Written By Apollo
Jan. 31, 2024, 9:08 p.m.(8/27/1021 AR)
Tonight I put back on my shelves and drawers and walls:
A copper talisman for wearing in the hair, that was given me as a gift on a journey north by frightened Abandoned; poetry about what grief grows in the dark, and one such bloom; a painting of me, given unasked; jewelry, from a woman who will always inspire. A box of spices from a city I'll likely never visit again. A lover's handkerchief I've had near a decade. A favor from a wedding of a friend I haven't seen in half as long. Masks never worn to a masquerade, that tell a story I no longer believe. Gifts given when our children was born. Art done for the king, and signed with his hand. The sign that once hung over my shop. A decoration made to remember a town settled and sworn. The first sketch my wife ever made of me.
We've lost so much. And my heart hurts for it, it does. But seeing the faces yet alive down below, holding my children when the work was done. Putting all that back. It let me remember that we haven't lost everything. Now, to rest, and remember. Soon, to recover, rebuild.
A copper talisman for wearing in the hair, that was given me as a gift on a journey north by frightened Abandoned; poetry about what grief grows in the dark, and one such bloom; a painting of me, given unasked; jewelry, from a woman who will always inspire. A box of spices from a city I'll likely never visit again. A lover's handkerchief I've had near a decade. A favor from a wedding of a friend I haven't seen in half as long. Masks never worn to a masquerade, that tell a story I no longer believe. Gifts given when our children was born. Art done for the king, and signed with his hand. The sign that once hung over my shop. A decoration made to remember a town settled and sworn. The first sketch my wife ever made of me.
We've lost so much. And my heart hurts for it, it does. But seeing the faces yet alive down below, holding my children when the work was done. Putting all that back. It let me remember that we haven't lost everything. Now, to rest, and remember. Soon, to recover, rebuild.
Written By Apollo
Jan. 30, 2024, 8:46 p.m.(8/25/1021 AR)
Tonight, I heard someone say that if Azazel allows any of us to survive, there will be ample time for regret.
Azazel doesn't get to allow anything. He doesn't get to choose. We do.
Azazel doesn't get to allow anything. He doesn't get to choose. We do.
Written By Apollo
Jan. 30, 2024, 5:49 p.m.(8/25/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Avary
I met Archlector Avary somewhat by accident. My accident, not hers. I don't inquire after every question that crosses my mind - I'd never have the time - but it happened I had one about The Sentinel one day, and I wrote to her. It was a simple missive, not more than a sentence or two, a question about the doctrine of the Faith of the Pantheon. Does the Sentinel judge us only at our deaths?
A curiosity. It likely might have been answered in a word, a sentence, a single brief paragraph at most, and I would have been satisfied.
But what I received was pages. Pages, taking apart the question I had, relating it not only to Faith doctrine as it currently stands, but to history, the tempers of various holdings, why one might ask such a question, why it might or might not matter, and how her answers might be applied to how choices are made by living souls, trying to make their way through a life guided by faith but not dominated by it. Most people, in other words.
I find fewer things in life more gratifying, more rewarding, than a conversation with someone who cares about the matter at hand.
In days that followed, I met with her for further conversation. Corresponded a bit more. Received, on every occasion, that same deliberate thoughtfulness. The Sentinel is the most recondite of the gods of the Pantheon, she told me. And she hoped to change that. To guide an understanding of The Sentinel, of the principles of faith that would inform peoples' choices in ways small and large.
I found in our conversations an understanding of justice that includes empathy, context, forgiveness. Lives to be guided by intention, and evaluated not at their ends, neither our finest nor most terrible moments, but as a continuity, decisions we are to make made with reflection on the ones we have. And I also found a good deal of hope. That if the Faith - even part of it - is in the care of such a thoughtful heart, then the next generation might come of age with a model for how they might decide things for themselves, with due care.
And I found in her a companionship that nothing will replace. I can't say if she felt the same. She might have thought me a nuisance, and merely tolerated my presence. I considered her a friend, and saw ahead a hundred conversations we might have, if they proved more enjoyable than nuisance.
I saw her there on Sovereign bridge the other night. Wounded, and stepping only deeper into the path of harm. I tried to protect her. I didn't understand what she meant to do. When she spent her last breath shattering that mirror, my heart broke. No more conversations. Her ambitions withered on the vine. I had hoped to see who she would be while we rebuild the world. How it would differ for her attention and care.
And now I won't. And I do not think her death poorly spent. I understand now that what I saw in her as she approached that mirror was not desperation but a considered determination. A decision made and an intention carried through.
But I wish she were still with us. I will be mourning her for a very long time.
A curiosity. It likely might have been answered in a word, a sentence, a single brief paragraph at most, and I would have been satisfied.
But what I received was pages. Pages, taking apart the question I had, relating it not only to Faith doctrine as it currently stands, but to history, the tempers of various holdings, why one might ask such a question, why it might or might not matter, and how her answers might be applied to how choices are made by living souls, trying to make their way through a life guided by faith but not dominated by it. Most people, in other words.
I find fewer things in life more gratifying, more rewarding, than a conversation with someone who cares about the matter at hand.
In days that followed, I met with her for further conversation. Corresponded a bit more. Received, on every occasion, that same deliberate thoughtfulness. The Sentinel is the most recondite of the gods of the Pantheon, she told me. And she hoped to change that. To guide an understanding of The Sentinel, of the principles of faith that would inform peoples' choices in ways small and large.
I found in our conversations an understanding of justice that includes empathy, context, forgiveness. Lives to be guided by intention, and evaluated not at their ends, neither our finest nor most terrible moments, but as a continuity, decisions we are to make made with reflection on the ones we have. And I also found a good deal of hope. That if the Faith - even part of it - is in the care of such a thoughtful heart, then the next generation might come of age with a model for how they might decide things for themselves, with due care.
And I found in her a companionship that nothing will replace. I can't say if she felt the same. She might have thought me a nuisance, and merely tolerated my presence. I considered her a friend, and saw ahead a hundred conversations we might have, if they proved more enjoyable than nuisance.
I saw her there on Sovereign bridge the other night. Wounded, and stepping only deeper into the path of harm. I tried to protect her. I didn't understand what she meant to do. When she spent her last breath shattering that mirror, my heart broke. No more conversations. Her ambitions withered on the vine. I had hoped to see who she would be while we rebuild the world. How it would differ for her attention and care.
And now I won't. And I do not think her death poorly spent. I understand now that what I saw in her as she approached that mirror was not desperation but a considered determination. A decision made and an intention carried through.
But I wish she were still with us. I will be mourning her for a very long time.
Written By Apollo
Jan. 27, 2024, 1:12 p.m.(8/18/1021 AR)
I have armored thousands in my time as a tanner. At my elevation I gave up my shop and mercantile ambitions in favor of the care of Nilanza and its people. I never did stop tanning and armoring, nor passing what I'd learnt to the tanners of Nilanza, the Crafters Guild here in Arx, and anywhere I found a tanner willing and wanting to learn. I simply don't do it for coin anymore. It was the first of my arts, and may always be my best.
There are those who stepped into my shop and had their armor out and never thought about it too much ever again, I'm sure. Not all armor appears to the eye as art, might not seem to have any story to it at all.
But every piece of armor I have ever made has a story. Is a story. It's a tale about the person wearing it doing difficult things. Things they're afraid of. Knowing that where they will wear it they may well find blades or teeth set on their devouring. A story about willingly stepping into danger.
A story about trust. Placed in me, and my work, and my will - not my hope, but my will - that they return from danger whole. That they bear into their battles and dangers some small peace, that their life will not be cheaply spent.
Some I have armored over the years have returned to me to tell me: I think this armor saved my life. I think I would have died. Death comes as she will, the stories of our lives end. I don't seek to deny Death her due. Only to see lives given a chance, stretched to their fullness, the potential of those souls in my care realized as much as they can.
Others I've armored stepped into their danger have met their first strike and died. Not for lack of skill or attention or my will that they survive but for luck, for being outmatched. I have grieved so bitterly, some of them, when I've known. Questioned my skill and the hours invested. Might I have done just a little more?
The answer is: I have done what I have done, the past written. And yet I make notes in the margins. Revisit old armor and give it new care. Put my best on them that have never worn it before, and them that have. My work continues, and will until the day is decided. Could I armor all of Arvum, the Dream itself, I would. I will do what I can.
If you wear my armor into battle - anything I've made into danger - know this. I would that you see your next day. That is what you wear, nothing inert at all. Wear it, use it, burn it, as you need. That is what it's for. Should it be spent, destroyed, protecting more than just yourself, I will celebrate, and armor you anew for the asking after the dust has settled.
Now, to the defense of Arx, and the Dream.
There are those who stepped into my shop and had their armor out and never thought about it too much ever again, I'm sure. Not all armor appears to the eye as art, might not seem to have any story to it at all.
But every piece of armor I have ever made has a story. Is a story. It's a tale about the person wearing it doing difficult things. Things they're afraid of. Knowing that where they will wear it they may well find blades or teeth set on their devouring. A story about willingly stepping into danger.
A story about trust. Placed in me, and my work, and my will - not my hope, but my will - that they return from danger whole. That they bear into their battles and dangers some small peace, that their life will not be cheaply spent.
Some I have armored over the years have returned to me to tell me: I think this armor saved my life. I think I would have died. Death comes as she will, the stories of our lives end. I don't seek to deny Death her due. Only to see lives given a chance, stretched to their fullness, the potential of those souls in my care realized as much as they can.
Others I've armored stepped into their danger have met their first strike and died. Not for lack of skill or attention or my will that they survive but for luck, for being outmatched. I have grieved so bitterly, some of them, when I've known. Questioned my skill and the hours invested. Might I have done just a little more?
The answer is: I have done what I have done, the past written. And yet I make notes in the margins. Revisit old armor and give it new care. Put my best on them that have never worn it before, and them that have. My work continues, and will until the day is decided. Could I armor all of Arvum, the Dream itself, I would. I will do what I can.
If you wear my armor into battle - anything I've made into danger - know this. I would that you see your next day. That is what you wear, nothing inert at all. Wear it, use it, burn it, as you need. That is what it's for. Should it be spent, destroyed, protecting more than just yourself, I will celebrate, and armor you anew for the asking after the dust has settled.
Now, to the defense of Arx, and the Dream.
Written By Apollo
Jan. 16, 2024, 4:34 p.m.(7/25/1021 AR)
Relationship Note on Jaenelle
I hope that our people understand why we chose to stand at Lenosia, rather than Nilanza. I know the journey there cannot possibly be easy. Such a journey is toil for those fit and hale. And we've asked our holdings emptied entirely. There are children, expecting mothers, the elderly, infirm. Refugees and the many injured in wars without respite. They are asked to take little with them, and to trust that there will be enough when they arrive. That they will find welcome, sustenance, solace, safe harbor.
In all of Arvum, there are none I would trust more to provide it than Archduchess Jaenelle Velenosa. Her effort, seen over the last decade, has been to fortify the Lyceum entire. To help us build our holdings and raise up our people, to celebrate their successes and soothe in time of need. At her expense. She might have used her formidable command, her might and cleverness, only for Lenosia itself. The oaths sworn between liege and vassal do not demand the way she has built us all up. Conventional wisdom might have suggested she shouldn't. There are those who might argue that, grown under her watch, we would only use what she's given to usurp her. The world can be a brutal place. The Lyceum, particularly cutthroat.
It takes magnificent vision and extraordinary leadership to achieve what she has.
To the people of Nilanza: we care for you deeply. She has shown she cares no less. We will fight to keep Lenosia whole, and our people - those of Nilanza, Lenosia, and the Lyceum together - safe. We fight together to save us all.
In all of Arvum, there are none I would trust more to provide it than Archduchess Jaenelle Velenosa. Her effort, seen over the last decade, has been to fortify the Lyceum entire. To help us build our holdings and raise up our people, to celebrate their successes and soothe in time of need. At her expense. She might have used her formidable command, her might and cleverness, only for Lenosia itself. The oaths sworn between liege and vassal do not demand the way she has built us all up. Conventional wisdom might have suggested she shouldn't. There are those who might argue that, grown under her watch, we would only use what she's given to usurp her. The world can be a brutal place. The Lyceum, particularly cutthroat.
It takes magnificent vision and extraordinary leadership to achieve what she has.
To the people of Nilanza: we care for you deeply. She has shown she cares no less. We will fight to keep Lenosia whole, and our people - those of Nilanza, Lenosia, and the Lyceum together - safe. We fight together to save us all.
Written By Apollo
Jan. 16, 2024, 4:10 p.m.(7/25/1021 AR)
The boiling heat one summer fair,
stood on the cliffs of Nilanza;
a dozen souls were gathered there,
stood on the cliffs of Nilanza.
The word had come for them too late,
now stood on the cliffs of Nilanza;
the banners' mouths bore down their fate,
there on the cliffs of Nilanza.
And so instead, to sea below,
they leapt from the cliffs of Nilanza;
their ending in the undertow,
the sea off the cliffs of Nilanza.
Their answers when the Queen they meet,
there off the cliffs of Nilanza;
"At least the sea is meant to eat,"
their choice, off the cliffs of Nilanza.
stood on the cliffs of Nilanza;
a dozen souls were gathered there,
stood on the cliffs of Nilanza.
The word had come for them too late,
now stood on the cliffs of Nilanza;
the banners' mouths bore down their fate,
there on the cliffs of Nilanza.
And so instead, to sea below,
they leapt from the cliffs of Nilanza;
their ending in the undertow,
the sea off the cliffs of Nilanza.
Their answers when the Queen they meet,
there off the cliffs of Nilanza;
"At least the sea is meant to eat,"
their choice, off the cliffs of Nilanza.
Written By Apollo
Jan. 9, 2024, 2:36 p.m.(7/10/1021 AR)
What do worship and devotion mean to you? How do they differ?
Written By Apollo
Dec. 14, 2023, 11:32 p.m.(5/15/1021 AR)
They come for us, and think us small,
But measured by a sober eye
Our size is not the point at all.
The history we can't recall:
From labyrinth low and tower high
They come for us, and think us small.
Unshapen dream, bound by no wall,
But formed by attentive eye -
Our size is not the point at all.
Would see us die or have us crawl -
how foolish, when we make to try!
They come for us, and think us small.
While hollow bones weren't made to fall,
Not every leap will make us fly;
Our size is not the point at all.
Wings outstretched, breadth in the caul
Her shape against the vastest sky
They come for us, and think us small:
Our size is not the point at all.
But measured by a sober eye
Our size is not the point at all.
The history we can't recall:
From labyrinth low and tower high
They come for us, and think us small.
Unshapen dream, bound by no wall,
But formed by attentive eye -
Our size is not the point at all.
Would see us die or have us crawl -
how foolish, when we make to try!
They come for us, and think us small.
While hollow bones weren't made to fall,
Not every leap will make us fly;
Our size is not the point at all.
Wings outstretched, breadth in the caul
Her shape against the vastest sky
They come for us, and think us small:
Our size is not the point at all.
Written By Apollo
Nov. 7, 2021, 2:31 a.m.(7/9/1016 AR)
Relationship Note on Rosalind
And always present.
Written By Apollo
July 3, 2021, 3:23 p.m.(10/9/1015 AR)
I hope nobody thinks rose leather is made by taking hides otherwise suited for armoring and undermining their protective quality. In my time in the city, kidskin has not found much favor, despite its suitability for many applications where protection was not a priority. Rose tanned leather marries together a lightly structural quality, visually, in contrast with most available fabrics - a feature of leather in general - but also has a wonderful quality of movement. It might not be suited to fighters (or at least, not for a protective purpose), but it has a wonderful quality of movement. I've imagined dancers and performers of all sorts favoring it for that, and - for those who prefer to remain very light and nimble in a fight, it allows one to maintain the aesthetic of a leather set without further encumberance.
Of course, tastes differ. I was glad to lend expertise to its development. I think that the more we inquire into the potential in various materials - not for one single purpose, but for many - the likelier we are to find inspiration for others. There are things I couldn't have understood without working on each of the materials I've had a hand in, and thought I couldn't say what that understanding will yield, I think that ground more fertile than it would have been otherwise.
Of course, tastes differ. I was glad to lend expertise to its development. I think that the more we inquire into the potential in various materials - not for one single purpose, but for many - the likelier we are to find inspiration for others. There are things I couldn't have understood without working on each of the materials I've had a hand in, and thought I couldn't say what that understanding will yield, I think that ground more fertile than it would have been otherwise.
Written By Apollo
July 3, 2021, 2:58 p.m.(10/9/1015 AR)
The masquerade on our return from Nilanza was as lovely as anything I could have hoped. Lianne's inspired idea to make a hunt of different sorts of conversation yielded an inarguable conviviality, and though I don't know if anyone revealed their identity to carry new friendships forward, I've no doubt people met others they'd have not spoken with ordinarily. Perhaps those were the seeds, and down the line a memory of a voice will coax the sprouting. Who's to say.
To those who attended: your stories were magnificent, the dancing delightful, and your willingness to run around barefoot in celebration with us, inspiring. Thank you.
To those who attended: your stories were magnificent, the dancing delightful, and your willingness to run around barefoot in celebration with us, inspiring. Thank you.
Written By Apollo
June 20, 2021, 9:49 p.m.(9/11/1015 AR)
Calm, small heart. Such distance come from the darkest day;
arms around more present, your gift the comfort of a friend.
You wake, and wake, and waking is an end;
the sun will rise, and you will make your way.
arms around more present, your gift the comfort of a friend.
You wake, and wake, and waking is an end;
the sun will rise, and you will make your way.
Written By Apollo
June 6, 2021, 8:23 p.m.(8/11/1015 AR)
Relationship Note on Savio
On commissions, I make my request -
I give details then give it a rest.
What the artist will find
in their fine, fertile mind?
I will love, as they give it their best.
I give details then give it a rest.
What the artist will find
in their fine, fertile mind?
I will love, as they give it their best.
Written By Apollo
May 30, 2021, 7:46 p.m.(7/25/1015 AR)
At the poetry event hosted by Marquessa Lianne and Mockingbird Evaristo today, I got to indulge in two of my very favorite things: poetry and collaboration. I met Prince Raimon Thrax, who the whites have shown is an accomplished poet, and had the chance to write with him on the topic of time. Our verse played with themes of tides and the long changes that eclipse entire human lifetimes. He's an agreeable soul, and enthusiastic, and a wonderful collaborator. It seems the Mockingbird will set our piece to music, which I look forward to hearing very much.
It's interesting to me, the breadth of themes that fall under this broad topic. There were poems written about parents and their children, about self-determination, about love, and even a very terse meditation on - well, it might have been taken a number of ways, but just now I'm inclined to say it was about the weight of responsibility. Is there any other topic that touches so many other domains and concepts?
I had the event marked down on my calendar today. "On Time" it said, mocking me; my contribution to the books isn't finished.
It's interesting to me, the breadth of themes that fall under this broad topic. There were poems written about parents and their children, about self-determination, about love, and even a very terse meditation on - well, it might have been taken a number of ways, but just now I'm inclined to say it was about the weight of responsibility. Is there any other topic that touches so many other domains and concepts?
I had the event marked down on my calendar today. "On Time" it said, mocking me; my contribution to the books isn't finished.
Written By Apollo
May 23, 2021, 8:38 p.m.(7/11/1015 AR)
Sometimes as vibrant as it is, the city can press in on all sides. I never thought I'd take as much pleasure as I do in going for a ride. You'd think coming up in Oakhaven I'd know on instinct that the woods at summer's start are a treat - but I don't go so often. Maybe I'd better. The air is just the thing to clear my head.
Written By Apollo
May 23, 2021, 7:24 p.m.(7/11/1015 AR)
What does "be careful" mean, to you?
Written By Apollo
May 16, 2021, 2:47 p.m.(6/25/1015 AR)
Relationship Note on Savio
Lord Savio and I have both had to set our mercantile interests aside, the spaces that once hosted them turned to other merchants, other purposes. But the Rainbow Lounge adjacent his space - a riot of color, mismatched assemblage of comforts - is so lovely I hope it lasts forever. There's something that reminds me at once of the best places I've ever visited, and too of being home.
Written By Apollo
May 9, 2021, 2:40 p.m.(6/11/1015 AR)
It's only too easy, when attending the stories of others, to fill in all the breadth of space between the words with details from my own. I would do well to remember that. One man's terror is another's thrill; one person's happiest hope, another's disaster. I needn't arrive at the same conclusions to listen well. But if I am to see people for who they are, respecting the meaning they find in powerful moments is a start.
Written By Apollo
May 8, 2021, 7:06 a.m.(6/8/1015 AR)
Relationship Note on Raymesin
If you find one there, let me know.
Written By Apollo
May 2, 2021, 7:34 p.m.(5/25/1015 AR)
Relationship Note on Giada
I spent the other day at the shrine, praying under the guidance of Blessed Giada. She did an admirable job with something very difficult, I think: transmuting our worry into purpose, providing scaffolding for our intention. And isn't that what the Faith is for, the Faith at its best?
The Dominus could have made no finer choice.
The Dominus could have made no finer choice.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.