Written By Oliver
July 8, 2018, 6:32 p.m.(2/26/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Joscelin
I'm fairly certain that marriage has invigorated me! I haven't felt this young in ages.
Written By Oliver
July 7, 2018, 7:07 p.m.(2/24/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Joscelin
And on this day, you've become my wife.
My WIFE!
Somebody pinch me, because I'm sure I must be dreaming. Actually, on second thought, please don't. If it is a dream, it's not one I plan on waking from.
My WIFE!
Somebody pinch me, because I'm sure I must be dreaming. Actually, on second thought, please don't. If it is a dream, it's not one I plan on waking from.
Written By Oliver
July 4, 2018, 1 p.m.(2/18/1009 AR)
I much prefer leatherworking over tailoring. I suppose there are a lot of similarities - it is why I started taking lessons on how to work with more delicate fabrics in the first place - but even now that I'm far proficient at the craft, I still consider myself only a hobbyist tailor. There's just something about working with leather that I've always liked better; maybe it has something to do with all the different hides you can tan and work with? Or maybe the oils. Who knows.
But every so often, I get to sewing something for somebody and it turns out to be more extravagent than anything I've ever made with pelts - and I've worked with some pretty damn exotic leathers over my days. But there is that moment, after you've taken a shapeless sheet of fabric and turned it into something that someone's going to wear and hopefully remember for the rest of their days, and you just feel /good/. Accomplished, maybe. Yeah, that's definitely how I feel today. Accomplished.
But every so often, I get to sewing something for somebody and it turns out to be more extravagent than anything I've ever made with pelts - and I've worked with some pretty damn exotic leathers over my days. But there is that moment, after you've taken a shapeless sheet of fabric and turned it into something that someone's going to wear and hopefully remember for the rest of their days, and you just feel /good/. Accomplished, maybe. Yeah, that's definitely how I feel today. Accomplished.
Written By Oliver
July 1, 2018, 8:09 p.m.(2/12/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Joscelin
It seems the new writer for the Commoners' Bulletin forgot an extraordinarily important piece of news. But worry not - I will add it here for all to see.
She said yes.
I cannot wait to make you my wife, Joscelin.
She said yes.
I cannot wait to make you my wife, Joscelin.
Written By Oliver
July 1, 2018, 11:32 a.m.(2/12/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Joscelin
My timing could have been better. I could have done this on your birthday. Perhaps that would have taken your birthday from simply 'good' to 'the best birthday ever'? But it is difficult to arrange schedules, and I would not be doing this if I hadn't talked to Ida and Morrighan first.
I suppose you can assume that those conversations went well. Not only am I alive (and not suffering from even a single stab wound, although many threats were made), but you'll soon wake up and find the gifts I've left you, sitting on the kitchen table.
You will know where to find me. Please don't make me wait too terribly long. It is still cold outside.
I suppose you can assume that those conversations went well. Not only am I alive (and not suffering from even a single stab wound, although many threats were made), but you'll soon wake up and find the gifts I've left you, sitting on the kitchen table.
You will know where to find me. Please don't make me wait too terribly long. It is still cold outside.
Written By Oliver
July 1, 2018, 1:11 a.m.(2/11/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Sameera
You did not know me when you bought my debt. You heard my story and that was enough for you. We had never met until I found my way to Arx, and then you welcomed me as though I was your brother. You gave me a room and you offered me silver. You said I owed you nothing. But you were wrong. I owed you a life debt.
I can never repay it now. You are gone. I did not get to say goodbye. You were not an affectionate woman, but if you were here now, I would hug you and tell you thank you. Because if it were not for you, I would not have the future that I do.
The banker told me that you saved thousands of economic writs for the Coldrains. It is in your memory that I offered them to Lady Carita to assist in the rebuilding of Darkwater. I hope that they are used to help people like you and me - former Thralls, who did not ask for their chains, but are trying to make a better life for themselves now that those bounds are broken. It is the least I can do, for the life you gave me, to give the same to others.
I loved you as a sister, Sameera. Thank you for everything.
I can never repay it now. You are gone. I did not get to say goodbye. You were not an affectionate woman, but if you were here now, I would hug you and tell you thank you. Because if it were not for you, I would not have the future that I do.
The banker told me that you saved thousands of economic writs for the Coldrains. It is in your memory that I offered them to Lady Carita to assist in the rebuilding of Darkwater. I hope that they are used to help people like you and me - former Thralls, who did not ask for their chains, but are trying to make a better life for themselves now that those bounds are broken. It is the least I can do, for the life you gave me, to give the same to others.
I loved you as a sister, Sameera. Thank you for everything.
Written By Oliver
June 29, 2018, 8:39 p.m.(2/8/1009 AR)
My father used to tell me many stories. I was a young man when our tribe bent the knee to Darkwater, and I spent far too many of my years paying off a debt incurred for broken promises, but I remember a few things here and there, tales passed down from one generation to the next, though the tales have ended with me. I suppose I'll write one of those tales here, as I've not seen much written of my tribe, and I am the only one remaining of what was once my family.
My favorite story had always been about how my father took my mother to be his bride. My family was of no particular importance; my father was not a chieftan or anyone of notable status. My father, like his father and grandfather and great-grandfather before him, had been a simple man. A warrior. He had little to his name - a place to call home, a few horses, his weapons and his armor, but little else - but it had been good enough for him. Until he met my mother. Returning from a raid, bruised and bloodied, he'd seen her washing laundry down by a small river. I don't recall my mother being of any significant beauty, but I remember clearly how my father would speak of her, as though she were the most magnificent thing in the world. He was a bit of a romantic, my father. I suppose that is one trait he handed down to me.
And when he saw her - my mother, a simple laundress, a caretaker for the warriors in her home - he knew that he had everything a man could want except for her. He set off to woo her, but for whatever reason she had paid him no mind, and I think it only made him want to wed her that much more. One day, he'd gone down to the river while she was washing her piles of clothes, and he attempted to lend a hand. She'd gotten annoyed by the assistance, she was fiercely independent, and when she tried to tug one of the bed sheets he'd grabbed out of his hand, he fell with the momentum and sprained his sword arm. I think perhaps she'd felt bad for him, maybe a little guilty, but from that day, they were inseparable.
It was tradition in my tribe that when one person desired to wed another, they would receive a blessing from the tribe Shaman and then stand vigil at the family home of their intended. They would bring a gift for the family and a gift for their desired, and they would wait outside in whatever weather until they were invited in, and then they would be wed. It usually only took a few hours, no more than a day. My father chose the evening of a storm to begin his vigil for my mother. He received the blessings he needed and stood outside in the rain and the wind and the lightning, and took no food or drink as was custom.
She made him wait three days.
It always used to make me laugh when he told me this story, trying to imagine my father - who was as tall as I am now, and as broad as a mountain - standing outside, soaking wet, hungry and thirsty, waiting for my mother to let him in the house, and somehow remaining incredibly patient.
I was eleven when my mother passed from a horrific illness that plagued her for months before it finally took her life. I was twelve when my father, who was far too prideful to bend the knee, was killed in front of me. I did not laugh about this story for years. In fact, I did my best to put the memory of this tale aside, and never think of it again. But today? Perhaps it is because I am older, perhaps it is because I finally know something that my father knew for years. Today, I am thinking about this story again.. and I am finally able to laugh once more.
My favorite story had always been about how my father took my mother to be his bride. My family was of no particular importance; my father was not a chieftan or anyone of notable status. My father, like his father and grandfather and great-grandfather before him, had been a simple man. A warrior. He had little to his name - a place to call home, a few horses, his weapons and his armor, but little else - but it had been good enough for him. Until he met my mother. Returning from a raid, bruised and bloodied, he'd seen her washing laundry down by a small river. I don't recall my mother being of any significant beauty, but I remember clearly how my father would speak of her, as though she were the most magnificent thing in the world. He was a bit of a romantic, my father. I suppose that is one trait he handed down to me.
And when he saw her - my mother, a simple laundress, a caretaker for the warriors in her home - he knew that he had everything a man could want except for her. He set off to woo her, but for whatever reason she had paid him no mind, and I think it only made him want to wed her that much more. One day, he'd gone down to the river while she was washing her piles of clothes, and he attempted to lend a hand. She'd gotten annoyed by the assistance, she was fiercely independent, and when she tried to tug one of the bed sheets he'd grabbed out of his hand, he fell with the momentum and sprained his sword arm. I think perhaps she'd felt bad for him, maybe a little guilty, but from that day, they were inseparable.
It was tradition in my tribe that when one person desired to wed another, they would receive a blessing from the tribe Shaman and then stand vigil at the family home of their intended. They would bring a gift for the family and a gift for their desired, and they would wait outside in whatever weather until they were invited in, and then they would be wed. It usually only took a few hours, no more than a day. My father chose the evening of a storm to begin his vigil for my mother. He received the blessings he needed and stood outside in the rain and the wind and the lightning, and took no food or drink as was custom.
She made him wait three days.
It always used to make me laugh when he told me this story, trying to imagine my father - who was as tall as I am now, and as broad as a mountain - standing outside, soaking wet, hungry and thirsty, waiting for my mother to let him in the house, and somehow remaining incredibly patient.
I was eleven when my mother passed from a horrific illness that plagued her for months before it finally took her life. I was twelve when my father, who was far too prideful to bend the knee, was killed in front of me. I did not laugh about this story for years. In fact, I did my best to put the memory of this tale aside, and never think of it again. But today? Perhaps it is because I am older, perhaps it is because I finally know something that my father knew for years. Today, I am thinking about this story again.. and I am finally able to laugh once more.
Written By Oliver
June 28, 2018, 9:52 p.m.(2/7/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Victus
Might I suggest 'Vicious, Dog of Victus'? It kind of rhymes. Bonus points if the dog is small and of seemingly no threat.
Written By Oliver
June 26, 2018, 9:31 p.m.(2/3/1009 AR)
The Spirits is fast becoming my favorite place to grab a drink or two or twelve. The drinks are always flowing, the stews are hearty and warm, and the tavern always seems full of interesting individuals to chat with.
Written By Oliver
June 25, 2018, 5:16 p.m.(1/28/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Joscelin
I vote for retaliation. Something simply must be done, this injustice cannot stand!
I will even selflessly volunteer as an assistant to the reprisal. Only so that I can be sure justice is dealt well and truly.
I will even selflessly volunteer as an assistant to the reprisal. Only so that I can be sure justice is dealt well and truly.
Written By Oliver
June 24, 2018, 3:56 p.m.(1/26/1009 AR)
My favorite part about coming home after a long, hard day's work is settling down for a good, hearty meal. That's it, nothing controversial to report. Although I do believe I am becoming quite the chef.
Written By Oliver
June 24, 2018, 2:32 p.m.(1/26/1009 AR)
All this talk about the Dominus' proclamation. Don't have that much to say about it, except that you shouldn't take a door slamming shut in your face as being locked out of an opprotunity completely. There's always a window, or a hole in the roof, or a back entrance somewhere. You just got to get creative with it.
Written By Oliver
June 15, 2018, 10:15 p.m.(1/9/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Mirari
It is remotely better than that time we argued in her shop. Or in mine. Or in the middle of the town square. Or in the bath. Or down by the river...
Are you by chance inviting us to come and argue at your place?
Are you by chance inviting us to come and argue at your place?
Written By Oliver
June 15, 2018, 9:57 p.m.(1/9/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Joscelin
Banished to the divan, again? This is the third time this week alone that you've "banished" me from the bed.
Why bother with the charade? We both know how this ends.
Besides. The divan makes my back hurt.
Why bother with the charade? We both know how this ends.
Besides. The divan makes my back hurt.
Written By Oliver
June 15, 2018, 9:44 p.m.(1/9/1009 AR)
Relationship Note on Percephon
It wasn't my dog. Butt that's what makes it hilarious.
Written By Oliver
June 15, 2018, 9:02 p.m.(1/9/1009 AR)
I've taught the dog a new trick. It took a lot of jerky and a lot of patience, but ...
It now farts on command.
It now farts on command.
Written By Oliver
June 8, 2018, 12:15 a.m.(12/8/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Joscelin
Mongoose is a nice lady. You leave her alone. She can have all the jerky she wants!
Written By Oliver
June 5, 2018, 12:13 p.m.(12/3/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Ida
Perhaps you should ask why, if only to amuse yourself with the answer.
Written By Oliver
June 4, 2018, 8:33 p.m.(12/1/1008 AR)
Today, I hung my pack back on the hook by the door and laid my pillow on back on the bed. I think tonight will be the first night in a long while that I will find peace when I sleep.
Forget what I said before, Scholar. It feels damn good to be home.
Forget what I said before, Scholar. It feels damn good to be home.
Written By Oliver
June 3, 2018, 11:54 p.m.(11/28/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Joscelin
I have never understood why things have a tendency to grow wings and fly straight for my head whenever Guildmistress Joscelin is around me... but I can't say I dislike it.
I am very glad however that she can't throw to save her life.
I am very glad however that she can't throw to save her life.
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