Written By Sunaia
Feb. 5, 2021, 6:52 p.m.(11/19/1014 AR)
It was too good, Scholar Einar.
It was so painfully perfect -- just for a moment. A day feels like a minute feels like a year. When lived in that moment. I was present. Afterwards? A memory to savor, like the way the air tastes after it snows, like peppermint. So clean and cold and green. It should also have bubbles, like sparkling wine. It should feel like, I don't know, it should feel the way a sunshower does. I'll forget them, undoubtedly, and the clarity of those memories that I'll reflect upon in my Blacks will soften and dull and turn into nostalgia. Maybe they won't -- and I'll regard them differently.
Who can say?
It was so painfully perfect -- just for a moment. A day feels like a minute feels like a year. When lived in that moment. I was present. Afterwards? A memory to savor, like the way the air tastes after it snows, like peppermint. So clean and cold and green. It should also have bubbles, like sparkling wine. It should feel like, I don't know, it should feel the way a sunshower does. I'll forget them, undoubtedly, and the clarity of those memories that I'll reflect upon in my Blacks will soften and dull and turn into nostalgia. Maybe they won't -- and I'll regard them differently.
Who can say?
Written By Sunaia
Feb. 3, 2021, 4:01 p.m.(11/14/1014 AR)
It's an interesting thing to be a footnote.
Written By Sunaia
Feb. 2, 2021, 6:03 p.m.(11/12/1014 AR)
The moon, thought of as silvery, almost seems like a cold -- distant -- light. I realized I've been wrong. It's warmer than it seems.
Written By Sunaia
Feb. 1, 2021, 11:12 p.m.(11/11/1014 AR)
( I asked for Parker to bring this to you, Scholar Einar, to amend onto my last Journal entry: )
If it's something that happened, it's a lesson.
If it hasn't happened, it's a warning.
Goodnight, good knight.
If it's something that happened, it's a lesson.
If it hasn't happened, it's a warning.
Goodnight, good knight.
Written By Sunaia
Feb. 1, 2021, 7:03 p.m.(11/11/1014 AR)
Tame, tempered, tempest.
Wild, wilder, wildest.
Misstep, mistook, mistaken.
Storms are just storms. Gusts and gales. Hale and hail. The wind kicks up all sorts of interesting scents that get the hackles up on the hounds, they itch to move. To run. To fly, if they could, but running is all that they can do so they run the way I run.
Even then, I run faster -- longer. I run. Until the leather is smoothed off my boots and the hobnails break, I run. Until my feet hurt, I run. Sometimes longer. Until I'm too tired and I remember that I am here and I am now and I am not my past -- whatever that past is, because I will find out -- and I will find out one day. Not now. I'm living right now.
And I hate that I miss them and I hate that I am trying to find the power hidden in my night terrors -- terribly -- terror-full. It's there, and that power's not a real one, but it's one that I need to learn anyway. That the fear is all right. And the anger and the wanderlust and the other stupid-wonderful things that make me. Dreams are dreamt. The past, passed.
Green, green shadows and a green unquiet sky and it's just changing weather. It was wonderful to watch, even when it started to rain and we needed to head back into the city. The hounds and I. Ashford and I. That they were pack and it's all right to miss your family. Even the ones you'll never be able to forgive for the things they did. Even the ones you envy -- because they were a hero. Or, because they are someone that's important, someone to look up to.
Dame, damn, done.
Wild, wilder, wildest.
Misstep, mistook, mistaken.
Storms are just storms. Gusts and gales. Hale and hail. The wind kicks up all sorts of interesting scents that get the hackles up on the hounds, they itch to move. To run. To fly, if they could, but running is all that they can do so they run the way I run.
Even then, I run faster -- longer. I run. Until the leather is smoothed off my boots and the hobnails break, I run. Until my feet hurt, I run. Sometimes longer. Until I'm too tired and I remember that I am here and I am now and I am not my past -- whatever that past is, because I will find out -- and I will find out one day. Not now. I'm living right now.
And I hate that I miss them and I hate that I am trying to find the power hidden in my night terrors -- terribly -- terror-full. It's there, and that power's not a real one, but it's one that I need to learn anyway. That the fear is all right. And the anger and the wanderlust and the other stupid-wonderful things that make me. Dreams are dreamt. The past, passed.
Green, green shadows and a green unquiet sky and it's just changing weather. It was wonderful to watch, even when it started to rain and we needed to head back into the city. The hounds and I. Ashford and I. That they were pack and it's all right to miss your family. Even the ones you'll never be able to forgive for the things they did. Even the ones you envy -- because they were a hero. Or, because they are someone that's important, someone to look up to.
Dame, damn, done.
Written By Sunaia
Jan. 30, 2021, 7:41 p.m.(11/7/1014 AR)
No, this is a purely rhetorical question, and I know there are enough resources on the matter should I wish to pursue an actual answer to the following:
What makes a knight?
What makes a knight?
Written By Sunaia
Jan. 29, 2021, 7:41 p.m.(11/5/1014 AR)
Scholar Einar, I apologize for the mess of notes that Parker brought you. I wrote as I went and Parker did their best to organize what I had. I appreciate them all the more for it and you should too.
(Please, put a good word for them.
They want to be an archivist.)
I honestly don't think I'll have a couple of days as -- not momentous, that's not the word I want to use, but motivating-- as the last couple of days have been. First and foremost: owning up to past (and present) mistakes. Admitting to them when you (like me -- I'm talking about me) are already a prideful thing (me) and you're already learning a lot a little humility. Own up. Work. It's hard and it's rough on the ego and having a sense of humor about yourself is needed -- but then you get a reminder that (woosh) that arrow slices through the air and you heard it and felt the brush of the wind against your cheek -- you may have missed the point, but somehow, you still learned from it. Secondly. Manners. That might be one aspect of civility that's going to be writ large in my thoughts for a while. Politeness. Never make an assumption. Sorry, Scholar, the rest aren't really full thoughts so much as they are impressions --
The boots, gods, I noticed them. Sand and salt-spray and the weird musty smell of wet dog. Long walks. Direct glances and comfortable, quiet pauses. Cutlery jokes with similar semi-feral friends. Amber and burnt umber and maple leaves and dark, dark hair. Mulled cider, with the faint tang of the hot metal. Loose hairpins. Alaricite. I wonder what such autumnal warmth smells like. Hammers. Deep questions. Wondering what ifs. Shared grins and easy laughs. Making that last sip last because you know if you finish it -- the conversation's over. But you're not ready to leave. Even if you know you need to. The smoky smell of fireplace in dried dog fur. Warm bed even though you're fighting for space with two huge dogs --
(Please, put a good word for them.
They want to be an archivist.)
I honestly don't think I'll have a couple of days as -- not momentous, that's not the word I want to use, but motivating-- as the last couple of days have been. First and foremost: owning up to past (and present) mistakes. Admitting to them when you (like me -- I'm talking about me) are already a prideful thing (me) and you're already learning a lot a little humility. Own up. Work. It's hard and it's rough on the ego and having a sense of humor about yourself is needed -- but then you get a reminder that (woosh) that arrow slices through the air and you heard it and felt the brush of the wind against your cheek -- you may have missed the point, but somehow, you still learned from it. Secondly. Manners. That might be one aspect of civility that's going to be writ large in my thoughts for a while. Politeness. Never make an assumption. Sorry, Scholar, the rest aren't really full thoughts so much as they are impressions --
The boots, gods, I noticed them. Sand and salt-spray and the weird musty smell of wet dog. Long walks. Direct glances and comfortable, quiet pauses. Cutlery jokes with similar semi-feral friends. Amber and burnt umber and maple leaves and dark, dark hair. Mulled cider, with the faint tang of the hot metal. Loose hairpins. Alaricite. I wonder what such autumnal warmth smells like. Hammers. Deep questions. Wondering what ifs. Shared grins and easy laughs. Making that last sip last because you know if you finish it -- the conversation's over. But you're not ready to leave. Even if you know you need to. The smoky smell of fireplace in dried dog fur. Warm bed even though you're fighting for space with two huge dogs --
Written By Sunaia
Jan. 28, 2021, 9:31 a.m.(11/2/1014 AR)
My thought is this --
I learned what happened before. I learned what happened after. It's the during that's still a huge hole. That time needs to be accounted so. I don't think you were welcome with them, no, not at first. Then you were. That's what made them remember your name.
Intruder.
I learned what happened before. I learned what happened after. It's the during that's still a huge hole. That time needs to be accounted so. I don't think you were welcome with them, no, not at first. Then you were. That's what made them remember your name.
Intruder.
Written By Sunaia
Jan. 25, 2021, 5:20 p.m.(10/24/1014 AR)
Relationship Note on Teague
The axe is valid.
Stayed on my feet for way longer than expected -- which means I'm _improving._
Hopefully, the lesson sticks around longer than the bruises from that sparring match.
Stayed on my feet for way longer than expected -- which means I'm _improving._
Hopefully, the lesson sticks around longer than the bruises from that sparring match.
Written By Sunaia
Jan. 25, 2021, 2:54 p.m.(10/24/1014 AR)
Relationship Note on Levian
I don't know if my new quill friend is real -- or rumor. Either way. An excellent tale-teller.
Written By Sunaia
Jan. 25, 2021, 3:57 a.m.(10/23/1014 AR)
I need to seriously reconsider a few of my life choices, Scholar Einar, I do. I could stand to learn a little more self-composure, a little more patience. Or--
Or I could replace them with life choices that are much more fun. Like, say, making the choice to start to collect a weapon made of each specialty metal the Compact has to offer.
See, fun? Fun AND practical.
Or I could replace them with life choices that are much more fun. Like, say, making the choice to start to collect a weapon made of each specialty metal the Compact has to offer.
See, fun? Fun AND practical.
Written By Sunaia
Jan. 23, 2021, 9:47 p.m.(10/21/1014 AR)
Gods and spirits --
It started with an impulsive decision to send a missive of welcome to a new-to-me member of the peerage. I haven't met them formally yet, but I think I'm going to drink my Westerly's weight in Deepwood cider ( or maybe a drink that's a better complement to garlic rolls. Now I'm hungry - and I don't think I even had a chance to try those oysters -- ) and listen to stories by tavern-inn-or-bar hearth until the early hours -- if I'm that lucky.
It started with an impulsive decision. A choice.
Seemingly inconsequential.
That led to the second impulse. The impulsive decision to put up a notice, last moment, asking to be an escort (-- read as looking for a reason) to attend the Eswynd Coral Ball. Why? Because being out and about at an event like that -- surrounded by peers and walls and expectations -- feels uncomfortable. Makes my skin feel tight. Makes me itch. Makes me want to run. It's a practice, like meditation, to choose to attend -- so have someone there, as a formality, a social anchor. In my case, I was incredibly lucky to have had a courtier respond to my notice. They were perfectly composed. Elegant in gold. Lucky for me. Less so for them. Less so for the unfortunate choice of trying to dance -- or worse -- for stepping on feet and elbowing sides and --
Well.
There's only room to improve as far as dancing is concerned.
For mending bridges too.
I hope.
It started with an impulsive decision to send a missive of welcome to a new-to-me member of the peerage. I haven't met them formally yet, but I think I'm going to drink my Westerly's weight in Deepwood cider ( or maybe a drink that's a better complement to garlic rolls. Now I'm hungry - and I don't think I even had a chance to try those oysters -- ) and listen to stories by tavern-inn-or-bar hearth until the early hours -- if I'm that lucky.
It started with an impulsive decision. A choice.
Seemingly inconsequential.
That led to the second impulse. The impulsive decision to put up a notice, last moment, asking to be an escort (-- read as looking for a reason) to attend the Eswynd Coral Ball. Why? Because being out and about at an event like that -- surrounded by peers and walls and expectations -- feels uncomfortable. Makes my skin feel tight. Makes me itch. Makes me want to run. It's a practice, like meditation, to choose to attend -- so have someone there, as a formality, a social anchor. In my case, I was incredibly lucky to have had a courtier respond to my notice. They were perfectly composed. Elegant in gold. Lucky for me. Less so for them. Less so for the unfortunate choice of trying to dance -- or worse -- for stepping on feet and elbowing sides and --
Well.
There's only room to improve as far as dancing is concerned.
For mending bridges too.
I hope.
Written By Sunaia
Jan. 15, 2021, 11:31 p.m.(10/5/1014 AR)
Scholar, you're going to expect that I would write exactly how it went -- (document it accurately -- through my eyes -- not the same) and I honestly am not in the mood to make it such a simple metaphor. But, I am:
Sometimes it's whiskey -- sometimes it's gin.
That'll do.
Sometimes it's whiskey -- sometimes it's gin.
That'll do.
Written By Sunaia
Jan. 13, 2021, 1:38 p.m.(9/28/1014 AR)
Relationship Note on Patrizio
Hair -- or polished gold? Anyone's guess.
Written By Sunaia
Jan. 13, 2021, 1:36 p.m.(9/28/1014 AR)
Relationship Note on Corban
Couldn't land a single blow on the man. Figured that's a good thing. A very good thing.
Written By Sunaia
Jan. 13, 2021, 10:56 a.m.(9/28/1014 AR)
In order for valor, courage, and bravery to have any depth -- you need to be afraid. Being afraid can then shove us in the direction of doing the hard thing. Got it.
Written By Sunaia
Jan. 13, 2021, 10:42 a.m.(9/28/1014 AR)
Relationship Note on Macario
That was -- Scholar, I swear't -- a incredibly bland and terribly uneventful picnic. Lord Macario asked a lot of questions, he laughed at my (terrible -- admittedly) jokes and brought wine that was more suited to a courtly table rather than the edge of the forest. What I mean to say is: cups. He brought cups. Cups. Instead of just drinking the wine straight from the bottle. Gods -- fucking cups.
The only concession I will grant is that Lord Macario can keep up a brisk pace on the trail.
Must be the legs.
The only concession I will grant is that Lord Macario can keep up a brisk pace on the trail.
Must be the legs.
Written By Sunaia
Jan. 12, 2021, 5:20 a.m.(9/25/1014 AR)
I am entertaining the idea of looking for a pen friend to share the occasional correspondence with, Scholar.
Written By Sunaia
Jan. 10, 2021, 6:03 a.m.(9/22/1014 AR)
Every single silver coin has had some kind of tarnish to it. Won't stop us from using them to buy bread, right? Avarice. Cities. Got it.
Written By Sunaia
Jan. 9, 2021, 4:46 p.m.(9/20/1014 AR)
"-- cannot give you all of this but some --"
I understand that too.
I understand that too.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.