Written By Ciaphas
Dec. 2, 2021, 1:25 p.m.(9/4/1016 AR)
Dearest Diary,
I've had a thought: Armour guards the body, but what guards the soul?
I've thought of this as I've purviewed the teachings of the Thirteenth. Of the Dark Reflection and how it is viewed - with a quote that struck me quite powerfully:
"But as much as you fear the Thirteenth, you should still pray to him. Pray that you can master the dark side of your soul, pray that you can be better than all that you fear, and pray that He can save you from what you fear you might become."
I applaud such writing. It fills my soul with warmth to contemplate that in the darknest spots, there is a source of structure and strength to bring you back from the precipice. I think of it like I think of combat. It is easy, once the fires of passion and bloodlust are ignited - and some may say bloodlust is a poor choice of words, to them I say - I dare you to debate someone charging at you with murder in their eyes and an axe in their hands on if they do not want to spill your blood over the sands.
I think you'll find they're pretty lustfully eager to do it.
I write then on my own thoughts and feelings. My own passions and how the Thirteenth and my thoughts and prayers help channel them away from negative impulses towards the good. Fear is a suitable guiding switch to chastise those who are weaker willed enough to easily give in to such impulses.
Contempt is a suitable emotion to feel for those baser impulses. To turn fighting for something into just violence. To turn defending your land and people into baseless murder for the joy of it. These are the ways that only end in your personal ruination, leaving you less than a person. You become a hollow shell, lesser than those around you.
Guard your soul with the armour of contempt. Deny those base impulses even the emotion and feeling that they must devour to survive. Give them nothing. An empty void, as you sit upon your throne and gaze down on them, and tell them simply;
No. You are not worthy of me. You are nothing. Less than nothing. You are the death of sanity. You are the screaming, mindless barbarism of violence, greed, lust and tyranny.
Am I a lush? Yes. Do I drink? Yes. Do I fight? Yes. I am not perfect. This is why we must pray and contemplate on ourselves. It is why I write journals. My worst excesses result in a hangover. I don't feel joy when the blackened blade of Ischia is drawn. There is no pleasure when I kill with it. I am the Sword of Ischia, and I hold all oaths as inviolate and sacred - so it should be no surprise that when I am drawn, it is by the people of Ischia I am wielded. It is the will of the March that guides me.
It is my contempt for those base urges that prevents the blade from becoming sullied. My desires do not matter as the Sword. It is not with rage that it is swung. It is not for the lust for blood that it causes the sands to turn red. It is Ischia that has slain you, not me. It is to Ischia that the glory goes, not I.
Back to my excesses, I'm going out drinking again, dearest diary. I will hold woe and pain in my heart, for I know the next morning I won't be able to think.
Kiss kiss.
I've had a thought: Armour guards the body, but what guards the soul?
I've thought of this as I've purviewed the teachings of the Thirteenth. Of the Dark Reflection and how it is viewed - with a quote that struck me quite powerfully:
"But as much as you fear the Thirteenth, you should still pray to him. Pray that you can master the dark side of your soul, pray that you can be better than all that you fear, and pray that He can save you from what you fear you might become."
I applaud such writing. It fills my soul with warmth to contemplate that in the darknest spots, there is a source of structure and strength to bring you back from the precipice. I think of it like I think of combat. It is easy, once the fires of passion and bloodlust are ignited - and some may say bloodlust is a poor choice of words, to them I say - I dare you to debate someone charging at you with murder in their eyes and an axe in their hands on if they do not want to spill your blood over the sands.
I think you'll find they're pretty lustfully eager to do it.
I write then on my own thoughts and feelings. My own passions and how the Thirteenth and my thoughts and prayers help channel them away from negative impulses towards the good. Fear is a suitable guiding switch to chastise those who are weaker willed enough to easily give in to such impulses.
Contempt is a suitable emotion to feel for those baser impulses. To turn fighting for something into just violence. To turn defending your land and people into baseless murder for the joy of it. These are the ways that only end in your personal ruination, leaving you less than a person. You become a hollow shell, lesser than those around you.
Guard your soul with the armour of contempt. Deny those base impulses even the emotion and feeling that they must devour to survive. Give them nothing. An empty void, as you sit upon your throne and gaze down on them, and tell them simply;
No. You are not worthy of me. You are nothing. Less than nothing. You are the death of sanity. You are the screaming, mindless barbarism of violence, greed, lust and tyranny.
Am I a lush? Yes. Do I drink? Yes. Do I fight? Yes. I am not perfect. This is why we must pray and contemplate on ourselves. It is why I write journals. My worst excesses result in a hangover. I don't feel joy when the blackened blade of Ischia is drawn. There is no pleasure when I kill with it. I am the Sword of Ischia, and I hold all oaths as inviolate and sacred - so it should be no surprise that when I am drawn, it is by the people of Ischia I am wielded. It is the will of the March that guides me.
It is my contempt for those base urges that prevents the blade from becoming sullied. My desires do not matter as the Sword. It is not with rage that it is swung. It is not for the lust for blood that it causes the sands to turn red. It is Ischia that has slain you, not me. It is to Ischia that the glory goes, not I.
Back to my excesses, I'm going out drinking again, dearest diary. I will hold woe and pain in my heart, for I know the next morning I won't be able to think.
Kiss kiss.
Written By Ciaphas
Nov. 23, 2021, 4:39 p.m.(8/15/1016 AR)
Dearest Diary,
Politics are a queer thing. It's all meant to be smoke and polished bronze. Reflections. Moving around it.
Instead now I'm sitting back eating.. some sort of biscuit.. and drinking tea. Not wine. I know, Diary. I know. Shocking. Fear not, the biscuit is indeed definitely not for children.
You know I wouldn't let you down.
Politics - right. Look. I'm a Consort. That means I married into my role. I married.. upwards.. you would say in Arvani. Especially now that I'm in the Compact, I'm pretty sure any previous titles I might have once held were most likely as valuable as sand is to a desert.
But we're not talking about my marriage - my most Benevolent and Merciful Wife has seen fit to bestow this poor beggar with more than I could dream - instead we're taking a look at how curious it is for people to get incredibly upset when they're called a name when they're performing an action that would give you that name.
For example I have been called a lush. A layabout. One might even dare to whisper 'wastrel' -- out of earshot of me because while I am a lush and a layabout, I never waste alcohol nor narcotics. I devour them all, as a good Ischian should.
When one ursurps something, as I've learned this Arvani word and find it absolutely delightful in consolidating everything involved in such an act - all that cunning, all the planning, all the time, the effort, the individuals involved, their will and combined strength and fortitude all pushed together for a singular effort - and we call it 'ursurp'. To encroach. To infringe. To take.
I don't think anyone has any issues about encroaching, infringing, or taking. Unless you're the one that's being ursurped, I guess. But can we call it a successful ursurpation if it's being called out and fought against, be it vocally or otherwise? If you've done it right, nobody is going to gainsay you - except probably as some sort of casus belli - but that then again points to it being a failure.
You shouldn't leave room for doubt. When you take something, nobody should question it. Or dare to question it. When you infringe, you should make it seem like you are entirely justified. When you encroach, people should nod and agree that it was entirely right and proper for you to do it.
If a throne is only meant to seat one, then there shouldn't be two people breathing who both have reasons to sit on it, right? Or everyone should believe that one of the two is the one that is meant to be on the Throne - even if they came by that right by, you guessed it, ursurping.
Speaking of ursurpation, I feel my fingertips starting to tingle. I should most likely wrap this up.
To summarize:
Dear Diary, if you're going to do something. You should do it right, and even if it's a bad thing, you do it with such assurance and confidence, that nobody dares to tell you it's a bad thing.
Like eating all of these delightful biscuits.
Kiss kiss.
Written By Ciaphas
Nov. 19, 2021, 11:04 p.m.(8/7/1016 AR)
Dear Diary,
I wish to write about the culture that I now live in. Specifically Ischian culture. One might think - isn't that simply Pravus culture? - but I've found it to be like saying that each desert in Eurus is just sand. Yes, there is Pravus culture, but it has been taken, distilled and fortified in the turbulant oceans, and then further purified by the harsh salt in the dock air. Then you take that delight, that lust for life, and you give it blood and violence. You tell it that in order for it to survive, it must lust for more than just scraps, it must fight and take what it cannot trade for. That no matter the size of the opponent, to be known as a most venomous opponent will give pause.
For yes, you may be able to kill an Ischian, but be rest assured that with their last smiling, laughing, blood-spitting-in-your-face breath, that you've forgotten about that first scratch that they scored when you went at them with your blade. It stopped being itchy long before you managed to finally put them down, and now the wound is already black, stinking and weeping.
You won't even make it to see a Mercy, nevermind an Apothecary that's capable of understanding what toxins and Gods know what else they put on that dagger they were carrying in their off hand. That's the Ischian lust for life. To hunger for it so much that you're willing to ensure that anyone who dares to kill you, goes down with you - no matter how big, or skilled, or proud they are. Sometimes it only takes a scratch to bring the biggest of beasts to their knees.
And if the Ischian survives, that beast is probably going to be promptly skinned, harvested, and all parts put to use. Then they'll have a great feast, ensure that the story goes down in legends as you being 15 feet tall and capable of shooting lightning from your eyes - and then they'll all stop laughing and drinking, and stare at you, as if daring you to doubt them.
It's easier if you cheer with them - they'll even sip the drink they'll hand off to you, from the lowest of the dock workers to the highest of Lords and Ladies - for despite that aggressive pursuit of life, they understand that life must be enjoyed in all forms, and sometimes that means proving that despite being venomous, if you pay attention to their warning signs and ways, you'll find a steadfast ally who will - despite what any may say - will take a blade for someone who earns their trust.
I can assure you of that, because I am an Eurusi turned Ischian, and have had the good luck to earn the trust of Ischia - my people. I extend that same heartfelt, cuthroat welcome to any who would visit.
Just remember - if it walks like a Pravus, drinks like a Pravus, smiles like a Pravus, and fights like some venomous sea serpent backed into a corner and willing to die fighting than asking for quarter - it's probably an Ischian, and if you buy one a drink, sip it first. They'll appreciate the gesture.
Now, I'm also looking for recommendations for wine. I've a desperate need to replace a portion of a particular wine cellar. I should most likely look into that.
Kiss kiss.
I wish to write about the culture that I now live in. Specifically Ischian culture. One might think - isn't that simply Pravus culture? - but I've found it to be like saying that each desert in Eurus is just sand. Yes, there is Pravus culture, but it has been taken, distilled and fortified in the turbulant oceans, and then further purified by the harsh salt in the dock air. Then you take that delight, that lust for life, and you give it blood and violence. You tell it that in order for it to survive, it must lust for more than just scraps, it must fight and take what it cannot trade for. That no matter the size of the opponent, to be known as a most venomous opponent will give pause.
For yes, you may be able to kill an Ischian, but be rest assured that with their last smiling, laughing, blood-spitting-in-your-face breath, that you've forgotten about that first scratch that they scored when you went at them with your blade. It stopped being itchy long before you managed to finally put them down, and now the wound is already black, stinking and weeping.
You won't even make it to see a Mercy, nevermind an Apothecary that's capable of understanding what toxins and Gods know what else they put on that dagger they were carrying in their off hand. That's the Ischian lust for life. To hunger for it so much that you're willing to ensure that anyone who dares to kill you, goes down with you - no matter how big, or skilled, or proud they are. Sometimes it only takes a scratch to bring the biggest of beasts to their knees.
And if the Ischian survives, that beast is probably going to be promptly skinned, harvested, and all parts put to use. Then they'll have a great feast, ensure that the story goes down in legends as you being 15 feet tall and capable of shooting lightning from your eyes - and then they'll all stop laughing and drinking, and stare at you, as if daring you to doubt them.
It's easier if you cheer with them - they'll even sip the drink they'll hand off to you, from the lowest of the dock workers to the highest of Lords and Ladies - for despite that aggressive pursuit of life, they understand that life must be enjoyed in all forms, and sometimes that means proving that despite being venomous, if you pay attention to their warning signs and ways, you'll find a steadfast ally who will - despite what any may say - will take a blade for someone who earns their trust.
I can assure you of that, because I am an Eurusi turned Ischian, and have had the good luck to earn the trust of Ischia - my people. I extend that same heartfelt, cuthroat welcome to any who would visit.
Just remember - if it walks like a Pravus, drinks like a Pravus, smiles like a Pravus, and fights like some venomous sea serpent backed into a corner and willing to die fighting than asking for quarter - it's probably an Ischian, and if you buy one a drink, sip it first. They'll appreciate the gesture.
Now, I'm also looking for recommendations for wine. I've a desperate need to replace a portion of a particular wine cellar. I should most likely look into that.
Kiss kiss.
Written By Ciaphas
Nov. 13, 2021, 6:31 p.m.(7/23/1016 AR)
Dearest Journal,
I find that lubrication in the form of intoxication assists in bringing forth memories that I thought buried - in intoxication primarily - but, I am sober enough to spell my name in Arvani, so I'm sober enough to write in a journal.
Looking back on my previous writing on my education, another comes to mind - this more specifically aimed towards the use of spears or other lengthy instruments of impalement. I know many believe that the spear or pike would be the weapon of the common levy, I've seen a man experienced with a spear gut a man who had practiced with a sword his entire life - laid low by a commoner with a spear.
Thus I translate, as poorly as it may be, another lesson from my Teachers.
(OOC: Anything in []'s can be considered very loosely translated from Eurusi, but otherwise everything else is Ciaphas's poor writing and elaboration.)
"... The [Teachers] used to say that "A Spear is the [rope/line] of [deaths/endings].", and we have a saying that repeats: "You have mentioned the [rope/line], that I had forgotten and thus [death/ending] remembers me".
A [Teacher] asked of their pupils which spear they preferred, the first answered: "The one that [does not waver] and is firm, when brandished it does not [twist/warp/deformed], nor camber when [sent/thrown]."
The second, when asked responded: "My [brother/fellow pupil] describes a good [rope/line], but I prefer one which [sings/vibrates/bellows], thin and flexible, sharp to cut [rope/line] and cause [death/endings]". ..."
It goes on a little bit, describing that between the two - it is a personal choice, for a real [Teacher] is a [container/vessel] of their.. form, and they know which weapon is.. I lack the Arvani, or the drink, to find a proper term, but the best I can give is that you are no longer swinging a weapon, but to the [Teacher], their weapon is their fist, their eyes, ears, it's swing is their voice. I assume this goes in line with any master of a chosen weapon in the Compact.
To continue:
"... The extended [rope/line] which is used, the more extended, the less it [tricks/mirages].
There are six [Teachers] in guard,
And with step and [path/flow], they move and [death/ending],
From both sides they strike in certainty,
The [path/flow] goes to side and not up;
And the [path/flow] wants to be one arm's length on the [rope/line],
Whomever goes against the [path/flow] finds themselves stepping the path to [death/endings]. ... "
-Inserted are two stick figures, drawn to show proper forms, one crowned deliberately holding their spear in two hands, the sharp tip pointed to their feet, left hand held near the middle, the right near the top. The opposite holds the spear almost like a flute, left foot forwards and hands choked near the middle of the spear, but behind the head. While the drawings are very, very rough - it's almost like sword stances. In softer pencil it vaguely demonstrates where the motions would go in motions to block and parry.-
" ... '[Patience/waiting] is my goal, my [rope/line] held close to form, to defeat and exchange thrusts.'
See the Three [Teachers], they stand they take the teachings of the [blade] to bring to the [rope/line], using the [rope/line] like the [blade]. Positioned to quickly beat aside an opponent's [weapon/fist], and to do so step [cross, diagonal] off the line right foot, cross [rope/line] with [weapon/fist], and strike it to the left."
It mentions something about rolling it all together for some combination, so that the motion is smooth and in one pass. While this is easy in theory, to be able to keep the foot movements while stepping in close to an opponent while you're wielding a weapon of length takes more fortitude than you can imagine, because you might have everything screaming at you to keep that sharp, pointy end towards your target.
Alas, Journal. I feel sobriety's creeping advance. I will make haste and retreat.
I find that lubrication in the form of intoxication assists in bringing forth memories that I thought buried - in intoxication primarily - but, I am sober enough to spell my name in Arvani, so I'm sober enough to write in a journal.
Looking back on my previous writing on my education, another comes to mind - this more specifically aimed towards the use of spears or other lengthy instruments of impalement. I know many believe that the spear or pike would be the weapon of the common levy, I've seen a man experienced with a spear gut a man who had practiced with a sword his entire life - laid low by a commoner with a spear.
Thus I translate, as poorly as it may be, another lesson from my Teachers.
(OOC: Anything in []'s can be considered very loosely translated from Eurusi, but otherwise everything else is Ciaphas's poor writing and elaboration.)
"... The [Teachers] used to say that "A Spear is the [rope/line] of [deaths/endings].", and we have a saying that repeats: "You have mentioned the [rope/line], that I had forgotten and thus [death/ending] remembers me".
A [Teacher] asked of their pupils which spear they preferred, the first answered: "The one that [does not waver] and is firm, when brandished it does not [twist/warp/deformed], nor camber when [sent/thrown]."
The second, when asked responded: "My [brother/fellow pupil] describes a good [rope/line], but I prefer one which [sings/vibrates/bellows], thin and flexible, sharp to cut [rope/line] and cause [death/endings]". ..."
It goes on a little bit, describing that between the two - it is a personal choice, for a real [Teacher] is a [container/vessel] of their.. form, and they know which weapon is.. I lack the Arvani, or the drink, to find a proper term, but the best I can give is that you are no longer swinging a weapon, but to the [Teacher], their weapon is their fist, their eyes, ears, it's swing is their voice. I assume this goes in line with any master of a chosen weapon in the Compact.
To continue:
"... The extended [rope/line] which is used, the more extended, the less it [tricks/mirages].
There are six [Teachers] in guard,
And with step and [path/flow], they move and [death/ending],
From both sides they strike in certainty,
The [path/flow] goes to side and not up;
And the [path/flow] wants to be one arm's length on the [rope/line],
Whomever goes against the [path/flow] finds themselves stepping the path to [death/endings]. ... "
-Inserted are two stick figures, drawn to show proper forms, one crowned deliberately holding their spear in two hands, the sharp tip pointed to their feet, left hand held near the middle, the right near the top. The opposite holds the spear almost like a flute, left foot forwards and hands choked near the middle of the spear, but behind the head. While the drawings are very, very rough - it's almost like sword stances. In softer pencil it vaguely demonstrates where the motions would go in motions to block and parry.-
" ... '[Patience/waiting] is my goal, my [rope/line] held close to form, to defeat and exchange thrusts.'
See the Three [Teachers], they stand they take the teachings of the [blade] to bring to the [rope/line], using the [rope/line] like the [blade]. Positioned to quickly beat aside an opponent's [weapon/fist], and to do so step [cross, diagonal] off the line right foot, cross [rope/line] with [weapon/fist], and strike it to the left."
It mentions something about rolling it all together for some combination, so that the motion is smooth and in one pass. While this is easy in theory, to be able to keep the foot movements while stepping in close to an opponent while you're wielding a weapon of length takes more fortitude than you can imagine, because you might have everything screaming at you to keep that sharp, pointy end towards your target.
Alas, Journal. I feel sobriety's creeping advance. I will make haste and retreat.
Written By Ciaphas
Nov. 12, 2021, 10:41 p.m.(7/21/1016 AR)
In my boredom, and with copious amounts of my most Distinguished and Splended Wife's wine - I've been thinking back to the fun of youth. The training and drill, hour after hour in the sun and sand. Looking back on it, I do miss it. The structure, the organization. Some of the views weren't too bad, either.
The less said about the teachers, the better.
But, I'm less thinking of people and more thinking of the training, and it's relation to the Compact. In the Compact I see a lot of swords. I see some with axes - and some with weapons larger still. It is to those who wield larger weapons that I pen a brief excerpt of some of my instructor's learned words when facing an opponent with a similiar weapon of size.
Please excuse the translation errors. Some terms do not translate cleanly from my native language. Also, I should probably note somewhere that if someone does read this -- I don't do any actual teaching. I'm terrible at it. Also, the instruction where I learned it involves me beating you with a barbed switch if you make a wrong stroke. I don't have a barbed switch, I don't plan on getting one, and if you got blood on my clothes I'd be absolutely outraged. So no. Just read it.
(OOC: Anything in [] can be considered 'poorly' translated from Eurusi. Everything else can be considered legible, just my bad writing.)
---
"... Upon finding yourself facing an [enemy] encased and helmed, take a [second] to look at their guard. If they are in [air guard], with their left foot forward and right arm raised high, look upon the [end/lower part] of the axe to left forward, step forwards with your right foot, and deliver a [rightmost desert swipe] to the head, provoking the [enemy] to defend with the [blade] or haft. This so done you will come to find yourself [locked/crossed/bound] together, whereby you will be [swifter than a dust storm], so that your enemy will be wanting to press forward with left foot, to beat the heft of your [blade] with the [end/lower part], which will leave your chest and face vulnerable to said [end/lower part].
To be [swifter than a dust storm], you will follow their [path/way], lift your weapon high. This will allow his weapon to go past and become [null/empty]. Respond with a chop. This is to be done every time in such a guard, as unless the opponent is by far your physical greater, any other attempt to break the [lock/binding] will break space between you without giving opportunity for striking..."
---
He did go on a bit, something about if you were opposed to your enemy in the guard, or you were left footed.. But to be honest, my arm hurts.
I may visit this topic again sometime if the inspiration strikes.
The less said about the teachers, the better.
But, I'm less thinking of people and more thinking of the training, and it's relation to the Compact. In the Compact I see a lot of swords. I see some with axes - and some with weapons larger still. It is to those who wield larger weapons that I pen a brief excerpt of some of my instructor's learned words when facing an opponent with a similiar weapon of size.
Please excuse the translation errors. Some terms do not translate cleanly from my native language. Also, I should probably note somewhere that if someone does read this -- I don't do any actual teaching. I'm terrible at it. Also, the instruction where I learned it involves me beating you with a barbed switch if you make a wrong stroke. I don't have a barbed switch, I don't plan on getting one, and if you got blood on my clothes I'd be absolutely outraged. So no. Just read it.
(OOC: Anything in [] can be considered 'poorly' translated from Eurusi. Everything else can be considered legible, just my bad writing.)
---
"... Upon finding yourself facing an [enemy] encased and helmed, take a [second] to look at their guard. If they are in [air guard], with their left foot forward and right arm raised high, look upon the [end/lower part] of the axe to left forward, step forwards with your right foot, and deliver a [rightmost desert swipe] to the head, provoking the [enemy] to defend with the [blade] or haft. This so done you will come to find yourself [locked/crossed/bound] together, whereby you will be [swifter than a dust storm], so that your enemy will be wanting to press forward with left foot, to beat the heft of your [blade] with the [end/lower part], which will leave your chest and face vulnerable to said [end/lower part].
To be [swifter than a dust storm], you will follow their [path/way], lift your weapon high. This will allow his weapon to go past and become [null/empty]. Respond with a chop. This is to be done every time in such a guard, as unless the opponent is by far your physical greater, any other attempt to break the [lock/binding] will break space between you without giving opportunity for striking..."
---
He did go on a bit, something about if you were opposed to your enemy in the guard, or you were left footed.. But to be honest, my arm hurts.
I may visit this topic again sometime if the inspiration strikes.
Please note that the scholars may take some time preparing your journal for others to read.