Written By Sydney
July 10, 2021, 8:05 a.m.(10/22/1015 AR)
Relationship Note on Viviana
I don't recommend (one, body) new, as it tends to raise questions.
Written By Sydney
July 9, 2021, 4:52 a.m.(10/20/1015 AR)
The worst nightmares are the most plausible ones.
I woke thrashing at the air, a scream on my lips. I'd gotten myself tangled up in my own sheets, and the bottle that had been my partner for the evening was still half-filled and corked on the mattress. I'd rolled myself right on top of it.
Oh, no, no. It's not as though it was broken, mind you. I didn't roll my way on top of broken glass. The brain has a way of interpreting the merest poke against one's back as an assault when engaged in nightmare, however.
I need a drink. Or to drink less. Some happy medium of both?
Regardless, that particular bottle is ineligible for consideration, after I flung it from the bed. I hope I won't be finding shards of glass with my feet. At least it was a clear liquor, so I needn't worry about stains.
I woke thrashing at the air, a scream on my lips. I'd gotten myself tangled up in my own sheets, and the bottle that had been my partner for the evening was still half-filled and corked on the mattress. I'd rolled myself right on top of it.
Oh, no, no. It's not as though it was broken, mind you. I didn't roll my way on top of broken glass. The brain has a way of interpreting the merest poke against one's back as an assault when engaged in nightmare, however.
I need a drink. Or to drink less. Some happy medium of both?
Regardless, that particular bottle is ineligible for consideration, after I flung it from the bed. I hope I won't be finding shards of glass with my feet. At least it was a clear liquor, so I needn't worry about stains.
Written By Sydney
July 4, 2021, 7:16 p.m.(10/11/1015 AR)
I'm not the sort for clothes that don't serve a purpose - those that know me will find that of little surprise - but even I, on rare occasion, find cause to dress up, as the situation dictates. It's uncomfortable, vulnerable, and I rather mislike it on most occasions, but I had the occasion to try on some Rose Leather recently, and I can certainly understand the appeal. I don't think it'd stop a punch, but when it comes to the aesthetic and the plush quality, I can see why everyone is abuzz about it.
No, I didn't purchase any - much to the shopkeeper's annoyance, I'm sure - but I had to see what the fuss was about, and found it quite to my liking. Feels less foreign to a woman like me who all but lives in her leathers, showing up in finery made of leather than in a wispy dress. With my shoulders all stocky, it feels more flattering, as well.
No, I didn't purchase any - much to the shopkeeper's annoyance, I'm sure - but I had to see what the fuss was about, and found it quite to my liking. Feels less foreign to a woman like me who all but lives in her leathers, showing up in finery made of leather than in a wispy dress. With my shoulders all stocky, it feels more flattering, as well.
Written By Sydney
July 1, 2021, 8:51 a.m.(10/4/1015 AR)
Relationship Note on Piccola
It may be petty-minded of me, or a result of a youth living hand-to-mouth, but I rather reckon that it depends on what the reward is, and in how badly you need it.
When failure means going hungry or returning to the wheel, success becomes a rather motivating factor.
When failure means going hungry or returning to the wheel, success becomes a rather motivating factor.
Written By Sydney
June 29, 2021, 9:47 a.m.(9/28/1015 AR)
The sudden cold snap we had wreaked havoc on my humors - hopefully it didn't have the same effect on the seasonal crops. They're built hardy, but there's a reason they're autumn pickings, not winter pickings.
I never was much of a farmer, but we can't ever really escape our upbringing. When I wake on an unseasonably cold day or night, my first thought isn't to roll out of bed and warm my bones, it's to rush out into the cold to assess the damage, to fetch a warm covering for our tired old mare.
A silly impulse, but one that doesn't go away, even a decade removed.
I never was much of a farmer, but we can't ever really escape our upbringing. When I wake on an unseasonably cold day or night, my first thought isn't to roll out of bed and warm my bones, it's to rush out into the cold to assess the damage, to fetch a warm covering for our tired old mare.
A silly impulse, but one that doesn't go away, even a decade removed.
Written By Sydney
June 26, 2021, 10:57 a.m.(9/22/1015 AR)
Relationship Note on Tanith
Wet leather isn't pleasant, though I suppose the rain-slicked variety is better than most alternatives.
Written By Sydney
June 12, 2021, 8:55 a.m.(8/22/1015 AR)
There is nothing more disruptive to staying in proper fighting form than an injury, and that goes double when the injury is one you've inflicted on yourself by pushing yourself too hard.
I don't know how I managed to tweak my shoulder quite so badly as I did, but it's tedious to be unable to do what puts my mind at ease because I got too riled up the last time.
I don't know how I managed to tweak my shoulder quite so badly as I did, but it's tedious to be unable to do what puts my mind at ease because I got too riled up the last time.
Written By Sydney
June 9, 2021, 5:49 p.m.(8/17/1015 AR)
Violence need not be your last resort, but lethal force should arise only of necessity.
To those who fail to see the difference, I am available for lessons.
To those who fail to see the difference, I am available for lessons.
Written By Sydney
June 4, 2021, 6:18 p.m.(8/7/1015 AR)
Relationship Note on Viviana
I mean, I suppose one could put silver anywhere, but some places are less advisable. Knew someone who thought it was the safest place for their wages.
It made for an interesting autopsy, I'm sure.
...silver doesn't need to be everywhere, that's for damned sure.
It made for an interesting autopsy, I'm sure.
...silver doesn't need to be everywhere, that's for damned sure.
Written By Sydney
May 28, 2021, 4:05 p.m.(7/21/1015 AR)
Getting my hands dirty again feels good. That's not to say I've managed to yank my nose out from my stack of dry-as-thrice-picked-bones annals and records, but the occasional change of pace to keep myself limber is welcome indeed.
My thanks to Lords Kennex and Clearlake for indulging me.
My thanks to Lords Kennex and Clearlake for indulging me.
Written By Sydney
May 15, 2021, 8:43 a.m.(6/22/1015 AR)
Let's call it a dream.
I was a proud and noble cat, looking to stake out some new territory to call my own.
I happened upon a group of healthy kittens that were picking on a group of starving street kittens in an alleyway that I liked the look of. I didn't particularly care about them - I wanted the alley anyhow, but I figured I'd do a good deed while I was there. So I gave them a good thrashing, and then took the territory from the lot of them. The starving street kittens, I gave food and shelter. They were just happy not to fight anymore. Turns out, it belonged to a bunch of older cats who really owned that alley. They didn't care for me messing with their kittens. Those that I rescued told terrible stories of the many streets and many kittens under the claws of those cats, the ways they were mistreated and forced to fight, so I did what was natural: I gathered some other cats I like around me to fortify my new alleyway.
When those older cats sent tons of desperate new kittens to fight me, several of the cats on my side died, but it was worth it in the end, because I killed every single desperate kitten who set foot in my new alley.
A lot of cats and kittens died for it, but the important thing is that I kept my new alley.
What do you mean, is that it? That's the end of the dream. Why would there be more?
The alley endures.
I was a proud and noble cat, looking to stake out some new territory to call my own.
I happened upon a group of healthy kittens that were picking on a group of starving street kittens in an alleyway that I liked the look of. I didn't particularly care about them - I wanted the alley anyhow, but I figured I'd do a good deed while I was there. So I gave them a good thrashing, and then took the territory from the lot of them. The starving street kittens, I gave food and shelter. They were just happy not to fight anymore. Turns out, it belonged to a bunch of older cats who really owned that alley. They didn't care for me messing with their kittens. Those that I rescued told terrible stories of the many streets and many kittens under the claws of those cats, the ways they were mistreated and forced to fight, so I did what was natural: I gathered some other cats I like around me to fortify my new alleyway.
When those older cats sent tons of desperate new kittens to fight me, several of the cats on my side died, but it was worth it in the end, because I killed every single desperate kitten who set foot in my new alley.
A lot of cats and kittens died for it, but the important thing is that I kept my new alley.
What do you mean, is that it? That's the end of the dream. Why would there be more?
The alley endures.
Written By Sydney
May 13, 2021, 1:05 p.m.(6/19/1015 AR)
Life in the service of death - be that fearing it, running from it, or dealing it - is as one lived in a tunnel without branches. The walls stretch around and enclose you. There is no wondering what's left, or what's right. Up is an impossibility. Down is the dirt and stone you've watched others fall upon. The only way is forward, as to stand still or turn back can lead only to ruin. A life lived in this way gives rise to certain ideas and expectations about how the world works, as well as its scope.
Should you find yourself at the emergence from such a tunnel, question everything.
Your beliefs are fallible. Your echoed words, which once resonated from every wall from with clarity verging on perfection may now ring hollow in the wider world.
And if your beliefs are fallible, so too are the beliefs of others.
Question everything.
Should you find yourself at the emergence from such a tunnel, question everything.
Your beliefs are fallible. Your echoed words, which once resonated from every wall from with clarity verging on perfection may now ring hollow in the wider world.
And if your beliefs are fallible, so too are the beliefs of others.
Question everything.
Written By Sydney
May 5, 2021, 2:21 p.m.(6/3/1015 AR)
I have found a new respect for the work of mercies and physicians. I've done little enough but scurry about, and the fatigue is felt to my very core.
If there are truly heroes to be found in this conflict, it is those who stitch together our flesh, tend our fevers until they break, and put as at ease as our men and women die young.
The next smart-mouthed soldier to tell me they only wish they could have slain more is getting punched in the sharding throat.
If there are truly heroes to be found in this conflict, it is those who stitch together our flesh, tend our fevers until they break, and put as at ease as our men and women die young.
The next smart-mouthed soldier to tell me they only wish they could have slain more is getting punched in the sharding throat.
Written By Sydney
May 3, 2021, 4:28 p.m.(5/27/1015 AR)
The absence of defeat does not make a victory.
As I stand scrubbing the blood out of my clothing and remembering each face of those who braved the voyage home gravely wounded while their condition worsened only to die in the din of a severely overburdened Saving Grace, holding the hand of a pugilist they've never met, I do not reflect on victory.
I reflect on agony. Important figures, sending their peoples to fight and die for their ideals, each bloodying one another terribly. Oh, to be sure, the Dune Emperor is left with embarrassment, but can we truly say we won anything more than the ability not to be invaded by a force that would not have set their sights on us, had we not antagonized them?
People say I know nothing of war.
People say I would make a terrible soldier.
I accept your compliments.
As I stand scrubbing the blood out of my clothing and remembering each face of those who braved the voyage home gravely wounded while their condition worsened only to die in the din of a severely overburdened Saving Grace, holding the hand of a pugilist they've never met, I do not reflect on victory.
I reflect on agony. Important figures, sending their peoples to fight and die for their ideals, each bloodying one another terribly. Oh, to be sure, the Dune Emperor is left with embarrassment, but can we truly say we won anything more than the ability not to be invaded by a force that would not have set their sights on us, had we not antagonized them?
People say I know nothing of war.
People say I would make a terrible soldier.
I accept your compliments.
Written By Sydney
April 25, 2021, 11:48 p.m.(5/12/1015 AR)
There is an uneasiness that is unspoken, but felt in every conversation.
The pace is quickening.
A long beginning, or a swift end.
The pace is quickening.
A long beginning, or a swift end.
Written By Sydney
April 24, 2021, 5:35 a.m.(5/8/1015 AR)
Spending too much time in the Archives has given me some additional insight on reading as I leaf through the same tome for days at a time, stale and dry books of record.
I watch all manner of people come in, pluck up a volume and find a comfortable place to read, and often enough I get to see them finish their story. Some look contented when the tale ends, others disappointed, and here I am, having hardly made a dent in my book. Part of me wishes to put down my book, pluck up a book from the same section as those who clearly saw the value in brevity, and take a twist of fate on whether the story I select will be one that disappoints me or leaves me briefly contented.
Then I look to my side, at one who's been coming for even longer than I have, and as he nears the end of a tome even larger than the one I'm reading now, he looks so blissfully pleased with himself that I just can't help but wonder what he must be feeling. The emotional highs and lows of that book. I imagine they're worth it, too.
I put my nose down, and flipped to the next stale page.
I watch all manner of people come in, pluck up a volume and find a comfortable place to read, and often enough I get to see them finish their story. Some look contented when the tale ends, others disappointed, and here I am, having hardly made a dent in my book. Part of me wishes to put down my book, pluck up a book from the same section as those who clearly saw the value in brevity, and take a twist of fate on whether the story I select will be one that disappoints me or leaves me briefly contented.
Then I look to my side, at one who's been coming for even longer than I have, and as he nears the end of a tome even larger than the one I'm reading now, he looks so blissfully pleased with himself that I just can't help but wonder what he must be feeling. The emotional highs and lows of that book. I imagine they're worth it, too.
I put my nose down, and flipped to the next stale page.
Written By Sydney
April 21, 2021, 7:46 a.m.(5/2/1015 AR)
I wonder often, about past choices.
They are my choices because I made them, and I made those choices because they were the best ones I had at the time, with the information I had at the time. Even if I could unfold time like a puzzle and put it all back together again, the outcomes would be unchanged, for I'd not be any different in those moments than I was the first time around.
Regret is a pointless exercise, but it's within our nature to grapple with the pointless on a daily basis - is it any wonder that regret should find its way clawing to the surface, grappling with logic for its proper seat at the table?
The days of defending my choices have come and gone. I am nothing less than Sydney Waterfall, and if you take issue with me, then walk by me or try to walk through me. I welcome the latter.
They are my choices because I made them, and I made those choices because they were the best ones I had at the time, with the information I had at the time. Even if I could unfold time like a puzzle and put it all back together again, the outcomes would be unchanged, for I'd not be any different in those moments than I was the first time around.
Regret is a pointless exercise, but it's within our nature to grapple with the pointless on a daily basis - is it any wonder that regret should find its way clawing to the surface, grappling with logic for its proper seat at the table?
The days of defending my choices have come and gone. I am nothing less than Sydney Waterfall, and if you take issue with me, then walk by me or try to walk through me. I welcome the latter.
Written By Sydney
April 17, 2021, 3:56 p.m.(4/23/1015 AR)
Everyone is more troubled than they let on at a glance.
We wander through life banging our shins, scraping our knees, and collecting cuts on our hearts and our spirit that never truly heal.
It makes me fearful of growing older, even knowing that with extra time, wisdom may follow; wisdom enough to make the more distant wounds fade until they feel like old friends.
For me, sparring is one of the most exhilarating ways to clear my head. I feel alive when I fight. It's not to say that I enjoy inflicting harm, but I enjoy letting my body do the things it knows how to do best. The feeling of excelling at a thing into which you've poured so very much effort can make one's heart sing - but not nearly so much as when there's an obstacle to overcome. A wall standing before you.
I will scramble, scrabble, falter and fail, but I can't see a wall before me and not seek to climb it.
And perhaps that saves me from thinking of the cuts on my heart, open and weeping. If nothing else, it forestalls those thoughts until I lay down at night. That is when you know you've found a thing worth doing.
We wander through life banging our shins, scraping our knees, and collecting cuts on our hearts and our spirit that never truly heal.
It makes me fearful of growing older, even knowing that with extra time, wisdom may follow; wisdom enough to make the more distant wounds fade until they feel like old friends.
For me, sparring is one of the most exhilarating ways to clear my head. I feel alive when I fight. It's not to say that I enjoy inflicting harm, but I enjoy letting my body do the things it knows how to do best. The feeling of excelling at a thing into which you've poured so very much effort can make one's heart sing - but not nearly so much as when there's an obstacle to overcome. A wall standing before you.
I will scramble, scrabble, falter and fail, but I can't see a wall before me and not seek to climb it.
And perhaps that saves me from thinking of the cuts on my heart, open and weeping. If nothing else, it forestalls those thoughts until I lay down at night. That is when you know you've found a thing worth doing.
Written By Sydney
April 12, 2021, 8:30 a.m.(4/12/1015 AR)
Right place, right time. I heard someone talking about a Grayson brunch, and not a word in there about having to be of a certain caliber for entry, slid into my best armor, slapped on some of my finer baubles, and marched on over. No sooner do I cross the threshold of the Grayson Ward, the sky opened.
I got fucking poured on.
I showed up still dripping, my boots squelching with every step. Only stubbornness kept me from turning away, and the fact that I was already drenched, annoyed, and hungrier than the abyss is dark. Fortunately, the company and her guests were all rather understanding, for which I'm exceedingly grateful. I was able to catch up with some old faces and speak to some new ones, and even had my hair threatened with ribbons.
Not a bad way to spend the day.
I got fucking poured on.
I showed up still dripping, my boots squelching with every step. Only stubbornness kept me from turning away, and the fact that I was already drenched, annoyed, and hungrier than the abyss is dark. Fortunately, the company and her guests were all rather understanding, for which I'm exceedingly grateful. I was able to catch up with some old faces and speak to some new ones, and even had my hair threatened with ribbons.
Not a bad way to spend the day.
Written By Sydney
April 10, 2021, 8 p.m.(4/9/1015 AR)
Finally, my clothing is seasonal again.
Certainly one thing to be said for wearing lighter armor, it's not quite as cozy as heavier fare with its padding and natural insulation. Something to do with the fact that they actually have sleeves that go down to their elbows or wrists, rather than my own, which terminate at the shoulder. It can't be helped - in my line of work, range of motion is everything, and staying faster than the other combatant is how my advantage works best. I strike hard, I strike fast, and I don't wade in to the thick of things unless I'm willing to risk a few scrapes and bruises in the process.
So, yes. I'm glad it's warmer, is what I'm getting at, and I can ditch this heavy cloak I've been having to cart around from my pack.
I could opine about new beginnings and opportunities, and all the things that come with a change to the temperature, but I'm content with not being quite so sharding cold.
Certainly one thing to be said for wearing lighter armor, it's not quite as cozy as heavier fare with its padding and natural insulation. Something to do with the fact that they actually have sleeves that go down to their elbows or wrists, rather than my own, which terminate at the shoulder. It can't be helped - in my line of work, range of motion is everything, and staying faster than the other combatant is how my advantage works best. I strike hard, I strike fast, and I don't wade in to the thick of things unless I'm willing to risk a few scrapes and bruises in the process.
So, yes. I'm glad it's warmer, is what I'm getting at, and I can ditch this heavy cloak I've been having to cart around from my pack.
I could opine about new beginnings and opportunities, and all the things that come with a change to the temperature, but I'm content with not being quite so sharding cold.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.