Written By Tyrus
Jan. 7, 2020, 12:43 p.m.(7/9/1012 AR)
Time I start to sail back to the Compact. By the time this entry reaches the Scholars, I'll already be making my way back. Not directly, perhaps. Still, it's time. People to meet, bridges to build, wounds to mend... or to make anew.
Written By Tyrus
Jan. 6, 2020, 11:22 a.m.(7/7/1012 AR)
There was a whale today. A single black whale, moving through unhindered. How could it be otherwise? Even sharks leave such behemoths alone. Peaceful they may be, yet like all creatures they can be roused to anger.
A whale, then. We watched it go by. I thought I glimpsed its eye as it did so, reflecting the darkened heavens and their denizen.
A whale, then. We watched it go by. I thought I glimpsed its eye as it did so, reflecting the darkened heavens and their denizen.
Written By Tyrus
Dec. 31, 2019, 9:27 a.m.(6/22/1012 AR)
This trip away from Arx has allowed to put some things in perspective, to take a breath away from the capital and its intrigues, both from the most 'important' to the pettiest. The sea has always been good with that, letting one focus only upon the waters, the direction of the wind, and how bad the coming storm might be when clouds gather on the horizon.
The quiet has proven to be a blessing. Myra has been enjoying it, with so many nights spent staring up to the heavens.
I expect to return in the coming weeks. Then it'll be a matter of picking things up where I left them, and catch up on what has changed in the city and the Compact.
The quiet has proven to be a blessing. Myra has been enjoying it, with so many nights spent staring up to the heavens.
I expect to return in the coming weeks. Then it'll be a matter of picking things up where I left them, and catch up on what has changed in the city and the Compact.
Written By Tyrus
Nov. 28, 2019, 10:51 p.m.(4/13/1012 AR)
Tears shed, words spent. Sorrow, yet it is sorrow that makes one realize a simple truth often forgotten when the waters prove so deep as to kill all light.
Even as one sinks into the heart of nightmare, there are those whose ties serve to create a surface from which to push upwards from.
They may be hands that cannot reach into the waters, cannot pierce the surface. Yet the knowledge that they're there... Hope? No. But at least there's something out there, something that makes it worth it.
However long they may last.
Even as one sinks into the heart of nightmare, there are those whose ties serve to create a surface from which to push upwards from.
They may be hands that cannot reach into the waters, cannot pierce the surface. Yet the knowledge that they're there... Hope? No. But at least there's something out there, something that makes it worth it.
However long they may last.
Written By Tyrus
Nov. 12, 2019, 9:28 a.m.(3/8/1012 AR)
We survived, all of us, despite the odds. Despite the previous expedition falling to that accursed place.
There are those whose choices condemn them. Who have gone so far from the light that there's nothing else to do but to release them from this life and hope they find a better one waiting for them.
I give thanks to all who joined the expedition. We would not have made it without you. I would not have.
I should offer my thanks to Mangata as well. Without Her blessings, that place would have given me the same end as the others before us.
It's over. A small thing perhaps in the grander scheme of things, but as small as it may be, the Dream has grown just a little lighter. A little better.
There are those whose choices condemn them. Who have gone so far from the light that there's nothing else to do but to release them from this life and hope they find a better one waiting for them.
I give thanks to all who joined the expedition. We would not have made it without you. I would not have.
I should offer my thanks to Mangata as well. Without Her blessings, that place would have given me the same end as the others before us.
It's over. A small thing perhaps in the grander scheme of things, but as small as it may be, the Dream has grown just a little lighter. A little better.
Written By Tyrus
Nov. 4, 2019, 2:27 p.m.(2/20/1012 AR)
The final preparations have been seen to, save for one.
My death is a possibility, not an unlikely one. I disappeared before, without word, and was declared dead for the next thirteen years. I doubt the same fate will befall me, should I not return.
At least this time I've more time to prepare for that eventuality.
Whether or not there is any body to bury, I would like to reclaim my grave in Maelstorm, alongside Genevieve's. It was an odd experience, to stand before the marker with my name, the last time I visited. Still, it's a good place, where I would have wished to be buried before. I've to make up for the years my sister spent without the company she might have expected.
The sea took their bodies, yet I would still like the names of Aelia and Damia to be alongside mine. If their names must fade into forgetfulness, let they fade alongside mine own, not before.
Of my black journals, leave them be. They are where they need to be, and no amount of light will make the dark thoughts they bear any brighter.
Finally, of my possessions. I've arranged matters already, for that which I do not bring with me, to be delivered upon my death. That which I bring with me... I suppose it depends on how much remains.
There. May Vellichor and His Scholars hold in keeping my last will, to stand till my return.
My death is a possibility, not an unlikely one. I disappeared before, without word, and was declared dead for the next thirteen years. I doubt the same fate will befall me, should I not return.
At least this time I've more time to prepare for that eventuality.
Whether or not there is any body to bury, I would like to reclaim my grave in Maelstorm, alongside Genevieve's. It was an odd experience, to stand before the marker with my name, the last time I visited. Still, it's a good place, where I would have wished to be buried before. I've to make up for the years my sister spent without the company she might have expected.
The sea took their bodies, yet I would still like the names of Aelia and Damia to be alongside mine. If their names must fade into forgetfulness, let they fade alongside mine own, not before.
Of my black journals, leave them be. They are where they need to be, and no amount of light will make the dark thoughts they bear any brighter.
Finally, of my possessions. I've arranged matters already, for that which I do not bring with me, to be delivered upon my death. That which I bring with me... I suppose it depends on how much remains.
There. May Vellichor and His Scholars hold in keeping my last will, to stand till my return.
Written By Tyrus
Oct. 16, 2019, 11:09 p.m.(1/11/1012 AR)
I tire of hearing, reading, of these pious words. Do you think they are carried to the slaves that suffer now? That have suffered for untold years? Of course not. They're lost in the wind, whatever echo that might reach their shores silenced by the crack of the whip.
Symbolic gestures mean nothing. Do you think my heart and soul might have been comforted, to know of all the fine words being shared against slavery in the past decade? Of all these thoughts and prayers, these grandiose stands and declarations?
No. Only anger and hate at this sickening hypocrisy.
Yet can I blame them? Some, at least, are honest about their newfound sensibilities. Honest, that their eyes have taken a long time to open. It's not as if I knew, understood it to my very bones, before I lived it. Survived it.
Few are so fortunate. Few were.
And while we continue to bicker over words and symbols, they continue to die, their heartsblood maintaining the turning of a wheel far more sinister than the one in Death's keeping.
Symbolic gestures mean nothing. Do you think my heart and soul might have been comforted, to know of all the fine words being shared against slavery in the past decade? Of all these thoughts and prayers, these grandiose stands and declarations?
No. Only anger and hate at this sickening hypocrisy.
Yet can I blame them? Some, at least, are honest about their newfound sensibilities. Honest, that their eyes have taken a long time to open. It's not as if I knew, understood it to my very bones, before I lived it. Survived it.
Few are so fortunate. Few were.
And while we continue to bicker over words and symbols, they continue to die, their heartsblood maintaining the turning of a wheel far more sinister than the one in Death's keeping.
Written By Tyrus
Oct. 8, 2019, 9:31 a.m.(12/22/1011 AR)
Relationship Note on Preston
That was the nuance I referred to, and you've clarified your point such that I've little to add or find issue with.
There are basic truths in this Dream. To doubt or deny them only risks a rude awakening.
There are basic truths in this Dream. To doubt or deny them only risks a rude awakening.
Written By Tyrus
Oct. 6, 2019, 9:08 p.m.(12/19/1011 AR)
Relationship Note on Preston
I cannot speak on the grounds of Faith and religion, for I have not devoted myself to its study, nor have I sworn my life to them like Grandmaster Preston has. Yet something he wrote in his last entry made me consider the nature of questions, and I find I disagree on a minor point.
To deny the existence of the Gods would be foolish indeed when they are all around us, when we exist in Aion's Dream. Yet is to ask questions on their nature, on their being, subject to the same interdict? How can we understand Them better if we do not ask questions?
How can we understand the role of the King and our most ancient and venerated institutions if we do not ask?
None of us are born with innate knowledge. All must be learnt. To simply be told that this is Mangata is not enough to understand Her, to see Her in the waters of the sea and the winds of the storm. One must ask a thousand and one questions, as an adult if they were never asked as a child.
I suspect Grandmaster Preston did not refer in his entry to questioning as I framed it. Perhaps he instead meant the kind of questioning that serves not to dispell ignorance but instead serves to make a point, the questioning that is more weapon than any other tool. I cannot speak for the man, however, having never met him. Still, I believe the nuance must be made.
To question can be beneficial and indeed necessary, depending on the intent.
To deny the existence of the Gods would be foolish indeed when they are all around us, when we exist in Aion's Dream. Yet is to ask questions on their nature, on their being, subject to the same interdict? How can we understand Them better if we do not ask questions?
How can we understand the role of the King and our most ancient and venerated institutions if we do not ask?
None of us are born with innate knowledge. All must be learnt. To simply be told that this is Mangata is not enough to understand Her, to see Her in the waters of the sea and the winds of the storm. One must ask a thousand and one questions, as an adult if they were never asked as a child.
I suspect Grandmaster Preston did not refer in his entry to questioning as I framed it. Perhaps he instead meant the kind of questioning that serves not to dispell ignorance but instead serves to make a point, the questioning that is more weapon than any other tool. I cannot speak for the man, however, having never met him. Still, I believe the nuance must be made.
To question can be beneficial and indeed necessary, depending on the intent.
Written By Tyrus
Oct. 3, 2019, 7:12 p.m.(12/13/1011 AR)
I cannot offer the opinion of all slaves, it would be foolish. I can only offer my own, as one who has known slavery for more than a decade, who has seen others born to it and die to it all around me.
I chose not to volunteer for the auction. I know Caspian Wild. I know of his devotion to the cause of the Liberators. For freedom and choice. I know the time the volunteers willingly give have nothing to do with slavery. I know, for the difference has been marked into my flesh as much as into my soul.
I chose not to volunteer for the auction not because it felt too close to slavery, but because I knew, or expected, it would awaken spectres of those years.
That has nothing to do with the event itself. Countless other things might remind me of the slavemasters, the men and women who kept me in chains. A sound. A scent. A word. Even an image. That they have the potential to disturb or trigger a response is no reason to associate them with slavery. This emotional reaction cannot be blamed on the one that caused it, when it was made without intent, without knowledge and without fault.
I've read claims that the auction was too close to how the Eurusi sell their slaves. Or that it was the very same. This speaks to me of profound ignorance.
If you want to know the difference, I would be more than happy to illuminate you. It would also be my pleasure to take you to those among my men who have their own stories to tell of the slavery we shared, and those who lived another.
If your intention is actually to help put an end to thralldom? Donate. Participate in the auction. Do something. But if you complain out of some misguided belief that this auction should not take place to avoid offence, to avoid these similarities you decry? Congratulations, enjoy the good sleep this sentiment of righteous indignation no doubt gives you, while those who actually suffer continue to do so.
I chose not to volunteer for the auction. I know Caspian Wild. I know of his devotion to the cause of the Liberators. For freedom and choice. I know the time the volunteers willingly give have nothing to do with slavery. I know, for the difference has been marked into my flesh as much as into my soul.
I chose not to volunteer for the auction not because it felt too close to slavery, but because I knew, or expected, it would awaken spectres of those years.
That has nothing to do with the event itself. Countless other things might remind me of the slavemasters, the men and women who kept me in chains. A sound. A scent. A word. Even an image. That they have the potential to disturb or trigger a response is no reason to associate them with slavery. This emotional reaction cannot be blamed on the one that caused it, when it was made without intent, without knowledge and without fault.
I've read claims that the auction was too close to how the Eurusi sell their slaves. Or that it was the very same. This speaks to me of profound ignorance.
If you want to know the difference, I would be more than happy to illuminate you. It would also be my pleasure to take you to those among my men who have their own stories to tell of the slavery we shared, and those who lived another.
If your intention is actually to help put an end to thralldom? Donate. Participate in the auction. Do something. But if you complain out of some misguided belief that this auction should not take place to avoid offence, to avoid these similarities you decry? Congratulations, enjoy the good sleep this sentiment of righteous indignation no doubt gives you, while those who actually suffer continue to do so.
Written By Tyrus
Sept. 12, 2019, 12:20 p.m.(10/26/1011 AR)
It is animal nature, when one is hurt, to seek isolation and lash out at those who might reach out. We know ourselves vulnerable, more in danger. It can be at times difficult to set aside that instinct, this fear.
Yet, it is what saves us.
Not immediately. Yet through the strength and support lent by others do we learn to live with the wounds and their pain. Even heal.
I was reminded of the importance friends, family, loved ones. For this Dream of ours should not be lived in solitude, and great things are not achieved alone.
But much can be done when one's ties are strong and many.
Yet, it is what saves us.
Not immediately. Yet through the strength and support lent by others do we learn to live with the wounds and their pain. Even heal.
I was reminded of the importance friends, family, loved ones. For this Dream of ours should not be lived in solitude, and great things are not achieved alone.
But much can be done when one's ties are strong and many.
Written By Tyrus
Sept. 1, 2019, 9:41 a.m.(10/4/1011 AR)
I've returned to Arx, and had the questionable luck of being present at the beach when the shark attack occurred. While it was a tragedy, with a number of deaths and wounded, it would have been far worse had it not been for the heroism I saw displayed by those present, both in taking on the shark and making sure the people reached the shore to safety and were seen to.
Written By Tyrus
Aug. 27, 2019, 8:30 p.m.(9/22/1011 AR)
This is an entry I've considered for some time. I've put it off, or considered placing it in the blacks. Yet it is not something either of them deserved, to be consigned to ignorance, forgotten save in the fading memory of those that knew them, or whom I told. Still, it is a different subject to approach, even if I know it deserves to be brought to light. That they both deserve to be known, even if by a stranger who'd chance upon this entry.
I had considered putting it off long enough to tell my sister in person, but timing has not been kind to us. And I never found the right words to tell Sylvi she had been an aunt for three years without ever knowing it. I didn't want to spoil our reunion, the joy to know at least she still lived for my return. But that is doing her a disservice, and them. So, sister, if you read this entry, my apologies for not telling you sooner, or first.
I should be starting at the beginning, shouldn't I?
I was a slave for the last thirteen years to Eurusi pirates. I freed myself and my fellow slaves at the thirteenth year, marking my return to Maelstorm and then Arx. My return to this city I so rarely visited in the past. I did not spend these thirteen years alone. There was a woman, an Abandoned herbalist taken by the pirates on an island far from our shores, with whom I could only speak to through the language of our captors. Her name was Damia. She became my wife.
A slave possess little freedom, but he can still marry if the Gods are the only witnesses of the act. Thus we married, through words unfamiliar to both our homes, and loved one-another. And from that love, three years ago, was born our daughter Aelia.
We had been afraid, terrified, when Damia found out she was pregnant. But we were fools. The slavers didn't mind. Why would they? It ensured neither of us would try to flee, and when the child was strong enough, she could be sold on the markets. This they told us plainly, well aware there was nothing we could do. I had already lived ten years as a slave, I believed it by then.
Years passed, one after the other. They were the happiest of my life, even in that accursed place. I was a slave, yet husband and father, and though every day was spent in fear, there it was, the faint echo of humanity I had thought cast out into oblivion, growing, burning away the darkness. As Aelia grew, I knew I needed to act. Damia and I knew. The new life she had granted us demanded nothing less. I would not let my daughter live her entire life a slave. I had known freedom. Her mother had known freedom. I would not rob her from that right through cowardice and inertia.
So I planned the uprising against the pirates. For all our preparation, the day it came, it was a surprise. An opportune storm we could not afford to ignore or reject. We rushed for the ship, fighting but mostly running straight to it while chaos reigned all around us. It's just as we reached the black ship that I lost them.
The sea took them both.
I didn't want to share them with anyone. Afraid, perhaps rightfully, that to speak of them would taint their memory with the spite and scorn of the self-righteous. Yet I did not tolerate fear and inaction to hold me back from what had to be done before, and I won't now.
Damia, Aelia, forgive me that it was all I could give you in the end. A mention in the records of Vellichor, an immortality upon paper. Much as I detest hearing of the Wheel and being told you've returned to it, at least your existence within this world will not remain in darkness.
I had considered putting it off long enough to tell my sister in person, but timing has not been kind to us. And I never found the right words to tell Sylvi she had been an aunt for three years without ever knowing it. I didn't want to spoil our reunion, the joy to know at least she still lived for my return. But that is doing her a disservice, and them. So, sister, if you read this entry, my apologies for not telling you sooner, or first.
I should be starting at the beginning, shouldn't I?
I was a slave for the last thirteen years to Eurusi pirates. I freed myself and my fellow slaves at the thirteenth year, marking my return to Maelstorm and then Arx. My return to this city I so rarely visited in the past. I did not spend these thirteen years alone. There was a woman, an Abandoned herbalist taken by the pirates on an island far from our shores, with whom I could only speak to through the language of our captors. Her name was Damia. She became my wife.
A slave possess little freedom, but he can still marry if the Gods are the only witnesses of the act. Thus we married, through words unfamiliar to both our homes, and loved one-another. And from that love, three years ago, was born our daughter Aelia.
We had been afraid, terrified, when Damia found out she was pregnant. But we were fools. The slavers didn't mind. Why would they? It ensured neither of us would try to flee, and when the child was strong enough, she could be sold on the markets. This they told us plainly, well aware there was nothing we could do. I had already lived ten years as a slave, I believed it by then.
Years passed, one after the other. They were the happiest of my life, even in that accursed place. I was a slave, yet husband and father, and though every day was spent in fear, there it was, the faint echo of humanity I had thought cast out into oblivion, growing, burning away the darkness. As Aelia grew, I knew I needed to act. Damia and I knew. The new life she had granted us demanded nothing less. I would not let my daughter live her entire life a slave. I had known freedom. Her mother had known freedom. I would not rob her from that right through cowardice and inertia.
So I planned the uprising against the pirates. For all our preparation, the day it came, it was a surprise. An opportune storm we could not afford to ignore or reject. We rushed for the ship, fighting but mostly running straight to it while chaos reigned all around us. It's just as we reached the black ship that I lost them.
The sea took them both.
I didn't want to share them with anyone. Afraid, perhaps rightfully, that to speak of them would taint their memory with the spite and scorn of the self-righteous. Yet I did not tolerate fear and inaction to hold me back from what had to be done before, and I won't now.
Damia, Aelia, forgive me that it was all I could give you in the end. A mention in the records of Vellichor, an immortality upon paper. Much as I detest hearing of the Wheel and being told you've returned to it, at least your existence within this world will not remain in darkness.
Written By Tyrus
Aug. 24, 2019, 9:23 a.m.(9/16/1011 AR)
I will not speak of that particular union, for I know not its details, its people, and prefer to leave it to the personal lives of those involved. But divorces are rare enough that news has reached me in the Mourning Isles, along with some of the reactions, and I am moved to write some of my thoughts down.
I will, again, not approach the topic from a theological point of view, as it is not my expertise. But vows and oaths are more than a simply religious matter, aren't they? The very fabric of our society and elsewhere rely upon one's trusted word, upon some solid basis upon which to build rapport and relationships. As such, their preservation, of word and spirit, is often important lest it harm the lifeblood of civilization.
But then, are there not also bad oaths, sworn out of ignorance, out of misguided passion either good or ill? How many tales have been written already, of men and women swearing terrible revenge and how their destructive oath inflicted misfortune not only on themselves but anyone unlucky enough to encounter their path?
I suppose now would be the time when a Mirrormask jumps in with mention of the Thirteenth and the necessity of balance. Once again I remain ignorant of the value of the theological argument. But it would seem to me that to maintain a stance too rigidly is inviting the corruption and abuse of an ideal.
We should never assume to know everything, even on a small matter. It takes so little, a mere detail, to change one's perception of an idea or person. And we, mortals that we are, fall so easily to the conceit that what we think and feel is true and right and the whole of the matter. Experts and masters, they can all be wrong, and so often are, when something new and unexpected comes around. Easier to assume others are mistaken than to change the construct that has served one so well in understanding one's preferred field.
Once again, this latest divorce is not the subject of this entry. While it was the catalyst for its writing, I've nothing to say or share on the matter. Others have been more than willing to do so, and I am sure their entries would satisfy those eager for something more dramatic and oh so human.
I will, again, not approach the topic from a theological point of view, as it is not my expertise. But vows and oaths are more than a simply religious matter, aren't they? The very fabric of our society and elsewhere rely upon one's trusted word, upon some solid basis upon which to build rapport and relationships. As such, their preservation, of word and spirit, is often important lest it harm the lifeblood of civilization.
But then, are there not also bad oaths, sworn out of ignorance, out of misguided passion either good or ill? How many tales have been written already, of men and women swearing terrible revenge and how their destructive oath inflicted misfortune not only on themselves but anyone unlucky enough to encounter their path?
I suppose now would be the time when a Mirrormask jumps in with mention of the Thirteenth and the necessity of balance. Once again I remain ignorant of the value of the theological argument. But it would seem to me that to maintain a stance too rigidly is inviting the corruption and abuse of an ideal.
We should never assume to know everything, even on a small matter. It takes so little, a mere detail, to change one's perception of an idea or person. And we, mortals that we are, fall so easily to the conceit that what we think and feel is true and right and the whole of the matter. Experts and masters, they can all be wrong, and so often are, when something new and unexpected comes around. Easier to assume others are mistaken than to change the construct that has served one so well in understanding one's preferred field.
Once again, this latest divorce is not the subject of this entry. While it was the catalyst for its writing, I've nothing to say or share on the matter. Others have been more than willing to do so, and I am sure their entries would satisfy those eager for something more dramatic and oh so human.
Written By Tyrus
Aug. 23, 2019, 1:27 p.m.(9/14/1011 AR)
I may have to spend more time among the shrines, and especially the godsworn, when I return. Not due to any particular impiety, or a need to seek forgiveness.
Some questions must be asked whose answers cannot be found in tomes. If there even are answers.
Some questions must be asked whose answers cannot be found in tomes. If there even are answers.
Written By Tyrus
Aug. 23, 2019, 10:26 a.m.(9/14/1011 AR)
Purpose. To lack it is to live a miserable existence, or so has been said. Not all purposes are of the same worth, much less as beneficial to their bearer.
Yet purpose can allow one to endure what they would not otherwise. Knowing there is a goal, a greater end, than what is immediately before them.
Yet purpose can allow one to endure what they would not otherwise. Knowing there is a goal, a greater end, than what is immediately before them.
Written By Tyrus
Aug. 12, 2019, 11:36 a.m.(8/20/1011 AR)
My return to the Mourning Isles has been good. Seeing the old and young of my life before the thirteen years of enslavement that kept me away from my family and the events that took place, here and elsewhere in the Compact.
I visited Genevieve's and Dominic's graves. The Queen of a year and the Beastmaster. Sister and brother. I've visited the others that returned to the Wheel, more than I expected.
It is a strange thing. To realize how much has changed. Time means little, when all you know is an island, and hope is little more than to see the day where the chains might be cast off, and to breathe as a free man once more.
There's a lesson slaves learn quickly. Hope is as much an enemy than friend. We endure till we die, hoping to be free. We do anything and everything, to keep that hope alive. To keep the memory of humanity alive. Even when we know that so long as there are chains, it can, and will, be taken away.
And that is when hope kills, far more than the masters' whip.
I visited Genevieve's and Dominic's graves. The Queen of a year and the Beastmaster. Sister and brother. I've visited the others that returned to the Wheel, more than I expected.
It is a strange thing. To realize how much has changed. Time means little, when all you know is an island, and hope is little more than to see the day where the chains might be cast off, and to breathe as a free man once more.
There's a lesson slaves learn quickly. Hope is as much an enemy than friend. We endure till we die, hoping to be free. We do anything and everything, to keep that hope alive. To keep the memory of humanity alive. Even when we know that so long as there are chains, it can, and will, be taken away.
And that is when hope kills, far more than the masters' whip.
Written By Tyrus
Aug. 8, 2019, 8:50 a.m.(8/12/1011 AR)
Relationship Note on Archeron
Until my return, I thought Margot, Duchess Margot now, was also the sole survivour. As I imagine was intended for the rest of the world to believe.
I did not look after all orphans, no. Even with charities and orphanages, there are always those who will not be found, cannot be reached. I rather doubt any survivour of Tyde or their vassals would have been tempted to join a place associated to a Thraxian prince.
If any ever did, desperate or unaware of the danger, I don't know. As I said, I doubt it. It'd have been far too easy for Donrai to turn it into a trap. Perhaps he did. He certainly had the means.
I did not look after all orphans, no. Even with charities and orphanages, there are always those who will not be found, cannot be reached. I rather doubt any survivour of Tyde or their vassals would have been tempted to join a place associated to a Thraxian prince.
If any ever did, desperate or unaware of the danger, I don't know. As I said, I doubt it. It'd have been far too easy for Donrai to turn it into a trap. Perhaps he did. He certainly had the means.
Written By Tyrus
Aug. 7, 2019, 9:24 a.m.(8/10/1011 AR)
The debt of death is not solely the purview of warriors, and it is something that we Peers might forget, as we consider our ambitions or the slights faced.
One who commands is equally responsible, indeed, more so. By the nature of command, more may die by their will and order than even the best swordsman might manage. This holds true for title holders, Voices but also to the more mundane commander.
I was one such, during the Tyde Rebellion and afterwards, hunting pirates. I did not wield sword or bow. My weapon was always my ship. My method to order my men to rain down arrows upon our enemies while I would seek to ram their ship to the bottom of the sea. Rarely were survivours fished out. More often after the war, against pirates. Perhaps the odds were greater to find one who did not belong in the wreckage. Or perhaps I felt I had given the sea its fill of corpses already.
I do not see them when I close my eyes. Tyde, RedTyde, the commoners that followed them, they do not haunt my dreams. Nor do the pirates. Duty is duty. There's no glory or horror to find in doing what is demanded by blood and order. The time I spent afterwards ensuring the children of the war were looked after was not to assuage my guilt. It's simply another aspect of command, of a Peer. Our responsibility for death should never overshadow the one we have for life.
I'll have to revisit this entry, later. More rambling than I intended, and I must wonder if anything of worth, any helpful notion or idea, might be found. Still, I won't take this to the black. Not all entries can be filled with witticisms.
One who commands is equally responsible, indeed, more so. By the nature of command, more may die by their will and order than even the best swordsman might manage. This holds true for title holders, Voices but also to the more mundane commander.
I was one such, during the Tyde Rebellion and afterwards, hunting pirates. I did not wield sword or bow. My weapon was always my ship. My method to order my men to rain down arrows upon our enemies while I would seek to ram their ship to the bottom of the sea. Rarely were survivours fished out. More often after the war, against pirates. Perhaps the odds were greater to find one who did not belong in the wreckage. Or perhaps I felt I had given the sea its fill of corpses already.
I do not see them when I close my eyes. Tyde, RedTyde, the commoners that followed them, they do not haunt my dreams. Nor do the pirates. Duty is duty. There's no glory or horror to find in doing what is demanded by blood and order. The time I spent afterwards ensuring the children of the war were looked after was not to assuage my guilt. It's simply another aspect of command, of a Peer. Our responsibility for death should never overshadow the one we have for life.
I'll have to revisit this entry, later. More rambling than I intended, and I must wonder if anything of worth, any helpful notion or idea, might be found. Still, I won't take this to the black. Not all entries can be filled with witticisms.
Written By Tyrus
Aug. 2, 2019, 12:07 p.m.(7/28/1011 AR)
It is interesting to be witness to the various debates taking place through the White Journals and, I must assume, out loud in various rooms and streets of the city.
It's also interesting to find that while certain voices, or I suppose authors, are common fixtures with an opinion on practically anything, especially if it's to tell another how wrong they are, various individuals tend to speak up. From Peer to common, the perspectives offered are varied and even fascinating to observe.
While I tend to be less interested in religious matters, having never found much appeal there, I find it is changed when I behold the points and counterpoints made. With such passion and righteous belief in one's convictions, how could I not be moved?
It's also interesting to find that while certain voices, or I suppose authors, are common fixtures with an opinion on practically anything, especially if it's to tell another how wrong they are, various individuals tend to speak up. From Peer to common, the perspectives offered are varied and even fascinating to observe.
While I tend to be less interested in religious matters, having never found much appeal there, I find it is changed when I behold the points and counterpoints made. With such passion and righteous belief in one's convictions, how could I not be moved?
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