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Written By Lou

May 27, 2019, 6:45 p.m.(3/6/1011 AR)

Tonight I go off on a new journey, to hopefully discover a path to a new, but old, place. I am traveling with my beloved husband, Mason, Duchess Delilah, Sir Jeffeth, and my protege Lord Eddard. It'll be interesting to see what we discover, and I can only imagine it will be as exquisite as all of the other places I've been in the last year.

Written By Preston

May 27, 2019, 6:35 p.m.(3/6/1011 AR)

I've been told that some who are not even of the Order, or indeed Godsworn, have taken it upon themselves to pronounce what the Templars think or will do.

Let me assure you, when the Templars have something to say we are not reticent about saying it, and when we feel we need to act, we do so. We have no need of assistance.

Unless you hear it from myself or from Dame Esoka, I would take any pronouncements on the Templars' views with a dash of skepticism.

Written By Morgan

May 27, 2019, 5:09 p.m.(3/6/1011 AR)

Relationship Note on Brianna

Author of the most terrifying book I've ever read, and a great friend. Fierce warrior of the north, happy birthday to you!

Written By Renata

May 27, 2019, 4:37 p.m.(3/6/1011 AR)

There is not much, I find, that is of sentimental value and worthy of note. A letter here, perhaps, or a trinket there. Somethings. Nothings. Everythings. I will confess that what I keep, I keep close to my heart. I rediscovered one such thing whilst tidying my desk this morning. An exquisitely crafted frog of gold that fits perfectly within the palm of my hand. His emerald eyes blinked up at me as I rubbed my thumb across his head...

...and I smiled.

Written By Martino

May 27, 2019, 2:28 p.m.(3/6/1011 AR)

There are two quite superb raffles taking place at the moment in city. Danae Russo's charitable offer is so very pleasing to see and the opportunity to support the growth of agricultural learning by Marquessa Quenia.

First we have Danae Russo's on behalf of the Mercies of Lagoma to expand their facilities. A superb prize of a piece of star iron jewelry on offer crafted by Mistress Josephine. Merely 25 writs of any kind and for an excellent cause.

At the same we have Marquessa Quenia Igniseri's Lycene Clothing Raffle taking place with roughly a week left until the draw itself. With 5 tickets available at 20 economic writs and a superb range of gowns on offer. Quite the fashionable gain for the lucky ones. The Southport inspired gown quite something and, that is typical of me to say. Also for the Agricultural Center that the House Igniseri do plan to build.

Written By Martino

May 27, 2019, 12:04 p.m.(3/6/1011 AR)

The Malvici Dinner was, ultimately I think, quite the success. Quite a bit of the family came together for an evening and enjoyed good food, excellent wine and conversation.

Although the salad bowls took quite a morale hitting blow. At least Lord Corbit Leary could appreciate the good greens.

Written By Elisha

May 27, 2019, 11:14 a.m.(3/5/1011 AR)

Relationship Note on Monique

Our paths diverge in the islands; you reach the capitol of Dustmarch by a tall-masted ship while I walk in the shadow of a spice caravan. The city displays one face to the beggar arriving overland and a different face to the woman who arrives by sea.

When the caravan driver sees, at the horizon, the spires rising into view, the snapping flags, the gold and white tiles, he thinks of a ship; he knows the capitol is a city, but he dreams a vessel that will carry him away from the dunes, a windjammer about to cast off, with the breeze swelling the sails; and he thinks of all the ports, with dragonmilk and thistlebone uncrated on foreign docks, with taverns where pinch-gangs slash broken bottles at each other, and with streets of lighted windows, each framing a woman combing her hair.

However, from the coastline's haze, the captain of the tall-masted ship, gazing upon the capitol of Dustmarch, discerns the form of an embroidered saddle swaying; she knows she observes a city, but she dreams a laden ox from whose packs clatter with whiskey-casks and bags of candied figs, date wine in gourds, banana leaves in bitter liquor, and she sees herself at the head of a caravan escorting her twice-masked passenger away from the barren sea toward oases of fresh water among the palm trees, each with a different scent of sandalwood, each framing a man removing his robes.

Every face is dreamed into being by the desert it reflects. Our paths diverge in the islands; we arrive in the capitol of Dustmarch much changed.

(Scribbled below the story: "For sister Monique Greenmarch. Coin and truth, both have two faces like capitol. The scent of her letter helps me sleep." In an even scratchier scrawl: "Brother Vere Dhan doesn't believe in gods or kings, only cloth puppets on broken strings, each one exactly like the next. He paid already and received nothing.")

Written By Wren

May 27, 2019, 10:52 a.m.(3/5/1011 AR)

I'm busier than ever these days, and that's good. Very good. It keeps my feet from roaming me down to the docks even in this miserable snow as I'm confident that a singular lord would note my absence if I decided to board a ship. I'll be boarding a boat again soon anyway, bound for the vast open sea once more but on a much different sort of venture this time.

I look forward to getting to know the others who are setting sail on this voyage. It is quite natural that only a handful of the nobility remembers me, but it is good to be recognized by some and forgotten by others. We will forge new bonds, and I delight in the unknown future, the limitless possibility of the horizon stretched out before me.

Written By Cerdensulathara

May 27, 2019, 5:30 a.m.(3/5/1011 AR)

I have discovered so much, and yet so very little. Allow me to set my place and time, the tone of my days, for you, future readers.

I have been tasked with learning and then writing about The Discipline of Artifice. Someone has disrespected the dossiers of the S.O.E., and I timidly hope that it was not me. I won't ask, out of fear.

The discipline of Artifice has been a Wonder, a joy, and a pain to study. Bridges invisible that ten paces aloft bring you into the next continent boggle the mind. Brass's metal heart ticking or plinking away in defiance of the Queen of Ending terrifies me with it's potential and actual misuse. The artifacts I have learned about may seem like ... God's above and sweet mercy, what did I almost write? The dangers of streaming consciousness writing have never presented itself before...

I have digressed. The artifacts I've discovered written about seem like a child's fancy, but I have also seen a newborn bird fly, a Grey Wolf leap, and a hard, hard and broken man forgive. Everyday miracles put magic toys to shame. I have been tasked with writing about Artifice, and I shall, but as a seeker of Knowledge, and a humbled teacher, I am few things if not thorough.

So here you find me, F.R., having spent weeks with my face in a book, breaking fast only to hunt and play with my friend and sibling Abbie. People like him more than me, you know. I don't blame them. I do too.

I will soon move onto to the next phase of my task, which involves others. I do not look forward to it. I am not someone who knows themselves. In fact, F.R., it occurs to me you know little about me as well. A part of my larger mission begs me to alleviate this, and here, in the Whites, is a fine place to do so.


I was born Cerdensulathara Hogsbutcher. My father was a rich man. Not in the sense that those of Arx consider rich, with material wealth, or actual power to move armies, but instead as a necessary and highly important piece of the puzzle that was Rivermuth, my home. He killed the pigs. Our little village partially revolved around pigs, for their leather, their meat, but more importantly the ritual slaughter of them, every New Moon. I cannot claim to fully understand our ways, their ways, rather, but I remember the motions, and paid lip service as best I could, considering my position.

Sickness, tragedy, imbalanced humors and lack of trade, all these things and more we're attributed to Unseen forces that governed all aspects of our lives, moving us like pieces on a Stones board. We feared them, respected them, paid them tribute. Then came the New Moon, when we would select choice pigs, several of the best, and fattest, and healthiest, and drive them into a special pen. Hours and hours were spent yelling and chanting at them, swirling our fire sticks at them and whipping them with lashes, herding them round and round. Our herblady would feed them some mysterious mixture of plants, insects, and fungus beforehand, and near the culmination of the Event, they would be left squealing and dazed, writhing on the ground and unable to stand, trembling with what was no doubt pure fear and confusion. Their belief, ours truly, at the time, was this was when the Unseen would enter them.

My father would say, 'Now they're in the grips'. And he would butcher them on the flat stone outcrop that we used soley for this sacred purpose. And then eat their cooked flesh. It was to make us stronger than the forces around us. More potent, virile, smarter, luckier, and all such manner of good things.

I have eaten more than my share of pork in life, and early on lost the taste for it.

I was a shame and disgrace to my father. My constant questioning of things did not help, but the source of Rivermuth's distaste for me began with my fits. I did not like the pigs being hurt. I did not like the men who stole losing hands. I did not like Birch branch whippings, being told to be quiet, or not having an equal portion of supper, being the youngest. So I rebelled the only way a small, young child knew how. I screamed and cried and kicked and pouted. I you are curious, I am still skilled at such tactics, but try others first, of course.

Then came the Grips. I cannot recall what age I was, I merely remember it was Summer, and a New Moon came around again. Watching passively while the pigs we're driven into a fervor, I smelled rain, or something like upturned earth, and felt chill for a moment. My next recollection was a crowd around me, shocked and scared. No, excuse me, it was weak to be scared in our culture, so that emotion was hidden like it always is, with anger and hate. They were angry at me. I had fallen under a spell reserved only for pigs pre-digestion, and I being the Hogsbutcher's daughter, no one knew what to make of this.

The Herblady decided the Unseen wanted more than pigs in their Grip, because these beings craved willpower, and human flesh to animate, and a role in the Seen world. I am surprised cannabilism was off the table. Instead, I became ostracized from my family, housed in the back shed, and a grand experiment for the Herblady. Her various remedies still wake me up at night. Scarred into my skin is a roadmap of her failed methods. Her thinking was, if the Unseen wanted in me, pain would drive them out. Then it was pinesap. Then fresh slugs. Then this, that, whatever straw she could grasp at, because while she was experimenting, I was still rebelling, and convulsing. And Rivermuth's certainty in their ways was tested. Better to skip the question than fail the test, it was recommended I be killed, or exiled.

Mercy of the Gods, it did not come to that, per se. Instead, we were raided by the warriors from the Hills. I saw many people die, including one of my brothers, and two of my sisters. My father was still fighting next to our burning hut when my mother secreted me and my older brother and sister, those left, away.

It was three days journey from the mouth of the river to the village in the Gray. Was it a village? The three houses in the Grey. Three houses and a small half-shed. We were accepted, the Hill warriors were well known. Until the Grips came upon me. My mother did the right thing. When faced with three children suffering exile, or just one, she packed me a small bag of cured pork and a skin of water, and left me out in the woods. It was not love, merely mercy, for she threatened to kill me if I returned.

I threw the pork in the bushes, and started walking.

Winter was on me quick, and in a hurry to show me it's full and unshielded face. I had spent some time in the woods, and gotten used to climbing trees in such a way that the onset of the Grips' could not shake me out. A belt is a mutilpurpose tool for the clever child. How old was I? I can't really tell you. As a pet pain, my birthday was not a celebration but a reminder of failure and shame for my superstitious family. I had my blood, but I doubt I will ever really 'fill out'. My adopted mother used that term a lot, but I am jumping ahead.

I survived the first and mildest winter, and I ate what the animals ate. I vomited a lot, then less, then none at all as I discerned a pattern. Animals with hair are a lot alike, it seemed, where birds in all their freedom could weather some fruits and insects better than I. I turned the terrifying and unknown bumps in the night slowly into recognizable sounds. I had possums as neighbors, two trees down, nestled in the roots of their big oak. I watched from spring to autumn as their offspring grew to be almost full size. I learned quickly that when you spot a running deer, you hide, and quick. Petrichor was father, mother, friend and guardian, but also a hard, stern teacher.

I eat meat. I once balked at animals being hurt, and yes, cruelty was unnecessary, respect should be given, but in my journey as a tree-dwelling teen, I had eaten mostly worms, berries, sparse fruits, and cooked the occasional scavenged corpse. When the Winter of Winters, as it was for me, came and snowed everything in, all of these things fled from my grasp. Bark was a terrible meal, and too much pine straw made me puke again, leaving me hungrier than ever.

To shorten this story, I will say I miss my possum neighbors. I mourn them far more than my own family, and if ever I am attributed with some great deed or accomplishment, let them too be known as those who sustained me, and kept Cerdensulathara from perishing early.

My hand hurts, and Abbie wants my attention, so I will send this by messenger to be recorded and finish my take again soon.

Give thanks for those beings, our equals in many ways, who have gotten you this far with their sacrifice, and if you have a pet, go hug them. They speak, if not Arvani, and listen, if not obviously.

Written By Joscelin

May 27, 2019, 2:24 a.m.(3/5/1011 AR)

I said all I needed to say in my proclamation and the slightly more pointed announcement to the Guild.

I have been the honored one to serve such a position, I felt honored to have been elected in the first place. I feel I've established policies that help the Guild flourish and still provide the Crafters with that rare ability to forge a measure of their collective future.

The Guild is stable, strong, and there is no better time in my opinion for a change of hands. Do we want to see the leadership change in times of struggle? No. Change can bring growth and new perspectives. I have faith in my people and the change they are capable of inflicting. It is time for another to guide us.

Perhaps in the future, when another election comes to pass, I will throw in my name a second time. But for now I am more than content to let go and have another take my place. Fresh eyes and all that.

That being said, I too hope I am kept on in some capacity, as adviser or assistant, at least for a time to help the newly elected acclimate. I wouldn't have been near as capable in my position if it weren't for the many hands that helped me steer. Ida and Morrighan, you've both been beyond invaluable in that regard. I literally wouldn't have found my footing without.

Written By Podraig

May 27, 2019, 1:33 a.m.(3/5/1011 AR)

Relationship Note on Natalia

It's only fitting to acknowledge my gracious employer in this first journal. She's dealt me a more than fair hand and I will not forget it. Even if she is 'strongly encouraging' me to put words here. I have her to thank for this new home and new experiences. The good and the bad. Don't know what else to write. She makes clothes. You should buy them.

Written By Braith

May 27, 2019, 12:35 a.m.(3/5/1011 AR)

Relationship Note on Theron

'Culture' is a word that could be argued in many ways. But sure, let us see you try to culture me on our next outing.

Written By Braith

May 27, 2019, 12:34 a.m.(3/5/1011 AR)

Relationship Note on Maja

I am not sure how a week goes by and we miss each other. Surely this something dastardly at work! We must remedy this fact dear Whisper of the Curls.

Written By Braith

May 27, 2019, 12:31 a.m.(3/5/1011 AR)

Relationship Note on Podraig

I am beginning to wonder how I even managed to survive my nightly outings without a personal guide back to the Manor before you. Surely I did not know the depths of my suffering until now. You deserve complete praise for making sure I do not die passed out in the snow on that few stumbling steps back. It could happen! This might also constitute you as an enabler. Just a thought.

Written By Calista

May 27, 2019, 12:25 a.m.(3/5/1011 AR)

Despite the snow and freezing temperatures, I fear this chill will remain ever present in my bones.

Written By Juliana

May 27, 2019, 12:05 a.m.(3/5/1011 AR)

Relationship Note on Luis

I love you to distraction, but if you don't find time to tell your sister and cousin that we are expecting a child, I might need to do something desperate.

Written By Jeffeth

May 26, 2019, 11:58 p.m.(3/5/1011 AR)

Relatively soon, in a ritual dedicated to Gloria, Dame Imi Deadfall and I will be taking to the field. For thirteen days we will step on the field at dawn and fight until we drop. The next day we will rise and do so again. Each day we will meet each challenge that comes to us and fight until we cannot any longer, all in honor to Gloria. We ask that any who seek to challenge us to bring a donation. A minimum of one silver piece. At the end of the thirteen days, all of the donations will be sacrificed to Gloria.

Come in any number, and come to honor Gloria. Thank you.

Written By Thena

May 26, 2019, 11:53 p.m.(3/5/1011 AR)

Relationship Note on Sudara

I like to think it’s the eye of one storm in a whole line of storms, one after the other, with some extra storms on the side, but then I’m not known for being a cheerful person.

Written By Eshra

May 26, 2019, 11:48 p.m.(3/5/1011 AR)

Relationship Note on Maru

I knew when I started the task of finding a wife for Athaur, that it would lead me down roads I had never considered traveling. I however did not realize exactly how far those roads would take me or what surprises awaited at the end.

House Seliki was one of those roads, your family one of those surprises. But you, my Lord was something so completely unexpected that I would have never believed to be possible. You have given me hope again.

Thank you.

Written By Jeffeth

May 26, 2019, 11:47 p.m.(3/5/1011 AR)

If you know how to read, know that I'm looking for you and I hope you're alright. You probably can't see this. But I want you to know I've been looking for you and I hope I will find how to find you soon. I'm leaving on a trip, it might help me find you. I promise if I do, I'll take care of you, we'll find a way to set things right. Just hang tight a little while longer.

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