. 1, 2019, 7:16 p.m.(2/15/1012 AR)
Perhaps the most unfortunate thing about having a bit more free time, is that it's freed me up to pay attention to the news and to the steady trickle of white journals.
I staunchly believe that I was a fair bit happier before I started trying to muddle my way through the politics and backbiting and infighting. I am entirely out of my element in this regard.
If I can afford good armor, I'll buy good armor. Its origin scarcely matters, nor its shape. It needs only be breathable, flexible, and able to stop me from being impaled by the first dagger or arrow to find my back as I scatter to let the soldiers due their dying duty.
I staunchly believe that I was a fair bit happier before I started trying to muddle my way through the politics and backbiting and infighting. I am entirely out of my element in this regard.
If I can afford good armor, I'll buy good armor. Its origin scarcely matters, nor its shape. It needs only be breathable, flexible, and able to stop me from being impaled by the first dagger or arrow to find my back as I scatter to let the soldiers due their dying duty.
Written By Sydney
Oct. 29, 2019, 11:42 p.m.(2/9/1012 AR)
I am well-rested, the day is bright, and I've not a care in the world.
A wonderful day indeed.
A wonderful day indeed.
Written By Sydney
Oct. 27, 2019, 12:57 a.m.(2/3/1012 AR)
I keep putting it off, but I really need to do something about these boots. They've served me well, but there's not a lick of grip left on them, especially in this snow. Plus, they're an absolute nightmare to lace.
Maybe something with buckles?
...I hate asking for fashion advice, but the sharding things are falling apart, and if I'm buying new, I want something to last.
Maybe something with buckles?
...I hate asking for fashion advice, but the sharding things are falling apart, and if I'm buying new, I want something to last.
Written By Sydney
Oct. 26, 2019, 11:31 p.m.(2/3/1012 AR)
I can't remember the last time that I was able to warm up on a cold winter's night with a hot bath. It's a luxury that simply isn't often afforded to those in the Lowers - and honestly, usually when it is provided, it's as some sort of charitable function.
Steam with equal parts smug.
It wasn't like that, this time. Indeed, most pleasant - I feel more like a woman and less like a drowned rat.
Steam with equal parts smug.
It wasn't like that, this time. Indeed, most pleasant - I feel more like a woman and less like a drowned rat.
Written By Sydney
Oct. 22, 2019, 7:52 p.m.(1/23/1012 AR)
I'm not a poet.
And seemingly, I'm one of the few not terrified of them or scandalized by them. Take your sheep, your lambs, your wolves, and set them to thinking about things that actually threaten Arx, not your egos.
A tall order that might require difficult decisions and thoughts rather than whinging about words.
Perhaps that's what motivates such actions. A tiny little thorn you can pick at to ignore the nipping at your heels.
And seemingly, I'm one of the few not terrified of them or scandalized by them. Take your sheep, your lambs, your wolves, and set them to thinking about things that actually threaten Arx, not your egos.
A tall order that might require difficult decisions and thoughts rather than whinging about words.
Perhaps that's what motivates such actions. A tiny little thorn you can pick at to ignore the nipping at your heels.
Written By Sydney
Oct. 20, 2019, 7:53 p.m.(1/19/1012 AR)
Ha! I finally remembered her name!
...
All it took was someone else telling it to me, but that's no surprise, there. Still, that's a mite less embarrassing than greeting her by only her initials.
...
All it took was someone else telling it to me, but that's no surprise, there. Still, that's a mite less embarrassing than greeting her by only her initials.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.