Written By Aleksei
Jan. 16, 2024, 12:25 a.m.(7/23/1021 AR)
My parents are Hardwicke and Symanthe Morgan. My father is Captain of the Guard at Sanctum, and my mother is the best baker in the city. She's from Farhaven, originally. He's very uptight and she's very Northern, but they make it work.
My father is Hardwicke Morgan. The man who raised me every day of my life until I left. My dad.
But my other father, my father by blood, is Skald.
We're all Children of Skald, because he made humanity, but for some people, it's a bit more literal. It's Skald's bloodline that helped keep Legion bound for all those years, enough of them over centuries that he could be able to wander off without Legion getting loose. His bloodline was strongest up North, because that's where Legion was bound. Probably why the Mad Mage stories were the most popular up there.
(He isn't a mage. He doesn't _do_ magic, he _is_ magic.)
All I knew about my father by blood for years was that 1) he didn't like puns, and 2) he could disappear. I didn't get very far with that for a long time, until I ran into the right person at the right time. When she mentioned the name Skald, all I knew was the stories of the Mad Mage. We didn't know who the Lost Gods were back then. I didn't know anything about who he really was and he mentioned it.
I had a lot of feelings about it. A _lot_ of feelings. They weren't great feelings, for the most part. I didn't act great. There was a lot of yelling and a lot of me antagonizing because I didn't know what the fuck else to do. I'd spent so many years aggressively embracing the fact that I was _different_ from the rest of my family, and suddenly there was this guy that seemed like where all those differences came from, except he was better.
Obviously he was better. He was a god.
It took someone very, very smart, who I loved so much my heart ached, to make me understand: of course he was bigger and stronger and more powerful than me. But it didn't mean he was better at everything. It's kind of a wild thing, comparing yourself to a god, finding things you do better. Swordfighting. _People_. Skald's been around us a long time, so he's learned some things, but he's not human, and it's hard for him to learn how we work. Dumb shit, but somehow it made me feel a bit better about the whole thing.
The thing that's really stuck with me is how much he enjoyed humanity. His Children of Skald. Sure, he hated getting prayers about shit he couldn't do anything about, and he didn't want anyone asking him for guidance. Because he wanted us to choose. Some days, I've actually wondered if he isn't a bit envious of us. We're born, we grow, we learn so much, we fuck up. We become something _different_. That's a thing he can't ever do: be someone different. Be someone who's not him. The gods can only be what they are.
But us? We can do whatever we want. We can _be_ whatever we want. And that's so amazing, so _remarkable_, that it can make at least one god a little jealous.
I asked him what we were made of once, because someone asked me. He said mostly potential. And then a bunch of weird alchemy type words that I didn't know. Ammonia? Phosphorous? _Flourine_?! No fucking clue. I asked, and he said some of them were poison. Just a little bit.
Because he wanted us to be tough. He made us to choose, to be unfettered, and to _survive_. He made us to be capable of anything.
We're capable of this, Arvum. No matter what the odds seem to be. No matter how terrifying it is.
We're capable of this.
I don't know what secrets are worth anymore. I know that secrets makes our enemy stronger, but I don't know if there are enough secrets in the world that could weaken what's coming just by being spilled. But somehow, in this moment, with so many others offering their truth--
I dunno. Just seemed like the right thing to do.
My father is Hardwicke Morgan. The man who raised me every day of my life until I left. My dad.
But my other father, my father by blood, is Skald.
We're all Children of Skald, because he made humanity, but for some people, it's a bit more literal. It's Skald's bloodline that helped keep Legion bound for all those years, enough of them over centuries that he could be able to wander off without Legion getting loose. His bloodline was strongest up North, because that's where Legion was bound. Probably why the Mad Mage stories were the most popular up there.
(He isn't a mage. He doesn't _do_ magic, he _is_ magic.)
All I knew about my father by blood for years was that 1) he didn't like puns, and 2) he could disappear. I didn't get very far with that for a long time, until I ran into the right person at the right time. When she mentioned the name Skald, all I knew was the stories of the Mad Mage. We didn't know who the Lost Gods were back then. I didn't know anything about who he really was and he mentioned it.
I had a lot of feelings about it. A _lot_ of feelings. They weren't great feelings, for the most part. I didn't act great. There was a lot of yelling and a lot of me antagonizing because I didn't know what the fuck else to do. I'd spent so many years aggressively embracing the fact that I was _different_ from the rest of my family, and suddenly there was this guy that seemed like where all those differences came from, except he was better.
Obviously he was better. He was a god.
It took someone very, very smart, who I loved so much my heart ached, to make me understand: of course he was bigger and stronger and more powerful than me. But it didn't mean he was better at everything. It's kind of a wild thing, comparing yourself to a god, finding things you do better. Swordfighting. _People_. Skald's been around us a long time, so he's learned some things, but he's not human, and it's hard for him to learn how we work. Dumb shit, but somehow it made me feel a bit better about the whole thing.
The thing that's really stuck with me is how much he enjoyed humanity. His Children of Skald. Sure, he hated getting prayers about shit he couldn't do anything about, and he didn't want anyone asking him for guidance. Because he wanted us to choose. Some days, I've actually wondered if he isn't a bit envious of us. We're born, we grow, we learn so much, we fuck up. We become something _different_. That's a thing he can't ever do: be someone different. Be someone who's not him. The gods can only be what they are.
But us? We can do whatever we want. We can _be_ whatever we want. And that's so amazing, so _remarkable_, that it can make at least one god a little jealous.
I asked him what we were made of once, because someone asked me. He said mostly potential. And then a bunch of weird alchemy type words that I didn't know. Ammonia? Phosphorous? _Flourine_?! No fucking clue. I asked, and he said some of them were poison. Just a little bit.
Because he wanted us to be tough. He made us to choose, to be unfettered, and to _survive_. He made us to be capable of anything.
We're capable of this, Arvum. No matter what the odds seem to be. No matter how terrifying it is.
We're capable of this.
I don't know what secrets are worth anymore. I know that secrets makes our enemy stronger, but I don't know if there are enough secrets in the world that could weaken what's coming just by being spilled. But somehow, in this moment, with so many others offering their truth--
I dunno. Just seemed like the right thing to do.
Written By Aleksei
Dec. 23, 2023, 10:24 p.m.(6/5/1021 AR)
Freedom isn’t easy.
But it’s worth it.
It’s worth everything.
But it’s worth it.
It’s worth everything.
Written By Aleksei
Sept. 26, 2021, 4:33 p.m.(4/11/1016 AR)
Relationship Note on Nurie
I don't know what to say.
I was with Fitz when I first heard. It's such a weird thing, crying in front of your kid. Not that I'd ever want him to learn that he shouldn't grieve, shouldn't weep, but it's hard being so raw and vulnerable in front of him, and he
He remembers you. Of course. He liked you quite a lot. But with half his life spent with the Nox'alfar, death is so different for him. He didn't understand, Nurie. He didn't understand why I was grieving. And then he was almost angry when I tried to explain, to tell him that you wouldn't be back in a moment, a day, a week. That whenever your soul did come back around, it would be a long time from now, and you'd be a different person. I mean, he _knows_ all of that, it's just
He doesn't appreciate it, I guess.
But somehow it's easier writing about him right now than writing about you. You were so very special, Nurie. You cared so much, and loved so deeply, and asked so little in return. You deserved more of me, even if you never asked for it. I wish I'd had the courage to give you that. I wish I'd stolen more time with you. I wish I'd let things be simpler. I used to be so good at that.
I just wish we'd had more time. I wish I'd given you more. I wish I hadn't wasted the time we had. Your last letter is still there on my desk. Waiting for me to write back. I hadn't wanted to say goodbye. I wanted to just pretend like you'd be back in Arx soon enough. Sooner than you thought.
Gods, you deserved better from the whole world. Fuck. I miss you so fucking much already.
I was with Fitz when I first heard. It's such a weird thing, crying in front of your kid. Not that I'd ever want him to learn that he shouldn't grieve, shouldn't weep, but it's hard being so raw and vulnerable in front of him, and he
He remembers you. Of course. He liked you quite a lot. But with half his life spent with the Nox'alfar, death is so different for him. He didn't understand, Nurie. He didn't understand why I was grieving. And then he was almost angry when I tried to explain, to tell him that you wouldn't be back in a moment, a day, a week. That whenever your soul did come back around, it would be a long time from now, and you'd be a different person. I mean, he _knows_ all of that, it's just
He doesn't appreciate it, I guess.
But somehow it's easier writing about him right now than writing about you. You were so very special, Nurie. You cared so much, and loved so deeply, and asked so little in return. You deserved more of me, even if you never asked for it. I wish I'd had the courage to give you that. I wish I'd stolen more time with you. I wish I'd let things be simpler. I used to be so good at that.
I just wish we'd had more time. I wish I'd given you more. I wish I hadn't wasted the time we had. Your last letter is still there on my desk. Waiting for me to write back. I hadn't wanted to say goodbye. I wanted to just pretend like you'd be back in Arx soon enough. Sooner than you thought.
Gods, you deserved better from the whole world. Fuck. I miss you so fucking much already.
Written By Aleksei
May 10, 2021, 9:34 a.m.(6/12/1015 AR)
Relationship Note on Deva
You don't know how to SWIM?!
Written By Aleksei
May 2, 2021, 6:13 p.m.(5/25/1015 AR)
I'm alive! In case anyone was worried.
Written By Aleksei
Nov. 14, 2020, 9:12 p.m.(5/20/1014 AR)
Stones. Glass houses. Something like that.
Written By Aleksei
Nov. 13, 2020, 11 a.m.(5/17/1014 AR)
Relationship Note on Orazio
The Orazio I knew.
I met him in the Archive of Vellichor. He was very smart and having a very smart sort of conversation. I asked him if he knew a lot about the gods. It was a stupid question. He looked at me with this sort of expression of amused patience that I would become very, _very_ familiar with.
(He still didn't know much about the Lost Gods. None of us did, back then.)
I think I also referred to Aldwin as "that Archscholar guy" or something like that, and he looked at me with a look of deep, long-suffering pain. It was also an expression I'd become intense familiar with.
He lived through a plague. He watched his family die. His parents and siblings die. He watched them die slowly and painfully, and I can tell you that, decades later, he could still remember every detail.
He didn't lose everyone to that plague, but he lost them later. I don't think that I've ever known anyone who lost so much family he loved.
He was patient with me. He was frustrated and exasperated with me. He liked me a great deal and thought I was smart and passionate and funny. He would scold me when I called myself an idiot.
His opinion meant everything to me.
The Church meant everything to him. Not just the gods, not just the virtues themselves, but the Church. He'd lost one family, and so he gave everything to the family he found. He was viciously, ruthlessly smart -- he was Lycene -- but he wasn't very personally ambitious, wherever he ended up. His ambition was for the Church. It was to help people. He understood the Faith's place as an institution in the Compact better than anyone I knew. He saw the scope of things.
He believed in duty. He believed in his position as a service. Priests aren't barred from relationships, so long as they don't get in the way of their service and dedication to the Church, but his love was duty and the Faith. I think there was only one person he felt really softly for in that way in all the years I knew him. He didn't have dalliances with disciples, or people working under his authority, or anyone really who looked to him as a mentor. He had too much respect for that duty and responsibility. For the weight of his authority. It left very few people.
(Me? I was a "fine young man." Anyone would be "flattered by my attentions." He had a terrible habit of ruffling my hair in a way that made me want to die inside. I wouldn't have told him to stop doing it for the world.)
I remember him sitting on the floor of his room after too much whiskey mourning the loss of someone he couldn't save. I remember him telling me the worst of him that night. I remember something fitting together in my heart like a puzzle piece. I didn't realize it until later, what it was.
I remember the Vigil outside the Rectory. I remember sleeping on the steps, the daily terror that the whole mess would turn into a riot. That he'd be cut down, if I weren't right there to save him.
(I was right. It just didn't come until years later.)
He was so funny. Most people didn't know. He was in such deep need for friends who saw just Orazio, because he couldn't let his duty falter anywhere else. He got stuck with me. I did my best to make him laugh as much as I could. I'm pretty funny, too.
("No," he told me. "Holy whiskey. Holy shit we put in the fields, with Petrichor's blessing.")
(Also!! The terrible story he told me about two of his fellow soldiers during his soldiering days and how people keep _occupied_ while on _boring watch duty_ and what happens when one of them gets _startled_ with his _mouth full_ and oh my gods I had a full body cringe.)
He liked romantic poetry. He was an excellent dancer.
He found my instinct to trust people both deeply frustrating and somehow strangely admirable. I was good at some things he wasn't. I wasn't good at any of the things he was best at, though.
He never doubted my intentions. He sometimes doubted my self-awareness, but he was right to.
I saw him. I think he needed to be seen.
I remember the look on his face during my vows, when he dropped in a _brand new set of vows_ for the Lost Gods, and he didn't _warn me_, and I cursed in the Cathedral. Honestly, I'm pretty sure he was about to kill me. (It was his own fault! He knew how nervous I was!)
I took something from him, when I took my vows. He was happy, and he deeply believed in me, but when he ended up in charge of me, he lost something. He couldn't let himself be the same sort of friend after that. He had his duty.
(I still tried. I still did my best.)
I wasn't very good at a lot of my priest duties when I started. He sent me to etiquette classes. He didn't throw me out when I showed up in his chambers in the middle of the night to freak out about messing everything up.
(He was very, _very patient with me.)
He wrote me a letter once and I framed it. "Aleksei. Aleksei. No. You're a member of the Faith, now, and whatever you're thinking about doing, it will likely not enhance the dignity of the Faith."
(I don't even remember what I was talking about doing. Something about taking my clothes off for something, I think.)
It was one of my most treasured possessions for a long time. I sacrificed it for something very important. I wish I still had it.
I gave my confession to him once. Watched him record it in my Black Reflection. In the end, I made him write, "I would like to add that Father Orazio, Legate of Concepts, Shield of the Faith, is one of the greatest assets the Faith has. And my best friend. That's all." I wanted him to have to say something nice about himself. The look he gave me was priceless. But he wrote it. It was his duty.
The worst thing I ever did to him, that hurt him more than anything else, was leave the Faith. I broke something between us, then. Not fully healing that, not being able to truly find my way back to our friendship as it was, will remain one of the greatest regrets of my entire life.
I've loved him every day of my life for almost a decade. Sometimes, right now, I almost wish that death changed that. Because he took part of me with him.
But mostly I don't. I think he needed someone in his life who loved him like that. He didn't think he deserved it.
But he did.
I met him in the Archive of Vellichor. He was very smart and having a very smart sort of conversation. I asked him if he knew a lot about the gods. It was a stupid question. He looked at me with this sort of expression of amused patience that I would become very, _very_ familiar with.
(He still didn't know much about the Lost Gods. None of us did, back then.)
I think I also referred to Aldwin as "that Archscholar guy" or something like that, and he looked at me with a look of deep, long-suffering pain. It was also an expression I'd become intense familiar with.
He lived through a plague. He watched his family die. His parents and siblings die. He watched them die slowly and painfully, and I can tell you that, decades later, he could still remember every detail.
He didn't lose everyone to that plague, but he lost them later. I don't think that I've ever known anyone who lost so much family he loved.
He was patient with me. He was frustrated and exasperated with me. He liked me a great deal and thought I was smart and passionate and funny. He would scold me when I called myself an idiot.
His opinion meant everything to me.
The Church meant everything to him. Not just the gods, not just the virtues themselves, but the Church. He'd lost one family, and so he gave everything to the family he found. He was viciously, ruthlessly smart -- he was Lycene -- but he wasn't very personally ambitious, wherever he ended up. His ambition was for the Church. It was to help people. He understood the Faith's place as an institution in the Compact better than anyone I knew. He saw the scope of things.
He believed in duty. He believed in his position as a service. Priests aren't barred from relationships, so long as they don't get in the way of their service and dedication to the Church, but his love was duty and the Faith. I think there was only one person he felt really softly for in that way in all the years I knew him. He didn't have dalliances with disciples, or people working under his authority, or anyone really who looked to him as a mentor. He had too much respect for that duty and responsibility. For the weight of his authority. It left very few people.
(Me? I was a "fine young man." Anyone would be "flattered by my attentions." He had a terrible habit of ruffling my hair in a way that made me want to die inside. I wouldn't have told him to stop doing it for the world.)
I remember him sitting on the floor of his room after too much whiskey mourning the loss of someone he couldn't save. I remember him telling me the worst of him that night. I remember something fitting together in my heart like a puzzle piece. I didn't realize it until later, what it was.
I remember the Vigil outside the Rectory. I remember sleeping on the steps, the daily terror that the whole mess would turn into a riot. That he'd be cut down, if I weren't right there to save him.
(I was right. It just didn't come until years later.)
He was so funny. Most people didn't know. He was in such deep need for friends who saw just Orazio, because he couldn't let his duty falter anywhere else. He got stuck with me. I did my best to make him laugh as much as I could. I'm pretty funny, too.
("No," he told me. "Holy whiskey. Holy shit we put in the fields, with Petrichor's blessing.")
(Also!! The terrible story he told me about two of his fellow soldiers during his soldiering days and how people keep _occupied_ while on _boring watch duty_ and what happens when one of them gets _startled_ with his _mouth full_ and oh my gods I had a full body cringe.)
He liked romantic poetry. He was an excellent dancer.
He found my instinct to trust people both deeply frustrating and somehow strangely admirable. I was good at some things he wasn't. I wasn't good at any of the things he was best at, though.
He never doubted my intentions. He sometimes doubted my self-awareness, but he was right to.
I saw him. I think he needed to be seen.
I remember the look on his face during my vows, when he dropped in a _brand new set of vows_ for the Lost Gods, and he didn't _warn me_, and I cursed in the Cathedral. Honestly, I'm pretty sure he was about to kill me. (It was his own fault! He knew how nervous I was!)
I took something from him, when I took my vows. He was happy, and he deeply believed in me, but when he ended up in charge of me, he lost something. He couldn't let himself be the same sort of friend after that. He had his duty.
(I still tried. I still did my best.)
I wasn't very good at a lot of my priest duties when I started. He sent me to etiquette classes. He didn't throw me out when I showed up in his chambers in the middle of the night to freak out about messing everything up.
(He was very, _very patient with me.)
He wrote me a letter once and I framed it. "Aleksei. Aleksei. No. You're a member of the Faith, now, and whatever you're thinking about doing, it will likely not enhance the dignity of the Faith."
(I don't even remember what I was talking about doing. Something about taking my clothes off for something, I think.)
It was one of my most treasured possessions for a long time. I sacrificed it for something very important. I wish I still had it.
I gave my confession to him once. Watched him record it in my Black Reflection. In the end, I made him write, "I would like to add that Father Orazio, Legate of Concepts, Shield of the Faith, is one of the greatest assets the Faith has. And my best friend. That's all." I wanted him to have to say something nice about himself. The look he gave me was priceless. But he wrote it. It was his duty.
The worst thing I ever did to him, that hurt him more than anything else, was leave the Faith. I broke something between us, then. Not fully healing that, not being able to truly find my way back to our friendship as it was, will remain one of the greatest regrets of my entire life.
I've loved him every day of my life for almost a decade. Sometimes, right now, I almost wish that death changed that. Because he took part of me with him.
But mostly I don't. I think he needed someone in his life who loved him like that. He didn't think he deserved it.
But he did.
Written By Aleksei
Aug. 26, 2020, 4:52 p.m.(11/28/1013 AR)
Relationship Note on Saedrus
I miss you.
Written By Aleksei
July 29, 2020, 9:07 a.m.(9/27/1013 AR)
What the FUCK happened?!
Written By Aleksei
June 24, 2020, 8:44 p.m.(7/14/1013 AR)
Relationship Note on Nurie
For what it's worth? If my opinion means anything?
I think she'd make an amazing member of the Commoners Council.
I think she'd make an amazing member of the Commoners Council.
Written By Aleksei
June 9, 2020, 8:36 a.m.(6/11/1013 AR)
Til every chain is broken.
Written By Aleksei
May 13, 2020, 10:19 a.m.(4/13/1013 AR)
You called for Champions! Why are people still arguing!
Nobles are terrible at everything.
Nobles are terrible at everything.
Written By Aleksei
Feb. 18, 2020, 2:02 p.m.(10.396842757936508/16.223194444444445/1012.783070229828 AR)
Honestly, at this point I think most people like my kid more than me.
Also my dog.
I absolutely don't blame them.
Also my dog.
I absolutely don't blame them.
Written By Aleksei
Nov. 14, 2019, 7 a.m.(3/12/1012 AR)
Also, nobles should keep to challenging other nobles. Yeesh.
Written By Aleksei
Nov. 14, 2019, 6:59 a.m.(3/12/1012 AR)
Thralldom _is_ slavery. That is exactly how it was born and exactly how it grew. Pretending that's not the case is just arguing semantics to soothe consciences.
But the way some people write, you'd think they had their head under a rock for the past year. Calling the person who finally had the courage and resolve to see the practice ended after centuries of use a "Prince of Slavers" is--
Well, it's just kind of dumb. Where has she even been?
Also I am deeply offended at the idea that the Faith didn't speak out against thralldom enough because that's nearly all I did as Archlector.
But the way some people write, you'd think they had their head under a rock for the past year. Calling the person who finally had the courage and resolve to see the practice ended after centuries of use a "Prince of Slavers" is--
Well, it's just kind of dumb. Where has she even been?
Also I am deeply offended at the idea that the Faith didn't speak out against thralldom enough because that's nearly all I did as Archlector.
Written By Aleksei
Nov. 12, 2019, 11:14 a.m.(3/8/1012 AR)
I always like to think that I've mostly shed the Oathlands from my skin. I never fit in Sanctum. I spent ten years staying away from it, because even the thought of stepping foot back in the city, of facing up to family I hadn't seen in a decade, that I'd run away from without a word for months as a stupid as fuck teenager.
Sanctum is difficult. It is unyielding. For me, growing up, it was humorless and demanding. I couldn't stay there and survive.
I like to think it couldn't touch me. That no part of it managed to get past my skin and seep into my bones and blood.
But sometimes there are moments. Like walking into a shrine of the Faith, sanctified holy ground, and seeing a fight. A _fight_. To find out that someone literally attempted to ambush another person. He just wanted to land a single hit, not do serious or lasting harm, so he's likely going to avoid the worst consequences of breaking Sanctuary. But in that moment, I could feel the sort of offense I know my father would have felt. That cold, unyielding fury.
Once, when I was about eleven or twelve, we were at the Shrine of Limerance in Sanctum for one of the many, many public ceremonies of vow and oath swearing and the like; I can't even remember whose it was at this point. I was bored out of my mind. Fidgeting, antsy. I was trying to distract and hassle my brother Holden, which has always been a challenge. (Yes, has been that implacable since birth. Trying to get Holden's stoicism to break has been a lifetime's pursuit.) I could feel my father start to notice my attempts. The way he was tensing up -- and he was always tense already. I knew I was going to be in for it when we got home, but I was a stupid kid and generally I figured the fun was worth the lecture later. But there was a moment when I got too rough about it, trying to shove and jab, and that's when I felt my father's hand on my shoulder. He was careful. It didn't hurt, but it was warning, and when I finally looked back up at him, I saw that it was going to be worse than a lecture. I wasn't just being a brat, I had stepped up to a line that was sacred. Literally sacred. I was used to my father's constant frustration with me, but he was _furious_. I don't think I stopped doing chores -- the worst that he could come up with -- for about a month. For a careless shove of my shoulder.
Most people in Arx aren't from the Oathlands, and won't really understand the difference. But I'm not exaggerating when I say that someone slapping another person across the face in a Sanctum shrine could be grounds for execution. There's no _bend_ there. It's the sort of inflexibility that drove me nuts as a kid, and it's almost unnerving to feel flashes of it now as an adult after so long. But all I could feel when I walked into that shrine -- Skald's shrine, the shrine that was once in my care, that I'll still always feel responsible for -- was an incredulity and offense that went beyond the pale. That someone would so willfully disrespect holy ground. That someone could have that little care for the gods.
All I'm saying is: Ras is lucky he didn't do this in Sanctum. And that he had an Archlector there who was working so hard to try and guide him, and who made sure that he didn't face immediate physical punishment. But there's very little you can do to help when someone refuses to listen. Or _stop attempting violence of holy ground in front of people_.
Sanctum is difficult. It is unyielding. For me, growing up, it was humorless and demanding. I couldn't stay there and survive.
I like to think it couldn't touch me. That no part of it managed to get past my skin and seep into my bones and blood.
But sometimes there are moments. Like walking into a shrine of the Faith, sanctified holy ground, and seeing a fight. A _fight_. To find out that someone literally attempted to ambush another person. He just wanted to land a single hit, not do serious or lasting harm, so he's likely going to avoid the worst consequences of breaking Sanctuary. But in that moment, I could feel the sort of offense I know my father would have felt. That cold, unyielding fury.
Once, when I was about eleven or twelve, we were at the Shrine of Limerance in Sanctum for one of the many, many public ceremonies of vow and oath swearing and the like; I can't even remember whose it was at this point. I was bored out of my mind. Fidgeting, antsy. I was trying to distract and hassle my brother Holden, which has always been a challenge. (Yes, has been that implacable since birth. Trying to get Holden's stoicism to break has been a lifetime's pursuit.) I could feel my father start to notice my attempts. The way he was tensing up -- and he was always tense already. I knew I was going to be in for it when we got home, but I was a stupid kid and generally I figured the fun was worth the lecture later. But there was a moment when I got too rough about it, trying to shove and jab, and that's when I felt my father's hand on my shoulder. He was careful. It didn't hurt, but it was warning, and when I finally looked back up at him, I saw that it was going to be worse than a lecture. I wasn't just being a brat, I had stepped up to a line that was sacred. Literally sacred. I was used to my father's constant frustration with me, but he was _furious_. I don't think I stopped doing chores -- the worst that he could come up with -- for about a month. For a careless shove of my shoulder.
Most people in Arx aren't from the Oathlands, and won't really understand the difference. But I'm not exaggerating when I say that someone slapping another person across the face in a Sanctum shrine could be grounds for execution. There's no _bend_ there. It's the sort of inflexibility that drove me nuts as a kid, and it's almost unnerving to feel flashes of it now as an adult after so long. But all I could feel when I walked into that shrine -- Skald's shrine, the shrine that was once in my care, that I'll still always feel responsible for -- was an incredulity and offense that went beyond the pale. That someone would so willfully disrespect holy ground. That someone could have that little care for the gods.
All I'm saying is: Ras is lucky he didn't do this in Sanctum. And that he had an Archlector there who was working so hard to try and guide him, and who made sure that he didn't face immediate physical punishment. But there's very little you can do to help when someone refuses to listen. Or _stop attempting violence of holy ground in front of people_.
Written By Aleksei
Nov. 1, 2019, 6:38 a.m.(2/14/1012 AR)
Pretty sure I've seen the Seraph of Choice wearing steelsilk.
Then again, knowing her, she probably stole it from Cardia.
Probably some slaves along with it, too.
Then again, knowing her, she probably stole it from Cardia.
Probably some slaves along with it, too.
Written By Aleksei
Oct. 9, 2019, 2:40 p.m.(12/24/1011 AR)
The Metallic Order went to treat peacefully with Cardia once.
They were burned to ash under their white banner.
They were burned to ash under their white banner.
Written By Aleksei
Aug. 25, 2019, 11:52 a.m.(9/18/1011 AR)
Accepting a challenge is not the time to go on an extensive defense of your position. It's a bad look. The point is to leave it to the duel.
Written By Aleksei
Aug. 1, 2019, 4:49 p.m.(7/26/1011 AR)
Champions are not beholden to stand for anyone who will ask them. And when it comes to trial by combat, we usually have a higher standard for how strongly we need to believe in a person's cause. And for good reason: there's a difference between petty slights and actual crimes, even if they're the small sorts that Champions might still be asked for. (Once the crime is a serious, capital offense, it's no longer our place.)
If a Champion doesn't believe a person innocent of a crime, then, morally, they shouldn't stand on their behalf in trial by combat. These are not duels of entertainment.
If a Champion doesn't believe a person innocent of a crime, then, morally, they shouldn't stand on their behalf in trial by combat. These are not duels of entertainment.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.