Written By Mia
March 4, 2018, 11:58 p.m.(4/20/1008 AR)
Relationship Note on Calaudrin
We are not the warm sort, either of us, but I take the words of my House to heart -- kin in honor. And you are now kin of ours, in a fashion.
Welcome, now and always.
Welcome, now and always.
Written By Mia
Feb. 11, 2018, 11:02 a.m.(2/27/1008 AR)
I feel as though I've spent this last month astride a horse, riding from one end of the Grayson lands to the other. First to the Twainfort to raise our armies, and then out to our Barons and our bannermen, to raise theirs. From there west -- first to Bastion, in support of the fealty as a whole, and then on to Pride Hall, which I have not seen in nearly a decade's time, to speak to my peers sworn under the Bislands. I had forgotten what it was to see the western mountains, their great peaks stretching to the sky.
It was a pity we did not have time to climb their heights and cross into the Oathlands proper, which I have never visited, to perhaps visit the Telmarch that has been home to so many of our friends. But alas, Arx -- and the long ride back to the eastern shores -- was calling.
Still, it was more of Arvum than duty has allowed me to see in ages. I've called on what seems to be every landed lord or lady in the Crownlands, met their people, spoken to their soldiers. I am stiff, and sore, and very, very tired. But I am happy -- not only because of our success in raising so great a force to meet our enemy, but because it served as a reminder of exactly what, and more importantly who, we are fighting to defend.
It was a pity we did not have time to climb their heights and cross into the Oathlands proper, which I have never visited, to perhaps visit the Telmarch that has been home to so many of our friends. But alas, Arx -- and the long ride back to the eastern shores -- was calling.
Still, it was more of Arvum than duty has allowed me to see in ages. I've called on what seems to be every landed lord or lady in the Crownlands, met their people, spoken to their soldiers. I am stiff, and sore, and very, very tired. But I am happy -- not only because of our success in raising so great a force to meet our enemy, but because it served as a reminder of exactly what, and more importantly who, we are fighting to defend.
Written By Mia
Jan. 28, 2018, 8:54 a.m.(1/19/1008 AR)
I have it on very good authority that I am, apparently, a thistle -- and most specifically a blue one.
When I informed the one who named me as much that thistles are actually weeds, his response was to insist that it's a fine thing, too, because they flourish where flowers cannot and 'clearly don't believe in any of that wilting nonsense'.
A compliment, I'm sure.
When I informed the one who named me as much that thistles are actually weeds, his response was to insist that it's a fine thing, too, because they flourish where flowers cannot and 'clearly don't believe in any of that wilting nonsense'.
A compliment, I'm sure.
Written By Mia
Jan. 26, 2018, 7:22 p.m.(1/16/1008 AR)
In the last two days, I have seen many speak their minds on the past actions and present character of Abbas Thrax. That I, too, have strong words I might share is a fact which I will not deny. I have already done so, and record or rumor of them is not difficult to find for those who care to look.
But I will not speak on it now -- because I do not have the right to condemn or forgive him.
No, that right belongs solely to the members of Clans Bloodsnake, Tyrfall, Brokeblade and so many others nearly eradicated by his campaign of plague.
Their last survivors are sworn to Riven now. They live among my people, as my people, at the Twainfort and at Heron Hall. And if you wish to hear their opinions on the subject, then I invite you to go to them and ask them yourselves. They -- more than anyone else -- are the ones who deserve to have their voices heard above this din.
But I will not speak on it now -- because I do not have the right to condemn or forgive him.
No, that right belongs solely to the members of Clans Bloodsnake, Tyrfall, Brokeblade and so many others nearly eradicated by his campaign of plague.
Their last survivors are sworn to Riven now. They live among my people, as my people, at the Twainfort and at Heron Hall. And if you wish to hear their opinions on the subject, then I invite you to go to them and ask them yourselves. They -- more than anyone else -- are the ones who deserve to have their voices heard above this din.
Written By Mia
Jan. 14, 2018, 11:40 p.m.(12/20/1007 AR)
For all of Arx, I would strongly recommend the following:
- One evening among family and friends
- One bowls of stew
- Two glasses of wine
- A walnut pastry
- Two brides to tease about their upcoming weddings
- A visit with an adorable toddler
- One corgi
- Absolutely no mentions of doom, or demons, or war
It does wonders for your constitution. And for your spirits.
- One evening among family and friends
- One bowls of stew
- Two glasses of wine
- A walnut pastry
- Two brides to tease about their upcoming weddings
- A visit with an adorable toddler
- One corgi
- Absolutely no mentions of doom, or demons, or war
It does wonders for your constitution. And for your spirits.
Written By Mia
Dec. 24, 2017, 11:30 p.m.(11/2/1007 AR)
Relationship Note on Thesarin
After nearly fifteen long years of marriage, it seems the only lesson my husband has learned of women is that he knows absolutely nothing at all about them.
Written By Mia
Dec. 16, 2017, 4:42 p.m.(10/14/1007 AR)
...I think I'll be having pie for breakfast tomorrow.
You see, once -- almost a year ago -- Marquis Rymarr Deepwood advised me that pie was quite good for boosting morale. We were deep in the Gray Forest, then, in the dead of winter, and I'd just taken my first battle wound. (It was an ugly thing, that, and I am not fond of the scar.)
He had brought the pies with us to serve, heated, on one of our coldest and hardest days. He told me that it would liven up his soldier's hard and dreary day, at least a little. He was right, and it warmed up mine, too.
I've since taken to eating it for breakfast. Not every day, mind you, but on the morning after an awful day -- because then even if everything proves to be as dreadful as the day before, it's still a little bit better than it otherwise would have been. At least one good thing has happened, however small it may be. My children may be misbehaving, my husband may be in a foul mood, my work may have turned to disaster, my county may be beset by a crisis, and the world may be ending -- again. But at least for a few short moments that morning, I was able to enjoy something sweet and pleasant and be pleased with how my day was going so far.
You see, once -- almost a year ago -- Marquis Rymarr Deepwood advised me that pie was quite good for boosting morale. We were deep in the Gray Forest, then, in the dead of winter, and I'd just taken my first battle wound. (It was an ugly thing, that, and I am not fond of the scar.)
He had brought the pies with us to serve, heated, on one of our coldest and hardest days. He told me that it would liven up his soldier's hard and dreary day, at least a little. He was right, and it warmed up mine, too.
I've since taken to eating it for breakfast. Not every day, mind you, but on the morning after an awful day -- because then even if everything proves to be as dreadful as the day before, it's still a little bit better than it otherwise would have been. At least one good thing has happened, however small it may be. My children may be misbehaving, my husband may be in a foul mood, my work may have turned to disaster, my county may be beset by a crisis, and the world may be ending -- again. But at least for a few short moments that morning, I was able to enjoy something sweet and pleasant and be pleased with how my day was going so far.
Written By Mia
Nov. 22, 2017, 7:13 p.m.(8/19/1007 AR)
Relationship Note on Ainsley
Your Highness, I assure you that we would not have parted with her for any man who loved her -- and my nephew -- any less. No, not even a Grayson prince.
As compensation for our loss, we expect to be repaid in regular family dinners. Should you fail to remit payment in a timely fashion, late penalties will be accrued on your account in the form of messengers sent to deliver untrained puppies and boxes of sweets to little Lord Tiber, specifically on days that I know he's been left in your keeping.
And yes, I'm quite well aware these words are being recorded for posterity. Consider it evidence of the conviction with which I make my demands.
As compensation for our loss, we expect to be repaid in regular family dinners. Should you fail to remit payment in a timely fashion, late penalties will be accrued on your account in the form of messengers sent to deliver untrained puppies and boxes of sweets to little Lord Tiber, specifically on days that I know he's been left in your keeping.
And yes, I'm quite well aware these words are being recorded for posterity. Consider it evidence of the conviction with which I make my demands.
Written By Mia
Nov. 12, 2017, 12:29 p.m.(7/26/1007 AR)
It seems I've once again managed to get myself into a situation that I'm in no way prepared for by asking too many questions that have no easy answers.
My fellow citizens of the Compact, be forewarned: Any time you ask that sort of thing, there's a high probability that the reply you receive will be "We've no idea, but now that you've mentioned it, we'll send you to find it."
My fellow citizens of the Compact, be forewarned: Any time you ask that sort of thing, there's a high probability that the reply you receive will be "We've no idea, but now that you've mentioned it, we'll send you to find it."
Written By Mia
Oct. 29, 2017, 11:53 p.m.(6/27/1007 AR)
Tonight, I felt as though I had half the Houses of the Oathlands in the hall for dinner. And the experience has me convinced -- I'll simply have to invite the other half, next time.
Written By Mia
Oct. 28, 2017, 12:25 p.m.(6/24/1007 AR)
The duel between Lady Stonewood's and Duchess Pravus' champions was just and well-fought. But given the wound taken and the sudden need for a healer, with none present who had greater skill than my meager experience mending injuries and stitching cuts, it is my very strong recommendation that one be present at any future contest between duelists. Something I would urge the population of Arx to consider, the next time that matters of honor must be settled with the spilling of blood.
Written By Mia
Oct. 22, 2017, 7:52 p.m.(6/13/1007 AR)
Some short weeks past, the Legate wrote in his journals:
"The essence of the worship of the Thirteenth is to remind us that sometimes the mirror shows us a truth that we would rather shy away from. We must face it, squarely, and manage it - even the darkness and the temptation. If you are prideful, admit that, and find a place to spend that pride which will improve the world around you, rather than denying it until it sabotages your relationships. If you are envious, use that envy to motivate yourself to do better, rather than tearing others down. None of us is without flaw - do not shy away from your flaws, but channel and rule them in the pursuit of virtue and the gods' wills."
While I cannot offer any comment on the worship of the Thirteenth, as it is a rare thing to find among the riverlands, I can speak very much to the topic of envy. In recent weeks, I've spent more and more time in the Archives and in the libraries of other Houses, both great and small, among the journals and collections of other organizations to which I do not belong, all due entirely to the generosity and kindness of their members. And I must admit that each time that I do, a current of envy sweeps over me, strong as the Mother's pull downstream. I see journal after journal, parchment after parchment, book after book and I think of everything contained within that I might never see, might never know, could never call my own to delve into when need demands or curiosity arises or simple pleasures calls. I think of all that was left behind in the Twainfort, too delicate or too cumbersome to transport with us here to Heron Hall, where our collection is -- I am sad to say -- paltry at best. It builds up as a small lump somewhere within my chest and works its way up into my throat, this bitter desire that will not abate.
And I've come to a decision that rather than simply wanting, I'm going do, instead. Good reader, I think I am going to build a proper library.
"The essence of the worship of the Thirteenth is to remind us that sometimes the mirror shows us a truth that we would rather shy away from. We must face it, squarely, and manage it - even the darkness and the temptation. If you are prideful, admit that, and find a place to spend that pride which will improve the world around you, rather than denying it until it sabotages your relationships. If you are envious, use that envy to motivate yourself to do better, rather than tearing others down. None of us is without flaw - do not shy away from your flaws, but channel and rule them in the pursuit of virtue and the gods' wills."
While I cannot offer any comment on the worship of the Thirteenth, as it is a rare thing to find among the riverlands, I can speak very much to the topic of envy. In recent weeks, I've spent more and more time in the Archives and in the libraries of other Houses, both great and small, among the journals and collections of other organizations to which I do not belong, all due entirely to the generosity and kindness of their members. And I must admit that each time that I do, a current of envy sweeps over me, strong as the Mother's pull downstream. I see journal after journal, parchment after parchment, book after book and I think of everything contained within that I might never see, might never know, could never call my own to delve into when need demands or curiosity arises or simple pleasures calls. I think of all that was left behind in the Twainfort, too delicate or too cumbersome to transport with us here to Heron Hall, where our collection is -- I am sad to say -- paltry at best. It builds up as a small lump somewhere within my chest and works its way up into my throat, this bitter desire that will not abate.
And I've come to a decision that rather than simply wanting, I'm going do, instead. Good reader, I think I am going to build a proper library.
Written By Mia
Oct. 8, 2017, 4:54 p.m.(5/12/1007 AR)
Winter is long over. Spring marches steadily towards summer. The ice has melted and the annual flooding in the riverlands begins to subside. I am grateful for it, for two reasons:
First, I am to travel north -- and soon. I recall all too well my winter excursions into the Gray Forest and the cost that cold and frost brought me, despite how well-outfitted I was in all of my wools. It is not an experience that I would care to repeat any time soon -- or preferably, at all. Dying in service to House and Compact is one matter; dying due to 'unpleasant weather' is an indignity I refuse to suffer.
Second, it means that the Mother is fully passable again, her currents smoother and gentler than they were but a few weeks ago. It is trading season, and Riven will be in need of doing a good bit of it, with thousands more to feed, clothe, and put to proper labor. So, to all the Houses of Arx, I say this. Send me your diplomats, your stewards, your merchants. Let bargain be struck, for passage and for foodstuffs and for goods alike. Let us all prosper, together.
First, I am to travel north -- and soon. I recall all too well my winter excursions into the Gray Forest and the cost that cold and frost brought me, despite how well-outfitted I was in all of my wools. It is not an experience that I would care to repeat any time soon -- or preferably, at all. Dying in service to House and Compact is one matter; dying due to 'unpleasant weather' is an indignity I refuse to suffer.
Second, it means that the Mother is fully passable again, her currents smoother and gentler than they were but a few weeks ago. It is trading season, and Riven will be in need of doing a good bit of it, with thousands more to feed, clothe, and put to proper labor. So, to all the Houses of Arx, I say this. Send me your diplomats, your stewards, your merchants. Let bargain be struck, for passage and for foodstuffs and for goods alike. Let us all prosper, together.
Written By Mia
Oct. 1, 2017, 10:50 p.m.(4/26/1007 AR)
It is not often that 10,000 swear their fealty at once -- to me or to anyone. That our efforts, which came at great cost to me, to my House, to my liege-lords, were such an undeniable success is something that I take great joy in. The unwavering faith that I see so many place in the gods to whom they've sworn themselves, I place in the Compact itself -- in its righteousness and in its strength, in the security that it offers, in the unity that it is capable of inspiring. To bring so many into its arm will, I suspect, be both the greatest privilege and the crowning acheivement of my life.
But it is a weight, too, when considered with the gravitas that such a responsibility deserves. It is no easy thing to give up your life as you have always known it, to walk forward with each foot planted in a different world. I owe them, these so-called Prodigals, so much more than every lord or lady owes their people because it is not simply a matter of noblesse oblige. No, I find myself very suddenly in the position of having the trust of so many laid at my feet, their futures placed in my hands.
To those that have sworn their fealty to me, know this --
I recognize the sacrifices you have made. I see the hope that you hold in your hearts. And I offer these words, as the lords of the Twainfort has long sworn to their people, with all of Arvum and the annals of history as witness:
I pledge to honor your service as it deserves, and to reward loyalty in kind.
I swear to offer you my protection, my justice, and my love,
for you will carry on my memory and my legacy when I am no more.
From this day forward, you are of my house, even as the very stones.
If I renounce you, I renounce myself and all that I am.
(OOC: Portions of this pledge were lifted from Changeling: the Dreaming, which was written by lovely people. Some parts were altered, some not. It's recently been re-released in their 20th anniversary edition. Do recommend.)
But it is a weight, too, when considered with the gravitas that such a responsibility deserves. It is no easy thing to give up your life as you have always known it, to walk forward with each foot planted in a different world. I owe them, these so-called Prodigals, so much more than every lord or lady owes their people because it is not simply a matter of noblesse oblige. No, I find myself very suddenly in the position of having the trust of so many laid at my feet, their futures placed in my hands.
To those that have sworn their fealty to me, know this --
I recognize the sacrifices you have made. I see the hope that you hold in your hearts. And I offer these words, as the lords of the Twainfort has long sworn to their people, with all of Arvum and the annals of history as witness:
I pledge to honor your service as it deserves, and to reward loyalty in kind.
I swear to offer you my protection, my justice, and my love,
for you will carry on my memory and my legacy when I am no more.
From this day forward, you are of my house, even as the very stones.
If I renounce you, I renounce myself and all that I am.
(OOC: Portions of this pledge were lifted from Changeling: the Dreaming, which was written by lovely people. Some parts were altered, some not. It's recently been re-released in their 20th anniversary edition. Do recommend.)
Written By Mia
Oct. 1, 2017, 1:46 a.m.(4/24/1007 AR)
Once again, I have found myself acting as audience to the artists of Arx -- this time in the name of the Knights of Solace, their efforts organized by Dame Thena Grayhope and Master Saedrus Whisper.
And once again, the pieces were moving and meaningful, albeit in an entirely different way -- though as much should be expected, when considering the difference between the Kind Goddess and the First Choice.
So many of them conveyed the strength and determination that we -- each one of us, regardless of rank or station -- may find it within ourselves to dredge up in the face of the most impossible odds, when all seems hopeless. That, there, is the heart of valor. It is found not in the soldier who rushes headlong into battle without fear, but in the resolve of the warrior who, terrified in the face of the foe across the field from her, marches forward anyway. It is found in the ministrations of the healer who, despite a weariness that grinds into his bones and more heartbreak than many of us can imagine, taps the reserve of compassion necessary to continue on and tend one more, and one more, and one more. It may even be found in the darkened eyes of a child that goes hungry, so that their siblings may eat. True valor is sacrifice on behalf of another.
And once again, the pieces were moving and meaningful, albeit in an entirely different way -- though as much should be expected, when considering the difference between the Kind Goddess and the First Choice.
So many of them conveyed the strength and determination that we -- each one of us, regardless of rank or station -- may find it within ourselves to dredge up in the face of the most impossible odds, when all seems hopeless. That, there, is the heart of valor. It is found not in the soldier who rushes headlong into battle without fear, but in the resolve of the warrior who, terrified in the face of the foe across the field from her, marches forward anyway. It is found in the ministrations of the healer who, despite a weariness that grinds into his bones and more heartbreak than many of us can imagine, taps the reserve of compassion necessary to continue on and tend one more, and one more, and one more. It may even be found in the darkened eyes of a child that goes hungry, so that their siblings may eat. True valor is sacrifice on behalf of another.
Written By Mia
Sept. 24, 2017, 6:56 p.m.(4/10/1007 AR)
I have been remiss in my journal-keeping as of late, and for that I owe apologies -- to the scribes and to the Archives, I suppose, more than anyone else. In truth, I write out of a sense of duty, to both history and the Faith alike. I can hardly imagine anyone else reads these things; my tales are rarely interesting enough ones to tell.
-- Save, perhaps, for this week past. As many others have written, there was an art show held in the Shrine of the First Choice, hosted by Archlector Aleksei Morgan and Prince Mason Grayson, featuring the art of Master Fortunato Grayhope. (And an anonymous artist as well, though being anonymous, they can hardly be named, can they?)
I commend them all for their efforts, particularly their intentions with the funds raised, which -- as I understand it -- are rather substantial. Their cause is a noble one and I applaud them whole-heartedly for it. But if I am to sing any particular praises regarding the show, it is those of Master Grayhope. I could, of course, speak highly of his talents with a brush, as he has many. Despite the sweeping narrative of his subject, each scene was rendered with such exacting detail as to trick the eyes, and seem almost, almost, as though the viewer had seen it herself. But in truth, many artists can render a subject faithfully.
What made Master Grayhope's series so remarkable was that it achieved the greatest, noblest aim of any art -- it inspired true feelings. Raw, unadulterated feelings, which swept me up in a fury far stronger than I care to admit. And I know I was not the only one, based on the conversations which I overheard. In this case, the feelings were revulsion, horror, pity -- as they should be, for slavery is a revolting, horrible, piteous condition for any living thing to endure. I hope that, like the ripples in a pond, the effect of his work spreads outwards across the city. I hope it opens even more eyes and hearts than it did purses. I hope it brings change for the better, for the sake of the lowest among us, and perhaps for all our souls.
-- Save, perhaps, for this week past. As many others have written, there was an art show held in the Shrine of the First Choice, hosted by Archlector Aleksei Morgan and Prince Mason Grayson, featuring the art of Master Fortunato Grayhope. (And an anonymous artist as well, though being anonymous, they can hardly be named, can they?)
I commend them all for their efforts, particularly their intentions with the funds raised, which -- as I understand it -- are rather substantial. Their cause is a noble one and I applaud them whole-heartedly for it. But if I am to sing any particular praises regarding the show, it is those of Master Grayhope. I could, of course, speak highly of his talents with a brush, as he has many. Despite the sweeping narrative of his subject, each scene was rendered with such exacting detail as to trick the eyes, and seem almost, almost, as though the viewer had seen it herself. But in truth, many artists can render a subject faithfully.
What made Master Grayhope's series so remarkable was that it achieved the greatest, noblest aim of any art -- it inspired true feelings. Raw, unadulterated feelings, which swept me up in a fury far stronger than I care to admit. And I know I was not the only one, based on the conversations which I overheard. In this case, the feelings were revulsion, horror, pity -- as they should be, for slavery is a revolting, horrible, piteous condition for any living thing to endure. I hope that, like the ripples in a pond, the effect of his work spreads outwards across the city. I hope it opens even more eyes and hearts than it did purses. I hope it brings change for the better, for the sake of the lowest among us, and perhaps for all our souls.
Written By Mia
Sept. 13, 2017, 9:17 a.m.(3/16/1007 AR)
In all of the haste surrounding the preparations for the Gray Forest expedition, in all of the work for the tasks I set myself upon our return, I somehow managed.... to forget my own birthday, only two days passed. They say that the most predictable thing of all is the steady march of time, and yet it is almost always the thing that surprises us most.
It seems this nebulous 'they' is correct yet again. Will I one day wake to find that, instead of a few more days slipping by than I thought, I have a head full of silver hair with little recollection or how or when that happened?
It seems this nebulous 'they' is correct yet again. Will I one day wake to find that, instead of a few more days slipping by than I thought, I have a head full of silver hair with little recollection or how or when that happened?
Written By Mia
Sept. 12, 2017, 1:15 a.m.(3/13/1007 AR)
Upon my return to Arx, the first thing I did was sleep for roughly half a day. This was followed by an exceedingly long bath, during which time I elected to enjoy a fine cup of tea and catch up on those journals from the Archives that I may have missed while outside the city's walls.
I believe there are a few gentleman who owe my maid an apology for alarming her. The sounds of choking and splashing made her rush into the room, under the impression that I was somehow drowning in my own tub. The poor woman was far less amused than I was.
I believe there are a few gentleman who owe my maid an apology for alarming her. The sounds of choking and splashing made her rush into the room, under the impression that I was somehow drowning in my own tub. The poor woman was far less amused than I was.
Written By Mia
Sept. 10, 2017, 1:28 p.m.(3/10/1007 AR)
Relationship Note on Rymarr
The curse of the clear-minded is that they so often believe others to see the world the same way that they do.
Written By Mia
Sept. 10, 2017, 12:11 a.m.(3/9/1007 AR)
Journey from the Gray Forest, Day 8
I have discovered that I do not like axes. More particularly, I do not like axes when they cut into my flesh and leave me limping for days on end. Still, I think the wound would sting far less if I had managed to deal one in kind.
I have discovered that I do not like axes. More particularly, I do not like axes when they cut into my flesh and leave me limping for days on end. Still, I think the wound would sting far less if I had managed to deal one in kind.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.