Written By Kima
Nov. 24, 2016, 8:55 p.m.(3/16/1005 AR)
Do we judge men for their blood, or for their actions? The answer is both, of course, even if within the court of Sentinel they will assure you only the latter holds true. Yet look around - look to me, if you will. Shavs I have slain, and more than a few. Of a hundred different tribes, each no more than a snarling mask stretched over bone. They all screamed with one voice from a thousand different throats. Their guilt?
It is simple, and it is this: We are not them, and they are not us.
Oh, I realize all manner of atrocity that can be hidden within those few, innocuous little words. But to the thornier subject...
A fellow Arvani, standing in blood up to his elbows. His background is not the same as your own, his customs strange and...perhaps even a little barbaric. They are distasteful to you, but do they not still fall under the law of the Compact? What about the fealty owed to their high lord? Does serving that man or woman, whose orders may be rooted in cruelty, besmirch the honor of the one following them...Or does it make them more honorable?
If he is deemed unworthy, if he is judged for that, then is that not picking and choosing which law you wish to follow? More importantly, is it not choosing to whom the law applies...and to whom it does not?
These are my musings, which are worth less than the ink and parchment which binds them into reality. After all, everyone knows that the shape of virtue is inked in obscenity.
Myself most of all.
It is simple, and it is this: We are not them, and they are not us.
Oh, I realize all manner of atrocity that can be hidden within those few, innocuous little words. But to the thornier subject...
A fellow Arvani, standing in blood up to his elbows. His background is not the same as your own, his customs strange and...perhaps even a little barbaric. They are distasteful to you, but do they not still fall under the law of the Compact? What about the fealty owed to their high lord? Does serving that man or woman, whose orders may be rooted in cruelty, besmirch the honor of the one following them...Or does it make them more honorable?
If he is deemed unworthy, if he is judged for that, then is that not picking and choosing which law you wish to follow? More importantly, is it not choosing to whom the law applies...and to whom it does not?
These are my musings, which are worth less than the ink and parchment which binds them into reality. After all, everyone knows that the shape of virtue is inked in obscenity.
Myself most of all.
Written By Kima
Nov. 24, 2016, 7:55 p.m.(3/16/1005 AR)
I cannot light a true bonfire in honor of my father's passing, but what I can do - and have done - is light a candle. For the next several nights I will keep it lit within my window. The pain of loss will never truly leave, never truly fade, but that is what it is to live.
There are few, I think, that truly understand that all emotions have their place. Anger. Sorrow. Joy. Just as we think it wrong to be sad more often than not, to never know it is just as peculiar.
Some day, maybe sooner, maybe later, I will think of my father, and recall all that was good and wonderful about the man. It will be tinged with remorse, yes, but I will not be overshadowed by the emptiness that is his absence.
I think I'll write mother more often.
There are few, I think, that truly understand that all emotions have their place. Anger. Sorrow. Joy. Just as we think it wrong to be sad more often than not, to never know it is just as peculiar.
Some day, maybe sooner, maybe later, I will think of my father, and recall all that was good and wonderful about the man. It will be tinged with remorse, yes, but I will not be overshadowed by the emptiness that is his absence.
I think I'll write mother more often.
Written By Kima
Nov. 20, 2016, 1:59 p.m.(3/3/1005 AR)
Count Darkwater had delivered a sample of his Black Mountain coffee to me this morning. Between the messenger and one of the ever helpful servants of House Malvici, someone took the time to actually brew the blend and sought to gently wake me with its delicious aroma. Thus woken, I was treated to an enticingly hot beverage on a cold start to the day.
Written By Kima
Nov. 18, 2016, 1:20 a.m.(2/24/1005 AR)
Hunger for vengeance poisons the soul.
Written By Kima
Nov. 13, 2016, 3:25 p.m.(2/10/1005 AR)
I am officially out of the Hundred Cities and properly within Malvici Hall. Now, I am quite pleased for the move, though there is still some construction going on, and I'll have a severe need for decoration only all too soon. I do, however, miss meals prepared as I ask for them, or wine brought to my room when I request it. I, gods, I even miss Cook.
My morning jog happened to take me past the Hundred Cities, and I saw him standing outside, having a smoke. His eyes were sad. On my way back, I decided to stop in, and asked him to make me porridge.
I learned a valuable lesson: sentiment can only be stretched so far. Making people happy brought me a certain kind of joy, but I sure as the day is long don't care to make a fucker happy at my own choking expense.
I'm also the Sword of Southport, now.
My morning jog happened to take me past the Hundred Cities, and I saw him standing outside, having a smoke. His eyes were sad. On my way back, I decided to stop in, and asked him to make me porridge.
I learned a valuable lesson: sentiment can only be stretched so far. Making people happy brought me a certain kind of joy, but I sure as the day is long don't care to make a fucker happy at my own choking expense.
I'm also the Sword of Southport, now.
Written By Kima
Nov. 13, 2016, 2:30 p.m.(2/10/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Donella
Late one night just this week past, I remembered how lovely it was to bring a smile to someone's face through but a simple gesture. So I sent a gift to the Voice of Thrax - the reasons being my own. I've never had much of a chance to interact with her heavily, though I have seen and spoken to her several times. She strikes me as a strong and level-headed woman.
Yet sometimes it is good to just be a person, and not a title.
So I sent her a gift.
Yet sometimes it is good to just be a person, and not a title.
So I sent her a gift.
Written By Kima
Nov. 13, 2016, 2:19 p.m.(2/10/1005 AR)
The lad who decided to ink my autograph into his chest returned to show off the finished product. Looked good, really good. My regards to the fine fellow who did the work - reminds me of the illumination work the Scholars perform. I bought him lunch and regaled him with tales from my time in the Lyceum and I could tell it made the young man's day.
And it was nice.
In other news, my pupils are coming along nicely. Those who, in the summer, worried me with their lack of enthusiasm or true skill have been winnowed out. It's a distinct loss of coin, but I'm finding the work to be enjoyable again. I may even have a few more soon, older, who wish to work on an one-on-one basis.
And it was nice.
In other news, my pupils are coming along nicely. Those who, in the summer, worried me with their lack of enthusiasm or true skill have been winnowed out. It's a distinct loss of coin, but I'm finding the work to be enjoyable again. I may even have a few more soon, older, who wish to work on an one-on-one basis.
Written By Kima
Nov. 6, 2016, 5:13 p.m.(1/18/1005 AR)
Relationship Note on Max
I won't waste ink on what is surely being written about by many others. Instead, I want to talk about the new friend I made, Count Maximilian Darkwater. Can we waste ink by bolding Darkwater? Make it look a touch more...dastardly?
Thank you, Scholar.
To whit, I met this dread Count at the Ebb and Flow in the company of Princess Jaenelle and Lord Victus Thrax. I freely admit, I tried to steal his sausage. I missed, unfortunately, but he was a good sport about it and offered me more. He talks a lot. Much more than either Victus or Abbas. Which is wonderful, as a woman can only talk and talk and talk for so long before she needs more than a grunt or a flat stare to get by.
We then made a bet, which I lost, but only because I foolishly misunderstood. (I'd never bet AGAINST Victus, that is preposterous). But a loss is a loss and I am a woman of honor. Drinks on me, at the Hundred Cities Bed and Bordello.
And yes, it goes without saying he's easy on the eyes. I don't befriend men who aren't.
Thank you, Scholar.
To whit, I met this dread Count at the Ebb and Flow in the company of Princess Jaenelle and Lord Victus Thrax. I freely admit, I tried to steal his sausage. I missed, unfortunately, but he was a good sport about it and offered me more. He talks a lot. Much more than either Victus or Abbas. Which is wonderful, as a woman can only talk and talk and talk for so long before she needs more than a grunt or a flat stare to get by.
We then made a bet, which I lost, but only because I foolishly misunderstood. (I'd never bet AGAINST Victus, that is preposterous). But a loss is a loss and I am a woman of honor. Drinks on me, at the Hundred Cities Bed and Bordello.
And yes, it goes without saying he's easy on the eyes. I don't befriend men who aren't.
Written By Kima
Oct. 31, 2016, 7:42 p.m.(12/28/1004 AR)
I had the most bizarre dream. All was dark around me, and I was upon the largest bed I'd ever before seen. Surrounding the bed were a dozen angry giraffes, just staring malevolently down from the top of their ridiculously long necks at me. Tiny heads swaying, eyes squinted, as if I had done something bad and I should have known it was bad and how dare I!
As if they have the right to judge anything I do. I mean, is there a more useless animal in existence? You cannot eat them (I don't think), or ride them. They aren't beasts of burden, or companion animals. They're just there.
Who dreams about that sort of shit?
As if they have the right to judge anything I do. I mean, is there a more useless animal in existence? You cannot eat them (I don't think), or ride them. They aren't beasts of burden, or companion animals. They're just there.
Who dreams about that sort of shit?
Written By Kima
Oct. 30, 2016, 10:10 p.m.(12/25/1004 AR)
There's nothing worse when the mood is set, and all things look wonderful, and you're left standing alone - without even a drink in your hand. Actually, there is one worse thing: to be alone, without a drink, and unable to leave. Because you were stupid enough to get onto a ship.
I see the moon eyes, you're giving me, so I know you're a romantic as well. It isn't as if I planned to get all sappy feeling and misty-eyed, but it happened.
I see the moon eyes, you're giving me, so I know you're a romantic as well. It isn't as if I planned to get all sappy feeling and misty-eyed, but it happened.
Written By Kima
Oct. 29, 2016, 1:04 a.m.(12/20/1004 AR)
It has been some time since I wrote about my daily doings - which I know is of the utmost importance and concern for those which read my journals. I've very avid fans, as you know. Why, just yesterday I had a young man tear open his tunic and ask me to sign my name over his heart. I obliged him, and was quite pleased to learn that he was immediately on his way to the Boroughs in order to have it etched permanently into his skin.
Dear lad, when you read this, do come around again so that I might see the finished product.
The porridge is still the same. Perhaps worse, actually. Who can eat porridge for breakfast e v e r y s i n g l e d a y? And I don't want to hear: but Kima, you can dress it up. Fruit or nuts can be thrown in, or sweeten it with honey.
No.
There is only so much porridge any sane man or woman can stand. I reached my limit long ago. I don't ask for this. In fact, I explicitly told the cook I would no longer be taking breakfast. Yet there it is, bright and early at my door every morning. As I leave to take my morning run, there he stands, watching me and smiling oddly, "It's important to keep one's strength, Lady-Sir."
So I run, and I think about that porridge, and the cook, whom I've determined is a poet. I truly think I have improved in some areas. Certainly not strength, but my endurance seems to stretch a touch further than before.
That's all routine, of course, and not terribly exciting. Half the shit written down here isn't terribly exciting. More's the pity.
Dear lad, when you read this, do come around again so that I might see the finished product.
The porridge is still the same. Perhaps worse, actually. Who can eat porridge for breakfast e v e r y s i n g l e d a y? And I don't want to hear: but Kima, you can dress it up. Fruit or nuts can be thrown in, or sweeten it with honey.
No.
There is only so much porridge any sane man or woman can stand. I reached my limit long ago. I don't ask for this. In fact, I explicitly told the cook I would no longer be taking breakfast. Yet there it is, bright and early at my door every morning. As I leave to take my morning run, there he stands, watching me and smiling oddly, "It's important to keep one's strength, Lady-Sir."
So I run, and I think about that porridge, and the cook, whom I've determined is a poet. I truly think I have improved in some areas. Certainly not strength, but my endurance seems to stretch a touch further than before.
That's all routine, of course, and not terribly exciting. Half the shit written down here isn't terribly exciting. More's the pity.
Written By Kima
Oct. 23, 2016, 9:33 p.m.(12/4/1004 AR)
Today I had the good pleasure and honor to have tea with the Archlector of Sentinel. Though there are undoubtedly those who know me that would find my desire to have a good religious discussion peculiar, it is a truth I keep buried within my heart all the same.
Written By Kima
Oct. 23, 2016, midnight(12/1/1004 AR)
Relationship Note on Abbas
My mother was wont to push upon me poetry as a young girl. As any parent, she was desirous that I be not merely well-read, but well-rounded. While I confess that I did not take to it as well as she may have hoped (or even liked), I have actually retained much of it. This particular refrain came to mind after a conversation I had the other day with prince Abbas Thrax:
Yes, the prow of the sailing ship bites the foaming sea
Filled with steel-gray vigor is every man’s soul
When the gusts blow foam-white waves overhead
The men are not afraid, dread has no meaning for them
When the Reaver’s eye swallows the blood-red dawn
Then free is our spirit and free is our soul
Yes, the prow of the sailing ship bites the foaming sea
Filled with steel-gray vigor is every man’s soul
When the gusts blow foam-white waves overhead
The men are not afraid, dread has no meaning for them
When the Reaver’s eye swallows the blood-red dawn
Then free is our spirit and free is our soul
Written By Kima
Oct. 22, 2016, 10:35 p.m.(12/1/1004 AR)
While dining with a dear friend this evening, I came to the sudden, horrible realization that he has absolutely no concept of what makes something merely a melty cheese trap opposed to a melty meat and cheese trap. I stress that there is a vital and important difference, in that one is only cheese. It might possess several cheeses, but nothing else. Anything else transforms the melty cheese trap into what I, for brevity's sake, simply call a melt.
Written By Kima
Oct. 14, 2016, 11:31 p.m.(11/5/1004 AR)
Relationship Note on Calypso
Calypso, Hadrian's older sister.
Growing up, we were not often in contact with one another. She was so thoroughly determined to transform the soldiers of Southport into her extended family and I with my eyes on an entirely different martial prize that we rarely had cause to interact. I recall her as a sombre young woman, however, endlessly re-enacting past battles, always looking for things that could have been done differently. Better.
There was a time when I wished my brother would have married her. They seemed more suited to one another than any other young woman that I could imagine at the time. Bear in mind I was very young, and notions of fancy - such as marrying far above our modest rank as well as riding high upon the back of a dragon - were not unfamiliar to me.
It is good that Calypso is here in Arx. She is a grounded and stable individual, and will do both the Duke and House Malvici proud.
Growing up, we were not often in contact with one another. She was so thoroughly determined to transform the soldiers of Southport into her extended family and I with my eyes on an entirely different martial prize that we rarely had cause to interact. I recall her as a sombre young woman, however, endlessly re-enacting past battles, always looking for things that could have been done differently. Better.
There was a time when I wished my brother would have married her. They seemed more suited to one another than any other young woman that I could imagine at the time. Bear in mind I was very young, and notions of fancy - such as marrying far above our modest rank as well as riding high upon the back of a dragon - were not unfamiliar to me.
It is good that Calypso is here in Arx. She is a grounded and stable individual, and will do both the Duke and House Malvici proud.
Written By Kima
Oct. 14, 2016, 11:22 p.m.(11/5/1004 AR)
Relationship Note on Saedrus
I am not certain many of my peers, save for those in far-flung, and more rugged regions that sport a smaller populace, can say that they know their commoners half so well as we Saiks. The Cicisbeos have tended to our vineyards for several generations, and though Saedrus has chosen a different path from that of his ancestors, his five sisters remain. (Though technically they've all married into other families).
He serves my House in a new capacity now. One I dare say papa ever expected. Imagine, a Saik with their own courtesan. Eos has stood in as his patron, though I can only imagine this is in hopes of smoothing his less than socially adept rough edges.
If anyone can, it is Saedrus.
He serves my House in a new capacity now. One I dare say papa ever expected. Imagine, a Saik with their own courtesan. Eos has stood in as his patron, though I can only imagine this is in hopes of smoothing his less than socially adept rough edges.
If anyone can, it is Saedrus.
Written By Kima
Oct. 9, 2016, 4:32 p.m.(10/18/1004 AR)
Relationship Note on Audric
It occurs to me that the previous entry reads in such a way that others might believe I've had men tell me to wear bags at all, ever.
Such is not the case.
Audric is the first.
Such is not the case.
Audric is the first.
Written By Kima
Oct. 9, 2016, 4:30 p.m.(10/18/1004 AR)
Relationship Note on Audric
I've never had a man quite so politely - and in a decidedly round about manner, it should be noted - suggest that I should wear a bag.
The bag is really very nice, though. Might actually be the best I've ever seen.
The bag is really very nice, though. Might actually be the best I've ever seen.
Written By Kima
Oct. 9, 2016, 3:47 p.m.(10/17/1004 AR)
It has been some time since my last entry pertaining to the tale that would eventually bring me to Arx. Today I shall write of the woman many saw as a mysterious oddity, though to me she was a close friend and staunch ally. Her name was Yinali, she was born on the island of Setarco, though neither of her parents were natives to that wild place. With midnight-hued skin and hair, and these gorgeous amber eyes, it was no wonder that men found her bewitching. Yinali had a rich contralto of a voice that often had people stop to listen to her simply for the sake of listening.
-----
The dark woman fanned herself as she lounged upon a chaise. The air was thick and sticky, with the promise of an afternoon storm. Kima did not watch her, but rather stared lazily at the man across from Yinali, noting the scar that across the bridge of his nose.
"We will pay you fifteen hundred for each man now, and fifteen hundred upon return," she said, her tone of voice very 'take it or leave it.'
"Two thousand," the man countered, determined. "You know that we are the best. No other mercenary band has ventured as far or as often us." Kima took a drink, and found herself smiling when he said again, confidently, "We are the best."
"Not true, the captain's man of Lascala's Jovial Bunch told me just the other night that they've ranged as far as where we want to go. That's important to my friends and I. What's more, I know they'd settle for one thousand per man." Yinali continued to fan herself, silently praying for the moment when she could enjoy fresh coastal air rather than being confined to some cramped, muggy tavern.
"They'd settle for one thousand because they'd stab you in the back and leave you for dead just as soon as you were out of civilized land. You know that, I know that. Eighteen hundred and my captain will sign off on your contract. He's a Southport vet," he saluted, fist to chest. Veterans of the acclaimed Southport military were held in high regard by the citizens of the City of Swords, and abroad. "As am I. We're worth it."
Yinali snapped her fan closed, smiled at the man, and got to her feet. She was a considerably tall woman, more so than many men. Some found it off-putting, but Kima could see the appreciation in his eyes as he took in Yinali's graceful frame. "Eighteen," she said, tapping her fan upon his broad, thick shoulder. "Tell your captain we agree to pay eighteen hundred. Meet with me again tomorrow at this time, at the bank where we'll settle up. Be sure to tell the captain we'll be ready to leave in three days."
-----
Of honorable mention are captain Salandri and his right hand man, Dexio. They ran a small but competent group of mercenaries - Gloria's Roamers. They lived storied lives, as is chronicled elsewhere, and met ignominious deaths. The job they took with us would be their last. The Roamers are no more, stricken from the record.
-----
The dark woman fanned herself as she lounged upon a chaise. The air was thick and sticky, with the promise of an afternoon storm. Kima did not watch her, but rather stared lazily at the man across from Yinali, noting the scar that across the bridge of his nose.
"We will pay you fifteen hundred for each man now, and fifteen hundred upon return," she said, her tone of voice very 'take it or leave it.'
"Two thousand," the man countered, determined. "You know that we are the best. No other mercenary band has ventured as far or as often us." Kima took a drink, and found herself smiling when he said again, confidently, "We are the best."
"Not true, the captain's man of Lascala's Jovial Bunch told me just the other night that they've ranged as far as where we want to go. That's important to my friends and I. What's more, I know they'd settle for one thousand per man." Yinali continued to fan herself, silently praying for the moment when she could enjoy fresh coastal air rather than being confined to some cramped, muggy tavern.
"They'd settle for one thousand because they'd stab you in the back and leave you for dead just as soon as you were out of civilized land. You know that, I know that. Eighteen hundred and my captain will sign off on your contract. He's a Southport vet," he saluted, fist to chest. Veterans of the acclaimed Southport military were held in high regard by the citizens of the City of Swords, and abroad. "As am I. We're worth it."
Yinali snapped her fan closed, smiled at the man, and got to her feet. She was a considerably tall woman, more so than many men. Some found it off-putting, but Kima could see the appreciation in his eyes as he took in Yinali's graceful frame. "Eighteen," she said, tapping her fan upon his broad, thick shoulder. "Tell your captain we agree to pay eighteen hundred. Meet with me again tomorrow at this time, at the bank where we'll settle up. Be sure to tell the captain we'll be ready to leave in three days."
-----
Of honorable mention are captain Salandri and his right hand man, Dexio. They ran a small but competent group of mercenaries - Gloria's Roamers. They lived storied lives, as is chronicled elsewhere, and met ignominious deaths. The job they took with us would be their last. The Roamers are no more, stricken from the record.
Written By Kima
Oct. 2, 2016, 5:39 p.m.(9/25/1004 AR)
To say nothing of the event itself, which was outside of the norm and quite fabulous for it, the competitors which took to the field surprised me somewhat. Some because of who, or what, they were, yet others because of their performance. I think we can all agree that Lady Aria Gilden's masterful show of skill gave everyone a run for their coin.
What pleased me best, however, was the competitions eventual winner. Oh, he tied with Lady Nadia Nightgold at first, and that proud woman is nothing to scoff at, but in the end my brother proved his mettle. Look upon us, Arx: we are the lions of the south.
What pleased me best, however, was the competitions eventual winner. Oh, he tied with Lady Nadia Nightgold at first, and that proud woman is nothing to scoff at, but in the end my brother proved his mettle. Look upon us, Arx: we are the lions of the south.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.