Written By Harlex
Dec. 26, 2019, 9:13 p.m.(6/13/1012 AR)
A long time coming, I have resigned from the Crimson Blades.
Other things call to me. Though I can't leave the mercenary life behind, I plan to go my own way with it, the way I use to before Arx.
There's always profit in being a sellsword. The peerage sees to that, bless their hearts.
Other things call to me. Though I can't leave the mercenary life behind, I plan to go my own way with it, the way I use to before Arx.
There's always profit in being a sellsword. The peerage sees to that, bless their hearts.
Written By Harlex
Nov. 14, 2019, 9:54 p.m.(3/13/1012 AR)
One of the unsung things about abolishing Thralldom is, some day, I'll never have to hear about it again.
Written By Harlex
July 29, 2019, 10:57 p.m.(7/21/1011 AR)
I took work few years ago hunting a criminal named Murgen who was stealing cattle from farmers out near Brighthold.
It was a county issue until, during a theft, he kicked a farmer in the head while fleeing on horseback and the man died from the fall.
They brought us freelance hunters in to settle it up quick and we did. Cornered him where a creak hit up against a cliff too flat to climb. He gave up easy, he knew the score.
We all did.
That night we sat by the fire with Murgen in his irons. He told us three jokes. One about a man and his goat, another about a silk who didn't know a cow from a bull, and a third about a Godsworn Priest and a demon who kept knocking over his soup. Last one went on for a bit too long. I always think jokes should be short, to the point.
Let him drink his fill on some gin we brought to celebrate. He could really sing. At least, when we were drunk enough, he sounded like he could sing. One of the other hunters had a lute and gave him a tune or two.
Talked about our homes. He said he grew up in a tannery not far from the old farmstead. I didn't interrogate it, maybe it was a lie.
In the morning he woke us up with his prayers and we took him back to the barracks where they hanged him for the murder. It was over quickly. But before he died he turned to the three of us and he said, "Thanks."
And I still think about that now and then.
It was a county issue until, during a theft, he kicked a farmer in the head while fleeing on horseback and the man died from the fall.
They brought us freelance hunters in to settle it up quick and we did. Cornered him where a creak hit up against a cliff too flat to climb. He gave up easy, he knew the score.
We all did.
That night we sat by the fire with Murgen in his irons. He told us three jokes. One about a man and his goat, another about a silk who didn't know a cow from a bull, and a third about a Godsworn Priest and a demon who kept knocking over his soup. Last one went on for a bit too long. I always think jokes should be short, to the point.
Let him drink his fill on some gin we brought to celebrate. He could really sing. At least, when we were drunk enough, he sounded like he could sing. One of the other hunters had a lute and gave him a tune or two.
Talked about our homes. He said he grew up in a tannery not far from the old farmstead. I didn't interrogate it, maybe it was a lie.
In the morning he woke us up with his prayers and we took him back to the barracks where they hanged him for the murder. It was over quickly. But before he died he turned to the three of us and he said, "Thanks."
And I still think about that now and then.
Written By Harlex
July 5, 2019, 9:46 p.m.(5/28/1011 AR)
The hardest thing in this world is choosing what matters.
Some get born with it, from a name or a bloodline and they settle for that and they make due.
Some get an idea stuck in their head early and can't shake it, usually once you think something there's really no shaking it -- just lingers in your mind forever.
Then others, well they wonder around a good while. Taking up this or that, passing through lives the way a breeze goes over the tall grass.
I was that way for a time. Strange to think it wasn't that long ago, in fact.
For those still out there who haven't I guess the only advice I can give is: Live through it. That's all you can really do.
Some get born with it, from a name or a bloodline and they settle for that and they make due.
Some get an idea stuck in their head early and can't shake it, usually once you think something there's really no shaking it -- just lingers in your mind forever.
Then others, well they wonder around a good while. Taking up this or that, passing through lives the way a breeze goes over the tall grass.
I was that way for a time. Strange to think it wasn't that long ago, in fact.
For those still out there who haven't I guess the only advice I can give is: Live through it. That's all you can really do.
Written By Harlex
June 6, 2019, 10:19 p.m.(3/26/1011 AR)
[Transcribed by the Scholars of Vellichor. Presented to the Archive of the Whites by Commandant Harlex Valtyr of the Crimson Blades on behalf of the fallen.]
Commandant,
I don't think I'll make it back from this one. The Mercies are giving me that look, you know the one. 'Poor dear, she won't make it through the night.' That look. This is about all I have the strength to do.
But I'll do what you told us and keep the letter on my body and I hope it isn't too shaky.
Sorry the mission went south. Stupid. When you read this, put it to the Whites. Have a Scholar transcribe it, I got family all over and I want them to be able to read this once they hear; being my last thoughts and all.
Anyway. To those I know.
Vern, you weren't a hard-worker but thanks for taking care of us anyway after ma died, we weren't blood but I guess we were close as it gets.
Thaliana. Sis, you were always tougher than me. Because you never had to prove it. Watch out for that man of yours, I don't think he can buckle his own belt without a helping hand but he loves you. So I guess that's something.
Blaine, take care of my sister. Or else.
Alicia. Oh, Alicia. You know I almost made sergeant? That's not easy under the Dread Wolf! I was going to get a desk job, maybe work in the drill yard. But here I went and did that thing they do in all those dumb books you like. Going out on /one last assignment/. They'll square you up, love. The Blades. You don't have to worry. Enough to stay on your feet while you figure things out.
You were always good at figuring things out. I don't know why you loved me. Dumb sellsword, feet first into trouble all the time.
When I was one of the half that made it back from the Lodge, I thought you were going to put me in irons. But I guess we were just so happy to be together again. Sorry. I'm real sorry. I love you. When you get sad about this, just try to remember that time at the creek. Yeah? That was a good time. We had a lot of good times.
Don't forget. All we got is what we remember.
See you on the next turn.
Corporal Corinthia Gates
Crimson Blade's Red Wolf Battalion
Commandant,
I don't think I'll make it back from this one. The Mercies are giving me that look, you know the one. 'Poor dear, she won't make it through the night.' That look. This is about all I have the strength to do.
But I'll do what you told us and keep the letter on my body and I hope it isn't too shaky.
Sorry the mission went south. Stupid. When you read this, put it to the Whites. Have a Scholar transcribe it, I got family all over and I want them to be able to read this once they hear; being my last thoughts and all.
Anyway. To those I know.
Vern, you weren't a hard-worker but thanks for taking care of us anyway after ma died, we weren't blood but I guess we were close as it gets.
Thaliana. Sis, you were always tougher than me. Because you never had to prove it. Watch out for that man of yours, I don't think he can buckle his own belt without a helping hand but he loves you. So I guess that's something.
Blaine, take care of my sister. Or else.
Alicia. Oh, Alicia. You know I almost made sergeant? That's not easy under the Dread Wolf! I was going to get a desk job, maybe work in the drill yard. But here I went and did that thing they do in all those dumb books you like. Going out on /one last assignment/. They'll square you up, love. The Blades. You don't have to worry. Enough to stay on your feet while you figure things out.
You were always good at figuring things out. I don't know why you loved me. Dumb sellsword, feet first into trouble all the time.
When I was one of the half that made it back from the Lodge, I thought you were going to put me in irons. But I guess we were just so happy to be together again. Sorry. I'm real sorry. I love you. When you get sad about this, just try to remember that time at the creek. Yeah? That was a good time. We had a lot of good times.
Don't forget. All we got is what we remember.
See you on the next turn.
Corporal Corinthia Gates
Crimson Blade's Red Wolf Battalion
Written By Harlex
May 30, 2019, 3:40 p.m.(3/12/1011 AR)
I've assembled the amount of weapons I feel is appropriate for the offering.
Again, I want to say I'm grateful to those who reached out to me as much as those who passed along their armaments.
Remember that everything you've brought to an end, leads to a new beginning.
Again, I want to say I'm grateful to those who reached out to me as much as those who passed along their armaments.
Remember that everything you've brought to an end, leads to a new beginning.
Written By Harlex
May 23, 2019, 8:18 p.m.(2/26/1011 AR)
The weapon collection goes well and I want to thank all the soldiers and other folk who took the time to send me an armament.
I can say that each of these had meaning, a story. For parting with them, these bits of your hardships, I'm ever obliged.
Look toward a new beginning from what has ended.
I have eleven now total, still need two more. Thirteen feels the most appropriate number for the offering.
I can say that each of these had meaning, a story. For parting with them, these bits of your hardships, I'm ever obliged.
Look toward a new beginning from what has ended.
I have eleven now total, still need two more. Thirteen feels the most appropriate number for the offering.
Written By Harlex
May 15, 2019, 4:22 p.m.(2/10/1011 AR)
Relationship Note on Raimon
I wouldn't begrudge someone martial pursuits. It hones the body, keeps it healthy. In the simplest terms. If one were to take up painting as a hobby, but not become a master painter, I wouldn't fault them for this either. Taking up a sword and learning to defend oneself is a fine endeavor, whether for exercise or peace of mind.
But when it comes to the act of killing -- they will have to decide if they're capable of that or not and face the consequences. It isn't for us to say. I was born to become a farmer and chose to become a swordsman and looking back on it I'd say honestly that I'm unsure if I had the character for the life or not. Yet -- here I am.
But when it comes to the act of killing -- they will have to decide if they're capable of that or not and face the consequences. It isn't for us to say. I was born to become a farmer and chose to become a swordsman and looking back on it I'd say honestly that I'm unsure if I had the character for the life or not. Yet -- here I am.
Written By Harlex
April 11, 2019, 7:07 p.m.(11/26/1010 AR)
Relationship Note on Ouida
The Great Hunt in Fair Harbour was something I needed.
When I set out with my spear, alone in the forest islands, no crowds to cheer or jeer, no spectators or witnesses to deeds, I felt a peace come over me.
As I first picked up the trail of that White Hart, I then felt a sense of calm.
And when that beast turned, knowing he could no longer run. I felt a thrill. He died with distinction.
The end of the hunt brought the same sorrowful bliss as the finale of any hard fought victory.
For that I will be ever grateful.
When I set out with my spear, alone in the forest islands, no crowds to cheer or jeer, no spectators or witnesses to deeds, I felt a peace come over me.
As I first picked up the trail of that White Hart, I then felt a sense of calm.
And when that beast turned, knowing he could no longer run. I felt a thrill. He died with distinction.
The end of the hunt brought the same sorrowful bliss as the finale of any hard fought victory.
For that I will be ever grateful.
Written By Harlex
April 8, 2019, 10:57 p.m.(11/20/1010 AR)
The perfect drawing of a sword is an unsung form of art. And a good means of defense and offense when caught unaware by an enemy.
Written By Harlex
March 31, 2019, 11:51 a.m.(11/4/1010 AR)
When Nazares was killed in front of me I felt more liberated than lost. The Dead Crows have been gone for over six years and I still think of that old black cloak I never stopped wearing. How we hold on to symbols of bad memories as much as good.
Life as a wandering swordsman was the freedom I'd always wanted and felt that I deserved. It was not easy and skill does not always beget fortune. There is chance involved. We make our own fate but only for the most part. There's just no shaking chance.
How I have nearly starved to death at least three times but for the intervention of strangers and hard choices, no matter how you feel about your existence when it comes to life or death your instincts will always choose life. We are beasts like that, I suppose.
When I came to Arx I had nothing but the penchant for violence and a hunger I could not name. Ghosts were at my back and shadows in my sleep. The old blood on my fangs. What was I seeking then?
Maybe a bit of rest.
Instead I learned many more hard lessons. About myself, about the world, and what it means to be a soldier. A swordsman and a warrior must have a cause, like a tonic to clear the poison of all that blood.
The Sword of Lenosia is not a position I took lightly, but after much time and consideration. It's in capable hands but more so it's in hands that know the cause for which it serves. The path ahead has never been more clear to me and I am dedicated to it, like a keen sword thrust, to clear all obstacles with razor certainty. You cannot flinch before the mirror. It's only ever yourself that looks back.
This victory at the joust is but a means to an end. An honor which I will use to better serve House Velenosa.
Choice leads to many unusual places. From a failing farmstead, to the regiments of sellsword companies, to a marauders band, to Arx and higher heights than I ever dreamed.
And I feel no desire to rest on these laurels...
For the truest lesson I've learned is only this, above others; a wolf must hunt.
Life as a wandering swordsman was the freedom I'd always wanted and felt that I deserved. It was not easy and skill does not always beget fortune. There is chance involved. We make our own fate but only for the most part. There's just no shaking chance.
How I have nearly starved to death at least three times but for the intervention of strangers and hard choices, no matter how you feel about your existence when it comes to life or death your instincts will always choose life. We are beasts like that, I suppose.
When I came to Arx I had nothing but the penchant for violence and a hunger I could not name. Ghosts were at my back and shadows in my sleep. The old blood on my fangs. What was I seeking then?
Maybe a bit of rest.
Instead I learned many more hard lessons. About myself, about the world, and what it means to be a soldier. A swordsman and a warrior must have a cause, like a tonic to clear the poison of all that blood.
The Sword of Lenosia is not a position I took lightly, but after much time and consideration. It's in capable hands but more so it's in hands that know the cause for which it serves. The path ahead has never been more clear to me and I am dedicated to it, like a keen sword thrust, to clear all obstacles with razor certainty. You cannot flinch before the mirror. It's only ever yourself that looks back.
This victory at the joust is but a means to an end. An honor which I will use to better serve House Velenosa.
Choice leads to many unusual places. From a failing farmstead, to the regiments of sellsword companies, to a marauders band, to Arx and higher heights than I ever dreamed.
And I feel no desire to rest on these laurels...
For the truest lesson I've learned is only this, above others; a wolf must hunt.
Written By Harlex
Feb. 28, 2019, 9:50 p.m.(8/27/1010 AR)
Relationship Note on Lucita
I have learned a great deal about the skill of knifework from the Baroness. She will always have my gratitude.
Written By Harlex
Jan. 31, 2019, 2:19 p.m.(6/26/1010 AR)
Relationship Note on Victus
The style of swordsmanship I use employs my free hand, the clawed ends of the gauntlet, as a means of defense and offense.
Its effective. You just have to have the gauntlet designed in a certain fashion.
Its effective. You just have to have the gauntlet designed in a certain fashion.
Written By Harlex
Jan. 25, 2019, 7:57 a.m.(6/13/1010 AR)
I don't know what's in store for us. I don't know the right answers but only follow the ones I feel _are_ right. I guess that's enough sometimes. Hope it's that way for this too.
I make no presumptions that I'll change the scope of history, hearts, or minds with some common sellsword's notions on current events. That isn't my intention. But I just wish to record things, as I see them, for someone later on down the road to have a bigger picture. Another voice in a sea of voices. Another tale worth the telling.
The world has not changed so much as we think but opened, like cards turned over in a game of chance. They were always there, whatever face laid on the other side, but as it goes when the bets are made it is time for the revelation.
So it is the hour of revealing and each one, it seems, is not in our favour. We hinge on the next, we cling to the hope that we will not lose, even if it comes down to that last card. That river in the desert.
All gamblers, like the dying, are fools made of luck and hope.
I feel that the Ashe woman is right. But it is a hard sell. I fault no one wanting to hedge their bets in this game. Its terrifying. For common folks, for silks, comfort and security will always come before choice. Skald may have given freedom when he broke Fate's back, but he gave us uncertainty as well.
No one likes to feel uncertain, about their life, their love, their path. It is a consumptive heart rot. It tears us up inside. It makes us mad and irrational. It makes us monsters and victims.
Sometimes both.
I have survived for a long time. Longer than I have any right. I have wadded in blood and misery. I have been, and continue to be, a black and irredeemable beast.
These scars I have given myself, they will never fade. And it was all that I might live. All for survival. All because I feared that last turn of the card at my table. Because I was uncertain. Uncertain that I'd ever find the river. That the desert would take me.
Then, as it went on, I noticed it had less to do with survival. It had become the only thing I knew. It was hardly living. It was less dead.
But now I look at it as it stands, with no shortage of trepidation or uncertainty, and I know what I want the world to be and what I don't. So, this time, when it comes I'll make my choice, throw in my bet on what I think is right. Or at least, what I want to be right. Win, lose or draw.
And, for once, not just for survival.
I make no presumptions that I'll change the scope of history, hearts, or minds with some common sellsword's notions on current events. That isn't my intention. But I just wish to record things, as I see them, for someone later on down the road to have a bigger picture. Another voice in a sea of voices. Another tale worth the telling.
The world has not changed so much as we think but opened, like cards turned over in a game of chance. They were always there, whatever face laid on the other side, but as it goes when the bets are made it is time for the revelation.
So it is the hour of revealing and each one, it seems, is not in our favour. We hinge on the next, we cling to the hope that we will not lose, even if it comes down to that last card. That river in the desert.
All gamblers, like the dying, are fools made of luck and hope.
I feel that the Ashe woman is right. But it is a hard sell. I fault no one wanting to hedge their bets in this game. Its terrifying. For common folks, for silks, comfort and security will always come before choice. Skald may have given freedom when he broke Fate's back, but he gave us uncertainty as well.
No one likes to feel uncertain, about their life, their love, their path. It is a consumptive heart rot. It tears us up inside. It makes us mad and irrational. It makes us monsters and victims.
Sometimes both.
I have survived for a long time. Longer than I have any right. I have wadded in blood and misery. I have been, and continue to be, a black and irredeemable beast.
These scars I have given myself, they will never fade. And it was all that I might live. All for survival. All because I feared that last turn of the card at my table. Because I was uncertain. Uncertain that I'd ever find the river. That the desert would take me.
Then, as it went on, I noticed it had less to do with survival. It had become the only thing I knew. It was hardly living. It was less dead.
But now I look at it as it stands, with no shortage of trepidation or uncertainty, and I know what I want the world to be and what I don't. So, this time, when it comes I'll make my choice, throw in my bet on what I think is right. Or at least, what I want to be right. Win, lose or draw.
And, for once, not just for survival.
Written By Harlex
Jan. 15, 2019, 4:42 p.m.(5/14/1010 AR)
That day I walked into that tavern fifteen miles from the farmstead, new to the road and aimless but hungry, a long table had been set aside and a recruiter of the Sellsword Guild sat behind it and behind him a bundle of swords. All very plain, all identical in make.
He said, "Do not be deceived." And he took one of them, holding it between his hands. "Though each of these blades is similar to the other, each will tell a tale unique to itself. No two lives are a like and so no two swords are truly the same. Knowing this--what do you thirst for, young swordsman? What will your tale be?"
A salesman of high caliber, he knew that secret to selling anything; ingrained in any good deception is a truth.
Seventeen years old, I had always felt in pursuit of something.
I pursued it into the woods where that she-wolf gave me my first scar. I pursued it in my dreams, as the fields withered. Then when he handed me that sword, signed my name in his ledger, I pursued it with violence. Across battlefields, in the streets of cities, in the wilds were none were witness but the apathy of the gods.
I pursued it, in fact, all the way to Arx.
There is plenty more to tell. Not just my tale but all tales.
And now we have a little extra time. For better or worse.
He said, "Do not be deceived." And he took one of them, holding it between his hands. "Though each of these blades is similar to the other, each will tell a tale unique to itself. No two lives are a like and so no two swords are truly the same. Knowing this--what do you thirst for, young swordsman? What will your tale be?"
A salesman of high caliber, he knew that secret to selling anything; ingrained in any good deception is a truth.
Seventeen years old, I had always felt in pursuit of something.
I pursued it into the woods where that she-wolf gave me my first scar. I pursued it in my dreams, as the fields withered. Then when he handed me that sword, signed my name in his ledger, I pursued it with violence. Across battlefields, in the streets of cities, in the wilds were none were witness but the apathy of the gods.
I pursued it, in fact, all the way to Arx.
There is plenty more to tell. Not just my tale but all tales.
And now we have a little extra time. For better or worse.
Written By Harlex
Jan. 8, 2019, 4:02 p.m.(4/27/1010 AR)
A good time to be a mercenary is a bad time for everyone else.
I will say that, among the things being a wandering swordsman afforded me and burdened me with:
I do not miss land squabbles.
I will say that, among the things being a wandering swordsman afforded me and burdened me with:
I do not miss land squabbles.
Written By Harlex
Jan. 8, 2019, 12:04 p.m.(4/26/1010 AR)
Jumping from a ship like that, in a single bound, landing with that much grace.
Deep as the Abyss, that is quite a feat.
Bet that emissary gives a damn fine fight.
Deep as the Abyss, that is quite a feat.
Bet that emissary gives a damn fine fight.
Written By Harlex
Jan. 6, 2019, 1:01 a.m.(4/21/1010 AR)
I have lived through hard times. I have nearly starved to death. I have known thirst and the delirium of the heat. The numbness of the cold.
Life can seem--cheap, from all this. It can have no special meaning.
Yet, every fight that could have been my last I clawed and bit and stabbed sometimes to where I think I lost a bit of my soul, in all that violence. Bled from me, or chipped off like a battered stone.
But I have given up the road since Arx. Has much changed? I no longer worry on hunger or finding a bed. If I am cold, I make a fire. If I am too warm? Water is so readily available.
And yet; on the road I knew the full measure of the world.
Nothing was a mystery.
I had only to follow the first Law, which has kept me alive as long as I have traveled with a sword. These days, I feel as though I fall back on that way:
Life lives on life. There are eaters and the eaten.
I have tried to moralize about it since I have come to Arx and I've failed.
There is really no moral. That's all I am able to see. Kindness is transitory, like anger is transitory. Like sorrow and joy. Hope and despair. Coming and going, round and round like a wheel turning.
You will chase it. I will chase it.
Even if it is an uncertainty. We are helpless to the fact.
But survival? That is a certainty. That is ingrained in us, in the beast, damn--even plants have it.
In the end, I know how to survive and, above all else, I know what to do when my survival is threatened.
Life can seem--cheap, from all this. It can have no special meaning.
Yet, every fight that could have been my last I clawed and bit and stabbed sometimes to where I think I lost a bit of my soul, in all that violence. Bled from me, or chipped off like a battered stone.
But I have given up the road since Arx. Has much changed? I no longer worry on hunger or finding a bed. If I am cold, I make a fire. If I am too warm? Water is so readily available.
And yet; on the road I knew the full measure of the world.
Nothing was a mystery.
I had only to follow the first Law, which has kept me alive as long as I have traveled with a sword. These days, I feel as though I fall back on that way:
Life lives on life. There are eaters and the eaten.
I have tried to moralize about it since I have come to Arx and I've failed.
There is really no moral. That's all I am able to see. Kindness is transitory, like anger is transitory. Like sorrow and joy. Hope and despair. Coming and going, round and round like a wheel turning.
You will chase it. I will chase it.
Even if it is an uncertainty. We are helpless to the fact.
But survival? That is a certainty. That is ingrained in us, in the beast, damn--even plants have it.
In the end, I know how to survive and, above all else, I know what to do when my survival is threatened.
Written By Harlex
Jan. 1, 2019, 9:53 p.m.(4/13/1010 AR)
Relationship Note on Jyri
You will make a fine leader to those guards, I'm certain.
I'd offer some advice but my 'commanding through fear' is _apparently_ not something to advise.
Good luck.
I'd offer some advice but my 'commanding through fear' is _apparently_ not something to advise.
Good luck.
Written By Harlex
Dec. 30, 2018, 12:18 p.m.(4/8/1010 AR)
I hope everyone sees and remembers the irony of this situation for centuries to come.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.